#cholla springs

[ophierian-vp]

[electronictheoristactivist]

[millesaniclaim]

new austin. central union locomotive

[itiswritteninthestarsabove]

[desert-love]

[sitting-on-me-bum]

Joshua Tree Sunrise Photography

Landscape Photographer: Jon Norris

Cholla Cactus Garden Sunrise

Hidden Valley Sunrise

First Light at Quail Springs

[sunwingsunset]

Red Dead Redemption 2 ↳ Scenery / Cholla Springs

[nthspecialll]

Rdr1 newspaper "Blackwater #53" transcriped

Masterlist link.

Williamson Gang Reign Of Terror

In events that hark back to our state's not so distant and non too glorious past, a gang of thieves and killers is running amok across the western counties. Although New Austin has never been a place for the faint of heart, nor a place that encourages delicacy, law enforcement agencies are particularly worried about this new gang. Not since Dutch van der Linde's crew was operating up in West Elizabeth has a criminal group caused so much consternation, nor gained so much publicity. Although cattle rustling and robberies are unfortunately still common throughout our region, the spate of killings, fires and burnings caused by Bill Williamson and his gang have shocked even the hardiest and most robust of local residents. Williamson, a career criminal and reprobate, with a record running back to reform school, is himself believed to have once run in Van der Linde's gang. Dutch van der Linde himself has not been seen nor heard from in several years and despite claims of sightings, is thought to have perished in a fire following a bungled robbery in 1906. With railway companies and other business interests pushing local and federal government bodies to aid economic development and investment by reducing crime, it is clear that action will be taken against this latest gang attempting to live the American dream outside of the law.

Grave Robber Captured, But Crimes Persist

Residents of Armadillo are baffled by the mysterious and somewhat repugnant case of Moses Forth, who was recently arrested for desecrating and robbing graves and is believed to have been solely responsible for a string of similar crimes across the West in the last couple of years. Following his arrest, however, there has been a further outbreak of graveyard de-secrations, leading to anxieties about who else is committing this most vile act.

Mexican Leader Appeals For Calm

Mexican President, General Ignacio Sanchez, who seized power last year in a bloody coup in which he killed his own brother has appealed for calm in the tempestuous country. General Sanchez, who was head of a Mexican Cavalry division and who has studied in Spain and Bolivia is promising to improve conditions for workers across the country while increasing suffrage. In a speech he made last week Sanchez noted "despite my privileged upbringing, I am a true son of Mexico, but as a Mexican, I know our county needs strong leadership and this is what I intend to provide. The road for our country has never been easy, but I promise you, we are now heading in the correct direction."

People Missing In Cholla Springs

Several residents of Armadillo and the surrounding areas have gone missing over the past few months in separate incidents, but non have yet turned up, either alive or dead. Local law enforcement bodies are urging residents to show extra caution when travelling in the back country on their own or when travelling at night.

Humorist Cracks Jokes, Arrives

Well known East Coast wit, Jimmy Saint, who writes for a number of respected periodicals in the New Work area recently wrote to this publication, seeking our advice. Mr. Saint is being dispatched to our region to try and find some 'wildness' in our Western states. We wrote back to Mr. Saint wishing him well, but letting him know that beyond the occasional murder, bloody shoot-out or horse rustling, very little wildness persists in the region outside of wild west shows.

Cattle Rustling Worse Than Ever In New Austin

The poverty-stricken ranchers of New Austin have been further blighted by a ruthless band of cattle rustlers in recent months. The hoodlums, led by twin brothers Ike and Willie Bollard, have been stealing cattle throughout Hennigan's Stead and then selling them at Thieves' Landing, often well below market value. The gang is believed to be using Pike's Basin as it's base of operations.

Tumbleweed Haunted?

Following recent reports of ghost sightings in the abandoned town of Tumbleweed, visitors are continuing to tell of unnatural happenings and strange feelings. Some visitors claim to have seen spirits of the dead, others ghosts, still others, ghouls and fairies. Our reporter on the scene found no evidence but we urge readers to send us reports of any unnatural happenings in the area.

Tobacco Fights Tuberculosis

Everywhere that fresh air abounds, man knows nothing of coughs, colds, or lung inflamations. However, as man creates cities and is herded into factories, sweatshops, mines and mills, these soggy and unhygienic atmospheres spread the most deadly of pulmonary diseases - Tuberculosis. Dr. Charles L. Helden says workers can disinfect themselves and protect against disease through regular smoking in the workplace.

An Orgy Of Phones

Most miracles are spread out quietly as the oak grows. However the telephone has grown like a common garden weed. There are now ten million telephones in the world. This novel vocal spectre has a certain haunting charm as telephone girls work day and night asking "What number please?" What man hasn't imagined the dalliances of the exquisite fairies that bless the most romantic of the commercial sciences? The telephone and telegraph companies promise Blackwater's skies will soon be one of wires in every direction, truly a crystal clear and sullied future at the same time.

Wonder Tonic From The East, Doctors Worried About Future

Users of a new medicinal tonic being sold in areas of New Austin have reported remarkable results. A one legged woman in Plainview grew back her missing limb and an elderly man close to death got up and ran to the nearest brothel with the resumed vigor of a 14-year old boy. West Dickens Patented Elixir claims to effect an infallible and painless remedy to virtually all known human ailments, both internal, external, and spiritual, including aches, sprains, dysentery, lumbago, paralysis, chilblains, malaria, genital debility, rickets and depressed humors. The tonic, which is the result of years of research combining ancient wisdom from the east and scientific investigations from universities across the land is being hailed by its distributor as the greatest medical discovery of our time.

Miscellany

Cart Race to be held at Gaptooth Breach. Date to be announced. Large cash prize. Winner takes all.

Furs and Pelts Wanted. Excellent Prices Offered. River Traders Pawn Shop, Thieves' Landing, New Austin.

Horse Deeds for Sale. Beautiful Cleveland Bays, Standardbred Pintos and Tersks, among others. MacFarlane's Ranch General Store, Hennigan's Stead, New Austin.

The marriage is announced to be solemnized of Miss Mollie Brannigan, daughter of Cole and Ella Brannigan to Mr. Melvin Brannigan, son of Cole and Ella Brannigan.

Young boy missing. Ralph Anderson, Age 8 years. Please contact Grace Anderson of Armadillo with any information as to his whereabouts.

Animal Bait for sale. Attracts all prey big and small. Manzanita Trading Post, Tall Trees, West Elizabeth.

Beds available at Ridgewood Farm, Cholla Springs. Very reasonable prices

The old ways is the best ways.

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Daddy issues

~ Dutch Van Der Linde/Male!Reader

~ Familial

~ 4.4k words

Request :3

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Cholla Springs. More specifically, the barren outskirts of a disease laden town called Armadillo. Nothing but dry shrubbery, cacti, and land ill-fitting for use as far as the eye could see. Many, many moons ago, there was a cholera outbreak amongst the townsfolk. Rather than sticking around and putting your mother, Molly, at risk, the two of you took up an old farmhouse a ways away from the capital.

In your, not so humble, opinion, it was a shithole at its finest. Having spent countless hours repairing the place just to be suitable enough to keep your mother safe. That’s all you ever wanted to do. She saw the finer side of things, much to your dismay. You were protective over your mother. She was the only one who raised you, after all.

Upon arriving home during yet another cold evening of hunting, a few rabbit carcasses held in your grasp, you walk into the kitchen to find your mother grinning ear to ear as she prepares a warm broth for the both of you. You can’t hide the subtle grin that makes its way across your chapped lips.

“What’s got you so happy, mama?” You hum curiously as you gently set the rabbits down on the table, having already dressed them to spare your mother the gorey sight. Molly keeps her eyes on the pot in front of her as she stirs. Occasionally bringing the ladle up to her lips to check what herbs needed to be added.

“He wrote us another letter!” She beams, the grin on her face growing wider, only making her cheeks sore. Her response makes your own smile falter. You never responded to his letters for a reason. Unfortunately, you were weak to Molly and Molly alone. Breaking her heart was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Yeah? Any money this time?” You grumble as you roll up your sleeves to your forearms, your eyes still glued to Molly. You never understood her attachment to him. Twenty-three years apart and one would think she would’ve found someone else by now. But no. She’s still just as head over heels with him since day one.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Y/N!” Molly dismisses with a giggle. Resting the curve of her ladle atop the rim of the pot, letting the broth sit for a minute. Finally turning to you with her hands on her hips. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

“Your father loves you dearly. He’s just..” She trails off with a small sigh. Her eyes studying your form closely as you begin to skin the rabbit carcasses atop the table. “Sure does.” you remark sarcastically, not exactly wanting to hear yet another excuse for that bastard’s behavior. He made his choice, and it wasn’t the right one. 

“Y/N..” Molly says quietly, slowly beginning to approach you. Picking up a neatly torn open envelope from an old, wooden bureau before offering it to you. Giving you a small smile in hopes you’ll hear her out on this one, though you’ve heard that several times over the years.

“Yeah, yeah..” you sigh, nodding for her to set it on the table as your hands are busy at the moment, in which she does, only to place her hand on your back afterwards. “I just don’t wanna see you crying over him again, mama. You remember all his promises, don’t you? The ones he made to come see you and never did?”

Molly nods solemnly, turning her eyes away from the rabbits as the sight makes her stomach churn. “I remember,” she murmurs. Stepping away from you entirely and heading back to her pot. Grabbing ahold of her ladle and stirring the broth.

“But sometimes, you do things for the ones you love. You have.. A sort of hope, I suppose.” She says quietly. Hearing her saddened tone makes your chest tighten, guilt beginning to weigh on you. Who in their right mind makes their mother upset? Even if you’re just worried about her.

“I get it.” You respond, despite not understanding whatsoever. You haven’t had too many partners before, but you knew enough to wish your mother the best and your father the worst. “What’s he want this time?” you force your tone to soften, shifting into curiosity over irritation.

“Nothin’ much. Just checking in, asking what we’re up to, making sure we’re alive..that sort of thing.” She shrugs. Bringing the ladle to her lipstick stained, red lips and taking a small sip of the broth to taste it. Humming at its adequacy, she sets it back down into the pot. Rummaging through a sack of potatoes just underneath her counter.

While you don’t say it, you hated the idea of him trying to check up on you two. You had it all under control. You had kept your mother safe, you drift between jobs for money, you even bought the two of you a home. Twenty years– why now does he care?

“Damn it..” Molly mutters as she stands back up, folding the potato sack neatly over her arm. “What is it?” you glance over your shoulder towards your mother, only to spot the empty sack. Sighing heavily before looking back down at the rabbits you’re cutting up.

“I’ll take you to the general store tomorrow morning.” You say quietly, earning a small thanks from Molly. Seems you’re having rabbit soup tonight…again.

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As soon as dawn arrived the next morning, the two of you set off. You, sitting at the front of your leather saddle. Your boots tucked away in the stirrups, subtly rocking with the horse’s gait. Molly, sitting sideways behind you. Her legs slung over the left side of the horse. One arm tucked around your waist, her other hand pressed firmly in her lap to prevent her dress from blowing up.

It wasn’t a long ride into Armadillo whatsoever, not with the idle conversation passed between the two of you. While you could never admit it, Molly always insisted you were like your father in many ways. Gruff, stubborn, protective and not afraid to get your hands dirty. In your eyes, that was an insult of the highest caliber.

Riding through the dirt paths of the small town up to the general store. Most buildings made solely of wood and glass, a developing settlement. One you didn’t trust in the slightest. The sheriff’s deputies were bumbling morons and a sheriff who blatantly ignored peoples’ pleas for help. 

Carefully dismounting your horse, you pull the reins over its head and down to an old hitch rail, tying it into a knot to prevent the horse from wandering off. Stepping back and extending your hands up towards Molly, helping her down as a good son should.

The two of you attempt to head into the store only to be stopped. Your eyes narrowing as you stare at a group of men blocking the door as they talk amongst themselves– too quiet for you to overhear anything. Protectively stepping in front of your mother and approaching the men, clearing your throat with an “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

The millisecond most of them turn around, you feel your blood run hot as you make eye contact with one man in particular. Before you could get a word out, you hear an excited “Dutch!” before you’re shoved aside by your mother, making her way right up to Dutch without even batting an eyelash.

You’re not sure if you blinked during their whole conversation of introductions and “oh, how much I missed you”..enough to make any man sick. Glaring at Dutch with your arms folded over your chest, as if trying to will him to ignite into flames within the instant. You wanted to do nothing more than to drag your mother right back home and away from this bastard and his band of thieves.

“Y/N, say hi to your father.” Molly demands as she steps aside, reaching up and smacking you gently on your chest, to which you grumble. Your expression softens extremely subtly as you look down towards her, before immediately hardening the second you look back towards Dutch. 

Not wanting to upset Molly, you tentatively extend your right hand forth to be shaken with a gruff “Dutch.” Dutch copies your movement and gives you a firm handshake, only to pull you into himself and hold you in a firm hug, patting your back.

“Nice to see you again, my boy.” Dutch chuckles, as if sensing your tension. For the sake of your mother, you hug him back as if the two of you had been buddies your entire life. You could hear the, not to secretive, whispers among Dutch’s group. A collective shock washing over them at the sudden knowledge of Dutch having a son. Especially one in their twenties and caring for their mother.

You give a grunt in response to Dutch’s words. You couldn’t have parted sooner, making that evident by crossing your arms back over your chest. Having to bite down on the tip of your tongue to hold back a scowl.

“It’s been so long, sweet pea.. I see you ain’t changed a bit!” Molly grins as she steps back in front of Dutch, her cheeks flushed a deep pink. He leans down and gives her a gentle peck on the lips, of which he wipes off on the back of his hand, presumably to avoid having her lipstick stain him. She doesn’t seem to mind.

“I know, I know. Been meanin’ to but got all caught up with these guys.” Dutch sighs, taking her hands in his own with a brief nod behind him towards a few other men. You stay silent. As pissed off as you are, you can’t help the nagging thought in your mind to let your mother be happy..just for a little while.

No longer paying attention to the conversation, your eyes dart over to the group of rugged men clumped up behind your father, examining them closely. They make you feel more wary than usual. Something about them isn’t quite right, but you can’t place your finger on it. You’re rudely pulled out of your own thoughts by another pat on the shoulder.

“Ain’t that right, kid?” Dutch asks with a chuckle, causing your eyebrows to furrow as you take a step back. You’re sure if you clenched your jaw any tighter, you’d crack a tooth. Sighing shakily to get yourself under control as you look back down towards Molly in silent confusion, you hadn’t picked up what was spoken.

“We’d be just delighted to run up there with Dutch and his gang, wouldn’t we?” Your mother grins widely, politely resting her hands down in front of herself, fingers interlaced with one another.

No. No, you wouldn’t be delighted. You’d be fucking pissed to spend another god damn second with– “Yes, ma’am.” you mutter with a curt nod. Deciding to push through your own discomfort for her sake. All to see her happy.

Your eyes flick up towards Dutch, who looks about as stoic as you, practically a spitting image of father and son. You hate that. Your fingers digging into your biceps as your arms remain firmly crossed over your chest. The last thing you need is some dick stepping in and acting like the man of the house, when clearly, he’s not.

“Well then, that settles it. Darlin’, you can ride with me. Boy, you got Arthur here.” Without another word, Dutch gently takes your mother’s hand and guides her over to where their horses are hitched. You’re perfectly capable of riding on your own. Dutch’s insinuation only makes you more pissed.

The rest of Dutch’s group follows after him, towards their own horses. Leaving you with a man you can only assume to be Arthur. Your eyes flick up and down his form closely, sizing him up. Taking note of this, Arthur walks past you silently, not at all threatened by you.

Tentatively, you follow behind him. He allows you to mount his horse before him, only to climb atop after you get situated. His saddle is quite nice, you note. Seems to be taken care of often. Your hands rest idly on Arthur’s hips so as to not fall off.

As Arthur commands his horse into a trot after his gang, you decide to break the awkward silence encompassing the two of you. “So Dutch seems like fun.” you mutter sarcastically, earning a half hearted chuckle from the man in front of you.

“You ain’t got half a clue, kid.” Arthur responds rather vaguely. You look over his shoulder towards the few gang members ahead, glaring daggers into Dutch’s back as he leads everyone. You don’t see the man for twenty years and he wants to act like he’s been here the whole time. Entirely undermining your efforts and years of work for your mother.

“Seems like a damn loony...” you grumble. Arthur doesn’t look at you, but he can feel the subtle tightening grip in your fingers, buried in the fabric of his shirt as you hold onto him. “Y’all ain’t close.” He states bluntly, to which you nod.

He hums quietly in acknowledgement, but not saying anything more for a while. His eyes remain on the group ahead. He knows the way back to camp like the back of his hand, but he still needs to stick with everyone else. Especially with your mother on the line if they all get in trouble.

“We ain’t gonna bite y’know. Less y’all do somethin’ stupid.” He breaks the silence once again. You aren’t entirely convinced, so you don’t say anything in response. Sighing heavily, Arthur adds on. “Look. When we get there, have a drink ‘n settle down a while. We ain’t good people, but we’re honest.”

The idea of leaving your mother with Dutch to get drunk makes you uneasy, but you know you can’t stress over her forever. The idea of being around to witness what they get up to only makes your skin crawl. You’ll only stick around until dusk, that was final. Then you’d tell, not ask, Dutch to take you two back to the general store to get your horse.

With that plan in mind, you grunt a harsh “fine.” Arthur doesn’t seem like Dutch, which was, subjectively, his best trait. The less people like him, the better. He seemed to understand your tension. To give a shit about the work you’d done in Dutch’s place.

You weren’t exactly fond of having to stay with a damn near stranger for more than a few minutes, but at least he wasn’t entirely an asshole. Just annoyingly sarcastic, occasionally earning a dry chuckle from you.

The millisecond you arrive at their camp, Dutch and your mother come up to you and Arthur. Molly seems genuinely happy, which makes your heart feel just that much warmer. Unfortunately, Dutch has to open his mouth again. His voice grating your brain like nails on a chalkboard.

“C’mere, boy. You ‘n I are gonna go out hunting. Y’know.. show you the ropes, feed the gang while we’re at it.” He seems overly hopeful, earning a grunt from you. Arthur is quick to dismount his horse, with you following after. Arthur calls another man’s attention to the horse, of which he timidly comes over, gives a nod in greeting, before leading Arthur’s horse into the camp. Your eyes follow after the timid man for a moment before you look back towards Dutch and your mother.

“Sure.” you mutter through gritted teeth. Dutch is treating you like a child, and that annoys the hell out of you. Molly grins and steps closer to you, placing a motherly kiss onto your cheek as a farewell before allowing you to leave with your father again. You wipe Molly’s lipstick off your cheek with the back of your hand and reluctantly follow after Dutch along the exterior of the camp, just in the underbrush.

The tension is as thick as a marsh, you’re not sure even a knife could cut through it. The only sound between you two is your separate breathing and the crunching of foliage and sticks underneath your boots. Getting to a good spot deep in the grass, you two crouch and wait in silence.

It would’ve been peaceful, had the eyesore known as your father not been there. You can tell he’s trying not to stare at you, seeming to be considering his words. For the first time in a long time, Dutch is left speechless. What is he supposed to say? Everything is so much easier said through letters.

“Look–” Dutch starts, but you quickly interrupt him with an irritated groan. “Don’t start, Dutch.” you run a hand down your face and begrudgingly look back over at Dutch. His eyebrows are pinched together and his mouth is curved into a frown underneath his mustache. The most you’ve seen him express thus far.

“You ain’t gotta address me like that.” He murmurs, turning his face down to Arthur’s rifle in his hands. He’s not a hunter. He’s a leader. He just wanted to apologize to you for not being there, but you weren’t having it.

“Like what? Your name?” You retort with a scoff, rolling your eyes before turning back to the wilderness surrounding you. Not even bothering to keep your voices hushed, no doubt scaring off any sort of creatures around. This was supposed to be an easy day. Just heading to the store to get some potatoes, maybe some more vegetables if you could afford it. Now, you were milliseconds away from losing your temper.

“You know what I mean, son. I just–” Once again, Dutch is interrupted. He looks like a dejected puppy and it pisses you off even more. “You don’t have any damn right to call me that.” You spit harshly, a scowl forming on your face as you glare daggers at your father.

“But–” “No buts, Dutch. You ain’t been my father for..how long now?” You ask rhetorically, shifting in the grass and getting right up into Dutch’s face, pressing your index finger into his sternum.

“Twenty fuckin’ years.” You answer without waiting for a response from him. Dutch looks baffled and hurt. Surprised at how aggressive you were being, but accepting your harshness without a fight. He knew, deep down, he earned it. The anger coursing through your veins feels taut like a rope. The mere thought of Dutch only serves to pull it tighter, fraying until it snaps.

“You ain’t my father; you never have been. I had to take care of mama as a boy, Dutch. ‘Cause you were too much of a damn coward to stick with your god damn family. The ONLY reason I’m here is for mama. She, for some reason beyond me, still loves your stupid ass. I ain’t need a dad, and I ain’t need one now.” You all but growl as you drive your finger painfully into Dutch’s chest, just letting out all of your pent up thoughts. Twenty years of anger spilling out right there and then.

You stare Dutch in the eye coldly. Your piercing eyes are a stark contrast to his pleading ones. The loud drone of silence passes over you both again, thick enough to weigh heavy on your chest. “I’m sorry, Y/N..” Dutch chokes out, the words feel like acid on his tongue.

“No you ain’t.” you mutter under your breath. Your face still scrunched up into a mixture of anger and regret. It’s not often you lash out at anyone, but it never fails to make you feel terrible, despite not wanting to. You aren’t going to apologize for it, however. Dutch deserves every word.

You slowly rise to your feet and follow your footprints back to Dutch’s camp, leaving him to sulk in the underbrush on his own. Dutch feels defeated as you walk off. He’s usually a calm and vicious leader, but stewing in his own pity, he feels nothing short of regret. His head held in his hands as he considers his next course of action. Arthur’s rifle tossed down next to him.

When you make it back to camp, you find your mother enjoying herself around a campfire with a few other gang members, sitting atop an empty wooden crate. A few of the guys are definitely wasted, no doubt been drinking all day. Another is playing a guitar and singing something in Spanish. Arthur is standing nearby with a bowl of stew in his hand. A subtle smile crosses your lips as you make your way over to them. Gently resting your hand on her shoulder as you stand behind her, your eyes on the guitar guy.

They aren’t quite the picture you’d come up with if you heard of outlaws. They seem more like family than anything. Your mother reaches up to her shoulder, resting her hand on yours. She turns around slightly to look up at you, looking around for Dutch. Upon not seeing him, she cocks her head to the side slightly, to which you shrug with a chuckle.

You don’t want to tell her what happened– you can’t. It’d break her dear old heart. Instead, just enjoying the time between the two of you, watching drunken idiots sing off beat with the song the man is strumming.

You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t take up Arthur on his offer. Having a few drinks, just enough to feel the liquid courage coursing in your veins. Your mind completely taken off of Dutch, long since made it back to camp. Sitting in his tent and listening to the shenanigans ensuing around the fire.

“Kid.” A voice calls from behind you, causing you to look over your shoulder curiously. An older gentleman you’ve never seen before looks at you calmly. Nodding off into a different direction, silently telling you to follow, before walking off. 

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion at the strange interaction, but you do as you’re told nonetheless. Leaning down to your mother to tell her where you’re going before you follow after the man to an open tent.

Halting in your step as you see the older man inviting you inside with a pouting Dutch. You quirk an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest, not going any further. Dutch doesn’t look at you whatsoever. Leaning forward on his cot with his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlaced with one another. The older man standing in front of him, looking between you two.

“I ain’t gonna say what does or doesn’t need to happen between y’all, but I been through enough in my long life to know y’all ain’t gonna get nowhere actin’ like bickering schoolchildren.” The man chides as he gently sets his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

Neither of you respond for a long time. Both of you are stubborn to a fault; like father like son. Dutch raises his head to look up at the older gentleman, muttering a small “seriously, Hosea?” under his breath before tentatively looking at you.

You make eye contact with Dutch. You’re not sure if it’s the buzz, or the man, Hosea’s, words, but you feel slightly less angry. Less like you’ll burst into a fit of rage like earlier.

Hosea looks between the two of you expectantly, the silence is getting on his nerves. Rolling his eyes as he beckons you closer, to which you shuffle slightly closer. Standing in the entrance of Dutch’s tent, and not moving an inch closer.

“Now. Dutch, you can’t exactly expect, anyone to gracefully accept you back after ditchin’ ‘em their whole lives. Especially not your son.” Hosea says calmly, almost like he’s coaxing another apology out of Dutch. He doesn’t deliver. Instead, he looks back down to the floor of his tent.

“Y/N. You can’t hold your father responsible for your shortcomings. Yeah, he’s a dick for leavin’, but you ain’t gonna improve if you’re still so damn angry at ‘im.” Hosea adds, looking over towards you. You don’t want to admit that possibly lashing out at Dutch was wrong, but you know he’s right. You huff and look at something mundane along the tent wall.

“Ain’t mean to snap.” You finally manage. Your tone is flat and laced with disinterest, but someone has to start. If Dutch was anything like you, you knew he’d never be the first to say something.

Dutch grunts in bitter acceptance towards your “apology.” He sighs heavily in response, Hosea’s words ringing loudly in his head. The older man’s presence making it hard for him to keep his lips sealed.

“I-” He starts with another small sigh, shaking his head slowly. It takes him a minute, but he forces himself to continue. “I don’t understand what I’ve done to y’all by leavin’, and I never will. But I know it ain’t right to do what I did. I should’ve been a better father ‘n a better husband to your mother.”

It wasn’t the apology you were expecting, but it’s welcome nonetheless. You can feel just a bit of tension leaving your body. Nodding slowly in silent acceptance, which appears to please Hosea, who doesn’t intrude further.

“I ain’t a kid no more like you been treatin’ me. Ain’t stupid or helpless either. I’d appreciate it if we were just… acquaintances.” You say calmly, swallowing the spit pooling in your mouth. It feels awkward to admit these things to your father, but you’ll never get anything done otherwise.

Dutch nods slowly in response, taking your words into consideration. “Fine by me.” he sighs softly. He still feels guilt for everything he’s done, but he’s more than grateful for your honesty. He feels less than deserving of your forgiveness, but he doesn’t say that.

“Y’all two better head out there. Think the drunkards’re gettin’ up to something again.” Hosea chuckles as he leans over slightly, peering behind you back towards the campfire. Dutch stands up and does the same; you just look over your shoulder.

An Irishman and a huskier man are getting into a slurred argument with more people cheering them on. You can see them downing bottle after bottle of moonshine, you can only imagine what the bet is.

Dutch mutters a few strings of profanity under his breath as he steps past you out of his tent, allowing both you and Hosea to follow behind. Instead of intervening like he usually would, he just watches. You can hear various shouts of “Sean” and “Bill” as they knock back drink after drink. Despite it all, it was a fine night.

Shortly after, Dutch offers to take you and your mother back into town, which you accept, much to your mother’s dismay. He collects Arthur again and the four of you head back to the general store in silence. You’re more than sure everyone is at least four different shades of inebriated, though you can’t complain. It makes things easier.

While you and Dutch aren’t exactly buddies, the tension isn’t there anymore. Your mother seems pleased with that fact. Bidding your goodbyes for God knows how long as they drop you off. Allowing the two of you to finally get the potatoes you came for.

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A little longer than expected but I kinda like it tbh :3

I remembered how Molly is still in love with Dutch though he's just using her for sex and thats why I chose her

[mothmiso]

Spring Mountain Ranch State Park (2) (3) (4) by Reese Griffith

Via Flickr:

(1) Buckhorn Cholla. I like how the light glows on the spines. This cactus reminds me of balloon animals. (2) Yerba Mansa. These grow thick in the Ash tree grove near a spring. I'm hoping to catch them in bloom soon. (3) Ash Grove. The way the light comes through these trees onto the grass is magical for me. (4) Desert Creek.     

[catpozz]

Desert Rose

A bountiful garden hidden deep within a rocky valley; Vast expanse of harsh desert and cacti— Here, every walk of life resides: my oases, my home. Uninhabitable land bending to the will of life.

Beauty isn’t truth; it’s only a cruel mirage. Growth is limited—roots stretch far and find nothing. Waves of wasteland, secrets buried in the sands; Digging will do more harm than good.

Marigolds line the dunes; they thrive, a fellow flower. Jumping Cholla—once ready to spring—now just bones. The fruits of thorny labor: a prickly pear. Sand forms the stones we all step on—something new.

Solo, a humble tumbleweed, drifting with the breeze. Howls of the wind, bouncing peak to peak, mountains unfazed. Not a cloud in sight; sun rays bleach the bones clean— Lizards occupy, hawks high, not a cloud in the sky.

The pic is of Jumping Cholla bones. ( or I guess 'bone' since it's just one, but come on this pic goes hard )

[ophierian-vp]

[electronictheoristactivist]

[pastureandpixels]

📍Cholla Springs

[verdemoun]

What are the gang’s favourite places both in original and timewarp era?

arthur: cholla springs - just enough civilization: grizzles east - charles really chose a perfect burial sean: tight call - scarlett meadows: he felt like he was coming into his own, even if he lost his head - great plains: nostalgia, and modern home kieran: big valley - he might've been with the o'driscolls, but the view was to die for: shady belle - for his memories of mary-beth lenny: horseshoe overlook - he felt safe, confident, and happy, despite the mourning: scarlett meadows - modern family memories hosea: clemen's point - the gang was so happy, he thought they'd survive: clemen's point - F I S H I N G

[johnmarstonswife]

Partners in Crime till’ the Day we Die #3

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

Chapter three: The Wonders of Horseflesh

fandom : red dead redemption online & 2 pairing : sean macguire x f!reader word count : ~3,500 rating : mature warnings : minor coarse language, brief mentions of murder, opening spoilers for red dead online, gunfight/gun violence summary : meeting up with Clay Davies, he tasks you with stealing back some horseflesh, rewarding you with a little more than money for your help.

a/n : tbh ive been kinda slow with making new chapters, but i finally pushed out another one 💪 more story in this chapter of course, but im actually excited for writing chapter 4 ‼️ after this chapter it’s all juice from here

tag list : @heloixe @m1stea

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

Never in your ‘career’ of sorts have you hunted for treasure. Honestly, it sounded like something straight out of a story book. And when that desperate bandit gave you that treasure map in a hurry, in hopes of making a peace offering for his life, you doubted if it actually exists in the first place. But, did you still go searching for treasure? Yes.

Though the sun was barely peaking through the horizon, you decided to at least check. After a couple minutes of good searching in dark— which wasn’t all that dark since nights in New Austin are fairly bright, you stumbled on an unassuming chest beside a crate and some sacks, which sat behind a large boulder. Opening it, to your surprise, there was quite an expensive load of stuff just sat out in the open desert. You collected a gold wedding ring, a platinum earring— just one, a random necklace holding a pearl, a whole bunch of revolver and repeater cartridges, wad of cash, and finally a shiny gold bar. Your face was absolutely bewildered by the vast amount of pure, well— treasure there was. Speedily looting the valuables and scooping them up in your hands to keep in your satchel for safe keeping’s.

Luck was definitely on your side, thanks to that bandit you decided not to kill yesterday. Nevertheless, you have other things to deal with. The burning heat of Cholla Springs’s late morning was a welcoming one, the soft, dusty breeze weaving through your locks as you gallop, reminding you of your freedom and fond memories of your childhood and time acting as the Scarlet Cavalier— you’re not sure if acting’s the right word, but it wasn’t of great importance right now.

Your bliss and reminiscence was quickly concluded when you’re reminded you’re riding out to your next mission advised by Horley; meeting up with Clay Davies for work. Just amazing. You had a strong disliking to that greasy, horse flesh and animal trader. Moreover, as someone used to riding some of the best horses of the west, the scrawny steed you were given free of charge from Horley wasn’t all that pleasant to be riding. He was slow, pretty malnourished and an old one. You didn’t have any feed for the poor horse, who you found was named ‘Scrawny Nag’— not too far off to what you were calling it this whole time. Perhaps the Scarlet Cavalier of New Austin will be back in business soon enough.

You dismount Scrawny Nag and hitch him at a small beam of the broken down construction of some stone building. Just two, cobble walls still half standing. As you walk around and see the scammer himself. And of course his twin brother, Clive— the mute who if he could speak, would be equally, if not more agitating than his counterpart. Both sat playing a game of cards— which Clay most definitely had an unfair advantage.

Clay lets out a strange noise of victory, “I win again!” He smirks indifferently, gesturing his arms up like he knew he would win either way; letting out a small chuckle and turning to you. “Ah… an old friend. Did Horley send ya’ pop?” He greets with pleasantries, though he already knew you thought he was insufferable. Still putting on that grand act, knowing how much you disliked him. ‘Pop’ this and ‘Pop’ that. It pissed you off to no end.

“Don’t act like me and you are friends.” You glare sharply, your eyes already fed up with his shit. Crossing your arms in front of you and lifting an eyebrow and waiting for him to just explain the mission already.

Clay chuckles, though it was basically a scoff. His dreadful grin, continuing to shine of amusement. “Alright, alright. Listen, I heard you wanted to earn some money.”

“Who doesn’t?” You adjust your stance, tilting your head slightly cocked to the side, awaiting his plan. Your speech carrying the bite you always had when talking to this guy— but also a hint of curiosity laced in.

He breathes softly of amusement, bobbing his head of agreement— even if you two didn’t particularly liked each other, he did agree on that statement. Getting up from his seat atop the wooden table he begins. “So, there’s a gang of ne’er-do-wells. They are a bunch of degenerates, not good people.” He explains, exaggerating ‘not good people’ and waving his hands around as he spoke. You just let out a small exhale out your nose— you could say the same for him. “They’re out at Rathskeller Fork, with a buncha’ horses they stole from me!— Well that’s a lie, but they stole ‘em off the feller I was steal ‘em off of.” Clay admits, voice declining in annoyance to sheepishness.

You just stare at him blankly with your arms still crossed, unamused as you listened to him rant off. Let’s be honest, Clay was probably in the wrong, but all you did was huff. “…And what’d you want me to do ‘bout it?” You answer dryly.

But, you knew what he wanted you to do. Helping Clay Davies was one of the last things you want to do, but you needed money. You weren’t really in the right place to deny jobs just because you dislike the job giver.

“Maybe… you could get ‘em for me? You think you could do that, po—“ He drags out, before walking a few steps closer with a fake tone of anticipation. He knew you couldn’t say no, especially if there’s cold cash involved.

“Don’t you dare say ‘pop’ again.” You snap before the three letter word could utter his lips. Rolling your eyes, letting out a long, deep sigh. Speaking after a pause. “Fine. You better pay up when the jobs done.” You relent sour, feeling a little defeated.

Clay lets out another half scoff, half chuckle as his sly smirk grows at the corners of his mouth at your response. “Well, good.” He hastily continues, quite proud of himself for convincing you to get it done. Like he was gladdened at your break. God, you hated this slimy scammer. “Meet me at the stable at Tumbleweed— once you have the horseflesh, and I’ll pay ya good.” He informed. “Oh— and uh, Horley wanted me to remind you any decent work you can find, take it. But just try to stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah. I’ll try— unlike you.” You reply, as if a razor blade replaced your tongue. An almost unfazed expression played on your features, setting your hands down and onto your hips, quickly glancing around before setting your eyes back on him.

Staying out of trouble was rich, since you weren’t all that good at that in the first place. Considering what placed you here was trouble you didn’t even cause. Just— stumbled upon, you guess. You’ll try, though, no promises. And with taking any good work you find, well, what else were you supposed to do? All though you did want to rest, money and getting back on your feet was all too important. Plus, you were kind of getting used to it. It was exhilarating and the action reminded you why you loved it previously. It as in crime. When opportunities come, you’ll take them. That’s just the girl you are and came to be. Maybe it’s a habit. Maybe it’s just want for money and stability. Maybe it’s adventure. And maybe it’s all of them. You didn’t really know.

Clive just brushes off the bite, huffing to himself. “Oh, and once you get me those horses…” Clay continues, whilst Clive finishes up packing their resting spot into the back of the wagon. “Well after that we’ll talk again.” He ends, helping himself up the seat of the horse wagon and taking the reins in his hands. “Oh, I do so enjoy these conversations!” He belts out so over exaggerated that even a deaf person could tell he was sarcastic. “Let’s go, Clive!” He ushers Clive, quickly handing him the reins. A loud ‘whip’ rang before the horsed wagon rode away.

Stealing horseflesh, huh? Guess the Scarlet Cavalier is really back from retirement after all.

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

You duck your body down whilst galloping away. Bullets just barely grazing as you ride for your life. Feeling your body rapidly fly up and down on the practically untamed horse, shooting aimlessly from your revolver— bullets so clearly missing, but enough to deter more of the angry mob of gang members from catching up and getting a good shot at you.

As you can tell, this job clearly went well. But thinking this would go smoothly after a damn long while of being out of the horseflesh stealing business— it went better than it could’ve went.

The plan— that you made up on the spot when you got there, was to inconspicuously go around the place and climb the stone wall to the horse sheds. Sneaking in and silently kill the guy guarding the place, roping as many horses you could and ride out as quickly as whatever horse you steal’s legs can go out of that place and pray you don’t get shot during the chaos. And you did execute the plan. But, you failed to realise how far they would chase you down the roads of Gaptooth Ridge.

Galloping and spurring the horse beneath you— which you didn’t get a good look at since you were rushing to just get out before you got shot. Your streak of luck apparently was still going, managing to shoot a guy off his horse from all the stray, aimless bullets you shot. More and more of them start getting lost in the chase, horses beginning to give out or just unable to keep up. Whatever breed this horse was you were riding, you knew it was expensive. How easily it could out run those gang members on horseback? You could see why Davies wanted these horses so badly.

Though the chase still wasn’t over. By this point you just focused on the path in front, hunching your shoulders and clutching the reins on this horse for your damn life. Sometimes whipping your head over your shoulders to see how close or how many remained. Spotting the two left, now further and further in the distance, their face contorted and teeth gritted, loosing their trail on you. Spewing muffled curses from the distance you couldn’t care to hear.

It was a damn miracle you weren’t shot during that horse-chase. Hell, you were surprised that you were able to control the horse you were riding PLUS the three lassoed behind you. It was a feat you completed numerous times before; but somehow was ten times more difficult considering your circumstances. Though, you made it. Slowing the horse below you into a softer gallop towards the destination Clay Davies told you to drop them off at; Tumbleweed stable.

You rode past the familiar, tiny town of Tumbleweed, taking a glance at the place for just a second before carrying on past to the stable on the further outskirts of town. Holding up into a canter then a trot, you see the two knobs waiting for you before the muted green stable doors.

“Well, well, well, the Scarlet Cavalier of New Austin never fails.” He drawled with a smug but pleased grin on his face. “Dead right! Ain’t that dandy?” Reminding you that he knew your identity. Which made you despise him more because that meant he had protection— or you guess blackmail, against you. Ever want to rat him out to the law because he pretty much scammed you, so you pretend to be an innocent civilian girl that got scammed? You would both be locked up and hung before you know it. Not worth this ratbag anyway. Guess that’s how he always saved his skin.

You sigh sharply, shifting your gaze around to make sure nobodies there to watch. Lo-and-behold it is just desert. “Just— where do I put them. And where’s my payment.” You ask, less of a question; more of a demand.

“Alright, alright— get that horse hidden away Clive…” He switches his tone completely, glaring at his brother and urging him to get on with it. “And ready to move out as soon as we can.” Clay goes and grabs the large door on the left and Clive hurriedly opens up the right. The stable doors creaking and dragging against the dry dirt below; some of it kicking up as it parts. “Here’s the money you earned.” Clay slaps the wad of cash onto your palm before going on again. “Now listen. Horley came by and gave me a message. He said go see your friend Cripps, up at your camp.” He delivers, reminding you once again. “Now listen to me for a second—“ He gestures his index finger in front your face, which you swat it away and shoot him a glare. He timidly moves his hands away and continues, “Any other decent horses you find, we and the Scarlet Cavalier can be up and running again. Just as soon as we set up, ‘kay?” He nods, starting to shut the stable doors again.

“You know what—“ Clay stops himself, rewinding his movements. “hold on, boy!” He also stops Clive. He adds, “I call him boy because I’m older. 30 minutes—“

“He went black. I know.” You nod your head knowingly, a small huff escaping your lips.

“Ha! This is why… let’s give our friend here back a horse.” He turns his head to Clive then back at you, a proud look on his face for finally doing something good, you assume. “It’s yours! A sign of faith, future and past business! If you wanna buy any extras or sundries for the animal, head inside! They’ve got a lot available.” He excites. It was pleasant, made you rethink if he was actually all that bad. If this cleared up the damages of the money you could’ve had. Maybe, maybe not. But it was nice of the scoundrel to do.

“…Thanks. That’s nice of you.” A faint smile twists at your lips, nodding of appreciation to him as you begin to walk into the dirt and hay filled stable.

“See ya soon.” He goodbyes with a riff, Clive walking up to him with a dumbfounded expression and his hands up in the air saying as if, ‘why the hell did he do that’. “Come on, Clive.” Clay ignores, ushering him with that same warning in his voice. The two walking out and away.

You turn to the four horses that are now lined up in their pens. Taking a closer inspection at the mounts, to your assumption, they were rare and expensive breeds alright. But the one you were originally riding caught your eye. The large, shimmering raven coat and white stamp on its head; that’s a black Turkoman, alright.

The mare neighed and stomped her feet— presumably from how hard you rode during that chase that had happened. You try your best to calm the beauty down, shushing her softly and slowly creeping towards her, crooning pleas for her to settle down. “Shhh… it’s alright girl… just— let me lead you out, okay?” You hush, the agitated mare calming as you take its lead. You always had a way with horses, you guess that’s why it made the job of stealing them so easy.

The horse follows you passively out the pen, as you hitch it to a post and make your way over to the large selection of saddles propped up on the stable’s wall. You didn’t have all that much money, selecting the cheapest black saddle available— so it would at least match the coat of the beautiful creature. Hooking it off the wall with a grunt, and setting it on the horse you still haven’t named yet. Attaching the straps of the saddle of the Turkoman’s abdomen, you hoist yourself up onto its tall stature. Patting her on the base of her neck as you rack your mind for any fitting name for a moment or three.

“Belladonna. That’s what your name will be. Belladonna.” You repeat to yourself, or the horse, you weren’t sure. You chose the name because it was your grandmother’s favourite plant. You weren’t able to see it at all in the great desert. But she would retell how the wondrous plant looked, describing it like a tale. Purple, delicate, bell shaped flowers, accompanied by almost berry like black orbs; which were terribly toxic. It sounded magical when you heard it as a young girl. And this magical plant was a fitting name for her. Belladonna.

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃓 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

Sighing, you dismount Belladonna. Your worn boots tapping the sand-like, arid dirt below towards Cripps. Who sits by a small campfire playing what sounded and looked like to be a jaw harp. He chuckled to himself before removing the small, metal instrument from his mouth and looking up at you. “How’d you get on with Clay Davies?”

“How’d you expect.” You respond with a scoff. You didn’t even want to peep another word about that man anyway, though he did give you a well horse for free. Doesn’t stop him from being agitating though.

He tittered of amusement, pulling himself up from his seat at the fire. “Horrible little wretch in my opinion— and yer’s too apparently. Pop this and pop that.” He stood beside you going off about the ratbag the same you would. “I’d like to pop him, the slime bucket.” He nudged you with a smirk.

“Hah, now that I can agree on.” You laugh, nodding your head of every curse and insult directed to the horse fencer. You two were going to get along alright, just by this interaction.

“Anyway…” Cripps turns to face the rest of the campsite, his hands gesturing around at his work, pleased with himself. “I’ve got everything set up. Well— uh, what we have so far.” You both admire the work, leisurely walking through the camp and inspecting your new home. “I, uh, think I did a good job for you. I’ll earn my keep.” The old man narrates. “When you get too old to fight, what choice have yer got? It’s either work or beg— and I’d rather work.” He added, ranting off, you both trotting on the dirt beneath your feet. “Oh, I saw Horley. He wants you to come down and meet him in Blackwater when you get the chance.” Each time, gesturing his cigarette pack in his hands to every statement.

“I think he might have some work for ya. Oh, and, er, while you’re out on yer travels, you may see some folk with employment opportunities. Good folk, bad folk— looking for a tough guy with a gun to help ‘em. Up to you if ya listen to them, I guess.” Horley briefed.

You never took all that many jobs; though, you would’ve if you had the opportunity to. You really couldn’t though, since before this mess you worked by and for yourself. It was all you knew, and you relied on yourself to get you the money. So, finally receiving consistent work was exciting, and making new connections wasn’t particularly a bad thing either.

“You know, I… I used to like that kind of stuff.” He started, stopping in his tracks and turning to you as he spoke. “One time, I almost helped a clown steal an elephant!” He reminisced with a snicker, “—but that’s a very silly story.” He quieted to himself.

“I bet.” You nod along, though you didn’t really get where he was going with that.

“Uh, welcome home!” He gestured once more to the whole camp with welcoming zeal. “Make yourself at home— it is your home.” He corrected, looking around for himself for another time.

You smile gently before taking another good look at the camp and breathing the air in, that as he said, will be your home. It was small, but it made do for the time being. “Glad to be home, then, Cripps.” Nodding before walking off to poke around camp yourself. Cripps heads and sits back down to his original spot at the fire.

You tread over to a chest on the ground, peering at it before realising it’s a telegram box.

Opening it up, you see various letters and papers that has already come in for you. You’re pretty popular, it looks like. You pull out a letter that catches your eye, a clean, fancily, red stamped letter. Contrast to the rest of plain, fairly dirty letters. You pick the letter into your dark, gloved hands, inspecting it closely before shutting the lid of the chest with your boot; still never diverting your gaze from the paper. Tearing the letter out, you read the simple, but well hand written note.

It is time we talk.

I will see you— and only you— under the pagoda by the Théâtre Râleur, Hestia Street, Saint Denis.

This is an opportunity you will not want to pass.

M.

Is all it wrote. Ominous, but hell, it was intriguing. You fold the note and tuck it in your satchel for another time, once you’re not as busy. Perhaps after meeting Horley in Blackwater, depending how that goes, you guess.

꣑ৎ ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ 𓃗 ⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓ ꣑ৎ

thanks for reading again !!! thankful for everyone who actually reads this mess of a story im making 😭 again, sorry for the slower chapter posts, ive been demotivated AS right now, but more will for sure be coming <33