#merchant saloon

[bloctober]

[nakeddavidclub]

Alrighty then, your change is a femur and 3 knuckles for all the sex we just had. Come again.

[don1t1red]

i dont know how this type of celebration is called but i know that Dishonored would be ten times better if we had one

[josephquinnswhore]

haven amongst the chaos - arthur morgan x female reader

summary: he finds solace in you.

word count: 2.1k

content warning: mentions of readers controlling father, arthur has low self esteem.

Arthur Morgan.

The name of the notorious outlaw with a large bounty, wanted posters plastered in many cities West and East, the man that your father critically despised and scolded you for even being seen with.

Not only were you seen with him in the small saloon of Rhodes, word has it from your father’s buddy, you’d been frolicking with the outlaw. Stools pulled close, your shoulders touching, his hand on your knee.

How could you allow such a prosperous act?

But once turned into twice.. turned into.. well—how many times? You’d stuck by Arthur’s side for months now, like a thorn he can’t remove. It’s unusual for someone to stay by his side like this. After Mary—he thought he would never feel for anyone again, but with you… things felt different.

Arthur was starting to understand a sense of you. The reason you did things, in a way of similarity and familial confines that almost reminded him of Mary’s father. He would never be good enough, the likes of you. For any father wanting their beautiful young daughter to wed.

But unlike Mary, you didn’t care about what your father thought. Didn’t stick by his drastic and old age morale. This is the way of the world now, you admired Arthur for that. To be able to live this unique lifestyle and have so many people around him in a family commune with a still sight and hopeful spirit.

The camp itself was beautiful. A dozen or so tents, many horses and a few small campfires. As wonderful as you remember, anyway. You’d made a few friends here, Mary-Beth, Molly, Lenny, Charles, hell—you’d even befriended Kieran.

That in itself was enough for Arthur to start being kinder to Kieran, it started with a nod of the head, a small smile and now frequent greetings in passing by. Thanks to Arthur and you.. the boy had earned his place among the rest of the gang.

“Hey,” his voice is low and his broad shoulders cast a looming shadow over your resting body. Sprawled out on the small sleeping bag you’d purchased off a small merchant nearby. One palm is holding your cheek and the other hand holds the page of the book steady for you to read. A small blue flower sits beside you, one he’d watched you pick this morning.

“Thought I told you to get off that old thing. Ain’t no good for your back y’know.”

The sides of your lips tug upward at his concern. The ruffles of your dress shift as you look up at him. “You worry too much, Arthur. I ain’t prissy like those girls in Saint Denis. Sleepin’ on the ground ain’t much of a bother to me.”

With a roll of his eyes he offers you his large hand, one that envelops yours completely as you take it, closing your romance book, you set it into your satchel, the small colourful flower you’d been grasping onto finds it’s place beside the photograph of Arthur’s mother.

“You sleep on the cot from now on.” He insists, eying you to see if you’d defy his request, but you don’t.

“I suppose me lyin’ on the ground ain’t the only reason you come pokin’ around?”

His cheeks are dusted with a light shade of pink, and you were right. He did have other intentions.

“Well I.. I was thinkin’ of headin’ out for a fish. Pearson is whinin’ he ain’t got enough food to keep cookin’. Wanted to see if you’d be interested.” His hand rubs the back of his neck nervously. “But maybe I shouldn’ta asked, suppose it’s stupid to ask a woman out fishin’ ain’t it?”

“I’d be delighted to join you,” the tenderness of your voice catches his attention, his gaze now of disbelief.

“You will? I mean.. alright, good. C’mon, I’ll help you mount that oversized horse’a yours.”

Your hands fist the ruffles of your dress and lift them off the ground, new boots that Arthur had gifted are now covered in mud from the overnight rain. His hand hovers over the small of your back, ignoring all the curious and confused stares from each person you pass.

His horse, Bodecia, was hitched next to your own. Your horse.. was giant, really. A Hungarian Half-bred, dapple grey. The colours of white and grey mix in a spotted pattern, sparse her face, which was mostly white, with a grey nuzzle. Costly, too. $150.00, but worth it. She was a loyal creature.

Your pride and joy, Marbelle. Her white mane was styled into six separate braids, as well as her tail. The mount was well cared for, well fed, and perhaps.. a little underused for what she was bred for.

A war horse, known for their fearlessness, used for a realisable steed in battle.. but Marbelle—was a spoilt thing. She refused any one else who tried to saddle her up, who attempted to mount her, she’d buck them straight off, Arthur included.

“Hey girl,” the greeting isn’t complete without a soft pat on her forehead, and reaching into your small leather satchel to hand the horse a wild carrot. Appeased, she nestled her large nuzzle into your chest.

“Damn thing won’t work a day in it’s life now, you got her spoiled.” Arthur’s hands grasp your waist, and he lifts you with ease into the saddle, before mounting Boadicea.

“She would work if I wanted her to.” The man scoffs, readjusting his dark hat.

“Sure.” His voice is full of thick sarcasm. “Come on, Kieran showed me a good spot.”

As you follow Arthur, your horse trotting beside his own to match pace, the silence is something you’ve grown to appreciate. The soft call of a songbird, the scattering of loose roughage from the rabbits that you’d inadvertently spooked. It was a life you’d always dreamed of, away from the suffocating life your father had set for you.

Work in the gardens, scout the town for a successful, wealthy and likely old-aged man, and inherit all of his riches when he eventually dies. Where was the adventure? The sense of fufillment?

Being surrounded by it all, and Arthur, reminds you exactly why you chose this life.

“Seems like you’re warmin’ up to Kieran.”

He grunts. “Gettin’ a pain in my ass, but he works hard, and the kid sure can fish.”

The look on his eyes tells you all that’s left unsaid, he’s warming up to the kid, even if others didn’t quite trust him, shunned him and isolated the young man from the rest of the gang.

“Seems like he’s takin’ a liking to you,” it was a keen observation.

“Then it seems the kid’s as brainless as he looks.”

He pulls up the reins on Boadicea, and slides down off his saddle. His arms are already outstretched to catch you.

“You ain’t worried I’ll fall?” He grins at you, stepping closer to you.

“Ain’t gonna let you fall Princess, now c’mon.”

Lifting one foot out of the stirrup, you awkwardly fall into Arthur’s arms, who catches you before you or your pretty gown could hit the wet sand.

There’s a thick tension between you, unspoken and true. “Thank you for not letting me fall.”

“Ain’t nothin’.” His hands hesitate to release their grip on your waist, and turns to his horse to get his fishing rod, attached was a premium lake lure, meant to catch the largest smallmouth bass in the lake.

Meekly following behind, not owning a rod of your own, you take a seat on one of the nearby rocks and perch, flipping to an open page in your book as he silently fishes, the only sounds you hear are the whizzing of the reeling fishing line, and small splashes of the fish in the water.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your index finger follows where you’ve read, not to lose your focus on the intriguing plot.

After many pages, Arthur had bagged a few fish, and turns to you.

“You wanna actually learn somethin’ out here or you wanna keep your nose in that silly romance novel?”

Closing the book and shoving it into your satchel. Your boots sink a little into the wet sand as you walk toward him.

“What exactly are you gonna teach me, Mister Morgan?”

He guides you to stand in front of him, and places the fishing rod in your hands. His chest is flush against your back, and arms entangled in your own. “How to fish, woman.”

“Hold it like this, when the fish bites, pull the rod upward like this, toward you, tire it out, when it stops swimmin’ then you can reel him in.” He demonstrates how to flick the line into the water, and reel it in.

“Think you can manage? Ain’t gonna get it right the first time, an’ it takes patience. Which I ain’t so sure you got much of.”

How hard could it be, right?

“Sure, I got this.”

After many, many failed attempts to successfully catch a fish, and many bites, almost all escaping.

Finally, you’ve hooked one. “Good, this is good. Don’t rush it, only reel him in when he stops fightin’ otherwise you’ll snap the line.”

With the instructions ingrained, you fight the fish and when the line stills, you reel the fish in as soon as you can, and sure enough.. it’s a tiny 3 pound smallmouth bass, alas, a fish.

“Arthur, I did it!” The glee in your voice is salient, and Arthur can’t help but share your joy.

“Knew you could do it,” he utters. Out of his own satchel, he pulls out an old hand held camera, with little film from a small job back in Valentine, he quickly snaps an image of you proudly displaying a large smile and a small fish.

Shoving the printed photograph and camera back into his satchel, he helps you to unhook the fish. “Tricky business, an’ if the hooks get stuck in ya finger they’re toilsome to remove.”

When you arrive at camp, Arthur helps you off your horse, before walking off to deliver the full sack of smallmouth bass to Pearson. With a bit of effort, you manage to unsaddle Marbelle, and groom her as you did every evening.

Brushing the mud off, feeding her some oatcakes, and patting her.

By the time you get back to the tent you and Arthur share, he’s in the cot lying down, boots off. Which you would expect to mean that you’re lying on the ground in your sleeping sack, but it seems to be packed away.

“Packed away that sorry sleep sack ‘o yours. Told you I want you off the ground, didn’t I?” He looks up at you and a surge of confusion assails through you.

“So you’re sleepin’ with me, up here.. if ya want.” The offer was low, almost sheepish, but you caught it.

The offer doesn’t go unclaimed as you stand toward him, and he pulls you down next to him on the small bed, leaving no real room between the two of you, forced to share the pillow in a proximity that you could feel his warm breath on your skin and share a nervous gaze.

So much has gone unsaid between the two of you over the past few months. How times were changing.

“M glad you stayed,” he murmurs, hand reaching up to caress your face.

Looking past him, you see the photograph he had taken of you on your earlier escapade, stuck up on a crate beside his bed. Next to the image of a much younger Arthur, Dutch and Hosea, his father, and an old dog of his.

It warms your heart entirely, your hand reaches up to touch his hair, and you ensnare your fingers into the growing brown locks gently.

“I chose you, Arthur, an’ I always will.”

Arthur supposed, for once, he was good enough, for a beautiful woman like you to defy his every expectation of abandonment, of insecurity, to stand by him despite his rugged nature.

“An’ I’ll always choose you too, sweetheart.”

To have you, in the midst of all the chaos he’d been through, was like a haven.

[rayveneyed]

that cowboy au was really good 🥹 would you consider doing a part 2?

cw: mentions of death, violence, objectively amoral decisions; mentions of marriage, alcohol

the presence of gojo satoru can only mean trouble.

red sky in the morning — shepherd’s warning. nanami kento tries not to take the sight of it personally, tries not to take simple wonders of nature as omen — but it sits like a lump of coal in his stomach all through the morning and well into the afternoon. he doesn’t know why this particular day seems to be the harbinger of something terrible, but sure enough, just after he finishes milking the cows and putting them out to graze, one of the village kids runs up on him. flushed with excitement and hair windswept, the little one calls his name — mister kento! mister kento! hey, over here, mister kento! strange white-haired fella’s lookin’ for you, skulkin’ ‘round the saloon!

it’s a small-town child’s excitement — a stranger in such a quiet place, one where the closest train station is a town or two over, and the most exciting thing to happen is a travelling merchant every few months. kento’s dread, then, is ice-water over the head in comparison. white-haired. gojo, the bastard. and loitering around the saloon, where you’re working — before he can even think twice, he’s running off to mount his closest horse, and taking the dirt road at a frantic gallop.

not many words in any spoken language could describe exactly how nanami kento feels about gojo satoru. there’s a fondness there — they had, after all, fought and lived side-by-side for years, since they were boys. there was admiration for gojo’s tenacity and drive, no doubt, but there was hatred in equal measure. hatred for the man gojo had urged nanami to become — hatred for the shit he’d been told to do. hatred for the simple fact that, at the end of the day, gojo’s brashness had only ever gotten other people killed.

(and fear. fear that, like he had done a hundred times before, gojo would worm his way into nanami’s head, and convince him to return before he knew what he was agreeing to.)

through the dust kicked up by his mare’s cantering hooves, the humble saloon comes into sight; only a single floor, nothing like the multi-story pleasure houses of san francisco. then again, kento’s never much cared for them, or the beckoning women of the night, or the violent brawls that would break out every few minutes. somewhere quiet to drink in peace, suits him just fine, and that’s here. though with gojo satoru around, peace never lingers long.

he takes the stairs two at a time, pushing through the doors, and—

“always been a city boy, myself,” comes that familiar voice. instantly, kento’s eyes shoot towards it — towards you. “towns like this never did quite suit me — y’know, a man needs a bit of noise in his life!”

oh, noise had been the least of what gojo had gotten himself. blood and guts and bullet wounds, wanted posters with his name and mug plastered all over it.

he shouldn’t be here. it’s almost unnatural for him to be here, sitting in old man tom's favourite seat, lounging like he owned the place.

“now, pretty thing like you,” he hears gojo croon, low and smooth like always, the type of voice that weakened women’s knees, “you shoot me a look, sweetheart, i reckon i’d stay in this sleepy little town a lot longer.”

something like panic sits itself in kento’s chest, and he can’t put one damned finger on what it is. the clashing of two lives — gojo, with his hat drawn low over bright blue eyes, his jacket as dark and fitting as always; this dusty little saloon, with its untuned piano and cheap swill; you, with your hair tied up and your neckline low, with those eyes he knows gojo likes—

“charming,” he hears you say, dry, completely unimpressed. the tightness in his chest eases, a little, and then you seem to realise he’s approaching — your gaze lifts over gojo’s head, and your eyes brighten, and golly — ain’t that something? your smile, at his simple presence? like he was something to look forward to? “mister kento, you’re a man desired — this gentleman’s been looking all over for you, apparently.”

gojo turns those baby blues on him, expectant, and kento sighs as he takes the seat next to him — gently accepts your offer of a drink with a thank you kindly. gojo thanks you, too — calls you sweetness, and kento pretends that it doesn’t unsettle his soul. you resign yourself to the end of the bar to give them some semblance of privacy, wiping at glasses with a cloth to rid them of water-stains and dust.

they sit in silence for a moment, listening to the cicadas calling outside and the distant squeals of playing children. gojo, as usual, is the first to break it.

“been a while, ain’t it? gotta say, wasn’t expectin’ you to go all out on this country life thing, old friend.”

kento pretends not to see the spectre of you in the corner of his eye — pretends that he’s not vastly aware of how he has to balance two personas right now. he keeps his irritation low and tempered, cupping his glass between his hands; still, he knows his voice is frosty when he says: “what are you doing here?”

“oh, so cold, kento! and after all we’ve been through together…”

he restrains a frustrated sigh. dancing around it — that’s gojo. deceptively childish but incredibly intelligent — can’t just come out and say something. and kento could be doing something else right about now, something far more important — in fact, he should already be thinking of how to explain gojo’s abrupt appearance here to you. cousin twice removed? long estranged brother? childhood friend with a troubled streak? “doubt you came to see me outta the goodness of your heart. i’ve got no interest in whatever it is you’re peddling. you wanna drink, let’s drink. nothing else.”

“oh, come now. i gotta be after somethin’ to visit you?”

nanami shoots him an unimpressed look — gojo at least has the shame to wince. he takes another sip of his drink, and they both stare at the dusty shelves of booze, until finally, he shrugs.

“listen: this place is gonna drive you mad, kento,” he says, underhandedly casual, sipping on moonshine and syrup. he always did have a sweet tooth. “the silence’ll do you in.”

a thread of irritation tugs itself through kento’s brow. “silence drives you mad. suits me just fine.”

kento doesn’t know what’s more hurtful — the idea that gojo doesn’t know him at all, or that he does, and just doesn’t care to speak to him like it. he knows exactly what game gojo is playing at — badgering him out of his life of peace to join the gang again, fill the empty space left by geto and haibara and god knows who else that’s gone. he could do him the courtesy of being a little more believable, though. less patronising.

this doesn’t suit you. you don’t deserve something good like this, not after what you’ve done. stick to what you know, kento — and what do you know? violence. greed.

“c’mon, kento. you’re better than this, y’know.”

kento fingers tighten on the handle of his cup. his gums feel bruised where his teeth grit together — his anger like a reddening metal on the verge of turning white-hot. “you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“you’ve been up and down this goddamned country—” gojo, at least, has the mind to lower his voice, then, glancing over his shoulder— “tyin’ sheriffs up in knots, laying your pockets with gold, and you think this shithole will satisfy you any?”

that’s enough to send kento’s temper skyrocketing — and he, by no means, is an angry man, but shithole is not how he’d describe it in any capacity — this place that had accepted him with little wariness, treated him with kindness, asked very little questions—

“you’re steppin’ way outta line, gojo—”

but his white-haired companion has always been willing to push the bounds of just about anything — and, leaning closer, devilish smile tugging at his lips, says: “hopin’ that, uh, busty barmaid over there’s gonna make you an honest man? huh? i mean, hell, i wouldn’t blame you, but—”

nanami’s glass hits the countertop with such force it rings throughout the saloon — he can feel it draw the gaze of most everyone around. you, the few daytime drinkers. the low murmurs of conversation drew to an abrupt stop. when he glances in your direction, he sees you almost caught mid-action, brows drawn tight as you make to intervene.

maybe it’s the look in his eye that makes you stop; the serious, humourless glint he’s let himself lose the past few months. maybe it’s the tense set of his jaw. either way, you nod a little, and step back to what you were doing — but your gaze remains, ever-watchful.

nanami levels gojo with a glare so horrid he’s sure he’s never used it on him before; and, sure enough, blue-eyed gojo glares right back.

for a moment — for a short, traitorous moment, he regrets leaving his handy pistol back home. he hasn’t had to carry it in months. he hasn’t ever had to carry it for gojo, of all people, but he saw just how quickly the gang had turned on themselves — how quickly trust was lost. and after the loss of haibara, and geto’s betrayal, who knew what state of mind gojo was in?

kento’s fingers flex.

a beat passes.

and then — gojo’s face breaks out in a gleaming, cheeky smile, and his shoulders jump with loud, sonorous laughter. relief is near palpable in kento’s chest, the tension that had suctioned itself to his bones easing just slightly. “hah, you’re just a riot, ken!”

then, slapping a hand on kento’s shoulder and leaning forward, gojo calms a little. nanami gets the sudden feeling that it was all a rouse, right from the start. is he so out of practice he can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore? once upon a time gojo’s jokes and fancies wouldn’t have made him blink an eye.

“just pullin’ your leg,” gojo says.

“you piss me off.”

“can’t lie—” gojo continues— “i was hopin’ to bring you back with me. but this shit really does suit you, y’know.” his smile takes a saddened edge — nostalgic, no doubt, for the life they once led. the stupidity and rashness of it all. sometimes the same feeling hit kento — and then he remembered the bad of it all, and he tucked it back deep inside himself. “country air, quiet life. settle down with a nice woman.”

his eyes trail over to the right — and this time, when his eyes settle on you, nanami feels no overwhelming protectiveness, no urge to drag gojo out by his silver locks or shoo him out. he feels a fool for doubting gojo in the first place. “things out here make the cities look like hell by comparison.”

“it’s a simple life,” kento agrees plainly. his heart still thrums heavy in his chest. he finally takes a proper gulp of his drink — actually tastes it instead of just letting it pass down his throat. “you should try it sometime.”

“wasn’t lying earlier. think the quiet would have me seein’—” he chokes on a bark-like laugh— “ghosts, and the like.”

haibara. riko. yaga.

“mm.”

they go back to staring at the shelves in silence. kento doesn’t know what to say. he’s never been a man of many words, but what does one say in this situation, anyways? i’m sorry geto left. i’m sorry haibara died. i hate that it was your fault, and i hate that it wasn’t. i don’t like the man i am when i’m around you, but it’s really all i know. you’re my brother, and i hate and love you in equal measure.

a trickling sound interrupts his thoughts. his cup is being refilled — and then gojo’s. extra syrup, despite the fact that sugar is expensive as all hell.

“looks like y’all could use it,” you say by way of explanation, a sorry little smile on your face. when you meet his eyes, it spreads, just a little — an extra nudge, just for him. “i’ll get outta your hair now.”

“thank you for the drink,” kento says quietly.

“thanks,” gojo echoes. he watches you go, and swirls his drink idly around in his cup. “y’know, you got somethin’ good here, ken. hate to say it.”

“mm. the farm, it — it, uh, keeps me busy.”

“wasn’t talkin’ about the farm,” says gojo, shooting him a knowing look. kento’s ears burn, and he tries to ignore it — in vain, he’s sure, if his companion’s snicker is anything to go by.

“there’s nothing there.” he wouldn’t allow there to be, after all. a life of solitude is exactly the punishment he deserved for what he’s done. he wouldn’t rope you into his madness.

“right, right. you make googly eyes at every woman y’come across?”

“just drink your damn drink.”

by the time the sun is setting, gojo sets off on his horse. he ignores all offers to stay the night, to wait until morning; he's got business to attend to, apparently, business that couldn't wait — but could, apparently, wait for an hours-long drinking session. he doesn’t hug kento, doesn’t make any claim to sentimentality — that hasn't changed, kento supposes — he only leans down to shake his hand, firm and sure like yaga had taught them as boys, and says:

“don’t be a fool, kento. you got a chance at a normal life right here." then, grinning, like the idea of being serious had turned his stomach, gojo calls: "you don’t take that chance, i'll steal it from right under you!"

kento only shakes his head, and turns to enter the saloon again.

when he looks over his shoulder — just once, all he can bear — gojo’s already gone, no more than a speck riding into the sunset.

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Gunslinger!Kyle Broflovski x Reader - lovin' what your lovin' does to me

Also available on ao3!

Summary: You and your partner, Kyle Broflovski, are both gunslingers, roaming the United States on horseback looking for fights to pick and bounties to collect. But when the promise of a better life becomes clearer on your horizon, can you really go for it, change everything you know and take roots for the first time in your life? You find out in the best way possible.

Warnings: Wild West AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Mating Press, Breeding, Impregnation, Mentions of Pregnancy, Period-Typical Sexism

A/N: There it is. My however-many-thousand-words-long tribute to one of my favourite gingers.

Fun fact, I'm actually as childfree as they go. Got a whole list in my brain of reasons why I really shouldn't have kids. However, if a certain ginger jew from Jersey knocked at my door asking me to be the mother of his babies, I'd just ask "how many?" and get right to fucking work on that.

If some parts of it sound weird, I really did write this instead of sleeping because I wanted it up ASAP and it's crazy.

“Look alive, my dear. We’ve arrived.”

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the gentle voice of my partner.

It was nearing the middle of summer and I was really feeling the dog days. The sun showed me no mercy as it tried to set ablaze what little skin I had showing to the world, which was basically just my unprotected arms. I had been on horseback since dawn without even mentioning a break, and hadn’t exactly considered that the weather at 4am, before sunrise, might’ve been slightly different from what I was currently experiencing now that the sun was at its peak in the sky.

I guess the only salvation when it came to my foolishness was that I wasn’t alone in it. As I turned to the man at my side, matching my horse’s slow speed on his own mount, I saw him wipe some sweat off of his face with the green bandana he kept tied to his neck - being tortured by the heat even more than me, inside of his heavy leather coat.

My partner. My lover, Kyle Broflovski. Notorious gun-for-hire, same as I. We had met many years ago, when he and I were both just seventeen - but life had already taken its toll on the both of us, leaving nothing except two jaded young adults with very little to lose. By then we were already gunslingers, I was here and there committing petty thefts while he worked as a watchman for some merchant in the region. I took his side in a saloon fight that turned into a huge shootout - not proud to say a huge part of its escalation was his fault, but well, at least we won - and the thrill of going through a life-or-death situation together might’ve created a bond between us right at that moment, because from then on we rarely left each other’s side.

We started out merely as colleagues, but feelings quickly grew, and how wouldn’t they? He was handsome, intelligent, kind, honorable and great in bed. Everything a woman would want, if she ignored the ‘outlaw’ part, which I wouldn’t and didn’t even want to. Now, eight or nine years later, we still roamed this godforsaken country together - making money by offering protection services to basically anyone who needed bodyguards or an extra pair of shooters defending their property, and also by tracking wanted criminals and delivering their filthy bodies to the law enforcers looking for them; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Sometimes it felt like he kind of preferred it as the latter.

But as he looked back at me and I allowed myself to get lost in his shining eyes and jovial smile, it dawned on me that, at least for now, that was gone. We were on vacation, so to speak. For the last couple of weeks we had been on the road almost non-stop, all so that we could make it to our destination as quickly as possible. 

Today’s leg of the trip had been rather quiet, save for the occasional snorting of one of our horses, but I liked it that way. After so many years with Kyle, I had come to enjoy even those moments of silence: we talked so much every single day, but even when we didn’t say anything I still felt comfort in just being by his side.

Plus, it had been the first time in a while that we managed to just not have to say anything. For the last year or so, we hadn’t been running by ourselves, instead making use of the connection and safety of a small group with other outlaws. Life with them was decent - we didn’t exactly love each other or keep any type of code, but we’d help wherever we could to make sure everyone’s lives were running smoothly. But it was very clear that my true loyalty was only to Kyle, and his to me. 

So, when about nine months in he started to become visibly bothered and complain more, unhappy about having to set up shelter right next to people he didn’t exactly trust, we started planning our exit. We were used to it just being the two of us anyway, so there were no worries, we just had to plan the exit in a way that wouldn’t create a fuss. The opportunity came in the best way possible - a few weeks after our first talk of leaving, Kyle picked up at the post office a letter from his best friend, Stan Marsh, inviting us to go to his farm just one or two states away for a few days' stay. We left camp at night, after everyone was already asleep, and set out on this trip to meet up with the people we were most likely to actually consider family.

Kyle and Stan had known each other since before even being born, one could say. Randy Marsh and Gerald Broflovski were very close friends as children, though they followed very different paths in life: while my partner’s father took to the books and became a lawyer, the Marsh patriarch bought a plot of land not too far from the small mountain town where they lived and built a small but sturdy farm, which expanded over the years and made decent money. It was called Tegridy - apparently, it was supposed to be “Integrity”, a word Mr. Broflovski taught Mr. Marsh, but the latter didn’t really know how to write it; and, by the time he finally learned, it was already too late and the whole region already knew it by the wrong name, so it stuck.

And that’s how Kyle and Stan grew up: kept close as can be from the very start. Mr. Broflovski would take his family to the farmstead whenever he found a little free time and the boys spent their afternoons playing in the open fields, fishing in the stream nearby and helping Mr. Marsh with tasks around the farm once they became old enough. They saw each other turn from dim-witted boys to respectable young men, and the world seemed infinite for them, bright-eyed adolescents who could experience all the great things life had to offer without shouldering any of its burdens.

Unfortunately, just a few weeks before Kyle turned sixteen, his whole family was taken from him in a violent gang attack, caught in an ambush on the wagon they were riding while coming back from a trip, stripped of every valuable they had on hand and then shot dead. My partner wasn’t present at the time of the crime, so he was spared - something that he struggled with the guilt of for many years, and that was his primary motivation for becoming a vigilante: going after criminals just like those who wronged his family, to take them to justice and, more importantly, making sure their sentences were served. 

When Kyle showed up at Stan’s doorstep for what would be his last conversation as a man without blood in his hands, it took a lot of arguing and convincing from Kyle for his friend to not immediately pack his bags, saddle up and ride alongside him. Stan eventually relented, settled for receiving Kyle’s letters and some rare visits, took over the farm and married a lovely young woman named Wendy Testaburger.

A lovely young woman who, turns out, hated Kyle and I’s guts fiercely. She came from a well-off household and left a comfortable life to be with Stan, so I guess having a pair of shabby gunslingers as the closest friends of her new family didn’t sit right with how she was raised. It also didn’t help that, every time we were around, Stan would drop everything he was doing and stick to us like a tick to a dog’s fur, asking Kyle non-stop about everything we were up to and making us fill him in on every single chase and shootout and bounty delivered, without leaving any stone unturned. His interest in the life was very noticeable, even if he tried to deny it during the multiple arguments we heard him have with Wendy when they thought we were sleeping. The new Mrs. Marsh was absolutely terrified that our constant presence would have a bigger impact on him the longer we stayed, and that someday our wicked ways would win Stan over and he’d ride off into the sunset with us and make her a widow - or, worse in her mind, a divorcée.

Her worries only waned after a particularly long stretch of time we spent at their place. Kyle had gotten badly injured in a shootout against one of our bounties - and, although my quick thinking managed to stabilize the situation to where he was no longer in danger, we still needed to lay low for a while as he healed, and sleeping on the dirt in tents moving from place to place was not it. So I found ourselves a wagon and showed up unannounced to the Marsh residence with Kyle and all of our belongings loaded on it. 

My guess is seeing the dangers of the job in real time and how precarious our day-to-day life really was had been a wake-up call to Stan, since after that his begging for me and Kyle to retell our epic stories had diminished considerably. With this, Wendy was finally able to rest assured that she’d keep her husband, and she was willing to get to know us better and have actual positive interactions. At least something good came out of that whole mess - to this day, Kyle’s left shoulder didn’t work as good as it used to, and he still felt this overwhelming pain at random times.

That is all to say the four of us had a very strong bond forged through years of experiences together, delights and torments shared - a bond that would never waiver even when Kyle and I were on the other side of the country cleaning up the trash and delivering bounties around the most different jurisdictions. So, when we received that letter with Stan and Wendy scolding us because we hadn’t seen them since before the lady got pregnant with their fourth and urging us to come back to Colorado for she was now on the last leg of that pregnancy, we figured it was the least we could do to pack our stuff and ride to Tegridy Farm to spend a few weeks with the Marsh family, helping wherever they needed to make sure that these last couple of days, or the few right after childbirth, would go as smoothly as possible.

It had been about two or three weeks that we had been on the road now and we were finally at our destination. To my side, the very familiar farm spanned across the land, its decent area determined by some flimsy wooden fences in need of fixing. The structures and inside the boundaries of the fence for the most part didn’t match its state of neglect; the cultivation fields with the seasonal crops were well-kempt, the stables and barn had a regular repair schedule, and the main house - the crown jewel of the property - stood elegant in the middle of it all, always clean and pristine courtesy of Wendy’s presence. The only other thing that might’ve seemed neglected in the farm was but a shadow behind the main building - the old house where Stan had lived during his childhood, which hadn’t been inhabited since his mother died, but that he also didn’t seem to have the courage or time to take down completely. 

As we crossed the wooden gateways and made our way inside the farm, the first member of the Marsh family to notice our arrival was actually their elderly chubby dog, Sparky. Stan originally bought him as a puppy to train so he would protect the animals and the land from intruders, but he quickly realized that this dog was a huge wimp and just wanted to play all day, promptly fleeing whenever he sensed danger. However, everyone had already taken a liking to the tiny fellow by then, so he became Wendy and Stan’s personal companion, sleeping inside of the main house and growing up alongside the kids as their pet. When he saw the outlines of us on top of our mounts riding towards the building, he started barking happily and ran as fast as his legs could take him, making a turn when he got to our horses and matching their pace alongside Kyle’s.

His barking must’ve alerted the other members of the household, since not long after he started, we noticed Stan getting up off his chair on the porch. “And look who’s finally here!” He announced as he walked towards us with open arms and, not long after, we saw Wendy’s smiling face appear in one of the second-story windows, her hand waving excitedly out of it as we approached in our steeds.

“Oh, come on, we didn’t take that long.” Though he had essentially just been scolded, Kyle had a glowing smile on his face. Just this moment made almost all the tiring parts of travel worth it, to see how glad my partner would get to see his brother after so long and realize that nothing had changed. To have those moments of his youth back, even if for just a short stay.

“Almost a whole year, Kyle!” Stan retorted, slapping the side of his friend’s arm with his raised hand. “Wait a little more and you might as well have come for the kid’s wedding by then.”

Our mounts slowed to a stop as we reached the front porch, and we heard the thundering noise of several footsteps bolting down the stairs inside. Before we could even dismount, the smiling faces of Stan’s two eldest children - a boy and a girl - ran towards our horses, shouting excitedly and asking questions too quickly and with too high-pitched voices for me to even begin answering them.

“Easy now, children.” A much more soft and pleasant voice managed to be picked up by my ears among the ruckus, and my eyes darted towards the door immediately. Wendy Marsh stood by the doorway, her current youngest child - just shy of two years, if I had my math right - hiding behind her legs. My best friend had one of her hands resting on top of her belly, bump visible even under the loose-fitting maternity dress she wore, and I felt the guilt strike at me on sight; It had been too long since we last saw these two, she had gone through all those changes to her body and mind across multiple months, while I was off somewhere shooting people. I felt like an awful friend.

And then she did something that reminded me exactly how she was more than capable of handling this situation by herself. “YOU DARNED LITTLE RASCALS! SHUT UP THIS INSTANT AND LET YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE SPEAK!” This bellowing, infuriated version of Wendy’s voice had the kids fixing their postures and closing their mouths in an instant, not even daring to breathe loudly anymore, and they gave us one last glance before sprinting back quickly inside the house. The toddler followed suit, waddling after its siblings as fast as its tiny legs could carry it.

With the coast now clear, Kyle quickly slid off of his horse, in a swift movement that only comes with years of doing that multiple times a day. I stayed on top of mine, however, and right after dismounting Kyle made his way to the side of my steed, raising his arms towards me. I turned my whole body to his side and let Kyle take hold of my waist, lifting me off the saddle and putting me on the ground with ease. I was more than perfectly capable of getting out on my own, I had as much experience with this as he did - but this was something he fancied doing, he wanted to be a gentleman whenever he could and there weren’t many opportunities in our daily life for him to fill that role, so he loved to have that little moment and I learned to appreciate it. Plus, he’d get fussy if I didn’t let him do it, so I humored him every single time.

“C’mon, Wends, no need for that,” I turned to her as my boots hit the dirt, “Stan’s right, it’s been so long. They’re kids, they’re just happy to see us.”

“Well, but they’re not giving you a hug before I do!” And she didn’t have to wait any longer, wrapping her arms tightly around me as soon as Kyle let go of my waist and moved his body out of the way. I hugged her back carefully, trying not to put any pressure on her belly, something that she didn’t seem a lick concerned about but kind of worried me a little bit. I heard my partner’s boots kicking the pebbles beneath its soles as he power walked towards Stan to give him a hug as well - although in their case it was more of a side hug, slapping the palm of their hands against the other’s backs amidst laughter. The type of salute men usually shared, not as tender as the displays of friendship between us women, but just as heartfelt. 

After a minute or two like this, Wendy let go of me and gave me one last warm smile before going over to Kyle and giving him a quick hug, and I took the opportunity to do the same to Stan. Even if we weren’t as close as him and Kyle, he was still like family to me. We didn’t linger on the greeting, though; My best friend could get quite possessive when other women were near her man, even if it was just me, and I wasn’t gonna make that lady angry if I could avoid it. 

I swiftly took my spot next to Kyle again, and Wendy did the same near Stan.  “You’re looking gorgeous, Wends,” I stated with a smile. “Really glowing!”

“(Y/N)’s right. Baby number four, too! Stan, you must be proud!” Kyle stretched his arm out and placed his hand on Stan’s shoulder, shaking him teasingly. Stan just laughed and shoved his friend’s hand away from him, but when he straightened his stance again, his chest seemed a little more out than usual and his chin a little more high up. With his pride visible like this, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a rooster, or a peacock with its feathers all spread out.

“Thank you so much, you two. You’re really sweet,” Wendy wrapped her arms around her husband, hugging him from the side, face as happy as could possibly be - but then those smiles turned into a pout. “But don’t think being sweet is going to redeem you! You’ve barely written to us these months! We’ve been worried sick!” 

“Good thing we’re here now to tell you all about what we didn’t write,” Kyle said as he walked back near our steeds. ”Just let me hitch the horses somewhere out of the sun. I won’t be long.”

“No need.” Before we could take action, Stan quickly put two fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, catching the attention of a nearby farmhand passing through, who stopped in his tracks and beelined to us. It was a young man, couldn’t be older than eighteen, with tanned skin from the hours under the sun, strong arms and a serious expression. “Oi, Milton. Take these horses here, lead them to the stables with the others and give them some water. Ah, and make sure they’re fed, they’ve been hours on the road.”

Milton gave a quick nod and took our horses by the reins, leading them slowly towards a big building to the left of the house. We followed him with our eyes for a couple of seconds, in silence. “Well, anyway, let’s take this conversation inside as well,” Wendy suggested, gesturing with her arm towards the house, her expression softening. “I’m sure y’all don’t want to wait out in this sun any more than the horses did.”

And she was damn right. We excused ourselves in and went through the doorway, sighing in relief as we found ourselves in the shade at last. “No issues on the travel, I assume?” She asked with a smile as Kyle took his hat off and put it in the hanger next to Stan’s.

“Just a tiny quarrel with the sheriff last town back, nothin’ major.” It had actually been a little bit more than that, but we didn’t want to worry our friends. The sheriff, an extremely unpleasant fellow who spent more of his time harassing the local ‘working girls’ than actually doing his job, seemed to have a real problem when people who actually wanted to stop crime came along. So, when we showed up to the town with a local thief tied up on the back of Kyle’s horse - captured in an extremely convenient encounter nearby - the so-called law enforcer decided we were ‘trying to come for his position’ and threw the tantrum of a lifetime looking for any reason to have us arrested. Luckily no guns were drawn, we left as quickly as we arrived, but the stress of the whole situation still stuck to us for a couple miles after that.

“Fuuuuck, I hate that feller. Please tell me you beat his ass.” Though Stan apparently had tried to make his dislike of the sheriff known only to Kyle, he did so in a rather loud tone, which made us all turn to him. “Short fat motherfucker loves to pull on my dick whenever I’m in town for anything. Pisses Wendy off, too. Damn failed abortion is what he is.”

“Language, Stanley!” Wendy chided, glaring at him. We heard a couple of giggles, quickly suppressed, and I turned my face upwards - on the second floor, leaning on the balustrade near the staircase, the children gathered, looking down at us and listening in on our conversation.

Kyle and I could only bend over ourselves laughing as the heavily pregnant Wendy chased upstairs, going after her much faster children to try and give them a thorough scolding as they yelled out their brand new vocabulary, while Stan made sure to quickly leave the scene so as to make it harder for himself to be next.

Oh to live this life on the daily.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

The rest of the afternoon went by without any issues. Kyle and I managed to take our first proper bath in days, which was extremely appreciated, and then our attention was almost immediately snatched by the Marsh children. My guess was they didn’t get many visitors on the farm, at least not many that were interested in hearing what small kids have to say, so now that they had people to talk to they were sure to teach us all the new things they had learned and play lots of different games with uncle and auntie.

With evening approaching, Wendy prepared some roast beef with mashed potatoes and fried red tomatoes with garlic, along with a whole apple pie for dessert - under the pretext that since guests were over they had the obligation of making more food to be sure we wouldn’t starve, and maybe spend a little more on the process. She knew Kyle and I would be fine with whatever she prepared, her cooking was so good she could probably boil tree bark on her stove and make it the best meal we ever had, so I knew the sizeable dinner was more a satisfaction of her pregnant whims. We all ate until we almost couldn’t fit in our pants anymore, and after the couple put their kids to bed, Stan brought out a nicer wine and we chatted our more mature matters well into the night. 

After a while, Stan and Kyle decided to go out for a smoke and a night walk around the property, leaving me and Wendy to clean up the dinner mess so that we could ‘talk about our feminine issues’, whatever that meant. So we picked up the dirty tableware and took everything to the kitchen, where she had previously set up two buckets - one with warm water and soap, one with clean water - for the dishes.

After we set everything on the counter and she tried taking another step going for the filled buckets, I immediately put my body in front of her, blocking her next steps. “No no no, little mama!”, I declared, putting both my hands on Wendy’s shoulders and pushing her slowly towards the smaller table in the kitchen, which they used for breakfast. “You’ve already done too much today and been on your feet all this time. Now it’s my turn.”

She tried huffing, stomping her foot and going around me, but my grip on her shoulders was strong enough that she couldn’t, so she bitterly relented and took a seat on one of the flimsy brown chairs near the table. “I’m pregnant, not disabled”, I heard her snort behind my back as I finally let go of her and turned towards the pile of dirty dishes.

“I know, I know,” was my reply while I picked up the first dirty plate and dunked it into the soapy water. “But you made this whole dinner for us and it was delicious, Wends. Lemme do this for you, will ya?”

“You helped with the fried tomatoes,” she retorted.

“Sure, but I’m not the one with a whole baby inside me.”

She giggled. “Not yet.”

My hand stopped in the air halfway through grabbing a dirty wine glass. “Come again?” I inquired as I turned to her with raised eyebrows.

“You tell me, (Y/N)! Ever since before I met you you’ve been running from place to place shooting people for money. Don’t you think it’s time you and Kyle settled down, bought a house somewhere? Maybe you two could even get married and finally stop living in sin.”

Her comment had me rolling my eyes, but I still let out a chuckle; the Marshs weren’t all that religious by any means, and Wendy was a particularly outspoken proponent of women’s right to choose how they wanted to live, so I knew she was just taking a jab. “You have no right to use that against me, miss,” I pointed a soapy wet index finger at her, “Not when I know all about what you and Stanley were up to before your daddy let you get hitched.” It was true and she knew it. After we finally became close friends, I was Wendy’s main confidant, and she’d told me all about her relationship to Stan prior to the marriage - tales in great detail about the different places where they met and spent the night together in secret when they were younger. They had lived basically a whole second relationship together away from prying eyes, and the only people who knew about it were within the same mile radius right now.

Hearing this, she smirked and lifted her left hand close to her face, so I could clearly see the back, and I knew then and there that she’d had the last laugh. “And it worked.” With her other hand, she pointed towards her left ring finger, and there was no pretending I hadn’t noticed the shiny golden wedding band she always kept polished to perfection.

Although we had been partnered all those years and were as close as two souls can be, legally Kyle and I weren’t married. We reckoned there was no need, we already spent every single moment together, putting ourselves in danger for each other during the day and sleeping in the same tent at night. Take away the expensive ceremony and we’re husband and wife. Plus, weddings were usually very religious affairs, and not only were we both very distant from that reality, there was also the tiny fact that we were well-known gunslingers (no matter how lawful we thought ourselves to be, killing someone, even a criminal, is still a cardinal sin) and I’m sure your usual religious leaders aren’t willing to officiate for people like that.

And then there was the matter of children. I had always wanted them, it was one of my plans for life, but I had pushed that aside the moment I picked up a gun for the first time. Kyle and I didn’t keep residence on the same spot for too long - we’d lived places, worked for people for a while, but nowhere that we could actually safely stay for years on end. Our normal life was that of setting camp everywhere, to avoid being tracked by any enemies we made along the way, having to move extremely quickly - and sometimes even that wouldn’t be enough and we’d have to face conflict head-on. We could never do that with a child in our arms, it would be a recipe for disaster. Besides, with my age, I just felt too old for them at this point; all the mothers my age had their kids way earlier and it felt weird to start now, like I wouldn’t have anything in common with them. That ship had sailed.

I knew all of that and I was alright with it. My love for Kyle didn’t need no overpriced dress or ring to be real, and we didn’t need kids to have a real family. Hell, so many couples go through that whole song and dance of getting married only to end up cheating and abusing each other beyond belief! If that’s what marriage is, then I don’t want any part of it, thank you very much. We were doing fine. 

So it was the little girl inside of me that felt that little stab of jealousy seeing Wendy’s shiny jewelry and huge belly - the little girl that did grow up flipping through wedding catalogs to see the pretty dresses, that spent her childhood thinking of the names she’d give for her future children and hearing stories about young ladies who met their Prince Charmings and lived their happily ever after, before life took its turns and made her into a killer. This little girl would’ve loved to have a house and kids, and would’ve taken Wendy’s offer in half a heartbeat, but she didn’t have the right to live anymore. 

So as it came, it went. I went back to the dishes, acting like this conversation hadn’t affected me any more than our other casual chats during the day. “Wendy, we can’t,” I said as I splashed a handful of forks inside of the now cold water, “We’re gunslingers, in case you forgot. We don’t have a house like you and Stan do. Ya think a child should grow up living like we do? That ain’t fair.”

I heard the drag of her chair as she got up from it and moved towards me, but before I could turn to tell her to sit down again, she had already closed the distance between us with very quick steps. “You don’t have to live like you do.” She grabbed my right hand between hers and looked me in the eyes in a way that seemed almost like she was pleading. “We told you already. There’s the old house in the back you can take, it just needs some fixing up, Stan would be glad to do it. The kids love having you around, you can help care for them and if you have some we can help too, they can grow up together-”

“Wendy, we’re not gonna live on your farm!”, I interjected before she could go any further in her crazy rambles. Rambles that it wasn’t my first time hearing about - both in letters and in person, she’d sometimes go on about how we should create roots and start a family somewhere nice, while underlining how the farm had all this space and needed more workers and the kids could use a few more friends… “This is y’all’s house. We ain’t gonna impose on your life like that.” I wriggled my hand away from hers. ”And gunslingin’s our job, it’s all we know to do. We wouldn’t know how to live like you do. So just drop it, please.”

She patted her now free hand against her dress to dry it and didn’t seem to want to look at me anymore. “The beauty of being alive is that you can learn.” I heard her say meekly, which made me feel extremely bad that I had been so firm with her when she was so excited about her ideas - but I didn’t want to give her hope, or rather, give myself more hope by listening to her.

I reached to pick up another dirty dish from the pile, but my hand grabbed at nothing. While giving Wendy’s babbles my undivided attention, I had mechanically done all of the washing, now everything just needed to be dried and put away. But, as I stretched my arm out to grab a clean dish towel, it was her time to stop me in my tracks. “I’ll take it from here.” She declared as she reached for the rag before I could and snatched it out of my range. When she heard me gasp and scramble for a rebuttal, she added: “No buts, you must be tired, y’all were on the road all morning and then the kids were also a handful. You’re done for the night.”

“I ain’t going to bed anyway,” I noted, “If you want me to do nothing then I’ll stay here with you ‘till you’re done.”

“Don’t worry about me. It’ll be quick, I’ll dry this all off, and then I’ll go out to call the dog back inside anyway, might as well give the men a shout to come to bed too.” She shrugged as she picked up a wet plate.

I honestly wanted to argue a bit more and not leave her alone like that, but my aching back was very interested in what she suggested - I had spent my whole morning on the back of a horse and then the whole afternoon chasing after zippy children. I sighed in defeat and nodded, earning from her an earnest smile. “Very well then, but tomorrow everything’s on me. Don’t wanna see you up and about before noon, understood? Good night.”

I turned on my heels to leave, hearing her giggle behind me. “Sure thing, (Y/N).” I started walking out of the kitchen, but just then she uttered: “Just… Think about what I said, alright? Good night.”

I looked back over my shoulder to see if she was going to say or do anything else, but her back was already turned to me, as she stared at the window above the counter, watching over her property.

I suppose I ended up doing what she last told me to do in the end, because our little chat really stuck with me through the next minutes.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

Even after all the time I spent getting myself prepped for bed, Kyle still hadn’t returned by the time I was done with it. So I picked up a book from Wendy’s collection - reading was one of her main hobbies, growing up educated as she was, and she kept it up even after moving to the farm - and cozied up under the blanket of the guest room bed. I was happy to have something different to read this time; Kyle and I had a couple books with us, we liked to read whenever we had the free time, but it’s God awful having too many things when you’re always moving from place to place, so we kept our assortment to a minimum. Turns out it’s very easy to get annoyed at a book when it’s the only one you ever read, and those I had in my bag were starting to become a real eyesore.

This one I had in my hand I’d never seen before, but the cover was nice enough and the summary got me on its hook, so I was pretty intrigued. It was this fictional story about an outlaw who got diagnosed with a terminal disease and spent the rest of his life trying to atone for his sinful deeds, while also uncovering some truths about the people he was most close to. Without even realizing, even during the first paragraphs, I had grown attached to the main character - his sorrow as he looks back at what he managed to do with his life, when he remembers all the bad things he has done that brought him to his current situation, and the way he tries to change and make the lives of those he loves as easy as possible with the time he has left. 

It put me into deep thought rather fast. That character managed to change everything about his life, his core beliefs and priorities, when faced with the inevitability of death. He didn’t think he could, in his mind he was doomed to be nothing more than the sins he committed, and to pay for them when the time came for that - but, although he didn’t manage to live the happily ever after everyone wants out of life, he still managed to protect those he loved and leave an everlasting mark on the people around him.

‘The beauty of being alive is that you can learn,’ Wendy’s voice echoed in my mind again, teasing me with promises of a better life. Maybe it wasn’t too late for me and Kyle to change. We had something most others in our line of work didn’t have the luxury of - we had people willing to help us. But then again, did Kyle and I want to be helped? We had never considered such an option besides drunkenly debating those hypotheticals every once in a blue moon. It was possible that he didn’t even want something like this, and I’d rather bite my tongue out and never speak again than do so and lose him forever over it.

The sudden squeak of the ancient guest room door opening shoved me right out of the depths of my brain into the real world. Kyle was back from his long walk, whistling absentmindedly some random tune he probably picked up at a saloon. The rather acid stench that usually accompanied someone who had just smoked didn’t enter alongside him, and that I was glad for; He had obviously taken the time to air himself out and get all the smell out of his body before coming back in. I wondered if Stan had the same care towards his pregnant wife. “Sorry I took so long, Stan just wanted to show me the new horses and we ended up going for a ride on them.”

“No problem. I found myself something to do anyway.” I closed the book in my lap and lifted it briefly to show him the cover, before setting it on the nightstand, as far as I could from the candle that was also on top of it.

“You’ve gotta tell me what this one is about later.” He sat down on the narrow bench in front of the bed and began taking off his boots. “Did you and Wendy have fun together?”

“Sure thing, it was real nice”, I answered, “Lotsa great talking about our feminine issues and stuff. What about you, macho man?”

My voice carried a hint of sarcasm that he picked up on immediately. He turned his body slightly so he could look at me. “Sorry about that, I guess.” He rolled his eyes. “But you know you and Wendy don’t have the same kind of conversations Stan and I do. That’s what we meant.”

“I know, I know, I’m just playing with ya.” The reassurance that I wasn’t actually mad at him or his friend for the earlier comment made him relax a little. He turned his back to me again and started unbuttoning his shirt as I kept talking. “We really had a nice talk, her and I. It feels so good to be back here.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that. Let’s make the most of the next days then.”

As he got up from the bench to remove his pants, I took the opportunity to take a good look at his body. Kyle had a very lean build, it was quite hard for him to gain weight and build those big muscles some other guys had, but he was by no means weak; doing stuff at camp, handling bandits to bring them to jail and the exercise it all took made him a very fit guy who could stand his ground even without a gun. He was also quite pale, at least for someone who spent almost all his time outside, and had plenty of freckles peppered all around his soft skin. I remembered Milton again, the farmhand Stan hired, and wondered if working on a farm every day under the sun would make Kyle look like that too - I hoped not, I loved my partner the way he was, didn’t want him to change a thing. But I knew it wouldn’t: After many summers together, the only thing I ever saw the sun do to Kyle was make him redder than a tomato all over, and his skin would usually start peeling a day or two later, which was why he preferred to wear long sleeved shirts even in the hotter months.  

There they were, the thoughts of being on the farm again. I blinked and focused my blurry eyes on Kyle again. He had stopped undressing. “Everything alright, honey?”, he inquired, looking at me with a frown.

“Ya, it’s nothin’. Just thinkin’ ‘bout how handsome my man is ‘s all.”, I was quick to answer. He shook his head with a smirk and, without answering, went back to taking off his undergarments.

When he was fully in the nude, he made his way towards the bed, not bothering to put on any sort of sleepwear. In that, he matched me - besides the bedding, there was nothing covering my body. This was normal for us: there was literally no part of our bodies that the other hadn’t seen, so why bother hiding anything? Besides, it made everything so much easier when we didn’t have to spend time ridding ourselves of all that fabric before making love. It had made for some embarrassing situations in the past, where we had to jump straight out of our beds, guns drawn, prepared for trouble; but, no matter how much we told ourselves that we really needed to stop being lazy and start wearing our pajamas, we’d still lay down the next night in our birthday suits, because there was no shame anyone else could make us feel that was more important than the feeling of his warm skin against mine.

“But you wanna know what’s funny?” Kyle commented as he pulled up the covers on the right side of the bed to lay down beside me, “Stan asked me again what I thought of the old house. Said this time we’re not getting away.”

Him bringing this up came as a shock - my eyes widened and I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. Was this man a seer or something? How come he knew to bring up exactly the thing that was eating at my mind the whole night?

I managed to keep my cool and let out a laugh that might’ve sounded a bit too loud for comfort. “Wendy did the same thing to me!”, I yelped, “The way they talk about this with us you’d think they were tryna sell us the farm.”

“They really want us to move in.” He let out a deep exhale as his head hit the feather pillow after a whole day with very little rest. “And he did say Wendy would talk to you and have you hooked on it. That by the end of the year you’d have ‘a bun in the oven’ and I’d finally know the joys of being a father.”

“I’m sure it was just the wine talking. You know Stan’s a major lightweight.” Again with my deflecting. The truth was I didn’t want to give away that Wendy’s suggestions were slowly building a nest in my heart, because I knew it couldn’t stay. Maybe joking around a bit with Kyle would remind me of the situation we were in, that this idyllic little house life we led was only temporary, and that we were bound to go back on the road after a few days, in search of more work. All I couldn’t do was make my current interest too overt, and I would forget about it just fine.

“Eh, I don’t know… He seemed pretty serious to me. Not like he does when he’s drunk, and I’d know that.” He turned on his side, facing me, and I could see the reflection of my candle’s flame dancing inside his olive eyes as he stared intently. Either he was really captivated by it, or he didn’t want to look at me for some reason, and that made me even more worried. He stayed like this for a couple of minutes, during which the room fell to almost complete silence, only broken by the crickets outside or the occasional cackling of the tiny flame. “And… What did you think?” Kyle finally asked, lifting his face toward me, studying my features just in case they gave a different answer than the one that would come from my mouth. “About what Wendy said, I mean.”

“Hey, now, what I thought doesn’t matter.” It was now my turn to look away and stare at the flame, wanting to just blow it out and dunk the room in darkness, all to not continue this conversation. “You know it’s just silly daydreams she has. They don’t get out as often as they used to, with the children and whatnot, so she stays inside and comes up with stuff like this.”

Kyle rapidly sat himself up in the bed and cupped my face in his hands, turning it so that we could finally be looking at each other. “You know your thoughts are the only ones that matter to me.” He stated firmly, gazing into my eyes with even more certainty than that which he had in his voice. “I don’t care about what Stan or Wendy want. But if you have something to say, you have my full attention, no matter what it is.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, bringing my right hand up and resting it on top of his. It was fine. I knew I couldn’t just lie to Kyle here, he’d figure me out. And, with all his brains, surely he could come up with a logical explanation for my troubles and help me see the most sensible path. “Look, I’m sure they mean well and it’s such a pretty idea”, I started, “I’d love to do that if our lives were different. But as it is it wouldn’t stick, honey. There’s no point in pretendin’.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

I expected all sorts of reactions from Kyle, but not this one. His hand withdrew from my face as he pulled his upper body slightly away from me, but still kept his stare fixed. Both his eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide, and his mouth fell slightly open as he breathed through it. He looked like someone would if they heard something they didn’t want to, or received disappointing news; which wasn’t how he usually reacted to those situations - Kyle was the type to argue his point to the bitter end, so disagreements usually came with a lot more anger instead of sadness or anxiety. This time, he seemed hurt.

“Oh, honey… You know why.” I rested my hands on top of my chest, feeling my heart accelerate, and trying to ground myself before the shock became too much. “We can’t put a child in a world like ours. Would be torture.”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be a world like ours. We can live here, at least temporarily, and then we move somewhere else. Stan already gave us the go.”

“Kyle, you know we have targets on our backs!” I tried moving my body closer to his, like that might get the point across easier, my voice denouncing my increasing concern with his reaction. “All these people we sent to swing, their buddies always try to come after us. Stan and Wendy don’t deserve this. We can’t risk them.”

“How? We’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere!” There it was, the anger flaring his nerves. It always happened when something hit close to his heart, he felt the need to explain himself and make the people around him ‘see reason’ - I knew that behavior too well, though I wasn’t normally on the receiving end of it. But right now this wasn’t about logic or reason. These were his wishes. “We’ll disappear. I’ll change my name, you’ll change yours, we fake our deaths, these people don’t remember anything anymore after a couple of months anyway!”

Although I kept on nervously laughing, he was hitting all the right points, the points my own heart made when it wanted to feed on the delusions for a while longer. Kyle was very good at that - if he thought something was the better option, he’d twist both Heaven and Hell to make it make sense. “Oh yes? Well, say we go through with it, what do we know about ranch life?” I let out another nervous laugh. “Can you plant anything? Feed cattle?”

“Does that even matter?” In a quick movement, he climbed on top of me, knees at the side of my thighs as he straddled my legs, the blanket draping from his shoulders since he didn’t bother getting out from under it. We didn’t break eye contact for a single second. “You know I learn fast. If I-You want this, then we can figure it out!”

Clarity struck me like a bullet. Did he just say ‘I’? “Stan… Didn’t really talk to you about anything, did he?”

He shook his head again, less enthusiastically this time, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Do you remember a couple months ago, after you and I left the gang, when we talked about life with a house and kids and what we’d do if we had that?” I nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see the gesture anyway - but he took my silence as agreement and continued talking. “I sent Stan a letter soon after. At first it was just to vent, but then he replied with their suggestion and I thought… Well, we could at least try.” The end of his sentence brought with it a faint smile to his lips, and he opened his eyes again slowly.

For the first time in this conversation had my little fit of laughter been genuine. The three of them had put all this in motion right under my nose, based on one wishful conversation we had, which Kyle had taken to heart and made sure to come to fruition. “I thought you liked the hunt, though” I said, head tilting to the side. “Liked bringin’ people to justice an’ givin’ ‘em what they deserved, no?”

“I like that, but I love you.” He answered without missing a beat. Felt like he was plain waiting for it. “And besides, it’s not like we can’t be virtuous people and do what’s right even without spending all our lives chasing after criminals. Our honor comes from our hearts, not from the barrel of our guns.”

Good ol’ Kyle with his smooth way of talking. It was one of the many reasons I fell for him - though his day-to-day life was rough and he shot outlaws for a living, deep inside he was still a very caring man, someone intelligent who saw all the bad in the world and still chose to do good. “Where did you even learn to talk like that?” I chuckled. “You shoulda been a writer, not a shooter.”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll get started on that now, since I’ll have more time.” Taking my hands in his, he kissed my knuckles lovingly. Then his thumb grazed my empty left ring finger, his touch, as soft as his rough hands would allow it, lingering for a couple of seconds. “After the wedding, that is.”

“Wait, you serious?” This night was getting so filled with surprises, I might just believe someone if they said Sparky was a human in disguise. “No need for that, my dear. I’m already yours.”

“But I want to do it.” His hands let go of mine and he moved his body closer to me, giving me a quick peck to the forehead. Then he suddenly grabbed the blanket and yanked it to the side, throwing it on the floor and leaving both our bodies completely exposed. “And we gotta do it quick, before you start to show.”

Before I could ask him what I’d start to show, he pulled me by the shoulders and smashed his lips against mine fiercely. My hands shot up to grab his curls, making him groan into my mouth and deepen the kiss - and there it was, the now faint taste of the cigar I hadn’t smelled previously, spicy and earthy, but it tasted like the sweetest thing on the planet just because of the sheer passion we shared right now.  

As I felt Kyle’s hand drift up from between us to knead at my breast, I broke the kiss with a gasp. “Wait, here?” I asked, surprised, though the corners of my mouth curved up, snitches of my excitement.

“Now.”, he declared, straightening his legs and propping himself up in his arms to give me space to slide down and lay beneath him, with my head now on the pillow and my legs spread. When I broke eye contact for just a second and finally looked down, I saw his dick was already almost fully hard - was the simple idea of getting me pregnant enough to make him like that?

“Can’t wait to see how you’re gonna explain this to them tomorrow” I said with a giggle as Kyle lowered his body, putting his weight on his elbows, and planting kisses all over my face. My subdued laughs quickly got replaced by soft hums as he started going down the side of my neck with his lips, while his hips started rocking against mine, his cock grinding against my body and the tip spreading some warm precum over my lower abdomen with each slow movement.

His answer, unlike most everything he ever said, was simple, direct, and left no leeway for questioning. “Well, it would do them some good to get used to it.” I felt my face burn like the damn candle as he said that, and my pussy starting to drip with wetness, the arousal soaking into the bedsheet. He stopped his kisses for a moment to put his mouth to my ear, and when he whispered his next declaration, it felt like it was going straight to my cunt: “Because I’m keeping you filled up now. Make you mine all the time and no one can do a damn thing about it.”

“Oh, you gonna change your mind when I’m all big and swollen…”, I drawled feebly. Disputing his claims was getting hard now since my brain was getting foggy with desire, but I still had to try, even if just to hear him singing praises to me some more.

I felt his left hand coursing through my body, stopping with his palm flat on my midriff, feeling almost cold with how hot I was getting all over. “Absolutely not,” He whispered again, “You’re gonna be even more fucking gorgeous when you’re carrying my child. I’ll make love to you every single night.”

My hand started to move down between our bodies, too, as I tried to reach for Kyle’s throbbing cock, wanting to make him feel good - if I couldn’t with pretty words like he did me, at least I knew I could do it with actions. But, when my fingers touched his leaking tip, he immediately took his hand off my belly and gripped my wrist, moving it back to the side of my body. As I looked at him with a puzzled expression on my face, he simply shook his head, gave me another peck to the mouth and started pushing himself down on the bed, only stopping when his face was level with my pussy and his palms were flat at the side of my hips.

Just by seeing him there, I could feel my walls clenching around nothing, almost like they begged on their own for his loving and experienced touch. Kyle was a damn great lover and from the very first day we laid together it was like he knew all the right ways to make me come undone, and he had no shame about anything he did to achieve it - most of all, he was eager to do it. By God did this man love to please me. If that was what was waiting for me every night from now on, I could very easily get used to everything else.

He started planting small kisses on the inside of both of my thighs as he pushed my legs slowly up, my knees now almost hitting my chest. His lips felt soft and endearing on my skin, but this was not where I wanted them - and he knew it, with the way he held my gaze the whole time as he did it, his eyes glittering with his teasing ways. Every few kisses, he’d break the sequence with a slight graze of his teeth on my skin, the softest of bites, but enough to make all the fine hairs in my thigh rise up in a pleasurable goosebump.

Just as I was getting tired of the wait and was contemplating pulling at his hair to bring him away from my leg, it was like he had read my mind again. He let go of my thighs and put his hands on my hips, not quite gripping them, but steadying them in place. I closed my eyes and sighed contentedly as he licked a stripe from my already very wet cunt to my clit, giving it a very quick kiss at the end, which made me wonder for a second if he was about to start teasing me again and how long for. But then all thoughts left my brain as soon as he started swirling his tongue over my clit, in a pattern I didn’t know or care about, making me squirm almost immediately and dig my nails into my palm.

His tongue slithered down, making its way to my entrance, and my hips started rolling against his mouth, trying to help his movements as he fucked me with it. He’d grunt every now and then as he did it, lost in the satisfaction he felt by pleasuring me, and sending the vibrations through my heat, making me even wetter. I could feel him staring at me from down there, too, despite my shut eyes; He always paid attention to every reaction of mine, licking and sucking all the right parts that he knew made me squirm.

Then he moved up with his mouth to focus on my clit again and my hands darted down to grab at his hair, my palms hurting at the spots where the little crescent shapes from my nails had formed. I felt one of his fingers circling my entrance, gathering my arousal before plunging fully deep inside, my walls almost sucking it in. Another one soon followed and he started pumping them in and out while curling them upwards, massaging my sweet spot perfectly, still never missing the pace of the swirls of his tongue on my hardened bud.

It became too much too quickly. The dam holding back the river of my climax broke after not much longer and my orgasm washed over me violently, every single muscle in my body tensing up and my thighs pressing strongly against the side of my lover’s head while my hips rocked against his mouth, chasing my pleasure to its bitter end. One of my hands darted up to cover my mouth immediately, muffling the loud cries I let out as it happened, my one and only moment of clarity during the whole release.

And even then Kyle didn’t stop his ministrations, his hand covered with my juices as his fingers kept pushing inside, making way through my tightly clenched walls. After I came down from my haze, however, the overstimulation started to become rather painful - only when I managed to collect enough strength to tug at the back of his hair rather fiercely to pull him away from my cunt did he stop, and even then I swore I could see for a brief moment a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

Kyle positioned his body between my legs again and took his time to run one last stripe along my slit with his fingers, the ones he used inside me, before bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean, with his eyes closed. He did this every time, not wanting to waste even a single drop of me. I was his favorite whiskey and, when it came to that, he was a damn alcoholic.

This time it was me putting my hands on Kyle’s shoulders and bringing him down for a kiss, running the tip of my tongue across his lips lightly, tasting my love in him. When we parted, gasping for air, I leisurely ran my hands over his upper body, caressing every inch of him they could reach - his cheeks, then down his neck, around his collarbone, his chest, until my left hand stopped at his shoulder, on top of his biggest and most visible scar.

Kyle had plenty of scars, these things came with our line of work, but this one was different. Not caused by a bullet or a knife, but rather by fire itself - a dynamite explosion that caught us by surprise during a shootout in this very state we were currently in. That fire almost took my lover’s life, dragged both of us into months of suffering and stress, and even years after it was extinguished we still carried with us not only the trauma, but a physical reminder of everything it claimed. 

The physical scar itself was a bit rough to the touch and full of small streaks and bumps all over. It spread all over his shoulder into the right side of his chest, his upper arm, and a bit over his back. Across the years, its color had faded from a gruesome brown to a slight reddish tint, but it still had a jarring contrast to Kyle’s pale skin. No part of it was delightful, if I’m being honest. Yet I’d kiss it every single night, caress it at every opportunity and massage it with expensive essential oils whenever those were available; because I’d take a whole life with that scar over even a single second of the alternative.

“You saved me, you know,” He murmured with a sigh.

“I know, because you say it all the time.” I chuckled. “But we ain’t gotta talk about that anymore, dear. You know I’d do it again.”

“Not that day. Well, yes that day, but also all the others before and after that.” He lowered his head closer to mine so that our noses and foreheads were touching, and his warm breath ghosted my lips, bringing the lustful haze back to my brain. At this point I didn’t know what I wanted to do more: Hear his voice forever as he whispered his praise and love towards me, or kiss him until I could feel all these words inside of my skin.

My partner took himself in his hands and started to slide the tip of his cock up and down between my folds, from my entrance to my clit, making my whole body twitch a little when he got to the still very sensitive bundle of nerves. “And you might just be about to save me again,” He continued, aligning himself with my entrance, “You’ll be the perfect wife and mother. My wife and the mother of my babies.”

Kyle pushed himself inside of me slowly, inch by inch, being extra careful as his big and thick cock stretched out my cunt. It didn’t hurt much, I was used to it after years of taking him regularly, but he still wanted to make sure I was comfortable every single time before continuing. 

Once I gave him a smile and a small nod, he started to push in and out slowly, letting me feel every single twitch of his cock inside me and every one of those veins I knew so well pressed against my walls in their entirety. He quickly built up momentum, however, and soon the room was filled with the squelching sounds of my wetness being pounded against, his hips striking my body and the bedframe hitting the house’s wooden walls perfectly synchronizing with it. After a while like this, without warning, he picked up both my legs and brought them over each of his shoulders, pushing my knees back against my chest, my toes touching his hair as they curled in pleasure.

Kyle was hitting my cervix with every strong thrust now, sending sharp and slightly painful stings that jolted through my lower abdomen with every smash of his soft head against that barrier. And yet, every time I felt those, I just wanted more and more; Having Kyle deep inside me in this position always managed to cover all the right spots inside of me, I just wanted to hold him, keep him there. And I knew he was feeling just as good as I was - the sounds coming from his throat were getting louder and louder as he shut his lips tighter to prevent them from turning into full brown growls, his fingertips whiter than ever since his grip on my hips was so fierce I was sure by tomorrow I’d have a few bruises there.

“K-Kyle… Aaaaah… Give… Me…” I whimpered between moans, stretching my arms towards him, nails scratching against his skin as I tried to grab his hips, keep them glued to mine forever.

“Lord… You want me even more, do you?” He responded with shaky breaths, and I immediately felt it when he picked up even more speed - a move made even easier by the amount of slick built up in and around my pussy -, jackhammering into my cunt and making me see stars both from pain and pleasure. 

At this point I should’ve known there was no point in even trying to hide our sinful sounds anymore, but I still felt like I needed to do it. I tried to pick up Kyle’s pillow from the side of my head and put it over my face to muffle my constant cries of satisfaction, but my partner immediately grabbed it from my hand and tossed it back in its place with a growl.

“No. Don’t hide it. I want to see it. The face you make… When you cum for me and I stuff you up to the brim.”

The scene he described burned into my brain almost immediately and I could think of nothing else. For him to fill me up, give me a baby, make us a family - it was all I wanted out of life now, and the mere thought of it was enough to have my muscles tensing and that familiar pressure on my lower abdomen to start building up again, threatening to snap. “Please, Kyle,” I whined, “Breed me. Give it all to me… I need it…”

“I know you do, darling...” He leaned closer to me to give me a kiss, the clash of our lips messy and awkward with our desperate need to touch each other and the fogginess in our brains, but we didn’t care. I just wanted to have him as close as possible. “I need it too… Cum for me, please. I want to feel you milking my dick to the last drop.”

He needed not ask further. For the second time that night I felt my whole body burst into electricity, my cunt spasming like crazy as I tried to give Kyle exactly what he asked of me, exactly what I felt like I was meant to do all along. My legs trashed all over near his shoulders and my back arched as I lost control of my body with the waves of pleasure that washed me over.

The tightness around his cock as my walls fluttered around him and my face contorting in absolute pleasure as I came were what finally did him in. Kyle threw his head back while he came undone inside me, grabbing my hips and pulling them towards him as he buried himself deep into my core, his manhood throbbing, painting my walls with his seed. The sensation was extremely new to me - I felt the warm spurts painting my walls, filling me up and leaving Kyle’s mark somewhere no other man could ever reach.

I wasn’t used to Kyle finishing inside of me. Considering the everlasting battle between our higher than average libidos and our fear of having children, the closest compromise for that was having him do it on my breasts, belly, mouth, face, even ass if he was feeling wild enough. On the rare occasions where he did cum inside, I couldn’t even enjoy it - my brain would immediately be flooded with stress and worry, shutting down any other sensation, and I’d spend the next month or so losing sleep waiting for my next period so I could finally be at peace again.

But here there was none of that. I could relax and ride out this high with him. I let him have his moment, heaving my exhaustion away quietly as I admired the red flush on his pale skin and the sheen of his sweat under the candlelight, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted like his lungs weren’t big enough for the amount of air he needed to live. When he finally opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was me, I felt wrapped up in his love all over again.

When his breathing started to steady, I figured he’d get himself off of me and take his place by my side on the bed. Instead, he just laid his whole body on top of mine, somehow being careful enough to not crush me under his weight as he collapsed.

“Kyle?” I gave him some quick taps to the shoulder with my fingers after a minute or two like this in silence, when I’d started to worry that he might just fall asleep. “C’mon, dear, you gotta scoot over if you wanna sleep.”

“Hmph… Sorry…” He groaned, with a sluggishness that made clear he was indeed just a few sheeps counted away from deep slumber. “Wanted to make sure to keep it all in. Don’t wanna waste…”

Even though he clearly didn’t want to, he slowly moved away from me and rolled to his side of the bed. When his dick withdrew from me, I suddenly felt a bit empty and wondered briefly if I couldn’t have tried to sleep like that or at least stay a little longer.

“Sorry, my dear,” I planted a kiss to the side of his head, “But you know, if you don’t get me pregnant tonight, we have plenty of time now.”

I sat back on the bed briefly to blow the candle out on the nightstand, plunging our room into almost complete darkness. As soon as I laid my head back on my pillow, Kyle brought his arm over my body and pulled me closer to him, nuzzling my hair.

“We have plenty of time now,” He whispered, with more energy in his voice this time.

And we definitely did.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[hhhyperbole]

BY (not actually) POPULAR DEMAND I WILL GIVE YOU MY STARDEW OCS!!!! COME HITHER NARA AND HORROR

more info under the cut as per protocol <3

WHO IS HORROR AND WHY IS HE THE DESIGNATED FARMER?

horror is. Simply just a guy. Who is haunted and accompanied by many spirits who embody the different functions of the game. Fishing, mining, cultivation, companionship.. you name it, he has a spirit who’s with him for it. He’s of arcane descent (through nara, who is his biological mother) and can see these spirits, converse with them, and interact with then—even through physical means! his eyes are also symbolic of his somewhat innate but still unique connection to the spectral side of the valley—so ghostly pale and unfathomably tired—yet still seeing so much more and being wide awake of what is invisibly happening. he has favorites nonetheless lmao (sam, harvey, sebastian, abigail, and rasmodius) he’s also very avoidant of human interaction with the town during the first year seasons—from spring to autumn—until it passes into the second year, which lines up with how the player would be able to finally interact with his mother after you complete the first year (after receiving only vague letters that contain valuable produce that you can get cash with from her LMAOOO) like i said. horrors just a guy, really. i feel as if i should also mention who i ship him with + other info such as loved, liked, normal, disliked, and hated items, but i’ll save that for another post. lets talk about his mom now, shall we?

—

WHO IS NARA AND WHY IS SHE SO ELUSIVE?

WINE MILF!! we love you wine milf honorable tag list for nara: @yaiyogsothoth and @anonymocha, be delighted that i finally decided to post this/j . . . also, this has personal headcanons about how magic (or arcanum, as i call it in my au) works in stardew so like, block if u dont like how i did it x first of all, the art is incredibly inaccurate to the latest piece i’ve drawn of her, so i’ll correct that in a quick follow up post! but nara is the town’s very secretive winery owner who only ever emerges in winter. something about borders…? hmm.. she’s been blessed by the valley’s previous spirit of winter when she was born, turning her to be just slightly immortal (she stopped physically aging at 40 people are SO glad she did she looks so fucking fine in her 40s), so she’s at her most powerful during that season :3 her entire family, regardless of them being adopted law or biological, has been and is still being blessed by various manifestations of the valley’s arcanum, actually! so her kids—in order of age: Horror, Angelbell, Elise, Aeon + Eon—get it too :3 nara runs the beachside winery (which is aptly named the Crystalline Winery) and often only ever leaves to head towards cindersap or to the saloon, and when she does, her younger children look over the various vineyards that decorate the property until she comes back regardless of her reclusiveness, she has her favorites much like her son! (rasmodius, haley, harvey, the player’s farmer, elliott, emily, the traveling merchant [THEY HAVE A HISTORY], sandy.. and technically shane? she likes people, but only specific people..) and that’s where we leave it for now ~ aren’t you glad i didnt neglect the stardew posting for a week?/j

[moonbiscuitsims]

My Stardew Valley project: Lots Layout plan in TS4

(This is not/will not be a save or a download as I use way too much CC for that, just a personal project and plan of lots I found suitable; I don't know how long this will take me or if I'll ever complete it but having a plan helps me so much to not get stuck later)

I'm sharing this in case it is handy to anyone wanting to do a Stardew Valley save in The sims 4 from scratch (lots off gallery are limiting with their sizes and needing specific lots, so I'm starting from zero unless a lot fits) without ugly set dressings or stupid backgrounds that don't make sense, and trying to group together the lots properly like they are laid out in the game so you can see them in the distance, or at least put them on an isolated lot with a clear surroundings if they have to be separated. It isn't perfect and is subjective and pack dependant but I spent a while today just laying out in my blank save (I use the srslysims blank save for this) where I wanna build what and who lives in each lot, so I'm sharing it in case it saves someone time or is useful Some lots are for a few sims living together to do two or more builds on one lot. This could possibly work with For Rent, but I don't dare try it lol. Others are just living alone. Others are just community. The main worlds I'm using are:

- Henford on Bagley:

The finwich area for the main Pelican town area ➡ 1= 1 Willow Lane (Sam Vincent Kent Jodi) + 2 Willow Lane (Hayley and Emily) these are here because of the river and the bridge leading "down to the beach" just everything is perfect for me. 2= Mayor's Manor, 1 River Road (Alex, George, Evelyn), 2 River Road (Pam and Penny trailer) this one is a little cramped and will have to be one next to the other but it can work. That way all these people live in the village centre. 3= Stardrop Saloon, maybe a little square if it fits, but probably not. 4= Harvey's clinic, Pierre's store. 5= Blacksmith and Library (+the little ice cream stand or market stall) 6= Joja Mart and/or Cinema (I'm doing both) 7= Bookseller with cute hot air balloon (this is random I wanted to do it, but it is usually just an empty area) 8= The farm 9= 24 Mountain road (Maru Seb Robin and Demetrius) 10= Quarry (set as generic) 11= Linus's tent 12= Adventurer's Guild and Mines (marlon gil and dwarf)

Willow Creek (Community Center)

It is on the big lot in willow creek, no surroundings or buildings, so It was perfect, and gives enough space to build the community center plus the childrens park and the natural area around it and it's by a river.

- Moonwood Mill as Cindersap Forest

I know it's a bit grungy and has industrial deco but I don't mind these buildings as they fit with the nature imo. It had the perfect amount of lots for what I needed, plus a river. 1= Wizards Tower 2= Travelling Merchant 3= Marnie's Ranch + Leah's Cottage 4= Krobus/Sewer (this is the main reason I chose this world and I know there isn't a beach but the sewer pipe with trash aesthetic and the large lot in the forest was enough for me) 5= Mouse Hat shop /Abandoned house

Granite Falls for Secret Forest:

I'm doing this one (using Zerbu's all worlds are residential) in Granite Falls in the National Park lot, I just liked how big it is, how tall the surrounding trees are, and that it has a little waterfall area.

Glimmerbrook as the rest of "Mountains" area (Railroad and Spa). I choose that lot of the railroad cause i can add a tunnel for the train with tool and it looks like its coming out the cliff

Sulani

Sulani as the Docks (with Elliots shack and Willy's shop) the build i've placed is from the gallery and is a water lot with the Night market (I really liked this and didn't want it separately) so I had to place it here. I do not actually like Sulani for this though, it is far too tropical and its on an island but I am forgiving it for the sake of having the beach lot. I wish Brindleton Bay had a beach lot near the docks would have been much better. You could change this and put it anywhere if you build your own beach as a pool but I hate doing that... In Sulani I'll also build all the Ginger Island stuff, but I still haven't played through that properly so I can't say what is going where yet.

Forgotten Hollow (witch's swamp/hut)

Forgotten Hollow as the witch's swamp /witch's hut area (again this is random but I wanna include it and make the witch for fun)

Oasis Springs as The Calico Desert

This large lot is perfect. It has a road, not too much going on around it except rocks and desert, and I'm gonna put everything here (Sandy's shop, Mr Qi's casino, and the desert trader outside). I will not be building the bus stop anywhere cause it is unnecessary. I forgot to mention but also the skull cavern might fit here or I'll do it on some other lot maybe OTHER INFO

Mods I'm gonna use to help the lots work as intended: I'm gonna play with littlemssams live in business mod to achieve the character being able to live on what should be a community lot and for it to still be functional, as well as chingyu's welcoming lot trait to avoid sims not being able to do what they want on these lots without being "innappropriate". For each of the lots and worlds I selected I spent time entering each and deciding which areas most closely resembled the areas from the game. For example if it had a lake or river nearby, or if the lot was big enough to build each thing. This could change but I think I'm happy with it. I might have to change some of this or make tiny builds to fit the multi build lots. Every single thing is super unfinished and empty, this is just my layout plan.

Conclusion: I hope this helps someone or if not and you even read this far that you like my idea :) If I forgot something or someone or said a name wrong, sorry, though I haven't fully finished the game yet. Basically I tend to get super overwhelmed and annoyed if there are stupid buildings or things that don't match, and am unable to just randomly plop any build anywhere like many players do due to obsessing over it not looking right around the build...maybe I'm a perfectionist or wish it was a blank world, but this is my next best thing. At least this was easier than my Cyberpunk save with way more foresty/countrysidish options 😅

[fadingplaidlibrary]

gus headcanons

his full name is augustine but only his family calls him that

he has an older brother named algernon, and four precocious little nieces who love terrorizing their uncle gus

he loves to dance! our boy can cut a rug for sure, and he’s not shy about it, it’s just that he usually has to watch the kitchen and the food tables at any town gathering so he’s too busy for the dance floor

he started out working as a busser in the old saloon when he was still in high school/secondary school, then went to culinary school out west before coming back to run the place

has a homoerotic rivalry with the city health inspector. the saloon is immaculate and always passes with flying colors, but you couldn’t tell that from the way gus and the inspector talk to each other

of course he sources smuggled gotoro empire produce from the traveling merchant. “the secret ingredient is crime” is one of his catchphrases

he keeps a calendar with everyone’s birthday on it so he can remember to send them a special little dish

every so often he sends harvey home from the saloon with a jar of homemade aromatic broth or hearty stew, and some fresh bread with hand-churned butter. the good doctor really would survive on frozen meals and multivitamins otherwise

he’s a champion bowler in the inter-city intramural leagues. they call him “gus goldfingers”

the first time sandy visited the saloon, he got so flustered he dropped his phone directly into a pot of consommé by mistake

the man is terribly nearsighted so he wears specialty contact lenses

he always has a little container of vaseline in his pockets. it helps keep his hands soft and it’s good for covering tiny cuts in a pinch

when he was younger he wanted to join the military. then he visited a local army barracks on a school field trip and tasted the military rations, which swiftly and permanently changed his mind

he’s lefthanded so his kitchen is built to accommodate him. emily is also lefthanded, so they work well together

he’s the only one in town grandma evelyn trusts with her secret chocolate chip cookie recipe, and he’s been sworn to secrecy

he really likes the idea of having tattoos, but he’s scared of needles, so he lets his nieces stick temporary tattoos all over his arms whenever he visits them

[the-cash-cache]

The Goblin Market: the weirdest and most colorful cast of merchants you’ll ever meet!

Picture it: Sicily, 1922 my desk, 2023. I have just gotten back from a raucous day on the town, and am relaxing with my emotional support water bottle while browsing the internet in a sleep-deprived reverie. My mind wanders the dimly flashing streets of neural pathways, before being struck by the Truck of Realization that I have been derelict in my duty of talking about amazing ttrpg stuff!

I’ve talked about the Certified TERF Hated collection of NPCs The Goblin Market by my good friend @europaprisonmoon before here, and I believe it’s worth talking about again!

I’ll start off with this description from the itch.io page itself which perfectly encapsulates the colorful array of characters your party can meet:

The Goblin Market is a system agnostic collection of over fifty merchants, monsters and even stranger things which can be dropped into your campaign to add weirdness and magic for your players: retired river gods, escaped nightmares, tea merchants, wicker basket mechs, predatory graves, vengeful dragons seeking to raise an army to defeat tyrannical princesses, off-duty demons, magical roboticists, mystery cults, accidentally immortal witches, and many more. 

This supplement is a treat to read, with Tryphosa Tucker Thimbling capturing my heart and mind from the moment I met her! A milliner with “fur like the finest humus” and piebald donkey ears adorned with beautiful golden bells, Tryphosa loves tea - of the drink and gossip varieties. Have you ever felt your PC was missing something? Some critical aspect leaving them sorely lacking? It is obviously that they need a hat from Tryphosa! Turn heads with a cap made of fantastical materials; you’ll never have to worry again about entering a bar/saloon/communal watering hole and facing someone with the same hat as you.

If for whatever reason Tryphosa doesn’t strike your fancy, why not a quartet of large albino rats joined at the tails? The Quartet (or was it once The Quintet?) sells uncandles, a perfect gift for the brooding rogue in your party! Fashioned from shadows and darkness, the uncandles will bring a comfortable gloom to any room.

Best of all, The Goblin Market is on sale for just under $8 until July 13th! That’s less than 16 cents per NPC. The NPCs are connected to each other, so you can throw as many or as few into your game, and you’ll never be at a loss for people your players can talk to!

[ask-leah-sdv]

Leah, what is your favorite forage to collect for each season? :)

You know, I’ve never thought about it.

This might be a bit long, just as a heads up!

Common mushrooms are too easy of an answer for me, since they’re found in multiple seasons. I’ll be as season-specific as possible!

Dandelions are pretty easy to find in the spring, and are great in salads! My personal favorite is the one they serve in the Saloon, where it’s combined with leek and a bit of vinegar, but they’re not too bad on their own!

Fiddlehead ferns are found commonly enough in the woods during the summer. They’re pretty little plants, and I’ll sometimes grow them myself! They’re also good in risotto, if you cook them just right!

Chanterelles are my personal favorite mushroom. They’re a bit rarer in the fall, but when I do find them I always dry them. The dried ones are great to snack on. They’re also very uniquely shaped, and fun to paint.

Winter roots are a bit harder to find during the winter, as you have to dig them up yourself. When I find them, I like to pair them with the cave carrot I sometimes get from the farmer, or traveling merchant, and make a platter. That’s always a highlight to a dreary winter day!

[vioyume]

Scraped Cowboy au

This is some concept art for a cowboy au that I wanted to make, but later on decided to shelve because its gonna be one of those projects that will drag on for a long time for me to fully develop it, which I simply don't have the time for. (Mostly because of irl stuff & I can't keep myself motivated for that long)

The idea came to me after completing RTDLDX, so late Feburary or early March. I was playing too much Kirby on the Draw.

I always had the normal characters in mind but I wanted to try to design some of the gijinka designs as well since its bit more complex to design their outfits. Only got to MK, Kirby, Magolor, and the Lor, but I'm happy that I got to at least get to the Lor's development.

I might want to doodle them sometimes, but that's all I'm gonna do with it going forward.

More info on the au under cut:

DDD was gonna be the Mayor while Meta is the Sheriff and his horse is the Halberd. (Never got to how the rest of the Meta Knights will be)

I took some inspiration from the Dreamy Gears novel, and wanted have Daroach as a Saloon owner but him and the squeaks and are secretly notorious thieves in the town. Meta knows but he willingly keeps his mouth shut.

Magolor is suppose to a travelling merchant with the Lor as his horse and a redesigned shoppe to fit. Marx travels with him as some sort of prankster entertainer.

Taranza is a tailor, he moved into town because he needed a change of scenery after losing his late wife who died because of a sickness.

Susie and her Father are some sort of rich folks. Had trouble debating if technology would introduce or if I should stick to them being traditional engineers.

Magic was an off and on thing in this au sort of like how Dreamy Gears does, though I never fleshed it out. Wanted to make Nova a normal clock that you can just find in the wild, like a box of old stuff or randomly buried in the dirt.

Thought of making the Lor and the Halberd horses in love. It still makes me giggle.

Uh yeah that was all I had plan for this au. If this inspires to you make or add to your own then go ahead and take some of the ideas I had here, you don't need to ask me.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Got anything for Razzy? Can be absolutely anything, even shitpost.

Yes! :D Thank you for your ask and enjoy!

After some hard work with new spells or just when he wants to relax, he can afford to smoke a little. Rasmodius grows all kinds of weed and tobacco himself. He doesn't sell it to anyone, but he can share it with his friends (if they smoke, of course). At times, when talking with Marlon about different subjects or nothing, smoking has become almost mandatory.

Doesn't miss the opportunity to chat with the Traveling Merchant lady every Friday and Sunday, not forgetting to check out her wares. Sometimes you can find very interesting things and artifacts from the Gotoro Empire at her place. Plus, she's quite a pleasant person to talk to.

He is the one who teleports gems to the trash cans of some Pelican Town residents. After the Wizard recognized the young Farmer's strange habit of rummaging through the trash (he isn't particularly surprised, since he already has a friend with a similar habit - Linus), he decided to use magic to generate gems there. Just to laugh at the Farmer's surprised reaction (a diamond in a garbage can - the hell?? what?????).

If Rasmodius is not expecting guests, and feels unmotivated in some way, he will be lazy to change into his usual robe and will go home in a bath silk robe (purple, because aesthetics 🤌). And if guests do show up - well, he have to accept them according to all the laws of hospitality. And don't look at him like that, this robe is unisex!

Absolutely terrible at cooking. He can concoct any potion you want, but he can't make scrambled eggs without another fire and burnt food. It's easier for Rasmodius to just conjure up food, or have it delivered from the Saloon.

The Wizard loves rain, and goes outside whenever thunderclouds thicken in the sky. He casts a barrier spell on himself that keeps him from getting wet. Rasmodius likes the sound of tinkling drops on the barrier and the smell of rain. He especially loves it in the fall season.

Secretly helps travelers find their way home or to Pelican Town if they get lost in the woods.

[dmitriclaudius]

Dimmed Lights - The Quiet Chapter of Dmitri's Life

Finding work in Gridania was hard for a foreigner such as Dmitri, even as an elezen among other elezen, Gridanian businesses turned him down when they saw he was from Coerthas. Some owners were wary of him, stating that Ishgardians don’t leave their land for good reasons. Eventually he came across a saloon on the outskirts of town on the lower level of what appeared to be an abandoned theater.

After talking to the handsome Duskwight barkeep, he was able to land a job as the person to do the heavy lifting around the saloon. Soon however, his position at the saloon would change as many Gridanian merchants that frequented the place requested he be placed onto the roster. Little did Dmitri know, this saloon was effectively a bar and also a place for people to request hosts for the evening. Both men and women were paid well to keep these wealthy merchants entertained and their cups full. Dmitri was not unfamiliar with personalities like these merchants, he went to school with many highborn afterall. But this was the first time he was perceived not as lowborn, but as an attractive young man. He caught eye of how much the other hosts were making and thought to himself, this could work in his favor. And so, after fitting into the barkeep's unwanted garbs and styling his hair differently, he began his career as a host. At first he was nervous, shaking as he poured spirits into his patron’s glasses. But with some of the merchants’ carefree attitudes and inebriated state, he grew confident in his ability to entertain and provide a good time. This was the first time Dmitri felt like he had some sense of social power. Once he was just a farmer’s child, here he was favored among the wealthy and elite. He was happy to finally have a sense of belonging, even if it was just a saloon on the outskirts. One night, a gentleman walked him to the entrance of the saloon and propositioned that they finish the night in his chambers. Dmitri, off the high of liquor and underlying need to forget the ache in his heart, nodded and proceeded to walk behind the gentleman. That night Dmitri was a changed man. Afterwards, they laid and bed and Dmitri was still bashful after their encounter, unsure if he could stay till morning. The gentleman reassured him that he could stay. They went to sleep and by morning, the man had left. On the pillow next to Dmitri was a note and a small bag. “Thank you for the wonderful night, maids have washed your clothes and prepared your breakfast. Please dress and make your way home after your meal.” The note and hospitality was a nice gesture but when Dmitri looked over the sack to find it filled with gil, something in him panged. He took the gil and left. After this patron’s encounter, more merchants would request for his company after the bar closed. Soon, it was a common occurrence and every time, Dmitri would agree. He had regulars and men who specifically sought him out. Then their friends would come and they would all laugh and drink. Some of these patrons weren’t all law-abiding merchants though. Some partook in shady businesses and others were just too difficult to deal with once they’ve had their fair amount of drink. Still, they put their arms over Dmitri’s shoulder, calling him friend and one of them. But as friendly bar banter became nightly visits, he soon learned how depraved his friends could be. Dmitri was still growing at this time but he was tall for an elezen. He also worked on the farm his whole life and as a result, had a sturdy build. To these friends of his, that was an invitation for them to have their way with him. Being rough or inflicting pain, all of it was done without question. Dmitri disliked this part of their transaction but in his mind, it was a service they’re paying for and something he deserved. Eventually the uncomforting acts became solace for him. There were times he thought of the boy from Ishgard who was never seen as better than livestock. Liquor, pain and warm beds were what kept him company so many cold nights.

[juicebox-junkie]

let's talk about my favorite stardew thing maybe ever :

GREEN RAIN!!!! (spoilers)

i only recently got a computer, and had heard very little about it up until this point, bc for the first time today i got it!!! here are some photos and thoughts C:

what u woke up to!!!! very spooky, i had no clue what was going on

AWOOGA!!!!! i didn't get pics of a lot of stuff but he asks you to tell Robin he's safe. if he go to sebs room, the rest of the family is together and robin is pacing and frustrated. it's kinda sad

then, the part that literally ripped up my insides

i'm not someone who cries over game dialogue too often, but i teared up the second i finished reading evelyn's dialogue. it was so sweet seeing george comfort her

lastly, the merchant wasn't in her spot.

other notes:

- Gus invites everyone to the saloon, and it's open all day

- you can't give gifts on this day, or buy anything

- clint has more cringey dialogue about emily

- pam asks if this is 'a sign from the almighty' (yoba) and asks if this is the end . devastating

- sam asks if it's acid rain, and then says he has to protect his brother

- the wizard says this is 'doing wonders' for the local wildlife/junimos (maybe, idk i'm just guessing)

- linus doesn't give a fuck about it

[yohohonabottle]

🌺 Back to the chapter directory 🪔 Start | << Previous | Next > | Latest chapter >>

🏵️🏵️ 🏵️🏵️🏵️

TW: Foul language ---------------------

Meanwhile out on the town's dusty streets, the half-bearfolk teenager stalks with confident, purposeful somber march. The scent of faded fir, oak, cedar and cold, and honey-sweet flowers is still weakly drifting in the air-–It still hasn't grown too cold. Good. 

Inhaling, nostrils flare for a second, he follows the trail up the path that winds between houses, merchant stalls, inns, saloons and stables like a branching out snake. Heavy club slung on his back and the short, sharp claws on his feet leave marks in their wake. Each sure step brings him farther away from the Leaping cricket and closer to the scent's owner. 

Wading through the town he despises, the dark-eyed boy's mind reels. 

Who arranged the wedding? Why? And why give me a male Night jinni-–Why not a Wilder or Lightbearer woman, for example? Or someone from the other desert clans...? The morons had definitely drugged Fang-face with some potion to give him a cunt, that's for sure; if the feminine pheromones are anything to go by. 

His brows furrow, eyes narrowing. 

I don't get it. 

Why go through the hassle and waste resources? It doesn't make sense— 

Another memory rises to the surface and in his mind's eye. A story, another legend that his and Alsa's late adoptive father told.  A tale of what happens when one of those elusive hunters and a human cross together-–A hybrid immune to the sun due to being half-human while having the same abilities and heightened senses as the blood-sucker parent. 

"If I remember correctly, they are often called–" Realization dawns on the quiet warrior, eyes widening slightly in sudden recognition and his strides falter. For a brief moment, the newlywed husband is left standing breathless as though struck hard. A single word falls out his mouth, barely above a whisper on the wind. 

—"Nephilym." 

It makes sense and perfectly answers his earlier questions. Whoever wanted this to happen and pulled the strings, didn't have any female night jinns caught. Only this one, and to 'fix' the problem, the scoundrels got their hands on a potion that can give a womb and doped-up the poor dunderhead. And why pick him, out of all Maulers? 

Because now everyone both in the desert and outside of it, know he's a strong promising warrior. A prodigy in combat. And right into his prime. Not too young or too old. Perfect.  Now imagine a child, or kids, that inherits both his and that phantom's traits and abilities. Formidable. A very wonderful weapon. Even better since the young one won't know who or what it really is. Perfect for molding. 

Why else go through all these hoops? And hey, if either he or the vampire, or hell, both of them, can be manipulated somehow? Well that's just a plus, bonus points. 

Now the question becomes 'To what end?' What is the goal here with all this...? The creature's smell is stronger now, enough to snap Soren out of his grim musings.

Squinting against the darkness of the settled night, he takes a step forward up the dusty path where the invisible trail leads, catching sight of a dimly lit window little ways ahead. Looking around himself, the fiery-spirited Mauler scoffs at the unfamiliar surroundings:

Over his shoulder is the lake along with some saloon and the bounty board, and ahead is the upper exit of town, giving him the impression that this must be the northern part of Alkali. Except the scent leads to a corner slightly off the path, away from the gate, a district that he hasn't been to with Merlin and the two hamsters. 

...Or maybe neither of them thought to check this part in their mad rush to sniff out the stolen merchant caravans and find his missing clanmates. Thinking back to those adventures, it's like the Magister simply knew exactly where to find Ferrank and his men, how to get there ways ahead akin to a prophet–-The mage had simply led him to his destination. Not once did either Merlin or Chippy and Hammie stray off the 'invisible quest path' during their journey...

And I never had much interest in exploring Alkali to bother. 

Huh. Interesting-–Not like he'll stick around much now either or anything. Just find that weasel, grab him and get outta this reeking bandit-hotspot. A pang of guilt sharply stabs and twists at his heart as his adoptive sister's puzzled face flashes in mind.

It wasn't right to leave her and the youngsters with Antandra, Satrana, Koko and Walker like that, just to hunt down this wraith and drag him home. But seeing how slippery this guy is, like a ferret, staying in town isn't an option.

The thing would scurry off and weave into crowds, find endless excuses, just to keep avoiding him. However over on his turf, cornered and with nowhere to run, he'd have to meet him head-on. No living seas to hide in. No one to save him. 

I don't tolerate spineless cowards, and I won't have one as my 'wife.' Arranged or not.

The scent eventually brings him to a smaller, less noticeable slanted-roof inn flanked on either side by two other taller buildings. Eying the pitiful round and chipped sign dangling at the porch on a single rope, Soren unceremoniously pushes the creaking door open and steps inside the dingy-looking inn.

The place is sparse with vintage furniture that makes it appear like a modest tavern rather than a real motel– A large coffee table with two long L-shaped sofas on either side off in the top left corner of the lobby, and a slightly banged-up bar counter with high stools lined at it in the right, and a single lightbulb illuminating the place. 

So long they have good meat, bread and water here, it's passable to crash and rest for a moment...I guess. 

—"Evenin', youngster! 'Ow can I be o' service?" –The hulking orphan's right ear twitches once as in 'I heard you.' and he turns his attention over to the creaky voice's owner. A plump tanned middle-aged, almost elderly but sunny man in denim patched overalls and plaited shirt stands behind the counter, a hairy elbow leaned on the bar.

Usual crabby blank scowl in-place, Soren lumbers over, taking note of the shelves and the various alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks lined up on them. 

—"Does the name 'Prin' ring any bells to you, old man?" -He gruffly mutters, glancing sidelong over to the small group of people playing poker and solitaire at the table. The heavy stench of tobacco floating around the room nearly makes him light-headed, cough and gag. 

—"Hm, I think yes.. Odd fellow, that one–Looks like Death and you'd 'ardly 'ear his voice, but a wicked song-bird when 'e sings, I tell ye." –The barkeep finally answers with a smile under his thick messy moustache and beard, after a few seconds of drumming his fingers in thought. "Why 'r ye askin', son–If ye don't mind me pokin'? A friend?" 

—"...No. A misfortunate husband." –Soren grits out miffed, narrowly spitting out the moniker like venom, arms crossed over his broad chest. The old man gives him a sympathetic look from under his big, unruly curly eyebrows with a sigh. Reminds me of the day I met my sweet Betty–Me, a timid noble lad and her, a wildfire of a cougar-girl from the desert slums. Good times. ..If only we had a little more.....

—"Ah, I see. Well, the lad's in 'ere. Ye'll likely find 'im in 'is room. Seemed mighty drained 'n distressed when 'e came in some minutes ago..."  —"Thanks."

Turning on his heels, he resumes stalking the scent-trail leading up the carpeted old wooden staircase, the steps groaning under his feet quietly. The secondary chieftain barely hears the barkeep's 'Good luck, lad.' as he briskly ascends the stairs with determined long strides. 

Watching after the young warrior's retreating back, Walter Moorwood's beady faded-brown eyes twinkle with wistful nostalgia and a wan smile tugs at his lips.