#Horseshoe trail

[uniqueartisanconnoisseur]

Illinois Route 66 - Preparing for 100

In 2026, the Mother Road will celebrate a centennial birthday! Springfield, Illinois, and local communities are preparing for the big celebration. Recently, my husband Keith and I were privileged to be hosted by Visit Springfield. We toured some of the new sites, and revisited Route 66 icons! Come with me and see what is out there to sight see down the highway that beat all the highways ever…

[adventurealldays]

[stimlanders-collection]

Trail Blazer stimboard!

🐎-🐎-🐎|🐎-🐎-🐎|🐎-🐎-🐎

[mapsgirl]

The Best Things to Do in Niagara Falls, NY

Niagara Falls, New York, is renowned for its breathtaking natural wonders and rich historical significance. From experiencing the majestic falls up close to exploring historical landmarks and scenic trails, there’s no shortage of activities to engage in. Here are some of the best things to do in Niagara Falls, NY. Experience the Majesty of Niagara Falls State Park Niagara Falls State Park is the…

[hikercarl]

Explore the Best Hiking Destinations in Washington

Discover Washington's breathtaking trails with our guide to hiking in Washington. From alpine lakes to lush forests, we'll help you explore the best outdoor adventures.

Washington is a state full of beauty, with 3 national parks, 5 volcanoes, and many colorful lakes. It also has old-growth forests and mountains that are as grand as any in the lower 48. Choosing the best hikes here is a tough job! This guide will show you some of the state’s most beautiful trails. You’ll get to explore the Pacific Northwest’s stunning nature, from snow mountains to lush…

[autotrails]

American Auto Trail-Texas’ Horseshoe Atoll (Snyder to Gail TX)

American Auto Trail-Texas’ Horseshoe Atoll (Snyder to Gail TX) https://youtu.be/wQu39WfhVFE This American auto trail traverses the Canyon Reef formation and Texas’ Horseshoe Atoll in western Scurry County and eastern Borden County, from Snyder to Gail.

[wanderguidehub]

The Ultimate Hiking Guide to the Grand Canyon

The Grand Canyon is a natural wonder that has attracted the attention of explorers for ages. It is one of America’s most popular national parks and a hiking enthusiast’s paradise. With so many trails, viewpoints, and must-see destinations, planning a Grand Canyon hiking trip can be overwhelming. That’s why we’ve created this comprehensive hiking guide to help you explore all the wonders of the…

[ramune-raven-art]

Took a 3+ mile hike to camp in frazer meadows

We had 60+ pounds on our backs and the entire hike was uphill, so it was miserable, but I loved it!

We were so far in the backcountry, we heard a bear! We had to hike down to a spring and purify our water to drink >:)! ((Bella just drank from the stream though she’s fine)) I love the forest but,, the quiet and darkness in the woods are like,,, 0-0…. The stars are beautiful though, since I like taking photos and taking hikes I might invest in one of those fancy star photography cameras.

There were so much flowers and bees >:D!!!!

Best camping trip

[kylieneko]

His mind was on fire. These people made all these books about things, and they weren't sure. But he'd been sure, and Brother Nhumrod had been sure, and Deacon Vorbis had a sureness you could bend horseshoes around. Sureness was a rock.

Now he knew why, when Vorbis spoke about Ephebe, his face was grey with hatred and and his voice was tense as a wire. If there was no truth, what was there left? And these bumbling old men spent their time kicking away the pillars of the world, and they'd nothing to replace them with but uncertainty. And they were proud of this?

Urn was standing on a small ladder, fishing among the shelves of scrolls. Didactylos sat opposite Brutha, his blind gaze still apparently fixed on him.

"You don't like it, do you?" said the philosopher.

Brutha had said nothing.

"You know," Didactylos said conversationally, "people'll tell you that us blind people are the real business where the other senses are concerned. It's not true, of course. The buggers just say it because it makes them feel better. It gets rid of the obligation to feel sorry for us. But when you can't see you do learn to listen more. The way people breathe, the sounds their clothes make . . ."

Urn reappeared with another scroll.

"You shouldn't do this," said Brutha wretchedly. "All this . . ." His voice trailed off.

"I know about sureness," said Didactylous. Now the light, irascible tone had drained out of his voice. "I remember, before I was blind, I went to Omnia once. This was before the borders were closed, when you still let people travel. And in your citadel I saw a crowd stoning a man to death in a pit. Ever seen that?"

"It has to be done," Brutha mumbled, "So that the soul can be shriven and—"

"Don't know about the soul. Never been that kind of philosopher," said Didactylos. "All I know is, it was a horrible sight."

"The state of the body is not—"

"Oh, I'm not talking about the poor bugger in the pit," said the philosopher. "I'm talking about the people throwing the stones. They were sure all right. They were sure it wasn't them in the pit. You could see it in their faces. So glad it wasn't them that they were throwing just as hard as they could."

— Small Gods, by Terry Pratchett

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Arthur Morgan x Reader (fluff)

A Sip of Mayhem

Description: Arthur captures a bounty who'd drug his customers by offering them “juice” just to rob them blind. He confiscated a bottle to show the sheriff, but forgot it in his satchel, deciding to deal with it the next day. That night, when he witnesses your stumbling figure practically catcall him from across camp and found the bottle on his desk, empty, he faces a lot of trouble getting you to settle down. ⚠️Warnings: reader is basically drunk, tries to jump into a stream, mentions of religious upbringing, being orphaned. this aint dark, just stupid and funny `(*>﹏<*)′

The small jeweled bottle of strange liquid sat on Arthurs desk, glowing softly under the moonlight. He’d meant to take it to the sheriff first thing in the morning after catching a bounty–a man who’d drug his customers and rob them blind, but after the long ride back to camp, his legs had screamed at him to sit down for a while, and he’d forgotten all about it.

Now, with the party in full swing celebrating Sean’s return to Horseshoe overlook, the bottle was the last thing on his mind. Laughter and the sound of a badly played fiddle filled the air as Sean drunkenly exaggerated some story during his time as a captive, waving a bottle of whiskey around like it was a prop in a stage play.

Arthur wasn’t much for parties, so he sat back in his chair, rolling a cigarette and letting the chaos unfold. He was half expecting you to join him, usually not one to enjoy loud gatherings or drinking yourself. He remembered you told him that your folks were real religious-like prior to their passing, before you had stumbled upon the gang of outlaws as a child. He enjoyed those quiet talks with you. He chuckled a little, outlawing was one thing, but drinking was where you crossed the line. That was until he heard your voice cut through the camp, slurred and way too loud.

“Well! aren’tchu a fiiine cowboy,” you practically purred from across camp.

Arthur’s head snapped up.

You stood there, dressed in your casual attire, a comfortable blouse and a long skirt. But you were unusually swaying like the wind was about to knock you over, a loopy grin plastered on your face. Your normally calm nature was nowhere to be found, gone, vanished, replaced by whatever nonsense had taken hold of you. 

You pointed at him dramatically, eyes nearly crossing,

“Arthur Morgannn,” you drawled, dragging out his name like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “You got nice-“ you hiccuped, clutching your chest for a moment, “nice hands, made for holdin’ a lady, you know that?” You slurred as you stumbled toward him. 

Arthur’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth as his face reddened under the brim of his hat. “What the hell-”

Dutch, who had been dancing nearby with Molly, chuckled, “Now that ain’t normal.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. It was then he noticed you hiccup again, looking oddly glassy-eyed. It didn’t take a genius to realize something was wrong. Then, like a switch flipping in his brain, he remembered.

The bottle.

It was on his desk, but opened, empty.

“Aw, hell,” Arthur groaned. He shot up from his chair and started toward you. “You didn’t—tell me you didn’t drink somethin’ off my desk.”

You hiccuped again and winced like he’d just accused you of murder, “Well..I did!” 

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and you spoke again, “it was a pretty lookin juice, Arthur! You’ gonna tell me juice is a crime now?-“

“Oh it weren’t no juice, woman!” Arthur snapped. 

“Well, what was in it?” Hosea, who had heard the ordeal nearby, appeared at his side, eyeing you with a suspicious yet concerned look. 

“It was a drug from a bounty! One I meant to turn into the sheriffs…” he trailed off, feeling foolish for the slip up.  

Hosea let out a long-suffering sigh beside him. “Great. She can’t even handle a cup of coffee without buzzing, what the hell’s a spiked drink gonna do to her?” 

“I don’t know,” Arthur muttered, reaching for you, but you took a dramatic step back, swaying. 

“Noooo, no, no,” you wagged your finger at him, “I don’t need your help.”

Arthur groaned before holding you by the shoulders and looking into your dilated pupils “Now, darlin’,” 

“Yeah?” Your gaze drifts here and there, seeing the world bend him in a funny way, before his finger snaps in front of you,

“You’re drunk off your ass, so you gotta let me and Hosea sit you down and-”

“Drunk?!” You gasped again, stumbling back from his hold. “I am not!”

You absolutely were.

“I do not-I don’t drink!”  You shout.

Then, before they could grab you, you turned tail and bolted.

Your brain was working at half-speed. Or maybe it was working at double speed. Who knew? Who cared?

All you knew was that Arthur was chasing you, and that was hilarious.

“You ain’t gonna catch me!” you whooped, dodging around the campfire, startling Uncle so bad he nearly fell off his log, 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” you heard the old man yelp, “knockin me round knowin’ i got lumbago-”

Arthur swore behind you. “Damn it— get back here girl!”

You tire out eventually, surrendering for a bit, “Fine! Fine I’ll sit down” you gasp catching your breath. 

“You better,” Arthur warned.

You plop down near Sean and Karen, looking back at Arthur who stands there half expecting you to bolt off again. 

Sean was running his mouth about something-something dramatic, no doubt. His accent was thick, his hands flying everywhere, and for some reason, that was hilarious too!

You scoot closer beside him,

“Ah, yes,” you said in a mock Irish accent, your voice dropping to a ridiculous brogue, “and then I took on ten men at once with only me fists and me Macguire bullocks!”

Sean blinked at you. “What the-”

“And I won the day for you lady!” you continued, grinning, wagging a finger in Karen’s face.

Sean’s face scrunched up. “Are you mockin’ me, lass?”

You gasped, “Mocking? I’d never!”

Sean turned to Karen, who was already laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Is that what I sound like?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“Exactly,” she wheezed.

Arthur called out for you, but you were already on the move again, stumbling toward where Abigail, Tilly, and Mary-beth sat at a bed roll a few feet away.

You plopped yourself down between Mary-Beth and Tilly, sighing deeply, 

“Ladies,” you slurred, looking utterly exhausted.

They turned to you, amused.

Abigail chuckled seeing the obvious drunken flush in your face. “Well, if it ain’t our resident good girl. Thought you didn’t drink?”

“I don’t,” you huffed. “I was tricked. Hoodwinked.” You sighed dramatically, placing a hand on Mary-Beth’s knee before laying down entirely and resting your buzzing head in her lap.

“And now there’s some…admittedly, handsome fella, chasin’ me!” You whine with furrowed brows, stuffing your face into Mary-Beth’s torso.

Mary-Beth gasped, playing along. “Handsome fella? Who?”

You picked your head up a little too quickly, feeling the world spin a little. 

You looked around wildly, seeing Arthur linger a few feet away before whispering “Arthur.” 

The women exchanged a look before breaking into exaggerated gasps.

“No!” Tilly gasped, “that ruthless outlaw out to get you?” 

You nodded solemnly, “Yes ma'am.”

Abigail shot a look over your shoulder, and you turned, following her gaze, right to Arthur, who still stood with his arms crossed, rolling his eyes but, notably, fighting back a blush.

You pointed at him. “See? There he is.”

Mary Beth leaned in conspiratorially. “What’s he gonna do when he catches you?”

You considered it for a moment before your gaze caught the pistol tucked into Arthurs holster. Gasping, you felt a wave of fear overcome you, “Probably shoot me!”

“I wish,” Arthur scoffed, before leaning down to your level “Alright, time to go.”

He grabbed your arm gently, but you yelped and recoiled, flinging yourself back into Mary-Beth’s arms, hiding your face as if the boogie man was right there in front of you

 “See? He’s grabbin’ me!”

Arthur sighed, ripping you away from the girls and holding you up, “Pardon me ladies, just-gotta get this one to rest.”

But you were already wriggling out of his grasp. 

Nope. No way. You weren’t about to let him take you away like some unruly sack of potatoes. 

You were free. You were fast. You were-

“Gonna jump in a river!” you declared proudly, running full speed away from the camp and toward the small stream near camp.

“The hell you are!” Arthur hollered running after you, grabbing the attention of John who was keeping watch of camp. 

“The hell's wrong with her?” He asked Arthur, gesturing to you running off. 

“Long story,” Arthur groaned, before motioning John to help him out. 

You giggled maniacally as you turned back to see two fuzzy figures chase after you, “Try ‘n’ stop me you demons!”

“How the hell is she faster drunk?” John yelled through a strained breath.  

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied, darting through the foliage leading up to the river.  

Finally you reached it, a stream but it wasn’t just any stream, it was a darker blue with speckled stars and clouds stirring and swirling below it.

A perfect portal to jump through and explore, maybe it was the gates to heaven itself! 

You giggled, 

Who would’ve thought paradise was out here in the middle of nowhere? Were your parents there? 

You wondered if they were looking at a similar stream from the other side, waiting for you. 

Maybe they’d lecture you for accidentally drinking…and robbing…and killing…and stealing.

Well, there’s only one way to find out-

Right before you could fling yourself into the water, a pair of firm arms caught you from behind. The world really did turn upside down as Arthur lifted you right off your feet and tossed you over a shoulder.

“Agh! Put me down!” You flail wildly.

“This is for your own good” Arthur drawled, adjusting you like you weighed nothing.

John scoffed, flicking your forehead as he trailed behind, “Now who gave you a drink?” he asked incredulously. 

“Arthur.” 

The two escorted you back toward camp, your limbs flailing the whole way, mouth conjuring up the most unique insults directed at the two as you could. 

When you tried to grab John’s rifle, he leaned away quickly, “You better watch your drunk self.” 

“I ain’t drunk,” you insisted. “I’m just—” 

A hiccup cut you off and Arthur finally set you down. You staggered violently, grasping onto Arthur’s vest as John held out his hands in case you fell. 

Hosea met the three of you, arms crossed, looking more amused than anything. 

“Well?” he asked.

Arthur scoffed, motioning to you, “Crazy girl was about to drown herself.”

Hosea smirked. “So, what’s the plan? Tie her up like a runaway calf?”

“I ain’t a calf!” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nah. Just gotta wait it out, get her to bed I guess.”

Hosea nodded and John huffed,

 “Good luck with that.” 

“Now,” Arthur turned to you and shook his head with a smirk, “don’t go drinking any more of my…” 

He paused, not wanting you to go off on a rampage about not having drunk alcohol, “Juice no’ more, you hear me woman?” 

You sulk a little and mutter, “Fine.” 

“Good, you don’t need any more of that,” John rolled his eyes as he walked off, “already a damn smart mouth when you’re sober.” 

“Come on now y/n, let’s get some rest, alright?” Hosea said, gently guiding you. 

“So, the ‘handsome cowboy’ did save her?” Dutch chuckled from where he stood outside his tent, smoking a cigar as he watched Hosea coax you into your tent. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, but as he turned away, he flushed a little as he recalled your drunk flirting. 

As much as he hated to admit it, he was amused by your flirtatious slip ups. 

But then his mind went back to you almost lunging into the stream.  

He is never going bounty hunting again.

[adventurealldays]

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐧' 𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 ︻デ═一

synopsis : gun play w/boothill ;)

tags: bounty hunter!reader, cowboy on the run boothill, lots of filth, gun play, mentions of alcohol, vulgar, dubcon(?)

wrd cnt: 1.3k+

a/n : read his lines in a country accent 🙏 ( i’m from the west coast pls forgive me if it doesn’t hit 😭)

As you rode into town, the sound of horseshoes clanking on the dusty road filled the air. Your mission was to track down a notorious criminal named Boothill, who had a hefty bounty on his head. You followed about a dozen loose leads and ended up in the western region. As the sky was soon to be painted orange and pink, you decided to take a break and rest for a while.

After tying your horse to the hitching post outside the local saloon, you walked in, eyes scanning the room for any sign of your criminal. The place was nearly empty, save for a few rough-looking gunslingers and the bartender.

As you sipped some booze, you couldn't help but feel a little restless. You had been traveling for days, tirelessly pursuing Boothill, and a part of you was desperate for a break.

But is it ever really that easy? Just as you were about to get going, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Thats some damn good whiskey, have a nice evening lil’ lady.” 

You looked up to see a man behind you, he downed the rest of your drink before slamming it back down on the bar, walking away while tipping his hat and flashing a teethy smile.

“Hey- Wait!” You scramble out of your chair, grabbing your things, and run to the back of the saloon, slamming the wooden doors open as you look across the balcony to the desert sand.

Suddenly, you feel a large hand cover your mouth from behind you, and hear the doors swing shut.

“Shhhh Shh Shhh…don’t scream too loudly darlin’…not yet anyway.” Boothill whispers into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

His rough hand caresses your cheek before sliding down your neck and gripping your throat, “I reckon you’re the little bounty hunter looking for me, aren’t cha?” You nod slowly, trying to stay calm as his grip on your neck tightens. “Well, sweetheart, you can give me that gun of yours.”

With hesitation, you give it to him, understanding the severity of your situation.

You hear him chuckle, pushing you onto a nearby table and bending you over it.

“Now…What do I owe the honor of your relentless search for me? Are ya a fan? Got a crush on me?” He giggled,holding your wrists together tighter as he pinned you down.

“You’re quite the pretty thing, I gotta say. You can’t just be out for me over a few bucks?”

Anger flares in your chest at his arrogant statement, but you’re too defeated to muster a response.

Boothill takes notice of the fire in your eyes and smirks. With lightning quick movements, he reaches for your hair and tugs your head back, exposing your neck to him.

He trails kisses down your jawline, down your neck, leaving small marks along the way. You moan as his lips graze your skin, and you can feel him smirking against your neck. “I figure we have some fun I before I leave ya in the dust, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice husky with desire. You can’t help but feel a hint of disappointment at his words, but the pleasure he’s giving you quickly dissipates that thought.

You feel his hands run up your back, and then suddenly, he slaps your ass hard, causing you to cry out in surprise. “So feisty…but I like it.” He grins, before spanking you again, sending pleasure shooting throughout your body. He continues to spank you, harder and harder, until you’re gasping and moaning, completely lost in the sensation.

He pulls away, smirking at your pleading expression.

“Turn around,” he commands, and you do as he says.

He grabs your face, jaw in his palm as he makes you look up at him. “Tsk- Can’t even look me honey? Hmph, quite disrespectful no?”

“Disrespectful? You don’t even know my name- Ah!”

With a heavy hand, he grabs your neck and pushes you down on the table, lips connected as well as lower halves.

You’re panting and flushed, your body aching for more of his touch. “You look so pretty like this, all helpless and wanting. I could have you right here, right now, but I want to take my time with you. You did go through all the trouble of finding me, no one’s got this close.”

He smirks, his other hand trailing down your chest and cupping your breast. Your breath hitches as he squeezes and massages your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple.

“Please…” you beg, voice strained under his hand and unable to contain your desire any longer. He chuckles,

“Oh, you want me already? Well, I guess I can’t disappoint a cute little thing like you.” He unbuttons your jeans and slides his hand down, his fingers teasing your clit through your panties, making you moan loudly. “You’re so wet already, darlin’. Are you this turned on just from my touch?” He smirks, before sliding your gun out of his holster.

Panic set into your entire being, was this how you die? Too distracted by being fucking horny. Shot by your own gun? You almost screamed.

Before you did, Boothill held a hand over your mouth.

He could see the fear in your eyes, soon resting them.

He trailed the gun down your cheek, feeling the cold tip run over your nipple and then your stomach, before you feel it through your panties; rubbing against your folds.

You exhale deeply from your nose, eyes closed shut as you feel him press the weapon to your clit, chuckling at your expressions.

“Look at you…your drippin’ sugar.”

He rips your panties off, watching you spread your legs farther, giving him such a better look at your messy, glistening folds; ready for whatever he gives you.

You feel the gun spread your lips apart, the muzzle engulfing your clit and flicking it so rough your legs started to shake, feeling boothill lean down to talk to you.

“This is the best bounty hunter out here? All I can see is a horny little bitch.” He says with amusement.

Without much warning, he trails the gun down to your hole, pushing it in so slowly as he watches the way your brows contort, your hole expanded wider than it had ever been, the girth of the gun beading through you.

Boothill’s smirk widened as he watched you take it, inch by inch. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “That’s it, darlin’. Show me how much you want it.” His words only fueled your desire, and you start to grind your pussy against it.

Boothill let go of his grip on you, wanting to hear your pleading voice again. He didn’t even restrain your hands anymore, knowing he had you wrapped around his finger, and this gun. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and you beg him, “Please...please let me com- I…go, let me go.”

He chuckles, “Not yet, darlin'. I want to see you squirm a little more.” He starts to move the gun in and out of you, the cold metal adding an unknowingly amazing sensation, making you moan even louder.

The combination of the gun and Boothill’s skilled hands on your body brings you to the edge quickly, and you feel yourself clenching around the gun as you come undone. Boothill watches with a smirk as you ride out your orgasm, his finger teasing your clit.

Once you come down from your high, Boothill pulls out his gun, licking a stride up the side.

He removes himself off you, putting your weapon back in your weak hand..”You can have this back honey, and when you touch yourself- which I know you will, make sure to think of the things I did to you when you try to get off with your gun…Hope you find me again!” And with a wink, he disappears into the desert, leaving you with a thrill and memory that you'll never forget….and half naked on a back patio table.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[dalekofchaos]

There was never a rat in the Van Der Linde Gang

I'm gonna be honest. Micah is a conniving snake. But there was never a rat.

Why did Blackwater fail? Dutch killed a mother in cold blood and then a massacre happened. The money was a set up and Dutch took the bait. Pinkertons swarmed the area and even Landon Rickets was there.

How did they find them at Horseshoe? By chance the Pinkertons found Arthur and Jack fishing, but was it really by chance? What happens in chapter 2?

A bar fight where fucking everyone in town is there, which afterwords Dutch is there

You sprang Sean free and there are bounty hunters who flee, you seriously don't think they talked??

Oh yeah, ARTHUR AND MICAH SHOOT UP A FUCKING TOWN

John killing Micah led to Ross and Fordham finding him. Any of the missions I mentioned practically led Milton and Ross to finding Arthur near Horseshoe.

How did the Gray/Braithewaite scheme fail?

The Grays knew what they were doing and so did the Braithewaites. They played both families instead of just one and instead of LYING LOW. Dutch's vanity, ego and sense of wanting petty revenge against Confederate white trash caused Sean to be killed and Jack to be abducted.

How did Saint Denis fail?

Dutch played Bronte in his own city, refused a favor(you do NOT refuse the Mob asking a favor) which caused the set up, then Bronte's murder and finally the Bank Robbery which they knew they were there.

The common theory is someone from the gang snitched and talked to the Pinkertons. Who exactly ? Micah ? Well, Agent Milton said they picked up Micah AFTER they came back from Guarma, so it could not have been him. Molly ? Again, Milton said they did pick her up (not mentioned when), but she did not say anything. I have also read theories that it might have been Agibail who snitched to which my response is - pure BS.

The truth is, nobody snitched, nobody talked. Yes. Yet the reaction of the Pinkertons was insanely fast, as if they knew the robbery was going to go down. How you wonder ? Well, it's simple. It's a long one, but have a read.

From the very beginning of the game, Dutch has been claiming that they are a few steps ahead of everyone else, but his arrogance proved to be the downfall. You see, the Pinkertons are not as dull and foolish as Dutch claim them to be, they are extremely efficient as a detective agency proven by the fact that they tracked down Arthur in Valentine. Now, when the gang moved to Clemens Point near Rhodes, the Pinkertons lost their trail for a while. However the gang contradicted their own plan of staying low by creating a huge chaos in Rhodes after killing both the Gray's and the Braithwaite's (best mission in the game btw). As soon as the word spread of the massacre of both the families in Rhodes all over the place, the Pinkertons connected the dots and knew that it could be the Van Der Lind gang who created the fuss and if so, they must be camping somewhere near Rhodes. Nonetheless, they found the gang hideout after sniffing around, a day or two after the Braithwaite massacre. At this point Agent Milton knew these bunch of people would not be too hard to find as all you need to do is to sniff around an area where there has been murder and madness.

Now to Saint Denis, Dutch dismissed Hosea's idea and went after Angelo Bronte just after the failed trolley station robbery. If he listened to Hosea, hit the bank at once, then vanished, the Pinkertons would have never caught on and they would be harvesting mango's in Tahiti. But a failed trolley station robbery followed by a huge shootout in the city killing dozens of cops then followed by a kidnapping and murder of the most powerful man in the city was enough chaos for the Pinkertons to realize it's the Van Der Lind gang. So they knew the gang is around this city and increased security in Saint Denis hoping that the next time they attempt a robbery, it would be the endgame. That is why as soon as the bank robbery started, the Pinkertons were all over the place.

It is also easy to explain why Hosea was captured and Abigail escaped. While causing the distraction, both of them did not realise how fast the response is going to be. The Pinkertons caught Hosea as his face along with other male members of the gang was known to them, specially Hosea, Dutch and Arthur as they have been the oldest members of the gang. But Abigail at this point was unknown to them so it was easy for her to walk right past them without them realizing.

Why did the gang fell?

Micah got into Dutch's ear, Hosea died and Arthur got sick.

Micah promised him riches and the glorious scores that appealed to Dutch's ego and vanity. But he wasn't the rat.

If he did rat, he was playing Dutch and the Pinkertons to get the Blackwater money and the money for turning in Dutch.

However.

It was all Dutch.

Dutch. killed Cornwall in broad fucking daylight. Arthur sprung John out of prison, they blew up a fucking bridge, Dutch led the Natives to their doom, Colm's execution turned into a bloodbath, an attack on the Oil Refinery which led to the deaths of Colonel Favors and Eagle Flies and to top it all with robbing the military. It's no fucking wonder the Pinkertons found them.

There was no rat. The Pinkerton’s were actually just good at their jobs. Micah being a rat makes no sense if you actually think about it. There’s NO WAY the pinkertons would have been ok with the death of Leviticus Cornwall as he was paying their wages. Micah and Dutch planned to kill him together. There’s also the fact that Micah straight up killed Pinkertons in the firefight that ensued cornwall’s death. Micah was an asshole but not a rat. Watch that scene with Milton and Arthur again…Milton would have most likely let Arthur go with that false information but Arthur decided to attack him. There was never a rat, they got played.

It's a combination of things on why they all failed.

Reason 1. Dutch's vanity and ego. Dutch desperately needed to be seen as this great American hero. He cares more of the thrill of “one last score” it’s all about his ego and how he has to be seen as this Evelyn Millerian figure. This great American Literature hero when he’s really as bad as the greed that he says poisons America. He never cared about the people in the gang. It was the prestige of the name "The VAN DER LINDE Gang" HIM. He wanted to be seen as this infamous outlaw and righteous leader. He didn't care about the people in the gang. Arthur? He was dying and he didn't care. John? He wanted him to hang. Abigail? He left her behind the first chance he got. Micah killed Susan RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM and Dutch didn't care. He considerd Mary-Beth, Pearson and Uncle leaving as a betrayal. Dutch never cared for the people within the VDL Gang. He cared what they could do for him and the glory they could bring him. It was never of settling down to become farmers, it was always about the thrill of being an outlaw the that great big score.

There are a lot of people who think if Hosea never died, then Dutch never would've lost it. He was always bad. He just had good ways of masking it. Hosea failed at every venture to talk out of getting Dutch to see sense and avoid bloodshed. If Hosea lived, there is a very good chance that Dutch would've lost it and had Hosea killed. Either it would've been an accidental death like he tried by leaving Arthur behind, he would've went into full paranoid mode "You're trying to undermine me and take the group from me" and order Hosea to draw his gun and then shoot him. Like Hosea said "You'll damn us all" and he did.

Reason 2. Loyalty to a fault.

Loyalty held the gang together. Loyalty was what Dutch valued - blind, obedient loyalty. “He had a plan,” after all.

Doubt broke the gang apart. Dutch became suspicious, uncertain of the faith of even his most dedicated friends. This undermined the entire operation and caused its eventual downfall.

“You’ll betray me, Arthur,” Dutch says, “You’re the type.” Dutch couldn’t be more wrong on that account.

Micah is named by the Pinkertons as a rat, but according to them, he wasn’t approached until after they’d returned from Guarma. So, by that timeline, the Pinkerton’s hadn’t needed a rat to foil their plans in Blackwater, or to find Arthur fishing by the side of a stream, or for the bank robbery in Saint Denis.

The Pinkertons always knew where Dutch was and what he was up to. They didn’t need a rat, especially not after their return from Guarma. So, why drop Micah’s name?

Well, the Pinkertons knew the gang was scrambling, that they were on the run, and that it was damn near impossible to arrest one of them at a time without a successful rescue of said gang member, ie Micah, John, Abigail and Sean. They are not the local sheriff’s office, after all. They are the federals and they want Dutch Vander Linde done in for good.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, why would a Pinkerton agent spill their collateral to the enemy? Arthur wasn’t even asking for any information at the time. Why would this agent, in his dying moments, tell Arthur that Micah was the rat?

Unless the agent knew the gang was on thin ice, and that loyalty was all that was keeping it together. He introduced what he hoped would be a final blow to the gang, accomplishing post-huminously what had been his career goal in life.

Also, why would Micah become an informant after Guarma? What were the promising him? After all, he stuck with Dutch and formed a new gang after Arthur died. He never took a big cut from the government and ran. He was a brown-noser and an asshole, but stood nothing to gain from becoming a rat.

Arthur hated Micah, so he took the bait. He wanted a reason to hate him, to have him kicked out of the gang. Micah was pragmatic and greedy and he hardened Dutch’s humanitarian side - the side that Arthur valued. But, Micah being a rat wasn’t the truth.

After all, we know who became a rat - John Marston.

Arthur’s readiness to believe a Pinkerton’s dying words proved the point of the narrative - the gang fell apart because they lost faith in Dutch, and because Dutch grew jealous and fearful as their doubts became apparent.

Loyalty kept the gang together, and its absence tore the gang apart.

Reason 3. "We didn't need a rat. We got sloppier than the town drunk."

The gang was careless. It got sloppy and their overconfidence and ego was their downfall.

Micah wasn’t the cause of their downfall he simply hastened it. The game tells you from the opening titles how it’s going to end and why. It mentions that the remaining gangs are being hunted down and destroyed with the word underlined for emphasis. It was always going to end in their demise, it just happened quicker than it would have because they got sloppy, careless, conceited, and arrogant.

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

"My eyes are up here, Arthur."

Laundry day at camp was always a hassle. Most everyone pitched in, helping with hauling the water and chopping wood and carrying the baskets of damp cotton and wool to the line to be pinned and dried, all under the strict direction of Miss Grinshaw. 

It was a warm spring day at Horseshoe Overlook, and the strong sunshine mixed with the warm breeze promised that even the heavy woolens would be dry by nightfall. 

Usually Arthur didn’t mind laundry day, much. He was no stranger to chores, and he found the chatter and hussle of his patchwork family working in tandem relaxing, for all that it was mixed with the usual sniping and spats. 

Today, though, Arthur thought he may just be ready to kill Karen Jones. 

Not for her and Sean’s cat-in-heat caterwauling keeping him up until the small hours of the night, or even her occasional drunken tirade. 

No, Arthur thought, fuming as he tripped over an upturned root, nearly losing a pile of clean, wet clothes to the dirt for the fourth time that day. Not for nothin’ so harmless as that.

Charles Smith, tall and strong and cursedly, delightfully, distractingly shirtless, lunged forward to steady Arthur by the shoulder, his bucket of water sloshing against the bronze, bare skin of his ridiculously pretty chest. 

Gonna have ta shoot her, Arthur thought, resigned, eyes drawn to a bead of water that made its way down the broad muscles of Charles’ pecs. The damn thing glistened, mocking Arthur’s dry mouth and wandering eyes and his fool heart.

Karen had sloshed coffee down Charles’ back earlier that morning. It being laundry day, the other man had casually whipped off his shirt—it’d been his last clean one—and thrown it onto the pile. 

Which meant Arthur had been subjected—tormented—by the sight of the most beautiful man he’d ever met hauling stacks of wood and heavy buckets of water easily around the camp ground. 

Shirtless. Bare chested. 

Tits out, modestly preserved only by the ever-shifting mass of his shiny raven hair, which served more to taunt and tease than to actually cover the proud peak of his brown nipples with any sort of modesty. 

Arthur’s mouth hadn’t been this dry since they left New Austin, and he hadn’t stumbled this much since he and Lenny made fools of themselves during a drunken spree in Valentine.

“You okay there, Arthur?” Charles asked, low and concerned. His pecs moved as he breathed, droplets caught in his sparse chest hair glittering in the sunlight. 

“M’fine,” Arthur mumbled, transfixed, as that bead of water trickled down the generous curve of Charles’s breast, rolling its shining trail down his sternum. He felt his cheeks warm as the evil thing slowed to a tortuous crawl, creeping in trembling centimeters over the soft round of Charles’ belly.

Drawn and quartered, Arthur decided, chewing his lip absently as he adjusted the load of laundry in his arms. He loved Karen like a sister, but there was simply nothing else for it. 

“Uh, Arthur?” 

Arthur hummed, breath catching in his chest as the bead of water was caught, glimmering like a gem, in the short curling hairs of Charles’ treasure trail. 

Charles’ warm, big palm tightened on Arthur’s shoulder, jostling him. “Arthur!”

Arthur startled, nearly dropping the laundry as he blinked away, dragging his gaze from Charles’ navel to the slightly less indecent target of those perfect tits. “What?” 

Charles sighed, his breath stirring Arthur’s bangs. It occurred to Arthur that they’d been standing close an awfully long while, and that the camp had gone awfully quiet. 

Charles tugged Arthur’s shoulder again. "My eyes are up here, Arthur."

Mortified, Arthur stepped back, snapping his attention to the other pair of beautiful brown eyes before him. The ones on Charles’ face, rather than his chest. 

“Sorry,” Arthur said, ears burning. “Must’ve got lost there for a second.” 

Charles smiled, clearly amused. It was a good look on him, raising that often furrowed brow, showing off the dimples (dimples! Arthur despaired. God-damned dimples!) of his cheeks.

Arthur strongly refused to think about just what he’d be willing to do see it again.

“Lost, huh?” Charles teased, releasing Arthur’s shoulder with a pat. “You need some water?” 

Arthur cleared his throat, shifting his pile. Furiously fought the urge to ask if he could lick his drink off the smooth planes of Charles’ chest.

“All good,” he managed, only a little hoarse. “Sorry to bother ya.”

Charles shook his head, pretty canines flashing as that soft smile stretched into a grin. “Not at all,” he said, picking his water bucket back up. “Take care, now.” 

Arthur nodded, leaving a careful buffer between himself and Charles as he stepped off towards the laundry line, fully intent on using one of the thin cotton ropes to hang himself. 

“Oh, and Arthur?” Warm fingers brushed Arthur’s forearm as he passed. Arthur froze, deerlike, turning his head to regard the other man from under the brim of his hat. 

Charles’ eyes crinkled above the blinding smile. 

“Let me know if you need to break out that sketchbook of yours later,” he teased. “Might last you longer.” 

With that, Charles went back to work, hauling the heavy buckets, casual as anything, completely oblivious to Arthur’s thundering heart. 

I’ll just tie her to the train tracks, Arthur decided, turning to stomp over to where Karen Jones waited by the laundry line, bent double in fits of laughter alongside Tilly. 

With luck, the train would hit him, too.

[pasukiyo]

CHAPTER THREE

dbf!joel miller x female reader

CONTENT WARNINGS! smut, masturbation, age gap

Chapter Preview: She looks back over at him and Joel turns, their eyes catching, gazes locking. For a moment, time seems to still and it’s like slow motion, everything around him begins to blur the longer their stares linger. It’s like Joel is the nexus of the universe and gravity’s bringing her closer to him, dangerously close. How would it feel, she wonders, if they crashed into one another, like a meteor to the earth?

word count: 4,025

join the TAGLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS CHAPTER

 Blood burns through her cheeks as she tosses her head back into the pillow, hand between her thighs.

 One of her old CDs spins in the player on her dresser and she prays the music is loud enough to bury all of the sounds she’s making as she rubs furiously at her poor, aching clit: her heavy breathing, desperate moaning, the rustling sheets beneath her. It was absolute torture watching Joel Miller do farm work all day and she wasted zero time to tear her clothes off the first chance she could get.

 Unfortunately, she had to wait all day for that chance, as by the time she and Joel were finally done with their chores, her parents were already pulling back into the driveway.

 A spider of shame creeps along her skin as she pleasures herself to the fantasies she’s dreamt up of a man her father trusts more than almost everyone, a man who was already past adolescence by the time she was born. Yet, every ounce of dignity she may or may not have had seems to disappear the second images flash of Joel lifting heavy equipment, of him squeezing the horse hoof between his thighs, muscles tensing as he hammered into the horseshoe, his forehead glistening with perspiration. 

 Sweat, beading down his face like little pieces of gold glittering in the sunlight, tracing the sharp edges of his jaw, dripping down to his neck and chest, slithering beneath his t-shirt. Sweat, beading down his face as he peers down at her with his dark, magnetic gaze, drawing her into his center just to burn her, making liquid of her insides until she’s a pile of hot magma beneath him. Sweat, dripping down his body as he thrusts into her– in and out, in and out, in and out– repeatedly, dropping onto her skin, mixing with her own perspiration. 

 Her fingers woven through the damp, dark hair at the nape of his neck, bringing him closer, his lips enveloping hers in a messy top lip kiss. His name tumbling from her lips as he pounds against her cervix, his voice thick and sultry, melting every last ounce of her dignity. What she wants, in this idyll, fantasy world she’s created in her mind, is to be his. To see him like this, feel him like this, submit to him like this all the time. 

 Her hand not in his hair finds his chin, fingertips tracing over the few prickly gray hairs in his beard. Joel pistoning his cock harder into her, pushing her further into her submission with every crude word spoken in that deep, gravely voice of his. 

 His mouth trailing kisses down her chin to her neck, down to her collarbone, sucking marks into her breasts, tongue swirling over her peaked nipples. The hair she suspects him of having around his base wet with her arousal, softly brushing over her aching clit. White hot bliss surges through her and she cries out, the flashing images of Joel doing the nastiest of things to her the catalyst for her orgasm. 

 Joel, one of her father’s most trusted friends. Joel, who's probably old enough to be her father. Her shame burns holes through her skin. But her fingers don’t stop their furious motions over her clit, determined to reach her high. 

 She prays The Cranberries are playing loud enough to drown her out as she rides out the aftershocks of her high. 

 It’s… awkward to say the very least the next morning as she and Joel tend to their chores: feeding all the animals, milking the cows, checking the horses’s hooves, etc. etc. Whether or not Joel sensed something was off, she didn’t know, but either way, she’s grateful he doesn’t ask any questions. It’s hard enough having to act like everything’s fine and everything’s cool when she’s forced to spend her morning with the man she fucked herself to just the night before.

 She huffs as she cleans the last of the pebbles from Whiskey’s hoof, Joel’s chestnut-colored horse he’s been keeping here. She releases his leg and groans as she rolls her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in them. Joel peers at her over Whiskey’s back, running a brush along the horse’s pelt as she rolls her neck around her shoulders.

 “All good?” He asks and she purses her lips, holding up a thumb. 

 “Yeah,” she grunts, managing to get her back to make a few small pops. “Fine.” 

 Totally didn’t fuck myself to you last night, in case you were wondering, she thinks to herself.

 A silence impregnates the air as she works the cramps out of her muscles and Joel finishes up brushing Whiskey’s coat. After a moment, he tosses the brush into the kit, circling around the stallion to stand in front of her, a hand on his hip. She doesn’t meet his gaze. She can only imagine the look he’s giving her now. 

 “You not get enough sleep or somethin’?” He asks and she sighs, nodding. It’s a far better excuse than the real reason why she’s so restless. 

 Another small bout of silence. Then, “why don’t we go for a ride?”

 She nearly chokes on her own spit, stumbling as she stands upright, blinking up at him.

 “Pardon me?”

 Joel nods towards Whiskey.

 “A ride.”

 Her heart is pounding so hard against her chest, she’s surprised it hasn’t leapt down to the dirt already. She curses her mind for being so far down in the gutter and sniffs, rubbing her nose with her arm. 

 “I’m probably a bit rusty,” she says finally, searching for any excuse to spend the least amount of time possible with Joel while simultaneously trying to be amiable enough to not hurt his feelings. 

 Joel shrugs. “Already told you: muscle memory’ll kick in soon enough,” he says. “C’mon, ridin’ always helps me take an edge off.”

 She blinks, long and slow. Quit thinking with your damn crotch, she curses herself mentally. 

 She huffs and Joel simply stands there, a hand still on his hip, the other hanging at his side, waiting for an answer. She brings a hand to her face and digs her fingernail into the corner of her eye, rubbing her palm down the side of her face. How is it she already feels incapable of telling Joel no? She’s absolutely fucked.

 “Sure, let’s do it,” she finally relents and a corner of Joel’s lips curves in a half-grin. He gives Whiskey one more pat on the side before he walks out of the stall, heading for the saddles.

 She watches as he does it, already wishing she hadn’t agreed. She’s not sure why she gets the inkling that things are about to change, she feels it and it lingers, buzzing in her ear like a pesky, little fly. And to think just yesterday, she was telling herself she wasn’t going to let her little crush– if you can even call it that– on Joel get any more out of hand.  

 She squeezes her eyes closed and digs her heels into her lids until stars shimmer in her vision, trying to relieve the ache blossoming in her temples. She throws her arms back down to her sides and sighs, sinking her teeth into her tongue as she steps out of Whiskey’s stall. Joel’s gotten Ivory out of her stall already, working on fastening the saddle around her body. He spares her a glance as she approaches, tightening one of the straps of Ivory’s saddle. 

 “So… you got an edge today or something?” She says after a minute, watching him as he puts on Ivory’s bridle, doing her best to not notice anything past his sleeves as he does it.

 Finally, he’s finished equipping Ivory and he peers down at her, shrugging a shoulder. “Always.”

 The wind that cools over her skin when he brushes past lingers in gooseflesh and she trembles, wringing her bottom lip between her teeth to calm herself. She turns, watching Joel as he behind equipping Whiskey, and she turns back to face Ivory, soothing her palm over her muzzle. She leans in close, finding Ivory’s gaze. 

 “Don’t embarrass me now,” she whispers, quiet enough for only the horse to hear before she grabs the reins, leading Ivory out of her stall. 

 It’s not long before Joel and Whiskey meet them beneath the eaves of the stable. She gazes out over the fields as the sun rises over the slight rolling hills, casting its golden rays over the earth. The breeze is soft and slight, and the wheat sways in rippling, golden waves. It’s the kind of morning you’d hear about in a country song: warm, summery, and Texan. 

 Joel shifts beside her. “Pretty, init?” 

 The corners of her mouth twitch. “I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the sunrise is here,” she admits. 

 Joel makes a sound, almost reminiscent of a laugh as he pulls himself onto Whiskey’s saddle, swinging a leg over to straddle his back. “Gotta be a hell of a lot better than mornins’ in the city.”

 She offers her own short laugh. “You’ve no idea.”

 Joel circles Whiskey around and sticks out a hand to help her onto her saddle. She blinks at his palm for a moment, tracing the lines, the callouses. A ball of saliva rolls in her throat when she swallows, reluctantly sliding her fingers into his hand. His palm is rough, etched with the consequence that comes from doing the kind of work he does, and just like the handshake they’d shared when they first met, it’s hard not to notice how large his hand is compared to hers. Her fingers feel so small enveloped by his and it makes her mind wander, imagining what his hands would look and feel like, should they be anywhere else on her…

 She clears her throat, slides her foot into the stirrup of Ivory’s saddle, and uses Joel’s hand as leverage to hoist herself up. She drops it hastily, gathering the reins in her hands, hoping the morning breeze will be enough to cool the warmth growing in her cheeks. 

 He’s just being nice. That’s all there is to it, and all there’s ever going to be to it. You’re one of his best friend’s daughters, she reminds herself. He’s not going to jeopardize that for you. 

 “Thanks,” she mumbles.

 Joel dips his chin, eyes low, lips pressed together. “Well, ready?”

 She nods and they both gently click their heels against their horses’s flanks, setting off on Joel’s trail. 

 Riding on the back of Ivory again makes her feel like she’s fourteen again, going on early afternoon rides, having her run as fast as she can just so she could feel the wind in her hair, at her back, over her skin. It was electrifying, powerful. She used to feel like she could do anything riding Ivory, that she was as free as a bird, riding the wind, unbound, able to go any where they wanted. Perhaps this is what she thought moving to New York would feel like– boundless, liberating, electrifying. 

 Before she can shake the thought, Joel’s voice slices through the silence.

 “So, I have to ask: why New York?” He asks, glancing over her shoulder.

 She purses her lips. She supposes the question was bound to come up sooner or later.

 She shrugs. “I guess it’s like you said yesterday: the glitz and glamor,” she replies. “Got a scholarship at Barnard. Literature major.”

 Joel hums. “So, you’re a writer?”

 A bitter taste sullies her tongue and her laugh is equally as sharp. “Pretty sure you have to write something to call yourself that.”

 She can just make out the way Joel’s brow dips when he looks over his shoulder. “So… not a writer?”

 She rolls her lips together, staring at the dirt trail ahead. “Picked up an internship at a publishing house fresh out of college,” she says with a sigh. “And look where that got me. All the way back where I started.”

 Joel shrugs, pulling back on the reins so Whiskey could fall in step beside Ivory. “You think it’s that bad here?” He questions and she rolls her tongue over her teeth, narrowing her eyes as she gazes out on the pasture, at the sun as it stands taller in the sky, rays of light beaming back down at her. 

 She shakes her head. “It’s not that it’s… bad here or ugly here, it’s just…” she trails off, suddenly feeling silly, unable to suppress the urge to chuckle. 

 “What?” Joel says. 

 She looks over at Joel and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything in the first place. Looking at Joel, a man whose experienced more than she has in her entire lifetime, whose seemingly got everything all figured, she feels… small. It makes her feel like everything she’s been going through– searching for herself, for her path, her place in this world– is just a small bump in the road. She suddenly gets the feeling he might think it’s stupid, that she’s being dramatic and she shakes her head again, wrinkling her nose as she looks down to the reins in her hands, idly scratching her fingernails up and down the leather.

 “Nothing,” she says finally.

 “C’mon,” Joel drawls, clearly disbelieving her. She blinks over at him, brow furrowed.

 “What?”

 “You think I’m stupid? I know it ain’t nothin’.”

 She huffs a laugh, bringing a hand to her face, rubbing the pads of her fingers over her eyelid.

 “It’s nothing, seriously,” she says, looking back over at him. Still, Joel looks unconvinced. She sighs again. “It’s just… stupid.”

 Joel rolls his eyes. “The hell am I gonna do? Laugh at you?” 

 She shrugs. “Maybe.”

 Joel tilts his head, blinking. “Listen, I ain’t gonna force you to talk about it but I promise you, whatever it is, even if I did find it funny, I ain’t got room to talk,” he assures. “You wouldn’t even believe some of the shit I pulled when I was in my twenties.”

 Her tongue pushes back against her front teeth and she sucks air between them, thinking, contemplating. She forgets Joel has already lived out his twenties, that he’s been there, done that. Though she still can’t help but feel small, that her problems are minute, just minor inconveniences in the grand scheme of things, she wonders whether it’s okay to trust Joel. She wonders if he’ll listen, share some advice no one else is brave enough to give her.

 She breathes out a long exhale, rolling her neck over her shoulders, bobbing up and down as Ivory ventures further down the dirt path.

 “It’s just…“ she begins, twisting her lips, searching for the right words to express what she wants to say. “...I don’t know. Being here just feels like one big reminder that I failed. That things didn’t turn out the way I planned. I genuinely thought I’d be some big-time author right now but instead I just feel… I don’t know, I guess sort of lost? I don’t know what my future has in store for me and that scares me. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

 She says more than she was expecting and Joel must be thinking the same thing as he straightens his posture, blinking slowly, as if soaking in all this new context. Warmth grows in her cheeks and an apology is on the tip of her tongue, but before she can speak it, Joel’s talking.

 “Do you not realize how young you still are?” He begins and her brow furrows. He continues. “I mean, shit, if every single one of our failures from our twenties defined us, I’d be an even sorrier son of a bitch today than I already am.”

 It’s not meant to be funny, but still, she breathes out a short laugh.

 “Look, you’re doin’ a mighty good thing here, lookin’ out for your dad, steppin’ up to help out around here,” Joel says, tilting his head to find her eyes. She stares back, pursing her lips, somewhat entranced. “You got a helluva lot more sense than I did at your age.”

 She scoffs at this, shaking her head as she lowers her gaze, fiddling with the leather straps of the reins. “Right.”

 “I’m serious,” Joel says, and he means it. “It took havin’ my daughter for me to clean up my act and start gettin’ things right. And I’m still as flawed as all get out.”

 She looks back over at him and Joel turns, their eyes catching, gazes locking. For a moment, time seems to still and it’s like slow motion, everything around him begins to blur the longer their stares linger. It’s like Joel is the nexus of the universe and gravity’s bringing her closer to him, dangerously close. How would it feel, she wonders, if they crashed into one another, like a meteor to the earth?

 The apple in Joel’s throat visibly bobs when he swallows, tearing his gaze away, thus, breaking the moment. She eyes his side profile, hoping, wishing that he’d turn so she can meet his eyes again.

 “Anyway, how hard can writin’ a book be?”

 Her brow dips and her eyes narrow, glaring into the side of Joel’s cheek. “That’s a stupid question,” she quips, surprising her own self with the abrupt defensiveness laced in her tone. “There’s more to writing a book than just putting words on a page. You’ve got world-building, characterization, character development, plotlines, rising action and climaxes, red herrings, outlines–”

 “Alright, Jesus,” Joel interrupts, the smallest hint of what she thinks may be humor in his tone. “Didn’t mean to offend. I’m clearly not as well-read as you. Different lines of work, and all. I just mean… y’ain’t gotta be so hard on yourself.”

 She inhales deeply, taming the blaze of defense his remark had ignited. She sinks her molars down into the inside of her cheek. “Don’t start feeling sorry for me now,” she remarks lowly, calmer than before.

 Joel’s brow furrows as he meets her eye again. “You think I’m bein’ sorry?”

 “A little, yeah,” she replies. “That’s all everyone’s been towards me. Hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

 Joel tilts his chin, eyes narrowing. “Would you rather I tell you somethin’ like ‘get off your sorry ass and go do somethin’ about it’?” 

 She purses her lips, shrugging, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Kind of, yeah.”

 Joel exhales and it sounds like the most genuine laugh he’s given her yet. “You know, people are always tellin’ me I need to start bein’ nicer,” he says. “Would be a little counterproductive if I said somethin’ like that.”

 The corners of her lips twitch and this time, she lets her smile come to fruition. She peers back over at Joel. “You already did.”

 Joel’s chest puffs a bit when he makes that sort of half-laugh-half-scoff again and she rolls her lips together, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than before. 

 And then it dawns on her that the feeling she got earlier that things were going to change was right. She’s starting to feel more comfortable around Joel, closer to him. That feeling like there was some sort of gravitational pull comes back and it lingers no matter how hard she tries to push it back down. Her heart thuds against her chest as a silence falls over them, pregnant with possibility. 

 She’s not sure how much time passes before they stop at the pond near the end of the property, golden rays of sunlight rippling in the water. It inspires another memory from her childhood to appear in the forefront of her mind, of playing in the water with her friends all day long until the sun disappeared behind the trees and it was time for them to leave. It’s the same pond her father taught her and her brother to fish, and she recalls all the days spent lounging in fold-up chairs, waiting for the pole to make the slightest of movements. 

 She and her father would talk for hours at this spot about anything and everything. Baseball, softball, school, horses, people around town. It’s at this pond she broke the news to her father, that she was ready to leave Texas behind and stretch her wings in the big city. 

 Looking back and even then, she knew she was breaking her father’s heart. But in her father’s typical fashion, he simply locked his fingers together, gave a curt nod, and asked her what her plan was. Even when her father’s heart was being shattered into a million pieces, he still managed to be calm, sensible. 

 The memory is like sour diesel, seeping through her skin, setting her ablaze within. 

 “He still fish out here?” She asks Joel, finally breaking the silence that had stretched between them. 

 Joel purses his lips, shaking his head. “Nah. Never seen him out here.”

 There it is again, that guilty conscience of hers. She wonders if he stopped coming out here after that last time they spent together on the mossy shore. She wonders if it hurt him too much to come here, if it reminded him of the day his little girl began to slip through his fingers, when he realized she was growing up. 

 She sniffs. “Oh.”

 She can see Joel turn to look at her from the corner of her eye but she doesn’t return his gaze, unable to break hers from the shimmering undulating water. They say water holds memory— she wonders if the old pond remembers that day too.

 If Joel was planning on saying anything, she changes the subject before she can dwell on the past too much more.

 “So, you an Astros fan?”

 She looks at him and Joel presses his lips together, gaze searching hers and for a moment, she fears he can see right through her. Alas, if he was wondering why the visible change in mood, he isn’t going to question it.

 He shrugs. “More of a Rangers guy. Your dad sure loves his Astros though.”

 She titters. “Yeah.”

 She clicks her heels against Ivory’s flank and they start walking the trail again, Joel following suit. Though her heart pangs with the guilt of having not been there for her father again, the sun still kisses her face, warmth blooming over her skin. The day is still beautiful and something’s changed between her and Joel. A silence hangs in the space between them, but she still feels it.

 She feels it the rest of the ride back to the stable, as they’re walking Ivory and Whiskey back to their stalls, as Joel fishes his truck keys out of his back pocket. She walks with him to his truck and he opens the driver’s side door, lingering there for a moment before turning around to face her. He must know she has something to say.

 “Thank you,” she says.

 A small dent forms between Joel’s brows. “For what?”

 Her teeth catch her bottom lip and for a second– just for a second– she swears his eyes flicker there. 

 “You know…” she rocks back and forth on her heels a little awkwardly, gesturing into the air vaguely. “...for not feeling sorry for me.”

 A pause.

 And then, “I guess I’ll be seein’ ya tonight.”

 She presses her lips together for a short, tight-lipped smile and nods, clasping her hands behind her back as she watches him climb into the truck, the engine roaring to life soon after he closes the door. She takes a couple of steps backwards, the gravel crunching beneath his tires as he backs up and she watches as he drives down to the gate, turning onto the old dirt road, disappearing behind the trees. From the front porch, the door swings open and Jovi pads down the wooden steps, trotting towards the grass to drop a squat. Her mother stands in the doorway with her arms crossed, calling her name, asking her if she’d go to the store to grab a few things.

 All she can do is nod, because her mind is still with the truck rolling further down the road, reeling with possibility. 

a/n: i think this is my favorite chapter of this series i've written so far! i really hope you all are enjoying this series so far 🥹 i know it's a little slow burn but WE'LL FUCK JOEL SOON!

🐎 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

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[3liza]

the twisted metal show is just getting progressively goofier and funnier and I can't emphasize enough how refreshing that is, even though it's missing a lot of the same stuff I was complaining about missing with fallout. a good attitude can excuse a litany of sins tbh!!! it's correctly on tone with the source material (which is dumb as hell) and not stuck up its own ass and not trying to adopt any more elevated message than "Orange County is full of psychopaths" which is something we can all get behind tbh

they are clearly aiming for a thunderdome or escape from LA tone and getting, generously, almost as close as they can without thunderdome production budget. once again the wardrobe is really lacking, which always bugs me when wardrobe is so easy to do on no budget if you just hire the right creatives. i don't want to watch serious or irony poisoned post apocalyptic shit anymore, I'm fed up. whanging that horseshoe as close as you can get to "mad max" and falling short is preferable to whatever smug tech conference bullshit was going on in fallout.

I'm not saying it's good but it is fun. I'm especially enjoying how the stupid action movie dialog is getting progressively more self aware, but not in an annoyingly ironic way. they are getting comfortable with letting their writers and actors softshoe a little bit and we're starting to get Simpsons-style crowd bits like the protagonists encountering some poor bastard strung up by one of the wasteland gangs and remarking that "maybe he deserved it" and the extra groans and raspily retorts "I didn't!", which got a genuine laugh out of me because they didn't linger on it and let it get stale.

i wish they had pushed this a lot father in terms of making it more late 90s grimdark gargoyle shit like the games, but that stuff is expensive and I think they spent all their money on actual vehicles (which I respect) and didn't have a lot left over for costumes and set dressing

what's most surprising about this entire production is how laser targeted it is at people born between 1980 and 1988, which cannot be a significant television viewership in the larger picture. there is almost zero effort to make this relatable to anyone outside 40 year old Oregon Trail millennials. the soundtrack is so fucking funny

special mention to casting a bunch of actual 40 year old women and letting them look haggard and dirty and wrinkled for once

really Sweet Tooth is the biggest disappointment. i understand he's the franchise figurehead but they fumbled it imo. i don't think will arnett is the right casting. idk if sweet tooth should even talk or be human tbh, I kind of always saw him more as a sort of ogre or avatar than just a normal human psycho killer, and having him onscreen so much from the beginning was probably network mandated but really spoiled the biggest narrative tension for franchise fans they could have saved up to cash in on a good reveal later. oh well. alternately I think leaning into it being JUST will arnett in a clown mask would have been funnier than trying to split the difference with dubbing arnett over a more physically powerful Joe Samoa playing the body