#Moonshine Ranch

[wine-porn]

Take my breathe away...

Dark brooding garnet with a purple tinge of youthfulness visible and positively bounding from it. The nose a green asphalty tincture of fresh sapling grinds and mulled oak leaves, the berry contained angsty and ridged with sharp points of infantile grate. Quite closed-in: the afore-mentioned flows quite freely, but coaxing anything deeper, riper, or more mature requires plentiful air. Eventually,…

[andy-clutterbuck]

MEN'S FITNESS 2014

[sloedancing]

do not purchase beverages from this nasty little freak

[seeker-of-peace]

.

[punkshort]

Roommates | 10. just us two

Pairing: (ex)pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into your new lives together.

Chapter Warnings: language, alcohol and food consumption, massive quantities of fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader is on BC), oral sex (f!receiving), spanking, pussy pronouns, multiple orgasms, some sex tape action 👀

WC: 7.1K

A/N: Okay, we've reached the end of the road for these two! I can't believe I'm wrapping up another fic, jfc. Thank you so much for sticking around and expressing so much love and excitement for this story. It means so much to me that I'm able to share this part of myself with people who are just as happy as me about these characters. This chapter wasn't really necessary, most loose ends are already tied up but they deserved to be happy, so this entire chapter is just love and fluff and smut. Shout out to @txtattoostark for listening to me yap and for the watermelon moonshine inspo. Enjoy, and thanks again ❤️

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

Joel smiled to himself as he watched you in the kitchen with his mom from his spot in the living room. The old radio next to the sink, dusty and missing two buttons, was softly playing jazz music while you both worked on dinner. It wasn't the trailer park he grew up in. The small ranch house his mother bought with the life insurance money she received after his father passed away wasn't too bad. He begged her for years to let him give her some money, to buy her a place closer to town, to pay for new appliances at the very least, but she always refused. Instead, he found himself visiting her whenever he had a few days off so he could fix the sink or the washer or cut the grass.

He didn't mind. It was a good excuse to come visit. He enjoyed catching up and spending time with her.

But now, with you? Watching the way you seamlessly moved around the kitchen, laughing with his mom and stirring things in pots while swaying your hips in those tight denim shorts... yeah, this was different. This was much better.

"Hey, brother," Tommy said from behind, startling him out of his rosy daydream. Joel stood with a smile to engulf Tommy in a hug once he kicked off his shoes.

"You look tan," he remarked, then reached for Maria and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"New Orleans was sunny," Tommy said, holding some bottle of clear alcohol in his hand. "Brought back some moonshine. Watermelon. Mama's favorite."

"Oh, Tommy! Maria! You're back!" their mother cried from the kitchen before wiping her hands on a towel and hurrying over to the front door, her worn out blue slippers catching on the rug as she walked. "How was your honeymoon?" she asked after she squeezed them both within an inch of their lives.

"Amazing," Maria said happily. "We had such a great time. Have you ever been?"

Mrs. Miller shook her head. "Maybe James will take me one day."

"Is he here?" Tommy asked, handing his mother the liquor.

"No, he's visiting his daughter out of town this weekend. Come on, I have some snacks out."

The four of them entered the kitchen and you swiveled around with a big smile. Setting down the wooden spoon you were holding, you threw your arms around Maria's neck, then Tommy's.

"How was it?" you asked them, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

You and Maria fell into an animated conversation about some haunted ghost tour when Tommy cleared his throat and propped his hands on his hips.

The pair of you stopped talking to look at him questioningly, then realization dawned on you. You smirked and shook your head before digging into your back pocket to pull out a folded bill and slapped it into his palm.

"You were right, Tommy."

He laughed and tucked the money into his shirt pocket.

"Thought you mighta forgot."

Joel frowned and looked between the two of you curiously, but Maria seemed to know exactly what was going on because she was already chuckling to herself.

You glanced over at Joel, who was eating a cracker with cheese, and your expression softened. "Best hundred bucks I ever lost."

"The hell you givin' him a hundred bucks for?" Joel asked incredulously, but you just slipped your arms around his waist and rested your chin against his chest with a smile.

"I lost a bet," you told him.

He practically melted into a puddle under your touch. He couldn't get enough. After a year of denying yourselves or sneaking around, it felt so good to be open. He refused to ever take it for granted, so he tilted your face up and pressed a tender kiss against your lips. He felt your mouth twitch into a smile when Tommy groaned in fake disgust.

"Thought we were the newlyweds here."

You broke the kiss to shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Try and keep up."

Joel tossed his head back and laughed, then released his hold on you so you could return to the stove. Maria washed her hands and picked up a knife to chop vegetables and Tommy reached for the bottle of moonshine their mother left on the counter.

"Let's crack into this," he said, and Joel nodded. He weaved through the kitchen to open up the cupboard where the glasses were kept, grabbing five tumblers. You were swaying again with the music and you gently knocked into him with your hips, just enough to tease him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Watch yourself, baby," he warned with a wink before placing the glasses down next to Tommy so he could pour.

Joel couldn't remember a time he had seen his mother look so happy. The five of them sat around her dining room table, a table made for four but you all squeezed in, knees knocking together underneath, arms brushing against one another, and it felt perfect.

He leaned back in his chair after finishing his food, one arm draped along the back of your chair, his other hand loosely holding his glass of moonshine and he smiled. He tried to pay attention to Maria and his brother tell stories about their honeymoon, but he had a hard time looking away from you. Eventually, he stopped trying. His gaze slid down your face, admiring your smile and the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

He was so fucking lucky.

Tearing his eyes away to bring his glass to his lips, he caught his mother watching him across the table with a knowing smile. She winked at him before giving Tommy her attention once again and Joel felt his face warm.

Once dinner was over, he and Tommy stood to clear everyone's plates. A habit that was formed early on in their lives. Whoever didn't cook had to clean up.

After the dishes were done and the leftovers were packed away, the two brothers refilled their glasses and wandered out to the back porch where their mother, you and Maria had ended up.

Maria and Mrs. Miller were strolling around the yard, their mother pointing out plants and flowers and telling Maria some long winded story about each. The deer hate this one. Cindy up the street cut a chunk of this out of her garden for me, can you believe how big it is now? I got this from Home Depot on clearance half dead, look how good it's doing.

"Better go save her," Tommy murmured before jogging down the steps. Joel plopped himself next to you on the porch with a sigh and clinked your glasses together.

"Lucky you already got the flower tour earlier," he told you.

You bit your lip and chuckled. "She really loves her garden."

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was setting and you could hear the crickets coming to life all around you. Birds swooped anxiously overhead, rushing back to their nests for the night. A cool breeze floated through the air, rustling your hair and making you shiver.

"C'mere," he murmured, patting his thigh. You smirked and shook your head but put your glass down and stood to perch on his leg, wrapping your arms around his neck lovingly and giving him a chaste kiss.

He hummed in approval and licked his lips. "Taste good."

"Like watermelon?" you asked, fingers twisting around the long strands of hair on the back of his head.

He nodded. "And you."

You kissed him once again, lingering a bit longer that time so you could fully appreciate the softness of his lips between yours and breathing in deep the scent of soap still stuck to his skin.

Then voices began to grow louder behind you, indicating your alone time was coming to an end.

Tommy stumbled on the stairs leading up the porch and you turned around on Joel's lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you right where you were, before teasing his brother.

"Better take it easy. You been out for two weeks at work, you ain't callin' in tomorrow 'cause you're hungover."

Tommy rolled his eyes and took your abandoned chair.

"Yes, boss."

"How are things at the bar, Joel?" his mother asked, sitting down with a sigh. "I'm so glad you found some work I can actually tell my girlfriends about without lying."

You stifled a giggle and glanced at Maria, who was also trying to hold back her laughter.

"Good, Mama," Joel said, ignoring her other comment. His chin came to rest over your shoulder as he spoke. "The remodel is done. Opened up the room so there's a place to dance. Easier for customers to move around. Everyone's been real excited to see the changes. Been busy."

"He's been working so hard, too," you added, twisting to your side so your fingers could lovingly rake through the hair on the back of his neck. "Some days I don't even see him."

Mrs. Miller gave you a sympathetic look but you could tell she was proud of her oldest son for venturing outside his comfort zone and applying himself.

"So you're all moved in, I take it?" Maria asked, and you nodded.

"Didn't really have much. Most of my things were still packed from when I moved out."

"She's been sprucin' up the place, too. You oughta see it," Joel said fondly. "Got pretty lookin' art on the walls, fluffy pillows and blankets for the couch. Actually got some food in the damn fridge, too."

Tommy laughed heartily. "That mean you'll stop swipin' fries and shit from the kitchen?"

"Hey, I'm payin' for those fries. I'll take 'em if I want 'em," he said with a scowl, then looked up at you, his eyes softening. "But it's nice to have dinner waitin' for me at home," he added, bringing a smile to your face.

"You were always terrible at cooking," you teased, tugging on his earlobe playfully between your fingers.

The night dragged on, the stars lit up the quiet night sky and Mrs. Miller eventually began to yawn, indicating it was time to head home.

Home.

It felt so right to think of it that way. It was where you belonged. But you knew it wasn't simply the house. You could have been living in a shack and you would still be just as happy because it was with him.

Joel gripped your thigh while he drove his truck with one hand on the steering wheel. The windows were down, the wind whipped at your face, tangling your hair when you turned your head to gaze over at him.

"See anythin' you like?" he teased when he spotted you admiring him from the corner of his eye.

You giggled and felt his fingers squeeze your bare leg.

"You know what I want?"

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and his eyes darkened with excitement. "What's that, sweetheart?"

You seductively ran your palm up his arm, sighing at the way his muscles twitched under your fingertips.

"I would really, really love... a vegetable garden."

You laughed at the way his face fell in mock disappointment.

"I'll build you a vegetable garden," he finally said as he turned onto your street.

"Really?" you asked with a huge smile. He nodded and shot you a wink.

"'Course. Whatever you want, baby."

Joel stayed true to his word. About a week later you woke up on Saturday morning to the distant sound of a hammer beating a piece of wood in the backyard. Stretching a lazy arm out to your side, you pouted when you found Joel was missing.

Then the pieces slowly clicked together.

It was a rare weekend off for him. You had been talking about it for the past few days. He was looking forward to Tommy returning to work so he wouldn't be so short staffed and he could relax with you for two whole days. You didn't come up with any plans except laying in bed, ordering takeout and watching movies, content to just spend time together. But Joel sweetly surprised you by waking up early, something he absolutely detested, so he could build you the vegetable garden you asked for.

You lightly padded down the steps still clad in your tank top and shorts to grab a mug from the cupboard. The coffee pot sizzled with heat when you plucked it from the burner, half the liquid already gone. Once you fixed it the way you liked, you walked out onto the back deck and leaned over the railing, your mug cupped in both hands, to fully appreciate the sight before you.

Joel had his back to you as he crouched over a simple rectangular wooden frame on the ground. You could see the sweat collecting on the back of his neck and it made your mouth water. As your eyes traveled lower, you noticed the dark patches in his shirt forming at his collar and between his shoulder blades, making your thighs clench together while he worked, completely oblivious to you watching him, listening to him grunt and sigh when he lifted a new piece of wood.

You swallowed thickly before taking a sip of your coffee, your eyes never leaving his form while he stood to stretch his back. He lifted his hat from his head and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. Something was so fucking hot about him getting all sweaty and worked up, but on that particular day? When he was making you something, sacrificing his rare down time just for you? It lit a fire inside you that couldn't be tamed.

Before he noticed, you scooted back inside to fill up a glass of ice water. With your hand hovering over the door handle, you got an idea that sent a jolt of arousal right through you. Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you pulled down your shorts and underwear, kicking your panties off to land on the couch, and shimmied your shorts back on.

Your pulse was fucking racing with excitement when you stepped outside once again, but this time you made sure to make a little noise so Joel would hear you. When the door clicked shut, he turned around and grinned before setting down his tools and stepping into the shade.

"Thank you, darlin'," he murmured when you handed him the water.

"You're welcome," you replied, your hands clasping behind your back as you practically vibrated in place with nervous energy. His eyes flicked down your body curiously right when he was finishing up his drink.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, sensing something was off while he set the glass down on the deck.

"Mhmm," you said, a nervous grin spreading across your face. "Missed you, though."

He chuckled and wiped some sweat away from his face with the bottom of his shirt. Your mouth went dry and your eyes instantly locked onto his tanned stomach and the dark smattering of curls that led below his waistband. The sleep shorts you were wearing were thin. If they were a lighter color, you could probably see right through them if you really looked. As it turned out, they were also terrible at absorbing moisture because they were sticking uncomfortably to your inner thighs while you waited for him to notice.

"Huh?" you said when you realized he was speaking.

He shook his head and dropped his shirt back down. "I said, I'm makin' you the damn garden you wanted."

You inched forward and took his hand in yours. "Well, do you think it can wait? Because I need to show you something inside that needs your help."

Somehow, he was still not picking up what you were implying.

"Baby, I'm on a roll. I just need another hour, maybe two-"

You tugged the hand you were holding between your legs and his eyes widened when he felt the wetness waiting for him there.

"Sorry. Got tired of being subtle," you told him with a playful smirk. He whipped his head around, checking to see if any of the neighbors were out tending to their lawns or enjoying their morning coffee on their patios while his fingers hooked around the soaked material.

You saw in his face the exact moment he realized you were bare underneath your shorts. It was like his brain was buffering, desperately trying to calculate how long he allowed you to stand there practically begging to be fucked while he rambled on about a goddamn garden. The surprise in his features slowly faded into the hazy, lust filled gaze you were so familiar with, and you smiled triumphantly.

"Get your ass inside right fuckin' now before I do somethin' that'll get us both thrown in jail," he growled, something primal shifting in his face while his body flooded with arousal, his need for you dripping heavier in his veins with each steady beat of his heart.

You squeaked and covered your ass when he swat at you from behind, then you hurried past him, back into the house.

Looking back on it, to think you would have made it upstairs to your bedroom was comical. His hands grabbed your hips halfway up the carpeted steps, pulling you down as you laughed giddily and pretended to try to fight off his attack, clawing fruitlessly at the stairs while he smiled into your lower back where his mouth was alternating kisses and bites across your skin.

"You wanted attention, you got it," he mumbled before yanking your shorts down and sinking his teeth into the flesh of your ass. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to make you yelp in surprise and leave a few linear indents in your skin.

Joel usually took his time with you. He preferred it that way. He liked to watch your face as he tormented you between your legs. He liked to see what new sounds he could pull from your throat when he changed an angle.

But not that day.

No, that day he yanked your shorts all the way off, tossing them over his shoulder and down the steps before grabbing your hips with his hands, all rough and sweaty from working outside.

You braced yourself for the inevitable stretch, the welcome yet slightly painful intrusion that you yearned for, but what happened next shocked you.

Your eyes widened and you gasped when you felt his mouth descend on your pussy from behind, his tongue immediately setting an intense pace, which was a change from the way he usually ate you. But speed and passion weren't the only variation. He never, ever went down on you from behind before.

"I- J-Joel, what are... oh," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as he lapped eagerly at your core. Instinctively, you spread your hips and sunk down further onto his mouth. Your cheek was rubbing harshly against the carpet and your lips were parted, allowing a small trail of drool to trickle down your chin. If you had any awareness left, you might have cared, but the pleasure he was building between your legs left your brain completely numb.

"Oh, fuck yes, Joel - keep going, just like that," you groaned, reaching behind you blindly to grab a fistful of his hair. "Fuck you and that fucking mouth," you gasped when his tongue flatted against your clit. He chuckled against your core but didn't stop. His hand slid up the back of your thigh and gave your cheek a firm jiggle before smacking his palm down across your ass. You jolted forward, your forehead bumping up against the next step, and cried out for more so he did it again, but on the other side.

"You like that?" he panted, pulling away from you for just a moment to catch his breath. You arched your back, giving him a generous view of the mess he left between your legs and he was afraid for the first time ever that he might come completely untouched. He inhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose when he saw your cunt pulse, calling to him like a goddamn siren at sea. "Fuck, so beautiful," he growled before closing his eyes and picking up right where he left off.

His thumbs spread your lips so his tongue could tease your entrance, scooping up your arousal and rutting his hips against the stairs, eating you like he was about to go off to war.

"I'm... oh, shit, Joel!" you exclaimed, pulling at his hair roughly so he wouldn't dare try to stop when you were so close to your climax. And he could sense it. He was good at that. He knew what you needed sometimes before you even knew. So once again, he brought his palm down sharply across your ass, a little harder that time but not too much. Just enough to leave a few seconds of sting, electrifying your nerve endings and pulling you over the edge.

Two tears rolled down your cheeks when you came. The little bit of pain from his hand and the carpet digging into your cheek and knees mixed with your pleasure in such a way that it left you breathless.

Finally, once he felt your legs begin to tremble and whimpers fell from your lips, he pulled away with a deep gasp. His eyes were pinned to the way your pussy looked; all drenched with a combination of his spit and your release, and he cursed under his breath.

"She looks so fuckin' good, baby, wish you could see what I see," he murmured, mesmerized as he continued to stare without any shame. You hardly had any of your senses. Your breath was ragged and your throat was dry but still, you tilted your chin and whispered, "show me."

A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes lit up.

"Yeah? You'd let me take a picture of this pretty pussy?" he asked, but he was already digging in his back pocket for his phone. You nodded, eyes still closed.

When both his hands left your waist, you arched your back a bit more and spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. You heard a deep groan rumble from his chest and he whispered, "fuckin' natural, baby," before you heard the shutter on his phone. One, two, three times at least you heard the familiar little click, click, then he leaned over your slumped body and slid his phone in front of your face.

"See? Look at you. Look at what I get to see," he murmured into your ear. Your eyes opened and widened as you stared at your wrecked pussy on the screen.

"Oh, wow," you breathed, not expecting at all to find it sexy, but you did. You fucking did. "Look at what you did to me," you said, craning your neck over your shoulder. His eyes flickered with heat and his mouth crashed down onto yours.

"Just wait til I split you open on my cock," he said, his voice rumbling against your back. "Have you all stuffed full with my cum. Now that's a pretty sight."

You groaned and shakily pushed yourself up.

"I'm begging you, please, Joel... do not fuck me on these stairs. My knees are killing me."

He laughed and helped you stand, legs wobbling just a little.

"Nah. I got an idea and we can't do it here."

You laid underneath the covers in bed, your lower half still bare and your tank top still on while you nervously chewed on your lower lip, watching Joel at the foot of the bed tinker with a camcorder he had buried somewhere in his closet that he swore up and down he never used with anyone else.

Never wanted to before, he had said when you eyed it suspiciously after he explained he swiped it from a set when it was used as a prop in one of his films years ago.

"Battery's dead but I'll just leave it plugged in," he said, then he flipped out the little screen tucked into the side of the device and swiveled it around so it was facing out. He set it on his end table and adjusted it until he was satisfied with the angle, then looked over his shoulder with a grin.

"You sure?" he clarified again. Your eyes flickered from him to the camera, then back again.

"Yeah," you squeaked, your voice very clearly betraying you. His gaze softened and he leaned across the bed to press a chaste kiss against your forehead.

"We don't gotta do this," he assured you. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"No," you replied, shaking your head. "I want to, I'm just nervous."

He scoffed and readjusted himself so he was lying next to you, blocking the idle camera.

"Nothin' to be nervous 'bout. It's just for me 'n you," he murmured before cupping your face and pressing his lips tenderly against yours. When his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, you sighed and looped your arms around his neck, melting into his embrace and deepening the kiss. His hand slid down from your cheek to squeeze your breast, groaning a little when he pinched your nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

His lips dragged down to your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat until he found a spot he liked and latched on while pushing the sheets from your body. The anticipation bubbled up while his hand continued to travel lower, your legs instinctively falling open for him. You finally relaxed when he successfully distracted you with his fingers through your folds and gasped as he slid two inside you with ease.

"Oh, yeah, you're ready for me," he moaned into your neck, his erection bordering on painful. He exhaled shakily when one of your hands wrapped around his length and began to gently stroke him, your palm so soft and warm that he almost forgot about the camera.

"C'mon, baby, sit up f'me," he said, pulling his hand from between your legs and leaning back so he could kick his jeans off. You scrambled to sit, your breaths coming in shallow pants as you watched him tug his shirt over his head. When he reached for the hem of your tank top, he paused and turned to tap the record button on the camcorder. Instantly, your limbs went rigid and your hands fell to your lap, covering yourself, but when he turned back to you he pinched your chin in his fingers, pulling your nervous gaze from the camera lens.

"Eyes on me," he told you, his voice low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded and raised your arms so he could peel off your tank top. He tossed it onto the floor and sat back on his heels to admire the way your tits sat exposed to him, his eyes darkening when your nipples hardened with arousal. He lunged forward and took one in his mouth, his hot, wet tongue lavishing your pebbled skin before switching to the other one. You tipped your head back and moaned, mouth open as you stared up blankly at the ceiling, your fingers rising to get tangled in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, planting little kisses all over your chest and circling his arms around your ribs, tugging you closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trembling when his cock pressed between your bodies, his erection sliding through your wet heat and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

"I-I need you," you whimpered, weakly lifting your hips into his lap.

"I know, baby, I know," he hummed. One hand dropped to cup your ass so he could reposition his legs underneath you, then flexed his hips so the tip of his cock lined up with your opening. "Want me to fuck you just like this? Sittin' in my lap?"

You nodded, your eyelids heavy with desire as you tightened your grip around his neck. The second he pressed into you, you gasped. He watched with adoration as your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, breathing deep and slow as you relaxed and slowly took him.

"Joel," you whispered, jaw slack. "Joel, I love you."

He moaned and pulled your hips flush with his, forcing you to take the last few inches all at once. "I love you, too, baby. Christ, you're incredible. Fuckin' look at you."

Look at you. His words made you remember the camera. Your eyes flickered over to the little rectangular screen, the outline of your bodies perfectly centered, and you swallowed tightly.

"Pretend like it's the mirror," he whispered in your ear as he began to gently rock in and out, "just like the mirror at the hotel, okay?"

You nodded and sighed, your shoulders loosening and your muscles relaxing as you began to roll your hips in rhythm with his. He tightened his grip around your middle, his body engulfing you in warmth. You rested your head on his shoulder as he continued to fuck you nice and slow, stretching you out around him, reaching depths that had you reeling.

This was it. There was nothing else outside those four walls. You had everything you ever wanted right there. The way he kissed you, touched you, made love to you always left you feeling so safe. Deep down, you always knew he was the missing piece in your life, the mysterious thing you kept searching for in others and were always left disappointed. Because nobody else ever loved you and cared for you the way he did.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you told him, your tongue dragging up his neck, collecting the dried sweat with a moan. You began to bounce in his lap a little faster and he immediately matched your pace with thrusts of his own.

"I'm the one who's lucky," he said through clenched teeth. He exhaled heavily through his nose and tucked his chin to his chest so he could watch himself disappear inside your cunt. "So soft. Softest pussy. So fuckin' warm and wet, you feel so good. Goddamnit, every fuckin' time..."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to him ramble. "Maybe we're both lucky."

He chuckled and you gasped when his cock brushed up against that one spot that made you see stars. You feverishly grabbed his face with both hands and bit desperately at his lower lip, pulling it between your teeth and making him groan.

Your body was loose and pliant now, so with more confidence you quickened the roll of your hips, relishing in the way his cock felt dragging in and out of you, how your clit rubbed against the coarse hair at his base, in the noises you managed to pull from his throat each time your skin slapped together.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Show me what you like. Oh, good girl," he groaned, hands sliding up your back to hold you as you began to lose yourself. He could see it in the look in your eyes and the way your fingers dug into his shoulders.

It was the most beautiful fucking thing.

Your body moved perfectly in tandem with his, your sharp gasps and his deep groans filling the room, the camera long forgotten by now.

"Oh, god, I'm close," you whimpered as you felt the heat that had been building begin to quickly creep up and spread through your stomach. "Oh, fuck. Oh, god... Joel, don't stop, please..." you begged, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your vision began to blur.

"I ain't stoppin'. C'mon, give it to me, lemme feel you," he growled. He snapped steadily into you now, each thrust punctuated by a grunt while his eyes locked on yours, watching with pride as you crumbled and fell apart, your walls squeezing him so beautifully as you came that it nearly pulled him right over the edge with you.

It happened fast. One second you were in his lap, your body tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the next he had pulled out of you and flipped you onto your hands and knees. Only when you felt his thick cock slide back inside did you fully realize you had switched positions. And shit, taking him from that particular angle always was so much more intense, but combined with the fact that your new view included the camera in the corner of your eye made everything so much more powerful.

You could fucking see him now and you couldn't look away, completely entranced with the way his face looked as he slammed into you. His mouth hung open as he looked down at you with what could only be described as complete and utter desire. You could feel his hand running up the length of your spine but you could also see the look of worship in his eye, the way his face twisted in pleasure when he watched your ass ripple from the force of his hips, and you felt a heavy wave suddenly crash over you once again.

"Oh, fuck!" Joel groaned loudly as he watched another orgasm shoot through you. His hands grabbed at your waist to try to keep you still, but you were trembling everywhere and you couldn't hold yourself up any longer.

You fell onto your elbows, the side of your face pressing into the bed while he held up your hips, fucking into you harder now that he could tell you were spent. "I'm gonna come, baby, I'm -" he cut himself off with a desperate whine, the buildup from the past hour or so becoming too much and causing his release to intensify.

Your bodies finally stilled and he pumped you full of his spend, his groans getting caught in his throat as he pulsed inside you. He watched in a daze when his cum started to leak out even though he was still inside, and without thinking, he snatched the camera from the bedside table so he could get a close up.

"Fuckin' hell, baby," he whispered hoarsely, chest heaving and hands shaking as he held the camera at his chest, pointing it down to where you were connected. "So glad you're back on the pill. Fuckin' beautiful, all full of me like this. Shit," he muttered, swiping a finger to collect some of his release to rub it over your clit. With a whine, your body jolted forward and he chuckled before dropping his hand, knowing you were too overstimulated.

"Joel," you whispered tiredly. Your eyelids were heavy and your thighs were shaking from the effort of holding yourself up.

"I know, baby, just one more thing and then I'll clean you up," he promised. He took a deep breath and steadied the camera before slipping out of you.

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat when he watched through the lens the way your body leaked of him, your pussy all swollen and stretched out, completely fucked, messy and used.

"Jesus," he croaked, wishing he could keep filming but your body sagged forward and he stopped the recording before tossing the camera onto the other side of the bed so he could check on you.

"You alright?"

You nodded, eyes closed, lips bitten raw, hair a complete mess but you still wore a satisfied smile.

"Tired. I think I'm gonna just..." you yawned and stretched out your shaky limbs. "Just gonna close my eyes for a sec."

He grinned and stood up to go to the bathroom, plucking a couple clean washcloths from the linen closet and wetting them both under the faucet so he could clean himself up with one and take the other back to you.

"Did you eat?" he asked softly as he gently and carefully dragged the washcloth through your thighs. You shook your head, eyes still closed. "I'm gonna go make you somethin'. Gotta eat, honey," he whispered before kissing the top of your head and covering you with the sheet. But by the time he came back upstairs with a bagel and cream cheese, you were fast asleep.

So you're getting married, then?

Well, he hasn't really asked me, not in so many words.

Four, you mean?

Huh?

Well, that's how many it takes: will you marry me?

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard two familiar voices reciting an even more familiar dialogue from the television, the volume turned down so low, you could hear the neighbor's dog barking from four houses down.

Joel shifted in bed next to you as quietly as he could, unaware you had awoken. You peered up at him, hair all messy, chest still bare, and you smiled when you caught him stifling a laugh at Audrey Hepburn.

"Hey," you said, voice coming out rougher than you expected, so you cleared your throat. He immediately muted the television and turned toward you, grinning as his eyes raked up and down your sleep-addled face.

"Hey, yourself," he said softly. He pushed the hair off your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek while he continued to examine you closely. "Feelin' okay?"

You nodded and yawned, stretching your sore legs out underneath the blankets. "You fucked me into a coma."

He laughed heartily and rubbed his palm over his chest, embarrassment flushing his bronzed skin.

"But I guess that's what I get for shacking up with a pornstar," you added with a giggle. He tossed his head back and laughed even louder at that and you couldn't resist, his happiness too infectious. You inched forward and nuzzled into his side, his arm dropping to wrap around your shoulders.

When the laughter died down, he gazed lovingly at you and, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, reminded you, "ex-pornstar, but I suppose old habits die hard, huh?"

"Mm, maybe, but that's okay," you said, tracing light, invisible patterns on his stomach. "It's nothing I can't handle."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and smirked. "Careful, or I might have'ta hold you to that."

"Bring it on, superstar," you whispered before leaning up and pressing a gentle, soft kiss against his mouth. You licked your lips and hummed before looking up at him through your lashes. "Cream cheese?"

"I made you a bagel, but you fell asleep," he admitted, "but figured we could relax the rest of the day. Order in, watch movies... just like we said we would."

"I don't remember saying we would do all that naked," you teased.

"Thought that was implied, baby," he said with a frown. "You shacked up with a pornstar, what'd you expect?"

What did you expect? Did you ever imagine your life would turn out the way it did? Sitting in bed with a sheet wrapped around you, eating Chinese food and watching a Turner Classic Movies marathon with the man of your dreams? You always wished for it; before you met, after you became friends, while you were carrying on an illicit affair, and even when you weren't on speaking terms, you always, always wished for it. But did you ever really think it would come true?

You couldn't really remember, and at that point, it didn't matter. Because you didn't care how you got there, just as long as you were together, you were happy.

You did exactly what he said you would do. You stayed in bed until the sun began to set, wasting the whole day away curled into his side watching old movies and pointing out your favorite parts, exactly the way you used to.

It was around nine when Joel suggested going out for ice cream. Let's get out, stretch our legs and walk along the river, he had said after vowing to finish your vegetable garden the next day.

And on your way out, your hands fused together even while he struggled to lock the door one handed, you looked at the chairs on his porch and smiled to yourself.

"What's that for?" he asked, tapping your cheek lovingly while you walked side by side to his truck.

"Nothing, it's stupid," you told him with a shrug.

"Ain't nothin' you got to say is stupid to me."

You sighed when he let your hand go so you could round the truck and hop into the passenger seat. After you clicked your seatbelt into place, he put the keys in the ignition but waited to turn it on. Instead, he looked at you expectantly with his eyebrows raised.

"Fine," you mumbled, "I'm gonna sound fucking crazy, but... fine."

"Oh, well now this I gotta hear," he said.

You gave him a look before turning in your seat to face him. "The chairs on your porch." He nodded.

"So far, not crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Remember when I came by to drop off the shirts for the Jack and Jill party?"

He nodded again and you could feel the self-consciousness begin to creep up.

"We weren't on great terms back then. I had just found out you bought a house. I felt like I hardly even knew you anymore. And I was so damn nervous, I didn't want to fuck things up even more than I already had, but when I saw you had two..." You paused when you saw the flicker of understanding cross his face. "I thought you maybe found someone else. I know. It's crazy, like I said."

Joel smiled and reached his hand across the seat to lace together with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Got the second one for you."

Your eyes snapped up to his in surprise.

"What?" you breathed.

He gave you a shrug and tilted his head bashfully. "I was just waitin' for you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you fumbled with the seatbelt, unbuckling yourself so you could stretch your body over to his seat and pull him into a deep kiss.

"I thought I lost you," you whispered against his mouth, and he chuckled.

"You didn't. I was all yours that very first night, sweetheart."

You didn't even try to deny it. He was right. It seemed so obvious now. Why didn't you see it back then? But before you began to mentally chastise yourself for being so bullheaded, you stopped. You couldn't change the past, something you've been learning to accept in therapy for months now, but what you could do was focus on your future. And while you sat next to Joel as he drove towards your favorite ice cream place in town, windows down and stars twinkling in the sky, you smiled because your future together looked pretty damn bright.

[nonhumanhermitheadcanons]

This year, we've got a cowboy/western/witch theme! The choice was mostly inspired by the viral post/poem about cowboys and witches being similar in vibe, but was also just for fun. As always, this list is for doing as many, or as few, as you want! If you do any fanwork inspired by these prompts, please tag us so we can see and share it!

In text form, the prompts are:

Skulls

Moonshine

Western

Wands and Spells

Vultures

Decomposition

Thorns and Spines

Stars

Dust

Magic

Cowboys

Horseshoes

Potions and Poisons

Witches

Free Space

Alternatives: Midnight, Cacti, Sand, Horse, Hats, Platypus, Outlaw, Canyon, Ranch

[leaveharmony]

Tonight's Red Dead adventure: we decided it would be funnier to go steal a wagon and drive it to the potential wagon fence at Emerald Ranch than just look up whether the online version still had a wagon fence feature.

This was after one of Tosh's random moonshiner events triggered (we burned the fields, I can't even remember if it was the Grey's place or the Braithwaites). I laughed out loud when we were escaping and she ran past me (on foot) driving a stolen wagon. Which I suggested we bring to the fence, if there was one. Maybe forty feet down the road we got stuck behind an NPC going in the same direction, very slowly, driving a one-pony cart hauling a single keg. Already laughing, I pulled my shotgun and fired a few times off to his right, which sped him right up, which unfortunately meant we were able to speed up.

This was inadvisable, as Tosh cannot steer for shit, and promptly smashed into a small rock which knocked both horses over and tore a wheel off the wagon, trashing it. At this point, the barrel wagon guy went tearing past us again, soon pursued by Tosh, firing with both pistols and missing him every time until she finally shot and killed the poor horse, and I had to rapidly excuse myself for a moment because otherwise I would have literally pissed myself laughing.

When I returned, we elected to try again.

So we chased a wagon just outside of Rhodes; she who also cannot shoot for shit missed the driver several times, which of course caused him to speed up, at which point I chased the wagon down, lasso'd him off the wagon and brought it thus to an elegant stop. She turned the wagon around while I tied the unfortunate but alive gentleman up; and this was all going very well until we passed a second wagon, who noticed the guy I'd left tied up coincidentally (on god, coincidentally) on the train tracks, and immediately became a Witness to common assault. I leapt off the wagon when the minimap went red, Tosh I guess assumed I was going to go kill the tied up guy while she killed the witness; I took off on my horse instead trying to get out of the pursuit area...so she killed the guy herself, and then the lawmen when they showed up, and all the while I was a few miles away waiting with my rifle in case anyone bothered to follow me. Which they didn't, because she killed them all. I paid a 2 cent bounty and thus, my debt to society. For her multiple murders, Tosh paid 32 cents. "Where the fuck was my partner in crime when the law came for me?!" she demanded. "Your partner in crime thought that was SLOPPY and bravely ran away," I said.

Eventually we did get the wagons up there - there is no wagon fence in the online version. So, if nothing else, we learned something!

[aikoiya]

LoZ - Ordonian Folktales: The Tale of the Stáblad & the Tangled Capaill

This story is about a stableboy who had been stealing from his boss' stash of homebrewed booze & drinking on the job. (Ordona tends to have a pretty low drinking age. About 15 or so.)

In an attempt to hide this fact from his boss who was on the warpath searchin' for the culprit, the stableboy poured the moonshine into the horse's drinking trough without thinking.

The horse got so terribly drunk that he began to dance, but ended up getting his hooves all tied, resulting in him falling over & breaking his legs. Meaning that he would need to be killed in order to prevent him from suffering.

However, the horse had been the owner's prized stallion, which he'd been planning to enter into the Hateno Rodeo next week, but now that was impossible. The old man was furious & was determined to find the miscreant responsible.

Despite this, the stableboy was unapologetic, more concerned with keeping from getting caught than the unfortunate death of the rancher’s beloved horse.

That night, however, the stableboy was visited by Malanya, the Goddess of Horses, who lectured the young man & turned him into a horse to replace the one that his negligence had needlessly killed. The stableboy turned out to be quite blessed in being very fast.

So, despite only having a week to practice, he ended up winning the horse race at the Hateno Rodeo.

Yet, even then, he remained a horse. Several years passed by, the transformed horse winning many a rodeo event, but even still he sank deeper into despair due to isolation, until a new stableboy was hired, who, wouldn’t you know it, began to steal the rancher’s booze & drink it on the job, much like the transformed horse had.

He too found himself getting absolutely shitfaced on moonshine & much like the horse he’d replaced, the once stableboy began to dance, before tripping & breaking his own legs.

When it came time for the rancher to put the once stablehand down, the horse neighed loudly, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I filched the moonshine an' poured it into the drinkin' trough! I didn' mean to kill the horse, but I did & now I don' wanna die!” (Forgive my butchering of an Irish accent. I tend to see Ordon being an interesting mix of Irish & southern US country.)

Though the rancher did not understand, someone else did. And in that moment, the horse turned into a man… with a pair of broken legs.

All around were shocked & the man cried in jubilation before confessing his theft & mistreatment of the old horse.

The man was given several lashings, but he took it on the chin like a champ, knowing that it'd been a long time coming, & the once horse was never hired by any other ranch or farm in Ordon again.

Since then, Malanya has been one of the patron deities of Ordon alongside the Light Spirits.

---

What isn’t known is that this tale is true & that though the owner was upset, he allowed the once-horse man lodging at his home until he'd recovered, found a new job, & a new home (because you can't expect them to have just left the man's house empty). During that time, the horse-man managed to convince the new stableboy to confess his own crimes. The boy was allowed to stay on, but his pay was cut in half until he proved himself trustworthy.

Something else that isn't told in the tale, the once-horse man ended up opening The Tangled Capaill Tavern that still stands to this day. Capaill being the old Ordonian word for horseshoes.

He really buckled down & ended up using the money he earned from it to buy his old boss a new horse who ended up being an even better rodeo horse than the horse-man.

Something interesting he discovered after paying for a new horse, though, despite being returned to the form of a man, the once stableboy seemed to retain the speed he'd had as a horse. Perhaps a gift from Malanya as a reward for good behavior? After all, he hadn't needed to pay back his old boss nor swear to give him (but only him) free drinks at the horse-man's new tavern.

Malanya is especially well-known for blessing the ranch that Twilight works at. Which is where you find her bud in BotW. It's what's left of Ordon Ranch on the Surface.

Edit: Hello! :3 @skyloftian-nutcase made something on my folktale!

Here. Twilight Spins A Yarn

LoZ Cultural Masterlist 1

[onthefyre]

〈 pedro pascal  ›  cismale  ›  he/him  ›  45/60+ 〉  ———   a grand welcome to the vieux carré, ANTHONY SANCHEZ. with a city as diverse as this, there’s a new threat on almost every corner. being a HYBRID might provide some protection but their biggest strength may come from being loyal to NIKLAUS MIKAELSON/HOPE MIKAELSON. many see them as a SOLDIER which is why SHE SAID TO ME "OH DEATH. IT'S WAY TOO WET ON YOUR CHEEKS TO BE NOTHING." BUT WHY DOES SHE KNOW? REALLY WHAT DOES SHE KNOW? seems to fit them perfectly. whispers say they’re from the FUTURE. can it all be believed? just keep an eye on them and see if their true colors shine through. 

here's a bit about anthony!

anthony is one of the unnamed hybrids klaus created.

he's a southern cowboy who was working on a ranch when klaus came across him, drinking moonshine laced with wolfsbane to feel a buzz. he was lonely, bored with life and packless.

he WAS loyal to klaus, which caused klaus to spare his life. he laid low for a while here and there, hoping for the day klaus called him back into action.

when he learned klaus had a child, he became something of a guardian angel hybrid to her from a distance. some time in the future, he explained himself to hope and made sure to keep an eye on her the best that he could.

he was a janitor at the school for a while until klaus' death (shoutout to davina breaking the sireline!!!!) when hope distanced herself in her grief. he ended up leaving and patroling the school / town from a distance once more.

when people were going to the past, he jumped on the chance to help hope even if she didn't want it (and to see his creator once again)

goes by tony

[lady-maracas]

Wildflowers, A RDR story - 0.4 - Friendship

Series Masterlist

-Emerald Ranch, New Hanover, December 1898-

The air is chilly, the December wind reminding me a new year is bound to start. I can't say I'm sad to let the past year go, considering how difficult it was for me. Being locked up for months for a crime I didn't commit really made me realize just how unfair life can be.

Recently, I've been busy, which isn't surprising based on the fact that I seem to accept every job that is given to me. I've assisted Cripps in setting up our revolutionary trading company, a task that has taken up much of my time and energy. One of my jobs involves skinning animals. Their pelts are particularly popular this time of year because of the chilly weather, folk use it for coats and boots. Hence, I've been deliberately avoiding Harriet, the animal protector, knowing she would lecture me about how I "brutally kill" animals.

I've also formed a good friendship with Maggie. We share similar personalities and, of course, a mutual love for moonshine that has drawn us closer together. Recently, I helped her find a new cook since our operations rely heavily on having someone skilled in the kitchen, especially after Danny-Lee decided to betray her and steal her customers. That's when I met a French fellow named Marcel. We get along pretty well, especially since we speak the same language—though his tendency to talk a bit too much can be overwhelming at times. Nonetheless, he's been doing a great job so far.

Speaking of chatterboxes, I also assisted Maggie in breaking her nephew, Lem, out of jail. To be honest, I don't think he's stopped talking since that day, though I must admit I found myself chuckling softly at some of his jokes. It's interesting how quickly these new friendships are beginning to grow on me.

As I enter the shack where we prepare our alcohol, a small cabin partially hidden in the woods north of Emerald Ranch. Keeping a low profile is crucial—making moonshine is illegal after all. I fix my hat while making my way down the stairs towards the area where we prepare the moonshine.

"Bonjour! (Hello!)" I hear Marcel exclaim cheerfully. "Qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour toi? (What can I do for you?)" he asks me, his enthusiasm unmistakable. I'm about to respond when I'm abruptly interrupted by Lem, the other professional yapper in our group.

"Good day, Marcel! Oh, hello Ms. Watson. How's it going?" It's clear he's busy, as he's holding a stack of papers in his hands, likely indicating a busy day ahead.

"I'm doing fine, thank you." I reply and smile at my friend before turning back to Marcel. "J'ai reçu une commande; une recette à la pomme rose, tu veux bien la préparer pour moi? (I received a Wild Cider moonshine order, mind preparing it for me?)" I ask the cook politely.

"Avec plaisir! (Of course!)" He turns back to the preparation counter, making sure we have all the necessary ingredients.

"You know, when you talk together like that, I can't help but feel like you're plotting something behind my back," Lem chimes in, sounding a bit left out.

"It doesn't count as back talk if you're in the room, Lem," I tease, laughing at the scoff he lets out.

"De toute façon, I got better things to do than talk about you, Lem Fike," Marcel retorts, his focus still on preparing the order.

"Thanks, you guys, you really make me feel appreciated, you know," Lem manages to say with a hint of sarcasm, though his expression shows he's half-heartedly annoyed as he glances at the pile of papers he's still holding."Anyways, I got this letter for you. Well at least Cripps said it was for you, apparently it's from one of your friends." He hands it to me and I waste no time opening it.

The letter is from Horley, instructing me to meet him and Jones in Blackwater as soon as possible. I recall meeting Jones a couple of weeks ago; the old man is certainly a funny character. He reminds me of Cripps in a way—both of them are distinctly quirky old men.

"Thanks, I gotta go. I'll see you both later," I say, waving goodbye before heading back up the stairs and exiting the dim light of the shack.

Stepping into the crisp air, I make my way back to my camp located in Great Plains. Scrawny Nag's whining serves as a gentle reminder that I sometimes ask too much of him. Poor horse.

As I arrive at camp, I don't bother dismounting; instead, I call out for my most loyal friend. "Sam! Sam, we've gotta go meet Horley in Blackwater!" I shout, my voice echoing through the vast landscape of the plains.

"Why?" I hear the tired voice of my friend drifting from his tent across camp. "I wanted to sleep, for once!" He sounds grumpy, and I can picture him rolling over, trying to ignore the call.

"We both know that's not true, Sam; you're always sleeping. Now c'mon, cowboy, we've got business to attend to!" I hear him mumble a few swear words under his breath as he reluctantly gets up and makes his way toward his horse, a sleek black Turkoman.

"We better get paid for this, let's go," he warns me before spurring his horse into a lope. I follow suit.

When we finally arrive in Blackwater, the bustling atmosphere hits us immediately. We spot Horley, who is patiently waiting for us, his face lined with anticipation.

"There you are. How did you get on?" he asks us, his tone professional yet friendly. I'm about to respond when I'm interrupted for the second time today.

"She got on just fine, you know she did," Jones jumps in, making his presence known. Sam and I exchange an annoyed glance, accustomed to his interjections. "Well, I know she did. You see it in the sky, you smell it in the air. She ain't a saint, but she's a good one. A fine gal in a nasty world! An American, I guess!" His nice words make me chuckle despite my irritation.

"What's with the praise, Mr. Jones?" I ask, genuinely curious about his sudden enthusiasm.

"Oh, the madam picked you well!" he replies, referring to Mrs. LeClerk. "Horley, this gal will do more than avenge her; with any luck, she'll save us all!" He adds excitedly, his eyes shining with hope.

"Oh, there ain't no luck, Mr. Jones. It's just a woman's heart and not much else," Horley explains, his tone turning more serious.

"Well, she's got a fine one. Send her to help the marshal! The whole damn place is going to shit, and we need more good souls to let us loons rant in peace and howl at the moon in safety," Jones insists, pointing at me. I stand quietly, listening to them, confused by their fervor.

"Maybe..." Horley seems lost in thought for a moment.

"But, don't you and the madam kill the girl with vengeance—nor kill her inside with grief," I hear Sam sigh beside me. I turn to look at him, and he appears unimpressed with the conversation.

"I thought we had business to do, not listening to Jones talk our ears off," he says playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

"Like you said, she's no saint. But like I always say; if you need to earn some money and stay somewhat out of trouble, go see Marshal Davies. He's supposed to stop every bastard killing innocent folk," Horley instructs me, his expression serious.

"And where can I find him?" I ask, eager for direction.

"Up in Tall Trees, I'll show you, c'mon!" Jones struts up to his horse, happy to help.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Jones." I get back on my horse, so does Sam.

"Of course, follow me!" He trots away, so we have no choice but to follow him.

-

"Marshal! Marshal Davies, this is the people I wanted you to meet!" Jones calls out as we arrive at the small camp nestled in Tall Trees. The area is serene, with towering trees surrounding us and the faint sound of a nearby creek adding to the atmosphere of the place.

"So you're Horley's protégés, huh? He did say you was decent. I hope so," the Marshal says as he looks forward. He appears serious and somewhat intimidating, with a sturdy posture and a keen gaze that suggests he means business. He's the kind of guy you wouldn't want to mess with.

"And he said to me that you stop bastards from killing innocent folk, so I guess that's one thing we got in common," I reply with a smile, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders as I engage conversation with him.

"This land is full of scum," he sighs, the gravity of his words evident. "I spend most of my time wishing they're better off left to it." Before he can continue, he's interrupted by Jones, who has come closer to the small campfire, wanting to soak in the warmth.

"Oh, they're good ones, real good ones! Heart of pure gold," Jones insists, rubbing his hands together as he tries to warm up.

"Go away, old man. I told you to go away," the Marshal snaps, clearly losing his patience.

"I'll go away, Mr. Marshal... I'll go," Jones mumbles in response, turning away and trudging back to his horse, a resigned look on his face.

"Tom Davies, US Marshal," he introduces himself formally, cutting through the tension.

"I'm Elizabeth, and this is Sam," I say, motioning to myself and then to my friend, who stands quietly, probably daydreaming about sleeping.

"I've been sent on the trail of a band of killers. This one, Alfredo Montez, killed a family up near Thieves Landing and did some unspeakable things. He's wanted in four states and two countries, and I think he's holed up near Manzanita Post. You take a ride with me to take a look?" the Marshal offers, and Sam and I exchange a glance before agreeing.

Each of us mounts our horses, the sound of hooves stirring up dust as we prepare to head to Manzanita Post.

"Follow me!" the Marshal directs. "I got a man been tracking him. When I left him, it looked promising, but we all know a trail can go cold in a heartbeat—particularly if the one you're tracking doesn't want to be found," he explains, his tone serious.

"That makes sense," I reply, trying to keep pace with his insights.

"Fortunately for us, signs point to Alfredo Montez not caring one fart for who's on his trail," he adds with a laugh. "You got bows? Something like that? You'll need them," he informs us as we continue our ride. "Coming up on the post."

In the distance, we spot our destination to the right: a small house and a shack, both enclosed by a fence.

"Now, I can't be seen to get too close to any of this. I'd be causing a crime or... whatever the damn law is. Ah, anyway, there's Lee, the feller we're supposed to meet," he says, gesturing toward a figure sitting on the porch of the house.

"Hello, friends!" Lee greets us with a wave.

"How's it going, Lee?" the Marshal responds, his demeanor shifting slightly.

"Montez is tricky, you know it and I know it. He knows we're coming, Tom. He's holed up in there waiting for us. The place is crawling with guards, patrols, everything. It's gonna be tough, you know?" Lee's voice betrays his nerves, a hint of nervousness creeping in.

"Well, that's what I pay you all for," the Marshal replies, and I glance back at Sam, who smiles slightly, clearly pleased about the prospect of payment for our effort.

"Yeah, paying us to do your job!" Lee bites back, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

"I can't go and kill a man in cold blood, Lee. Not while I don't have the evidence I need. But, I can turn an old-fashioned blind eye to an unfortunate dispute that I did not see, resulting in the death of some undesirables," the Marshal explains with a serious tone, his eyes flicking between Sam and me to ensure we agree with this morally ambiguous plan.

"Good thing I don't have a problem with an 'unfortunate dispute'," I say with a shrug, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension.

"Then that's perfect. Good luck in there!" the Marshal replies, offering a hint of encouragement.

"Let's go..." Lee instructs, leading us forward into the dense underbrush.

"Montez knows we're coming; it's best if we don't make too much noise," Lee advises as we set off. "There are going to be some guards, for sure. Make sure to take them out quietly, with a bow if you got one." He glances at my bow before looking over at Sam, who readies his throwing knives.

"There's a patrol up ahead; hide!" Lee drops down low, his urgency evident. Sam and I quickly find cover behind a large rock, the rough surface cool against my back. We exchange a look, silently communicating our shared goal.

"I take the one in the front, you take the one in the back?" I suggest, nodding towards the guards.

"You read my mind," Sam replies, slipping out of our hiding spot to find better positioning. Once I see he's settled, we share a final glance, then take our aim. My arrow flies straight for the front guard's eye, piercing through and killing him instantly. Sam's knife finds its target in the back guard's throat, the blade slicing through seamlessly.

"Okay, let's move on," Lee says, emerging from his own hiding spot with a smirk. "Cold-blooded killers, I see."

"Only when we need to," Sam and I respond in unison, a hint of camaraderie in our voices.

As we continue toward the criminals' camp, we cross paths with other guards. We make quick decisions, letting some pass while taking out others without hesitation. Arriving near the camp, Lee motions for us to split up, ensuring we cover as much ground as possible. We find hiding spots while surveying the area, preparing for what's to come. The guards seem aware of our presence, their movements tense and intentional.

I shoot first, mine using my pistols, a bullet finding its mark in one guard's chest. The sudden noise sends the camp into chaos; shouts and gunfire erupt in every direction. Lee, Sam and I keep to our positions, carefully avoiding unnecessary movements as we await our next targets. Each of us takes down a few more guards, strategic and efficient.

Finally, the moment arrives: we spot Alfredo Montez, our primary target. I shoot him straight in the head, without hesitation, his dead body stumbles from his hiding place.

"There he is; he's dead alright," Lee confirms as we gather around Montez's lifeless body. "Let me get him. You know what? All we need is the bastard's head." With a grim determination, he pulls out his hunting knife and decapitates the dead criminal. The sight is horrifying. Lee places the head in a bag and swings it over his shoulder. "Okay, let's go. Take one of their horses to get back to Manzanita Post."

Without hesitation, we gather the gang's mounts, leaving the scene behind us as we ride away. The rush of adrenaline surges through me, while some other gang members spot us and take shots in our direction.

We steer our horses skillfully, dodging bullets and navigating the path to make it back to the Marshal in one piece. There's an urgency to our escape, each second feeling more critical as we charge forward, determined to return successfully after the deadly mission.

After a couple of minutes, we find ourselves back at Manzanita Post, the dusty road crunching beneath our horses' hooves. The Marshal is waiting for us on the porch, his silhouette framed against the fading light of the day, casting an imposing figure.

"How did you get on?" he asks as we dismount, his expression unreadable but focused.

"Pretty well, I would say," I respond, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.

"Here's his head," Lee announces with eagerness, pulling out the gruesome head from the bag. The sight is chilling; the head is harshly disfigured.

"Oh... That's very civilized," Marshal Davies replies with a note of sarcasm dripping from his voice. He inspects the head with a mix of curiosity and disgust. "Well, this should show folks that we're willing to bring law and order any way we can. But this ain't Montez. At least it ain't Alfredo Montez."

"You're kidding me? Who is it then?" Sam asks, surprise evident in his tone as he stands beside me, trying to understand.

"That's his brother," the Marshal sighs, his disappointment clearly taking over. The weight of the situation settles heavily, overshadowing our earlier excitement. "Anyway, here's your money. It's better than nothing, given that you killed the wrong brother. Now let's be clear; Jorge Montez was a no-good son of a bitch with a price on his head. Only in that family was he considered a saint. Alright, friends, I'll see ya up in Van Horn, if you get the chance. My next lead is that maybe Alfredo Montez will be there..." The Marshal waves us goodbye, his demeanor shifting back toward the professionalism we had first encountered.

"Killed the wrong bastard, well I'll be damned!" Lee scoffs, a wry smile on his face, before throwing the severed head away with all his might. It lands somewhere in the dense underbrush of the forest, a disgusting sight.

Sam and I exchange looks of amusement, the tension of the moment slowly fading away.

"Well, this was fun!" I laugh, reaching for my satchel. I pull out a cigarette and light it with a match, the flame flickering momentarily before catching.

"The only thing that matters is that we got paid. I can't believe you woke me up for that!" Sam giggles as he makes his way back to his horse, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "I'll see you at camp?" he asks, looking back at me while adjusting his gear.

"Yeah, see you later!" I wave him off, taking a final drag of my cigarette before stepping on it with my boot, extinguishing the flame.

Killing the wrong folk... I let the thought linger in my mind. Why does this kind of stuff always happen to me?

-

Sam belongs to @sam-vdl , all RDR characters belong to rockstar games.

[sheep33hallow]

Moonshine, Sunshine (SuperBat)

Rating: G

Word Count: 1053

Tags: Western AU, Batkids, Pre-relationship

Summary: The leader of the Gotham Gang doesn't take too kindly to strangers. The only reason Clark is allowed entry on their land is because he has an excuse.

_____

“Hello Bruce.” Clark greeted from his spot at the bottom of the stairs. He stood on the grass, being mindful of the plants their herbalist, Miss Isley recently planted. 

Bruce sat in his rocking chair, whittling a chunk of wood, with a knife that looks similar to a knife set he gave Bruce a few weeks ago. 

The leader of the Gotham Gang doesn't take too kindly to strangers. The only reason Clark is allowed entry on their land is because he has an excuse. 

Dick waves at him from his spot on the top step. 

He waves back. 

“You saw the twins yesterday, Mr. Kent. Doesn't the leader of the Metropolis Misters have better things to do than to visit children he can't take care of?” 

Clark chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, saving infants from a pack of bison leaves quite an impression.” 

Tim comes around from him, age eight, with a basket full of eggs. “You know they call you Superman.” Tim points his thumb out like he was hitchhiking. “They won't say it to your face though. So they whisper.” He smirks at him. 

“And on account of Bruce telling them not too.” Jason says, age 9, coming from the other side of Clark with a headless chicken in his hold. He chuckles when he sees Bruce frown at him. Jason walks up the stairs to show the bird to Dick, who nods. 

“Good work, Jaybird.” Dick, age fourteen.

Jason lits up. 

“It's unkindly. Mr. Kent has a name. No need to inflate his ego.” 

“Mama told me, I was born without one.” Clark defends. 

Bruce puts his tools down, and picks his black cowboy hat up that was sitting on the porch banister. “Come on, let's get your visit over with so you can leave. I don't want to keep you.” 

Clark pats each boy on their head as he walks up the stairs to follow Bruce inside of the house. 

Bruce’s house is the largest on the ranch. The Gotham Gang makes most of their money through selling animals, and animal furs, along with a few medicinals they've become known for. 

Don't tell anyone what you saw. 

Clark remembers him saying that, the first time he met Bruce. A different black hat was on his head, along the black scarf that was covering his face, no longer there, hanging on his neck. 

“Easy steps. Damien is sleeping.” They bypass his son sleeping on the couch. A book hanging, looking like it's one turn of the boy's body from falling to the floor. 

Clark follows Bruce on a familiar path. He's been here enough times in the last few months to visit on his own, but Bruce won't let him into the house without being supervised. 

The other members of the gang have taken kindly to him, even a few have visited where he and his Gang have set up camp until they're able to buy more land. The Misters are used to moving around often, and some are still traveling while sending money back to aid in the land buying. 

Some have gotten jobs in the neighboring towns, and they've gotten more horses to accommodate all of the independence more of his gang has been experiencing.

His own horse, Krypton, has been liking the trips. Harley always brushes and feeds him like he's a part of the Gotham stable. 

“Here.” Bruce says. He opens the door, and sees the twins in their cribs. Helena is sleeping, but Terry has his arms up reaching for anyone. Bruce walks to one side of the crib, leaning over, he strokes Helena’s head. A soft smile as he looks at her. 

Clark walks to the other side, and gleefully picks up Terry. “Hey, buddy.” He holds Terry in his arms. “I've missed you.” He looks sideways at Bruce who isn't paying him any mind. “Even though I saw you yesterday.” He whispered to the baby as if it's their own inside joke. 

Terry grins at Clark and touches his face. 

He never had kids of his own, and he bonded with these two after protecting them. 

“Are you staying for dinner again, Mr. Kent?” Bruce reaches down, taking a sleeping Helena out of her crib. The baby whines for a moment before Bruce shushes and pats her back. “Dick killed and skinned a few animals, and he wants to try his luck feeding us all tonight.” 

Surprised. “Dick can cook?” He smiles, sounding proud. “You have some fine boys, er– should I say young men on your hands.” Clark bites his lips, suddenly feeling bashful when Bruce simply looks at him. 

Bruce eyes him. “You've really taken a liking to my boys. This.” His eyes squint for a moment, like he is collecting his thoughts. “You don't eventually want the twins back?” Bruce asks hesitantly. 

Caught off guard. “No, never.” He stresses. “They're better off with you. I-I just like them is all, and Dick and the others are a wonderful addition to know them.” 

Bruce hums. “And you're not trying to get more dirt off the Black Bat?” 

“What more dirt is there? You have a nice community, and good kids. Also, all I know is rumors about the Black Bat, it doesn't mean it is all true or how it connects to you Mr. Wayne.” Clark lifts brow at him, a smirk to tease. 

Bruce looks him up and down. “Alfred said you were fine people.” He said, sounding relieved. And Bruce’s shoulders seem to finally relax around him. He snuggles Helena more into his chest. “Well, I hope you'll stay. Well for Dick I mean. Tonight.” He emphasized. 

Feeling a little bold. He walks closer to Bruce. “I can always stay when the youngin are asleep. I have a bottle of moonshine my friend, J’onn made.” He can smell cigars on Bruce. 

“Mr. Kent.” He says, demurely. “I hope you'll take care of me if I should act unlike myself. I've been known to be weak to moonshine.” Bruce looks up at Clark, and grabs the opening of Clark's vest, tugging him closer, the twins end up bumping each other. 

“Letting me know all of your weaknesses, Bruce.” He sweetly jokes. Clark licks his lips, looking at Bruce's. 

“Ha.” Bruce laughs. “Not even close, farm boy.” 

[15-lizards]

I like to project so that’s why I love to imagine ASOIAF characters as ppl who live in the American South

Texas Oil Mogul Lannisters. They have a residence in the city but their main place of living is on their ridiculously big ranch house next to all their oil rigs. Tywin runs that shit like the navy and no he doesn’t care about the environmental effects. Tyrion does damage control to the press, Jamie the heir would rather be doing literally anything else, and Cersei can’t understand that Tywin doesn’t want her to inherit the business (she has a different PR crisis every month)

Swamp people Greyjoys (Florida edition). They are just so Florida Man coded I’m sorry. They def live in the boonies. Balon sits on the porch all day and bitches instead of doing anything. Asha does all the actual work (fishing, trapping, gator hunting). Aeron is super into the crazy Baptist church down the road. Theon walks around barefoot and drugged out of his mind bc he’s just like that. Euron is the weird uncle that tried to bring home an alligator as a pet. Multiple times.

Swamp people Reeds (Louisiana edition). The better swamp people sorry ab it. They live way down south in a rickety old house on the river and they have about three neighbors within a ten mile radius. Very mysterious and isolated but if anyone is sick Meera will be at your doorstep with all her grandma’s weird remedies to make you feel better (and they always work). Jojen is the kid that the local church thinks needs an exorcism. Howland is the strange neighbor you go to if you want all your problems to go away without question

West Virginia Appalachian Baratheons. A working class family with a mining history. Everyone is too stubborn to move away from their ancestral home. Robert makes and sells moonshine out in the backyard. Renly is the smoothest talking, most charming and popular motherfucker in town. All the old ladies and moms love him. Stannis left to go to college and immediately got rid of his accent when he moved, and he hates going back to visit, even when Shireen begs him. Whenever they visit, Shireen teaches the old neighbors how to read if they never learned :,)

Alabama Tyrells. They have two residences, a McMansion in the suburbs and a big farmhouse in the country (they got rid of their family plantation bc Olenna thought it would be bad publicity). Mace is an old school southern gentleman who everyone likes even if he’s a bit ridiculous. Olenna is THE head of all the socialite women in town. Willas is studying to take over the family business (nobody even really knows what it is, they own like everything in town). Garlan and Loras are both D1 football players who are going straight to the NFL. Margaery is a pageant queen/cheerleader/sorority girl who definitely had a society debut.

South Texas Martells. They have a big ass cattle ranch near the mountains. Doran is a big name in state government, he has billboards up all over the highway for his re-election campaign. Oberyn lives off the family money with no real job and likes to travel out of the country, but does philanthropy every now and then to boost his reputation. Elaria is a hot topic of conversation for all the ladies, because she’s Oberyns middle class mistress who had kids out of wedlock. And the Sand Snakes are definitely all accomplished horseback riders, Oberyn taught them on the ranch himself, to everyone else’s discomfort.

Okay thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[howdywrites]

Gather The Posse - Yeehawgust 1

Part of Yeehawgust 2023 [ WIP intro ] [ my Yeehawgust tag]

Length: 500~ words Warnings: alcohol, mention of alcohol abuse Backstory: after a falling out with the Goldridge Rebellion, Rosalind attempts to make amends and bring the posse back together to take back their town once and for all.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future yeehawgust posts from me!

If one thing could bring the group together, it was good booze. Lucinda graciously offered her saloon to Rosalind - for a price, of course. The rebellion needed this meeting to shake off hard feelings. A concrete plan was needed if they were going to wrench Goldridge from the clutches of Caldwell and his crew. 

Wood squeaked against wood as Rosalind finished rearranging the last of the tables into the center of the room. From her overcoat pocket she unfurled the shittiest map of Godridge she sketched by hand the night before and smoothed it over the top of the tables along with some nubs of colored pencils that she ‘borrowed’ from Clementine’s room back at the Jacobs ranch. 

“Still got that whiskey, Cinda?” Rosalind called over her shoulder, eyeing the squares and lines that made up her map. 

“Yeah and you still got the cash?” Lucinda’s gruff voice crooned from the saloon’s kitchen. “What makes you think Eliza and the rest of ‘em want to see your face again?”

Rosalind snorted, shrugging her overcoat off and depositing it over the back of a worn out chair. “‘Cause who’s gonna turn down booze in this town?”

When the hour to meet came and went, it felt as if the world stood still. The oil lamps on the tabletops filled the saloon with a warm glow, creating a beacon for the rest of the group to follow as night swallowed Goldridge. Rosalind stared at the front door, listening to the maddening tick, tick, tick of Lucinda’s grandfather clock. The whiskey and moonshine bottles sat on top of her map, practically begging to be popped open and swallow her anxieties. 

But before long, the group arrived. 

Su Yang clambered through the door first, dressed in that beautiful ruby gown Rosalind liked so much. In her arm, she dragged a disgruntled Charlie who shot the outlaw with a scowl when they passed her. Anna appeared in the doorway not too long after, following her brother’s lead in side-eyeing Rosalind. They gathered around the table, seemingly in high spirits, though they ignored the woman who had sent for them. Lucinda joined their ranks, pouring generous glasses for everyone.

Rosalind held her breath. They were missing just one crucial piece to this puzzle. Shuffling to the door of the saloon, she stole a peek outside to see if she could make out any other stragglers. The main road of Goldridge offered nothing but the faint sound of jovial piano music from the mayor’s home where Caldwell’s gang partied.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Eliza’s exasperated voice drifted from the back of the saloon. She brushed her brilliant gold hair out of her face before adjusting a sleeping Clementine on her hip. Rosalind’s heart nearly burst and it took every ounce of self control to not run over and envelope the woman in her arms. After their screaming match the other day, she wanted nothing more than to grovel at Eliza’s feet and worship her like the goddess she was.

“Not too late at all,” Rosalind reassured her, flashing her a crooked smile. “Gang’s all here.”

-

Taglist: @draculinawrites @rosesonneptune

[kimberly40]

Popcorn Sutton- A scrawny, long-bearded mountain man with a foul mouth and a passing acquaintance with copper tubing and kettles, Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton seemed the embodiment of moonshiners of yore. Popcorn was a legend, the ultimate Bootlegger and maker of Moonshine likker. He was born Marvin Sutton; folks knew him as Popcorn. The story is that Marvin was in a bar and became agitated with a popcorn vending machine. He attacked the machine with a pool cue. I don’t know who won that fight, but thereafter he was no longer Marvin, he was Popcorn. Brought up in rural Cocke County, Tenn., identified as one of four "moonshine capitals of the world" in the corn-whiskey history "Mountain Spirits," Mr. Sutton learned the family trade from his father.

The practice goes back to the Scots-Irish, who brought it to the New World, and it wasn't illegal until after the Civil War, says Dan Pierce, chairman of the history department at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. "This is something that legitimately is an expression of the culture of this region," Mr. Pierce says. Like his forebears, Mr. Sutton had brushes with the law, and was first convicted of selling untaxed liquor in the early 1970s. He mostly kept out of trouble after that, though friends say his nickname came from an unfortunate encounter with a balky barroom popcorn machine. But he was well known as a distiller around his native Parrottsville.

He was a familiar figure at the Misty Mountain Ranch Bed & Breakfast in nearby Maggie Valley, N.C., wearing faded overalls and with a back stooped, he said, from decades of humping bags of sugar into the hills. He picked the banjo and serenaded guests on the inn's porch. He helped decorate the $155-a-night Moonshiner suite at the inn with some still hardware. Mr. Sutton put a modern spin on his vocation, appearing in documentaries and even penning an autobiography, "Me and My Likker." Souvenir shops in Maggie Valley sold his video, "The Last Run of Likker I'll Ever Make," and even clocks with his image on them. Other moonshiners have gone legit and cashed in; a former Nascar driver and moonshiner now offers Junior Johnson's Midnight Moon in Southern liquor stores. But Mr. Sutton insisted on earning a living the old-fashioned way, and in 2007, agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives busted him with 850 gallons of moonshine, stored in an old school bus on his property. He was convicted in 2008 and was due to report to prison Friday and he was going to have to spend time in prison. For a mountain man, death was a better alternative. On March, 2009, Popcorn ended his life, rather than go to a federal prison. Instead, facing the verdict and ill health, he was found dead by Ms. Sutton at the age of 62 on Monday, and authorities suspect carbon-monoxide poisoning.

Going out like he lived, his epitaph read: “Marvin Popcorn Sutton / Ex-Moonshiner / October 5, 1946 / March 16, 2009 Popcorn Said f***k you.” I bleeped the last word! Ms. Sutton discovered her husband in his green Ford Fairlane. "He called it his three-jug car," she told the AP, "because he gave three jugs of liquor for it."

[artemistorm]

Four's a Dad?! - A misunderstanding about all the Links (except Twilight) thinking that Four is a father. Shenenagians ensue.

Late-Night Babblings - Legend sleep talks, and all the Links find that out the hard way.

A Troublesome Habit - Legend is addicted to coffee, Wild is addicted to potions, Wind is addicted to alcohol and moonshine, Four poisons himself, Sky drinks a tea that makes him sleepy, and so forth. Time, Twilight, and I think Warriors are very tired.

The Beginning- The chain watches all the games. (Right now it’s Skyward Sword)

A Mother's Touch - After suffering from cold temperatures the chain go to Lon Lon Ranch, and Legend is some some love from Malon and Time.

Several Secret Disasters Slowly and Disastrously Reveal Their Secrets -some chapters are fluffy

and the universe said wow, these guys are idiots (Minecraft LU Chatfic) by jelly_fiish

The Mysterious Curse of the Worst Wizzrobe to Ever Exist by conduitpowrr (this one's angsty but good)

What does anyone in this family know about "normal"?! by Skyward_Arpeggio- mostly fluffy I think

Anyway here are some fics for you. Dunno if you've read any of these, but I hope you find at least a few in here to read.

Also tons of hugs for you. As far as I know, I'm staying on this website.

Oh wow! Thank you! I will definitely be checking out some of these. Several Secret Disasters Slowly and Disastrously Reveal Their Secrets is one of my favorite fics! I do go through and reread chapters sometimes.

[trappers-cloak]

The Buck and the Fox

Chapter 2 - The Jewel of the Heartlands

Chapter 2 of my ongoing fanfic, the Buck and the Fox.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x female oc, narrative building. i'm trying to stay away from tropes to describe rn, still new to writing and posting fanfiction!

word count: ~4k

Diana Wegner

It had been several days since Diana had her life given back to her, albeit by the skin of her teeth. To her, it may have seemed like months since she had seen the man - Arthur - yet she found herself thinking of him often. Each time she did, she pinched herself, remembering the vows she choked through in the chapel, five years prior. 

Not that she had to pinch herself often. Where she grew up with ample time on her hands to think and read and embroider and mull over the state of the world, she now had a ranch to take charge of. Cows to milk, sheep to shear in the summer, chickens to feed. 

A typical day began in her tent. This was the first abnormality of her would-be married life. The tent behind the store that Arthur had seen had a companion tent for three quarters of every month. Each morning in the tent had its reason for starting there, but this morning was defined by cold water, a pail, and a set of bloody undergarments. 

Diana grunted as she scrubbed them clean. She had grown used to this particular part of womanhood in recent years - before, her parents would never have dreamt she’d be put to such a task. Then again, they would be appalled if they saw her in any capacity today. 

After the underclothes were scrubbed beyond recognition - with only a light brown stain, where a deep cherry red had been - she got herself dressed for the morning. For ranchwork, she opted for her pants, a loose pair, with a black unbuttoned shirt. She pulled out a pleasant sage green hat  - a round thing that had a sturdy, ornamental rope spiraling around its trim. 

The hat provided some good protection from the beating May sun, an especially useful trait given the lack of shade beside the big green barn. The various chores took Diana the better part of the day - feed the chickens, help Cripps set up the stew pot. Finally, she would reward herself with her favorites: the cattle. The great cows, Juno and Bessie, all but ran to the sight of Diana. They were some of her only friends of late - it was too hard for Eugene to forbid her from speaking to animals. 

“Hey, girls,” she cooed, petting both of them before picking up some hay. The cows mooed in response, nudging each other’s faces out of the way for the first bite. “There ya go,” Diana said again, feeling their hot breath on her hands. The great big bull stood nearby, waiting his turn. He had just been branded - the scar, and the pain from it, made the beast a bit shy of farmhands. The scar on his rump reminded Diana of her other purpose. 

“Seamus?” she called, grabbing another handful of hay. She called the name again as she walked over to the bull, beginning to feed it. “Thereeee, Vulcan, there ya go. I’m sorry, buddy,” she said. She knew better than to try petting him. “I’ll pick you something for that later.”

“Seamus?” she called again. I swear, if he’s drunk again… “Seamus? Where are you, you lazy sod!”

The grunting from behind the workbench told her all she needed to know. 

“You been on the moonshine again, then?”

Seamus bumped his head, and swore. “No,” he replied. “I’ve just been organizing the goods all day and magically collapsed!” The moonshine bottles clinked together under the bench. 

“Anything of use come by, then?” she asked, hoping for a hit. 

“Just these earrings - oh, and a silver bracelet. Nothing of much-”

“I’ll decide that, thank you very much.”

A small bag and a few coins exchanged hands. Seamus and Diana had formed an understanding three years ago, when Diana had caught him buying stolen goods from the brigands found around the county. She gained his allegiance when she’d promised not to tell Eugene, who would not only have thrown a fit, but would have demanded a hefty sum of the profits. Her husband was not only a hard-handed owner, but a ruthless capitalist with a nose for cash like a bloodhound. 

In exchange for some money, Seamus gave Diana the fine pieces of jewelry he came across. Paired with the feathers of pheasants, ducks and geese, Diana had grown skilled at creating small trinkets - a skill she had truly perfected as a child. The cowboys who frequented the store often liked to adorn their hats. 

The bag secured on her gunbelt, Diana turned again to seamus. “Any new carts?” Seamus also dealt in stolen buggies, which were few and far between. 

“Only one - a little two seater buggy. Romantic, fancy little thing,” he answered, and before Diana could ask, he said “Mister Wegner took it out already. Went to Valentine. Something about a horse?”

Diana raised her eyebrows. “How long do you think he’ll be there?”

“He brought a money clip with him. And a flask.”

So, it was an all night excursion. Eugene had a gambling habit, a drinking habit, and, when it suited him, a spending habit. Horses were his vice. He always had to have the fastest steed in the Heartlands, or else it became everyone else’s problem. Before her banishment to the tents, such a thing had been her burden to bear. Diana shuddered at the thought. 

But today, a blessing. The house was open. The maids were easy bribes, and the greenhorns who guarded the house were already out with the sheep. 

“Thank you, Seamus. That’ll be all.”

“Yes ma’am,” the Irishman replied, and he hightailed his way into the barn looking for something to do. Diana, a spring in her step, walked over to the big green house, the crown of Emerald Ranch. She supposed she should call it her house, but it wasn’t. This house was a place she frequented, sure, but it wasn’t hers. 

The maid moved to stop her at the bottom of the steps, but Diana quickly silenced her with a flash of the silver earrings Seamus had given her. It was enough to buy silence for today, but the best bet for future visits was a platinum pair. Diana walked up the stairs, confident, secure in the fact that she didn’t need to hide her steps from her husband. Valentine was a half days trip away - she wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed there overnight. 

“Miriam?” she called, hoping not to scare the girl. 

“Diana?!” The response came from down the hall, and Diana took out the key, a secret copy Cripps had made for her. The click of the lock was music to her ears, and she opened the door to find her stepdaughter adorned in a simple black nightgown. 

Miriam pulled Diana into a bearhug before she was given a chance to say hello. 

“My God, I’ve missed you. Father’s been a terror these last few nights,” the girl sighed, face buried in Diana’s hair. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Diana said, and she pulled away to notice tears in Miriam’s eyes. This was almost enough to bring tears to her own as well - she blinked them away, trying to focus on every detail of Miriam’s face. 

Beautiful as both the women were, they bore little resemblance. Miriam was a blonde, her hair in a permanent updo, her legs perpetually hidden behind a skirt. She was a skinny woman, all skin and bones, a new development since the incident of the saloon. Her face, picturesque as always, was contorted with tears and another emotion Diana recognized well. Anger. 

“What has he been doing? Talking about?” Diana asked. How strange it was, for a wife to ask that of her husband. 

“Mostly blather about the ranch. Farmhands never do enough, blasted maids, you know. But yesterday and today he was on about some horse up in Valentine,” Miriam reported, transformed. This was business now. 

“I heard about that, from Seamus. Did he say anything more about the sheep?”

“Why?” Miriam looked puzzled at the question. “What’s wrong with the sheep?”

Diana couldn’t believe it. She knew Eugene kept Miriam in a proverbial ivory tower, but she could scarce believe how much he kept from his own daughter. Miriam was practically a grown woman, at 16 years old, but Eugene sheltered her like a 6 year old princess. 

“You didn’t hear the gunshots a few days ago?”

“When?”

“About two hours before I came to dinner that day. It was mutton that night. Ring any bells?”

Miriam paled - she looked sick at the mention. “I do. But I didn’t hear, because…”

Diana’s heart pounded. What the hell happened while she was out?!

“We were in the basement before dinner. He…was having me try on mother’s old dresses. Claimed he wanted to sell some, but he didn’t want to get rid of anything that fit me,” Miriam said, her eyes downcast. “That’s why I was so quiet at dinner.”

Diana recoiled. She hadn’t been surprised that a family dinner was quiet - they either devolved into a den of snakes snapping at each other, or remained silent for their duration. Eugene was a firm believer in being the man of the house, and asserted this often at the dinner table. 

She was more concerned about the basement. 

“Did he…do anything else?” she probed. 

“No,” Miriam replied, quickly. Assertively. “He just said I looked nice in the dresses, then went back upstairs. I…imbibed that night.” Miriam blushed at the confession. 

“So did I,” Diana said, the memory of the moonshine sliding down her throat like berry-flavored kerosene. She was surprised that Miriam didn’t imbibe more often, given her seclusion. 

“I did meet someone,” Diana added, an involuntary blush rising to her cheeks. “Two days ago, some O’Driscoll’s tried to come after the sheep. I thought I was a goner, until some cowboy shot them both in the head. It was like he shot at the speed of light, and twice as accurate. They didn’t know what hit them!” Diana was gushing now, and she couldn't stop. “Had a nice southern accent too.”

Miriam giggled, but there was a caution to her. “So…are you…”

Diana started. “Heavens, no!” she yelped. “No…I was talking about him…for you! If Eugene knew you could get a suitor, and if it was some strong cowboy like this man, then maybe-”

Miriam’s eyes, at their spilling point, gave Diana pause. She turned towards the window, looking down the center of the ranch. 

“I know you love me like I’m your own…but please. You need to know me, too. You need to know that I’m not ready yet,” she choked. 

“Miriam, I-” Diana stuttered. “I’m so sorry, I just thought…” she trailed off, and steadied herself, walking towards her stepdaughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open up old wounds.”

“It’s not that old. Maybe to you it is, with your ranching and your sheep, but up here? Time moves like molasses, and grief twice as slow.”

Miriam was three times the reader Diana would ever be, and for good reason. It showed in these moments, where she seemed more the ghost of a poet than an imprisoned prairie nymph. Diana was almost unstung by her words. 

“I…well, I can’t say I know, but I understand. Time will resume soon.”

“How?”

“Because I’ll kill Eugene if he keeps you here beyond your 18th birthday.”

“Good luck with that,” Miriam said, scoffing. “More likely he’ll just marry me off and you’ll never see me again. Send me off in the night…”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Diana said, setting herself up for a joke. “In fact, if he even tries-” 

The pair were cut off by Pluto’s barking, right below the window. The dog was in earnest. All Diana knew was that Pluto only barked like this as an alarm. A warning. 

“Damn,” she muttered. “It’s Pluto.” Miriam knew what she meant instantly. 

“Father’s not supposed to be back this early! He wouldn’t even be halfway to Valentine yet!”

“Either way, it’s something. Pluto doesn’t mess around.” Diana moved to leave, before pausing. She reached into the small bag Seamus gave her, and pulled out the silver bracelet. She held out the pretty thing to Miriam. “Here,” she said, unhooking the clasp.

Miriam kept her wrist at her side, to Diana’s confusion. It wasn’t like Miriam to deny such a gift - it was something that kept her sanity, handling the trinkets from the wider world. 

“Keep it. Give it to Josh,” she whispered, moving to her desk. She pulled out an envelope. “I know it's a waste of paper, too, but…” she handed the envelope to Diana. It said, in bold letters on the front, Dear Mother. “Burn these two and spread the ashes over both of them. They’re both in the envelope,” she said. 

Diana knew immediately what she meant, and nodded. “I will,” she said, and paused. “I love you, Miriam,” she added. 

“I love you too,” Miriam replied. “Now go. You know what could happen.” Diana hesitated, to which Miriam laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

“So will I,” Diana said, grinning. “What else could he do, anyway?”

Arthur Morgan

There was still sleep in Arthur’s eyes when he heard Tilly’s voice float over to him. A welcome wake-up, compared to something like Bill’s grumbling or the drunken singing of Reverend Swanson. Arthur had slept most of the day away after being on guard duty the night before. 

“Hey, Arthur- oh, sorry. Want me to come back another time?” Tilly asked, concern showing on her face. 

“Nah,” Arthur grunted as he rose. His neck popped as he turned his head to the side. “D’you need something?”

“I just got a message from Hosea - he said to ask if you could meet him at some place called Emerald Ranch. Said he found something, struck a deal with the foreman near there?”

Emerald Ranch. Arthur was glad for the excuse to go back there. He could check on his bear hide, swindle the tanner for some more stew or whiskey. 

He could even get a look at that shepard again. 

He cleared his throat, and responded. “Thanks, Tilly. I’ll head over now. Save me some stew, will ya?”

“Even if Pearson messes it up?”

“Even if he overcooks it. That's what whiskey is for.” 

Tilly laughed, and walked away. Arthur moved to put on his old hat, but caught a glance of himself in his tiny mirror. His beard had grown bushy - Dutch had kept him busy these last few days. Hosea could wait a few minutes for a man to shave, right? Plus, arthur wanted to look  presentable for a new client, or partner in crime, or whoever this foreman was. Nothing else to it. 

Nothing at all. 

Ares was chomping at the bit when Arthur got to him. The war horse, he had learned, was an impatient one, wanting to run amok at nearly all hours of the day. This was a bit of a nuisance, but good for the ride ahead. It was quite some distance to the ranch, over flat plains. Ares would have the time of his life galloping there - and he did. The ride was a good deal shorter thanks to the horse’s restlessness. 

By the time Arthur arrived, it was evening, a golden light bathing the Heartlands. Hosea was perched and waiting by the big barn on the south end, talking to some crusty ranch hand who looked more like a criminal than most of the Van der Linde crew. Hitching his horse, Arthur could hear some of Hosea’s nonsense - the man was spinning some yarn about the supposed “layoffs” the gang had endured up north, a part of their grand cover story. 

“Now, being short on money, many of us are forced to sell some of our most precious belongings, and if you tell me you have a market for such things, then we would be much obliged-”

“I buy and sell ‘lost’ things, mister. How they got lost is none of my concern, and I pride myself on my…discretion. I hope I can depend on yours,” the man replied. 

Hosea seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly. Noticing Arthur, he waved, and brought him towards the ranch hand.

“Arthur, my boy, this kind man is Seamus, he’s the foreman here at Emerald Ranch. He has promised to turn our treasures that we find around here into gold, isn’t that right, Seamus?”

The foreman nodded curtly, and set a box down on the small counter he had built up. 

“Jewelry, watches, even teeth, if you gottem,” he said. “Your old man here has given me quite a few things already.”

“That I have,” Hosea gloated. “And he paid a good price. I’d love to stay around and chat, but I have some affairs to attend to back at home. The wife must be furious by now!” he patted Arthur on the back, a shit-eating grin on his face as he turned. He was off, kicking dust in the air on horseback within the minute. 

Turning to the foreman- Seamus - again, Arthur took some of his findings out of his bag. A few pocket watches, one gold tooth, nothing much to show. 

“Well, these are fine material - platinum too? Hefty profit. A shame these bastards lost these things,” Seamus remarked. 

“Shut up, you know what this is about,” arthur replied. 

“You sure you don’t wanna buy anything from me? I have a nice assortment - moonshine too. Rings, necklaces, some nice things to bring back to a lady…”

“Boss man know you’re doing this?” Arthur asked. 

“Jesus, no, he’d skin me alive. Or worse,” Seamus whispered, “take a cut of the profit. Now that we can’t abide. The missus doesn’t mind though.”

Arthur paused. Did this slime of a man mean…Diana? The shepard? 

“Oh, so you’ve seen her?” Seamus asked, smirking. Arthur was acutely aware of his freshly shaved face. Should he have left some stubble on?

“...Yeah. saved her a few days ago from some of them O’Driscoll’s," Arthur replied. 

“Oh, well at least you ain’t lookin for Miriam,” Seamus said. This was confusing, now - was Arthur supposed to know this other name?

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but….who’s that?”

“You're not from around here, so I’ll answer - for a price. Normally we keep this sort of thing on lock. For just a few dollars for a poor, poor underpaid foreman, you too can know-”

“For god’s sake man, tell me before I put a bullet in your head and take my business somewhere else!” Arthur spat the words out. He moved to grab his gun. 

“Jesus sir, fine, I’ll throw in some moonshine too…” Seamus grabbed a bottle. 

“Gimme that, ya clown. Now spill, like two men talking over drinks ought to.” Arthur said, grabbing the bottle and taking a sip. The shine was flavored - something sweet, like apple cider. Arthur had tasted stronger beer. 

“And the money-ugh never mind,” Seamus looked dejected, and a bit afraid. Arthur liked his business partners that way - made ‘em less likely to squeal. 

“So, Miriam is the daughter of Mister Eugene Wegner. She’s Missus Diana’s stepdaughter, and a fine, pretty girl. She had suitors from allllll over the Heartlands, and some from Rhodes too. One even came from Saint Denis. But she decided to shack it up with one of the farm boys in that old abandoned saloon. Now, Mister Eugene? He was never the same after that. Man went on a rampage like no other. He was never like to marry off Miss Miriam, and shot that farmhand dead when he caught them...copulating.”

Arthur hadn’t anticipated this much of a story. But then, he hadn’t expected to save a woman who turned out to be the missus of the ranch. He had to hide how invested he was - he felt like Mary-Beth must feel, everytime she read one of her novels. 

“...okay? And then?”

Seamus snickered. “Take another sip, this here’s a doozy.”

“Fine,” Arthur said. The moonshine’s sweetness exploded in his mouth. It was still weaker than an old drunk taking a swing.

“Now, Missus Diana came back from some hunting trip to find the carnage, and threw a goddamn fit. Pulled some new fancy bow and arrow and aimed at Mister Eugene. Half the ranch drew on her before she put the bow down. Now, I don’t know the rest of the specifics, but after that day? Miriam’s been locked in that big ol’ house, and Missus Diana doesn’t sleep in the house except for one week, every month. Mister Eugene shouted something to the effect of ‘you wanna act like a savage, sleep outside like one!’ to her last time she tried to go in,” he continued. 

“Now, I ain’t no gossip, or a snitch, but seeing as you seem interested, i’ll tell you myself; stay on Mister Eugene’s good side. Whatever kinda bandits you and your old man are, don’t steal from here. The man is a mean old bastard, sure, but he…there’s other stuff too. He’s a time bomb.”

Arthur nodded again, though he was left with plenty more questions. Before he could ask any of them, a big black lab came bounding down the lane, barking up a storm. Pluto. 

A small buggy came barreling down the lane, almost running over the dog, who whimpered and spirited away. Behind the buggy, tethered to its back, was a magnificent horse, the same blue roan color as Ares. 

“Woah!” the driver shouted. He was an old man, mutton-chopped. His face was a sour one, despite the steed he had in tow. 

“Mister Wegner! New horse?” Seamus shouted back. 

Wait. Was this man…

“That’s Mister Eugene. Be polite, man,” Seamus whispered to Arthur. “And put that damn moonshine away!”

“Meet my newest stallion, a horse - hic - fit for a king!” Eugene said. He was clearly drunk - it was a wonder he’d gotten back from Valentine in one piece. The stallion whinnied behind him. He didn’t look too thrilled with his new rider. 

“Anwho’sthisfeller?” Eugene slurred, glancing briefly between arthur and seamus. 

“This here’s a man lookin’ for goods, Mister Wegner. I was just about to send him over to Cripps to see if he wants any,” Seamus replied. Quick thinking, even though that wasn’t technically a lie. 

“Great! Terrific! Have a good gander, sir! Now where’s my wife?” 

The moonshine burned Arthur's throat at the question. 

“W-what about her, Mister Wegner?” Seamus asked. Even he seemed nervous at the question. 

“I’m gonna,” Eugene began, hiccuping as he spoke. “I shall have her tonight, a time for celebrating!” he leered. 

A few things sunk in for arthur. While he’d known the woman- Diana - was married to this fool, it hadn’t dawned on him how much older Eugene was. The man must be at least 60 - and Diana was a young woman. She must be John’s age - and must’ve been even younger when she married the man. His stomach roiled, and he knew it wasn’t the damn moonshine. 

Desperate to get out of the conversation, arthur murmured a goodbye to Seamus and rode down the lane to the store. Cripps was in the back, stirring the stew that was left. 

“Hey, mister,” Arthur said, strolling up to the old man. 

“Mister Morgan! The savior of sheep! Welcome back!” Cripps exclaimed. He too was clearly drunk, but a jolly one. 

Before Arthur could respond, Cripps got a bit excited. “And have I got news for you, my friend!”

“Oh? About…” 

“About your pelts, good man! I’ve made some fine things, you’ll love ‘em!”

Arthur tried to hide his disappointment, semi-successfully. The stew in the pot smelled delicious, but his stomach still churned with the thought of Diana and Eugene. He would’ve drank it away, if not for the fear of throwing it up. Damned moonshine. 

He sighed, and gestured to Cripps.

“Let’s see ‘em then,” he said. 

Some time later - it had to be an hour or more - Arthur sat atop Ares on a hill, east of the ranch. It really was a pretty spot, a glen - a good spot for hunting, if he had space on his horse. On the back of Ares sat a parcel. The old man Cripps had given arthur a grand tour of his tanning setup - complete with his plans on what to do with the gargantuan bear pelt arthur had given him. 

“This thing is big enough to make 3 big coats,” Cripps had said, “but I’m loath to cut it all up like that! Maybe i could make it a wall-hanger for ya’!”

“Well, I’m sure that would look good, mister, but I’m not in the market for wall hangings. I’d have to have a wall, first,” Arthur replied. 

“Well, then…how about a blanket then? In case you and your comrades get stuck up in the Grizzlies again.”

Normally, Arthur would have rejected such a thing - a blanket seemed like a luxury, given the shit that the gang had been up to lately. But feeling the heavy softness of the pelt, he caved. After all, Dutch was the one who’d said things were looking up for the gang, on the first day they settled onto their new camp. Who knew how long they’d be stuck here - may as well make Horseshoe Overlook feel like home. 

“Sure,” he’d said. “Anything else you got for me, mister?”

“Well, I’ve got two gifts for ya. One’s from me, the other from the missus.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat as Cripps gave him the parcel that now adorned Are’s back. 

“Don’t open them until you’re home. We like surprises, here mister Morgan. Hope you’re alright with that.”

And so Arthur sat atop the hill, a parcel at his back and a small moonshine bottle in his hand. As he took one final sip of the sweet stuff, he spotted a figure in the distance. It stood in a skirt and blouse before a gravestone, towards the train station. 

He watched as the figure lit a small paper aflame, and let it burn on top of the gravestone. 

Suddenly, she looked towards him, and appeared to squint, before waving. As the sun caught her hair, he knew instantly. The figure was Diana. He gave a small wave back, a sheepish one, and turned his horse. He would not even allow the setting sun to see his blush as he broke Ares back into a gallop.