Freaky Ahh Farmer gal | Vineria Sprunki Wild West AU

The gray grass crunched under your boots like burnt toast. The sky above Sprunki was a bloody red smear, thick and wrong, where blue used to be. The whole world smelled like copper and regret.

You'd been walking for hours. Maybe days. Time got weird when everything was dead.

Sprunki was a graveyard now. Not the peaceful kind; the kind where somebody got murdered mid-sentence and nobody bothered to clean up.

Black had flipped some switch in Wenda's head, and she'd gone on a killing spree for reasons nobody had ever bothered to explain. Half the cast was now colorful gore splatters decorating the landscape like abstract art made by a person with anger issues. Everyone was gone.

And then you found it.

Clukr and Garnold's old teleportation machine. Still humming. Still flickering with that sickly green light, like it was running on fumes and spite. The control panel was cracked, the metal was rusted, and one of the antennas was bent at a forty-five degree angle like it had given up on life.

You stared at it. It stared back metaphorically.

What else were you gonna do? Sit in the wasteland and wait to die of boredom?

You jumped in. The world twisted, folded, and then slammed you face-first into dirt.

When you spat out the mouthful of grit and peeled your eyes open, the sky was a clean, healthy blue. The grass was actually green. The air smelled like dust and horses and something faintly like apple pie. A massive improvement.

And a dusty-yellow Sprunki with absurdly long antennas and a yellow cowboy hat was leaning over you, grinning like he'd just won the jackpot at a casino, and also maybe lost his mind.

Simon: "Well howdy there, stranger!"

He grabbed your hand and yanked you to your feet with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever on cocaine. His grip was strong enough to pop your shoulder.

Simon: "Name's Simon! Welcome to Rustler's Ridge! You look like a fella what just fell outta the sky!"

You opened your mouth to explain but you didn't get the chance.

Simon: "Which, uh, technically you did!" Simon barreled on, already dragging you toward a dusty main street lined with wooden buildings."Don't worry 'bout it! Folks 'round here are used to weird shit! Well, some weird shit! The teleportin' thing's new! Clukr and Garnold built it! Not our Clukr and Garnold, mind ya, but different Clukr and Garnold! From a different timeline! They showed up, taught our boys a buncha tech stuff, then bounced! Weird fellas! Real weird!"

You blinked at him. Simon kept talking. He did not stop talking as if he was physically incapable of stopping talking.

Simon: "So anyhow, this here's the saloon!" He pointed at a building that said SALOON on it. "Serves no alcohol! Banned it! To avoid bad habits! Which nobody really complained about 'cause nobody was drinkin' alcohol beforehand anyway! So it was real easy to ban! Clukr tried to make beer once and everyone hated it and he cried!"

He dragged you past a general store with a neon OPEN sign and a cash register that looked suspiciously modern. A telegraph office with a Wi-Fi router bolted to the roof. A stable where the horses were eating out of automated feed dispensers.

Simon noticed you staring.

Simon: "Oh yeah! Clukr and Garnold, the other ones who transferred here before, they left us a whole buncha gadgets! Real helpful! We got indoor plumbin' now! And smartphones! And the internet! It's the same internet as everywhere else but with more cowboy hats! You'll love it!"

You met them later. This timeline's Clukr and Garnold.

Clukr's symbol was rustier than you remembered. His silver skin was darker, almost charcoal, like he'd been left in the sun for a decade and never bothered to polish himself. He grunted at you, nodded once, and went back to tinkering with something that looked like a blender crossed with a radio.

Garnold had no golden visor. Instead, a monocle sat perched over one eye. His skin was dull, washed-out, the color of old parchment. He looked at you like you were a mildly interesting specimen and adjusted his monocle with two fingers.

Garnold: "Ah. The temporal traveler," Garnold said, voice dry as dust. "Simon's been yappin' about ya. Try not to break anything."

Simon also warned you about outlaws. He did this by grabbing your shoulder, pulling you behind a water trough, and lowering his voice to a whisper that was still approximately the volume of a normal conversation.

Simon: "Watch out fer Wenda," he said, eyes darting around. "She's a lynx in this here timeline, not a cat. Meaner'n a rattler with a toothache. Used to run with a gang'a three real nasty pieces of work. One of 'em blends in real good. Too good. You'll never see 'im comin'."

You the asked what happened to the gang.

Simon: "She quit," Simon said. "Just up and left one day. They ain't too happy about it neither. Been lookin' fer her ever since."

You stopped at a bar. It was called THE THIRSTY CACTUS, which was ironic because there was no alcohol.

Vineria was there. She was sitting at a corner table, nursing a sarsaparilla, wearing a white shirt under green overalls and a farmer hat with a hole torn where a cactus-like horn sprouted through. A flower crown of pink and orange and blue sat pretty on her head. She was light green, calm as a pond, and had the distinct vibe of someone who'd seen some shit and decided not to care about any of it.

Simon waved at her. She waved back. She tagged along when Simon dragged you back out.

Turns out Vineria was chill. Real chill. Laid-back to the point of horizontal. She had a thick southern drawl and spoke like every sentence was a lazy river. She also had heavy, ample breasts, thick thighs, and a massive, plump ass that the overalls did absolutely nothing to hide.

Not that you were looking. Or were you?

Sunset came. The sky turned orange and purple, which was a nice change from the bloody red apocalypse dimension you'd just escaped.

You needed a place to crash.

Simon refused to let you stay at his place. When you asked why, he just said, "You'll see," and walked off. You did not see but had an idea of him being a possible secret outlaw.

Vineria shrugged.

Vineria: "You can stay with me. Just don't stomp my crops on purpose. Accident, I'll give ya a warnin'."

Days passed.

Living with Vineria was actually nice. She gardened, she danced sometimes when she thought nobody was watching, and she smelled faintly of flowers. She had one strict rule: don't trample the crops. And one loose rule: if you trample them on accident, she'd give you a warning. Just one. There would not be a second.

You spent your downtime scrolling the local internet. It was the same shit as back home, just with more cowboy hats and fewer phones that worked properly. The brainrot was identical. The modern slang was identical. The casual intimate content was identical.

Simon had a video titled "My experience on having 4 balls with a small ass dih" *and the comments were a warzone.£

Then there was a post: **"Okay, Tunner and Wenda have to be cracking atp because how he hasn't caught this bih in 4 years?"*"

Tunner commented.

TunnerSheriff: "The allegations are false."

In which, Wenda replied to his comment.

WendaNeedRent "Shut up and put it inside me already."

TunnerSheriff: "Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."

Yeah. He wasn't beating the allegations.

---

Vineria had now started getting... friendly.

It started small. A hand on your shoulder when she squeezed past. A lingering look.

Then she started wearing tight jeans. Then she started bending over "coincidentally" right in front of you. Then she started teasing, Flirting, and was being luntly about it too. She probably decided that she wanted something and saw no reason to be subtle.

One day, she invited you to her garden. You were bored, so you went.

She led you out back, past rows of corn and tomatoes and peppers, until you reached an open patch where the crops were pushed way off to the sides. No accidental trampling possible. She'd planned this.

Vineria bent over.

Her jean shorts had a small hole torn right at the crotch. Through it, you could see her skimpy panties; and those panties were doing a terrible job of hiding the shape, the lips, even the edges of her pussy.

She didn't look back. Just kept talking like nothing was happening, adjusting a tomato stake real slow.

Vineria: "So," Vineria drawled. "Since ya been livin' with me for a while now. Settlin' in alright?"

Vineria glanced over her shoulder at you. Her eyes flicked down, then back up. That hole in her shorts stayed right there.

Vineria: "Somethin' catch yer eye?" She asked, all casual.

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