#bearded ranchers

[orangehalfpeeled]

ranchers my sweetums !!!!!

[stygiansauce]

I wonder how Tangos reaction to finding out Jimmys age

because I keep on thinking of the head in hands reaction picture but you might have something else in mind

<3 anon

THERES A WHOLE FIC IN THE WORKS FOR IT!!!!!! Old man guilt old man guilt old man guilt (I never mentioned Jimmys age in unsportsmanlike conduct right? Wahahha im gonna hold onto thag till the fic drops)

Looks like this:

(Art by @sincerely-nines )

[ambrosialdesire]

the lone minotaur

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

𓆩♡𓆪 ACHELOUS "LOUIS" BELLOCK   ↳ nickname: louis (pronouced lewis)

𓆩♡𓆪 AGE   ↳ ~2040 years old (relatively young for minotaurs); 41 years old in human years

𓆩♡𓆪 BIRTHDAY   ↳ april 30th

𓆩♡𓆪 HEIGHT   ↳ 6'10'' (human), 8' (minotaur)

𓆩♡𓆪 SPECIES   ↳ minotaur; currently disguised as a human

𓆩♡𓆪 CAREER   ↳ rancher/farmer: specializes in juice and animal based products (such as cheeses, milk, wool, etc.)

𓆩♡𓆪 AREA OF RESIDENCE   ↳ wicklow ranch on the outerskirts of the neighboring town winterborough (~250 miles away from the city Lunaris)

𓆩♡𓆪 APPEARANCE (i'm bad at describing since i rely on memory + drawings)   ↳ human             — a heavy set, tan male with fluffy dark brown hair             — dark olive green eyes, very tired looking/relaxed             — long scar going down his right eye             — low maintenance: retains a short beard, chest/body hair, arm hair, leg hair, etc. he's just a very hairy dude.             — calloused hands, very work-worn             — back scars from past; mostly healed over but still prominent in sight and touch             — ear piercings on his right ear             — nipple piercings, usually horseshoe shaped (got them when he still was under human ownership and still keeps them on as a reminder)   ↳ partial transformation             — relatively the same, height becomes slightly taller by a few inches             — horns grow in; pale ivory in color and smooth to the touch             — lower canines grow out; left canine is slightly chipped             — tail grows back, still able to be hidden in his pants             — slight more hairier             — nails on hands start turning black (hoof color)   ↳ minotaur             — head turns into a complete bull/cow head; brown fur, floppy ears, horns + canines grow all out to max size             — legs turn into bull/cow legs, feet turn into hooves             — torso + arms stay relatively human in appearance             — height is at full standing length             — long tail is fully grown out             — has to wear a loincloth due to having no clothes at this size             — considered to be an "abnormal" minotaur due to his underbite/outgrown canines and his tail (he's seen depictions of his species and he believes he's abnormal)

𓆩♡𓆪 PERSONALITY (i'm also really bad at explaining this lmfao)   ↳ achelous considers himself a rather isolated man. once scorned and feared by mankind, and used for his immense strength prior to the creation/reliance to machinery, achelous shares no fondness for them at all. most of these feelings hasn't changed even a little as the years went on, and he continues to try and keep contact with the townspeople at a minimum. he's not unnecessarily or outright violent towards the ~30k town population in particular as they're rather peaceful, but when it comes to city folk or outside tourists, his somewhat calm demeanor changes drastically towards them.

  ↳ achelous believes that he is a cruel monster, but the townspeople do not think the same. they genuinely believe that he's rather a sweet gentleman, seeing that he's a big softie towards the children and the elderly. he's actually more indifferent and hostile to adult men and women, having the belief that they are the cruelest when humans are in their 20s-60s.

  ↳ achelous is a particular rule follower, especially on his ranch. break his rules, he'll break you until you follow them correctly.

  ↳ he's stoic and straight to the point, there will never be a day where he sugarcoats his words. lying to him is similar to breaking the rules, so he's not fond of not being honest.

  ↳ achelous has a pretty even temperament unless there's a rule breaker, annoying human from the city/outside, or brats. his punishments are down right cruel, and that's coming from someone that had personally experienced the worst from humanity.

  ↳ achelous can have his flirty moments, but only if he's wasted from the alcohol he makes since normal alcohol isn't strong enough. his attempts are rather poor due to his lack of socializing and picking up cues, so he normally comes off as sleazy with an ego, but he's really trying his best.

  ↳ though it may not seem like it most of the time, achelous is rather possessive and protective over the one he loves. he has pretty conservative views when it comes to having a family, believing that the man must provide for the woman while the woman takes care of the kids and the home. his cruel words and actions make it so his love stays (as that's the only form of affection he learned how to portray), and his last resort is usually harming/threatening/killing the one closest to his love.

  ↳ achelous is a good convincer, it's why his products are usually sought after in the farmer's market every sunday. it's technically not lying when what he says and believes is true.

  ↳ of course, achelous prefers not to socialize unless it's absolutely necessary, but he's so good at fixing things and helping others out accidentally that he's constantly requested around for his assistance. he doesn't really want to do it, but if it gets them off his back and property, he will.

  ↳ achelous is hard-working, he hates bad/lazy workers and prefers to do things his own way. that's why there's no other farmhands/workers besides him, not including his obvious distaste for humans. from 5:30 am to 7:30 pm, he follows his routine to a tee every day. sundays are his breaks, even if he technically doesn't really need it.

  ↳ he's the most fatherly out of all my posted ocs, probably due to the face that he's the one that's completely determined and decently stable enough to start a family. achelous has also been waiting for the same species as him, but since he never seen another minotaur for most of his life, his patience is growing thin and he may have to take to a human mate the longer he waits.

  ↳ achelous has extreme guilt/shame over his true form, it's why he managed to find a witch to help him appear more human (ironic isn't it). to him, it's a protectant from being even more outcasted, despite his consistent insistence to be left alone. his partial/full transformation only comes out when his emotions become extremely high (mostly out of anger, but can come out in states of high arousal). he has quite the steady composure, and is very in-tune with his emotions, giving him that needed control.

𓆩♡𓆪 ABILITIES   ↳ extreme strength             — can lift up multiple logs or hay bales without struggle             — occasionally lifts up his animals to make sure they're right where they need to be   ↳ intelligence/experience             — due to his long-lived life and the experiences he's gone through, he's rather quickly decisive on what to do/say             — this unfortunately makes him the "i-told-you-so"/"this-is-what-you-get" type   ↳ heightened senses             — minotaurs have near perfect vision and heightened senses (taste and scent especially)             — due to this, achelous has quick reflexes and reacts to situations accordingly. this can also make him vulnerable to extremely strong smells or sudden bright lights.   ↳ endurance/speed             — achelous rarely or doesn't even get tired, sometimes his daily routine gets finished earlier if he's at the top of his game. he merely fakes exhaustion to look less suspicious to the townspeople, that's the only time he lies to them since it's for his protection.             — due to his species type, he's rather quick on his feet. not as much as normal minotaurs (if there are) due to his heftier build.

𓆩♡𓆪 BACKGROUND   ↳ around the start of the roman empire years, achelous was born to a lower class family. to their horror, he was born with a calf's head and legs, believing that their gods have spited them even more. rather than killing him to be done with it, they chose to sell their newborn to a higher status family, seeing that he'd be used for their entertainment. there was never such a creature as him, only passing legends and stories, no one truly thought that a minotaur could possibly exist. they were paid a good sum, and achelous' fate was finally sealed. as he grew up, he was tormented with their mockery, forced to work in the fields from day to night with no breaks. achelous was the face of jokes and laughs during their lavish parties, food constantly thrown at his face and being tossed about for their amusement. this so-called family of his abused the poor minotaur, making sure that he knew his place and how disgusting he was to everyone around. even as they dragged him around publicly, he was forced to wear a hood and cloak, but his size was impossible to hide and the people around would tear at his disguise to taunt jeers at him, constantly leaving him filthy and bloody at the end of the day. it's strange though. no matter how much he was hit, how many wounds they left on his back, achelous never fought back. he himself never knew why, even to this day.

  ↳ as the empire finally fell apart, achelous managed to finally escape, not without burning the house down and making sure he saw his abusers' faces contort as they burned alive while he ran off. hiding in a boat traveling to where england is now, he stayed there for years underneath the docks, surviving on whatever he was able to find, until he heard word of travel to "india" and managed to sneak onto the next boat going there. once he reached the americas, he traveled further into the south, around where mississippi, tennessee, alabama, and georgia is currently located. achelous finally found the freedom is wanted for so long, finally building his own home and farm, ensuring that no other human may make their way on his land.

  ↳ this peace didn't last long, well, to him at least it didn't. at this time, he had previously sought out a witch that was able to alter his appearance semi-permanently, so long as he didn't lose control of himself. achelous now is roughly 2000 years old, and a town had begun to be built nearby his ranch. winterborough, from what he's heard from others as he sold his products at the market, a new town for new beginnings. he didn't care, so long as they didn't bother him or figure out he lived there. they figured it out. the first group of townspeople decided to greet him, since they're the ones sorta causing a disturbance as the homes and buildings were still being constructed. to achelous' surprise, they were kind, offering him gifts and words of praise about the work he's done for himself. he's... he's never experience this before, he could tell that they were being genuine from their smiles and expressions. hm... maybe these humans weren't so bad. as the years went on, they never quite questioned his origins or why it seems that he never quite ages the same as them, achelous brought them a good amount of financial stability in their small town and he was overall just a great guy, even if he was a little antisocial.

  ↳ achelous is still not openly fond of humankind in general, but he is rather protective over winterborough and its residents. it had grown into a place where he thought of as a warm home, minus his ranch. he actually knows everyone by name, who's family member belongs to which; achelous cares deeply, even if he doesn't show it. the townspeople all know him as well, they like to say that he's their guardian (which is mostly right since there's barely any crime in their town). they all adore and deeply trust achelous for what he has done for them, but they still don't know his true nature, his true form. all in all, the townspeople and achelous' relationship towards one another is symbiotic.

𓆩♡𓆪 OTHER INFO   ↳ achelous shows up to every town event, to everyone's surprise. they know he's not really fond of interacting with everyone, but his intentions are to ensure that the tourists/city folk isn't causing any trouble for them. he hates crowds, but he hates newcomers even more.

  ↳ the town only knows him as louis bellock, achelous thinks they don't have the ability to pronounce his actual name, so he lets them call him louis. bellock was made up on the spot when he was asked.

  ↳ when the first townspeople met achelous, he was a complete rugged mess. all his hair was completely outgrown, his clothes were mostly in rags, and he kinda smelled like dirt and grass. he was pretty frightening as a first appearance, and they also kinda assumed he was a squatter before he clarified that he was the owner of the ranch. it was then achelous decided he had to keep a decent appearance.

  ↳ his voice is on the lower octave, very gruff and rough. achelous almost has a complete southern accent, but still has hints of a greek/roman one that occasionally slips out. he's also very blunt sounding, almost as if he's bored or very uninterested with a conversation, and he'll usually only talk in a few words or less if possible. sometimes it'll come out scratchy or crackly if he hasn't spoke in a while.

  ↳ achelous owns 2 kangal shepherd dogs and 2 bernese mountain dogs, they're all male.             — agre (kangal)             — hyrcanus (kangal)             — nebrophonos (bernese)             — ichnobates (bernese)

  ↳ achelous had to teach himself how to read and write, and thanks to the library and this new-fangle internet, he managed to learn much quicker. his penmanship isn't the best, but it's still legible.

  ↳ achelous's sexual orientation can be considered to be aroace since he never met anyone like him and most humans disgust him anyways. however, due to his conservative values, he's more interested with the female gender. he's also kinda still a virgin, due to the fact that he literally has no experience with romance/sex in general.

  ↳ achelous is skilled at the guitar (he had years to learn and perfect it), and he'll often play it deep into the night in front of the fireplace.

  ↳ achelous can somewhat understand animals, but it's not like voices he hears from people, it's more like a basic understanding of what they want, so he sometimes gives them what they ask of him. he is sometimes called the soother in the town due to his ability to calm down even the most rowdiest of animals.

(will continue to update this whenever i get ideas)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[ludolka]

hate to be the akward non gribeans ask here but i can't get the rancher crumb possibility out my head so I was just wandering like what would Tango specialise in with the ghost stuff?? If that makes sense?? Like Jimmy was the main vlogger, etc . Also coughs what would his hypothetical choice of clothing be *opens ibs paint*

Oh no, don’t worry, I love talking about this au as a whole, not just gribeans ^^

And hmmm, I’m not entirely sure, I haven’t put that much thought into TIGS in this au,, but I could best imagine him as their sort of engineer? Like he’d understand the equipment the best and he’d be the one to maybe even make new equipment for them. He also does the majority of the technical stuff for the podcast and occasional videos

And uhhh, I only have an idea for the TIGS ghost hunting uniforms. It’d sorta look like that with some minor changes that I’ll make once I draw them for this au. And for Tango’s design, he’s human, has kinda wild slid back orangish-blond hair, a circle beard (idk if that’s what that style’s called), red-brown eyes and he often wears square red tinted glasses :D

And here’s the uniform reference pic I wanna take as a base inspiration. TIGS could be written on the name tag

[haleswallows]

I’ve Been the Forest and the Fire (and the Witness Watching It) DC x DP Dead on Main (Jason Todd/Danny Fenton) Teen Soulmates AU

Chapter 2!

Teaser:

"This is bullshit."

His soulmate turns around at the sound of his voice. Freezes. He looks tired and scrungly and of course. Because the universe hates Jason, so of course the asshole is also in the class he's taking for his Maths Gen-Ed credit.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jason stands over him. "Aren't you supposed to be really good at math, or something? Why are you in an intro level class?"

His eyes are huge. "I don't test well and did bad on the placement exam."

"Great," Jason seethes. A twisting in his gut makes him feel like he's about to throw up. The soul bond demands proximity with his 'other half'. Chronically contrarian, Jason fights the instinct and the rising nausea before giving in. He slides into the desk next to his soulmate. The discomfort immediately eases. "Fucking fantastic."

There's attempts at a conversation. Jason ignores it in favor of getting himself settled. Pulls a copy of the list of accommodations he'll need that the Student Affairs Office helped him put together. Subtly scopes the room - for exits, and the best desk for when he brings Ace.

Ignores the put-out expression, the longing looks coming from his right.

Thankfully, the professor focuses on reviewing the syllabus only. And assigns a set of problems. What sort of jerk assigns homework on the first day?

Students scramble for the exit as soon as the dismissal comes. Asshole looks like he has something to say, but Jason just… he can't. Refuses. Before he gets subjected to what the fuck ever the asshole thinks he needs to say, Jason snags the professor.

He's vaguely aware of his soulmate lingering, and then eventually leaving. His gut clenches and his hands shake.

•○●○•

Jason stops in his tracks. The asshole looks at him. Jason glares back.

He's in Jason's literature course too.

"Whoa, 'scuse me," another student mumbles, side-stepping around Jason and his cane where he's standing stock-still in the doorway. Fuck.

OK. Fine. He has two classes with the piece of shit. Jason's dealt with worse.

He doesn't sit next to him, finding a seat in the second row and near the door. It's strategic. Less walking, a better view of the board. There'll be more room in the aisle for Ace when he starts bringing him. Jason stakes his claim - this'll be his desk for the semester.

The asshole can sit in the back like a delinquent. Jason doesn't care. He can't see him from here anyway.

The professor - mid-30s, bearded, Southern accent - makes them do an ice-breaker game. Jason wants to die.

Professor 'Just call me Justin' holds up a bag of Jolly Ranchers, directs them to take one and pass the bag down the line. Jason fiddles with the wrapper of his 'cherry' (it doesn't taste like cherry, he can't be convinced otherwise) while the bag makes its journey, and Justin makes an odd list on the board.

Grape for a favorite poem, Blue Raspberry for a pet's name, Lime for best vacation, Watermelon for 'what you wanted to be when you grew up', and Cherry for favorite food.

"Alright, everyone got a candy?" Justin claps the chalk dust from his hands. "Great, I'll start. I'm Justin," the class titters. Yes, they know. "Lime! So, I taught English in Japan for four years. My favorite vacation was to some traditional hot springs in Osaka. Next…. you!"

The random student pointed to blushes. "Oh! Uh, Karmine. Blue, my family's dog is named Cesar."

"Hi, Karmine! Pick your victim."

She shrinks a little, points randomly. It goes on like that - name, flavor, stupid random fact. It's dumb. There's cringing and some laughs at the stupid pet names. Then someone - Samir, Jason now knows - points to him.

As if he isn't a local celebrity that's had his photo in every newspaper multiple times since he was 12. And that tabloids theorize about his relationship with Bruce, or why Bruce is 'ashamed of him' as a cripple.

"Jason, chili dogs from Dave's stand." In between the pitying looks, a few nod knowingly. Locals, then. He ignores the smattering of whispers, no doubt picking up on theory crafting about him where Vicki Vale left off.

He taps the desk of the guy next to him. And away it goes, another name, flavor, and answer.

Jason's tapped out, vaguely listening but mostly only keeping track of who hasn't gone. It's background noise, all he wants is to talk to the professor and go the fuck home. When —.

"Danny. Uh, watermelon. I wanted to be an astronaut." The asshole smiles shyly, then ducks his head and rubs the back of his head.

Gross. Jason knows his name now. He frowns and the asshole — Danny — sees it, the smile dropping off his face.

Gross. He turns forward, Danny pointing to one of the few remaining people. It's hard to breathe and the wrapper of the Jolly Rancher is sticky when he unwraps it. Pops it in it his mouth.

Gross. Fake cherry.

[tategaminu]

Some predictions for S7

It seems some people are concerned about Rayla and Callum being separated for half the season when I honestly don't think that will be the case. They have never been separated more than two episodes, you could say "well it could happen now!" but I doubt they would do that in the same season we will fully see them together for the first time.

Now some proof or my own guesses to favour this:

In this screenshot Rayla isn't with Callum, she could be out of frame but I don't think so.

I'm guessing he went ahead since maybe Rayla's wings weren't working anymore (they said they didnt't last forever if I remember correctly)

Look how sad he looks, he has no gf to cheer him up over Katolis' destruction.

Now, we see Rayla and Ronaldo standing up in front of the Banterlodge, why are they here? I think Callum told them to meet there since it's a place both him and Rayla know.

Why is she in attack mode?

Looking at the trees it seems Ezran, Aanya and the animals seem to be around the banterlodge. Maybe Rayla sees the katolians coming or Ezran asking Corvus and Soren to arrest Raul and she gets defensive ofc, tho it doesn't seem to be an overly agressive stance.

We have confirmation that Callum and Ezran will have a conflict and Ezran is gonna be mad about Runaan, so maybe Callum defends Runaan here and confesses that he is the one who fred him, making the brothers fight. An upset Callum then leaves with Rancher and Rayla.

My guesses are, Callum and Rayla separate in episode 1 and reunite in late episode 2 or early episode 3 (they tend to "meet" in the second episode lol) maybe ep 2 ends with them meeting and the cliffhanger of Ezran finding out about Ronald.

Callum, Rayla and Richard arrive at the Silvergroove (perhaps is on episode 3 to parallel season 3) we get the Ruthari reunion and Rayla's trial in the same episode, a confirmed to be a very emotional episode.

The place Rayla is having her trial on seems to be the lottus pond thing, we only see her, The Keeper (I didn't know moonshadows could have beards okay dude) and the ghosts of the deceased assassins. I'm guessing she will have to be forgiven by them to be accepted back on The Silvergroove and she will need a lot of emotional support, I don't see why Callum wouldn't be there since he was there when she found out about her ghosting so he being there when she gets unghosted makes all the sense.

Callum, Stella and the other ones are out of frame probably watching this, unless this is another place where they aren't allowed.

I wouldn't be suprised if Rayla doesn't want to go with the trial at all but we get a little callback to this with Callum saying something similar, maybe even more agressive this time.

Now onto the next clue, this oopsie leaked scene by the animation company:

Stella jugglinga adoraburrs! look how cute!

I'm fully convinced this is a rayllum scene, it screams romance with the flowers and singing baitlings "oh it could be ruthari!" yeah? maybe? but let's look at the clues shall we:

Stella is there, Stella is always with Rayla

Callum and Rayla love adoraburrs

Sneezles is there, Sneezles is always with Callum

There are two lovebirds and Rayllum tends to attract animals (very disney princess/prince if you ask me)

The baitlings are singing, screams Rayllum corniness (kiss the girl!)

Rayla and Callum have something going on with boats

Maybe Callum and Rayla decided to take the rest of the baitlings with them to the Silvergroove (for some reason)

Maybe this scene isn't before the mid season at all and it's at the end! but for now I choose to believe it's kind of the calm before the storm scene. Maybe Rayla and Callum are celebrating her unghosting, before Aaravos starts fcking shit up and they have to leave and go back to Ezran. I don't think this will happen in the way to The Silvergroove because 1) third wheeling Runaan would be uncomfortable and I don't think Callum would prepare this at all in the way unless he wanted to annoy him hard idk 2) Rayla and Callum didn't need to cross water to arrive at TS the first time.

I'm choosing also not to believe this is at the end because them leaving The Silvergroove mid season for them to come back at the end wouldn't make much sense to me unless they are getting married right in this scene mostly because I don't think Rayla and Callum will choose to live in there, at least for now, and this will be the end of the arc not the series so yeah, they could be visiting tho and this could be a chilling ending scene.

In a summary, I don't think rayllum will be separated for a lot of episodes and Callum is totally going to The Shitlvergroove maybe they will get separated again when she gets kidnapped

listen you can't separate them for much unless it's against their will

[abigailovesz]

CHAPTER 3 A WAR WAKES QUIETLY

pairing: cowboy!jj x cowgirl!reader

summary: as pressure from Silas intensifies, you and jj ride out to meet elias hart, an old ally and respected local rancher, hoping to rally support. Elias agrees to help but warns that Silas is more dangerous than ever.

warnings: mentions of violence and land conflict, language and tension, discussions of betrayal, emotional stress and rise of a panic attack.

chapters - recent chapter - next chapter

TWO DAYS LATER.

the wind was thick with dust and silence.

It was early - barely past dawn - you sat on the porch steps with your knees pulled up, journal in lap. your thumb skimmed the edge of the leather cover, worn smooth by years of secrets. jj had left before sunrise, riding out toward the nolan ranch to speak with old friends who still owed his father favors. but you hadn’t gone back to bed.

your mind wouldn’t let you.

ever since Silas Thatcher had spoken your mother’s name, the past had sunk claws into your chest. you couldn’t shake it. couldn’t stop replaying the tone in his voice - the familiarity, the veiled threat in the way he’d looked at you like you belonged to something he remembered.

you opened the journal, flipping to the very back where a folded letter was tucked between the pages.

It was the only thing you had of your mother’s.

the paper was yellowing, written in a careful, feminine hand. you had read it hundreds of times before, but today, it felt heavier. each word tasted different now, as if hiding something you’d missed.

my darling girl, If you’re reading this, it means you made it out. That’s all I ever wanted for you - to be free. to ride your own horse. to choose your own love. don’t trust the name Thatcher. It’s poison. It ruined our land. It ruined us. Your grandfather tried to fight them and died in his field for it. If one of them ever finds you, you run. Or you fight. But never let them close. Never let them talk sweet. They only want what they can take. You come from fire. burn before you bend. Love you always, Mama

your fingers trembled as you folded the letter again. your throat felt tight, but your resolve was sharper than ever. Silas hadn’t just come for land. he’d come to rewrite history.

he was the reason your family's name had been buried.

and he was going to pay for that.

JJ'S HORSE kicked up gravel as he rode toward a long stretch of fencing. the nolan place sat near the edge of the ridge, high enough to see half the valley. Will Nolan had been a friend of his father’s since before either of them had wives. jj hadn’t seen him in over a year, but the minute he’d knocked, Will had welcomed him in without asking why.

now they walked side by side through the pasture, watching the cattle graze low and slow. "you know why I’m here,” jj said plainly.

will chewed on a blade of grass. “yep, figured it wasn’t for the view.”

jj stopped, boots crunching dry dirt. “thatcher’s laying claim to the north half of my land. brought fake papers and a deputy who’s too scared to blink unless Silas tells him to.”

will scratched his beard, humming. “sounds like the bastard.”

“I need allies. quiet ones.”

“you planning to fight this out in court?”

jj shook his head. “nah. I’m planning to win.”

will looked at him a long moment. then he nodded slowly. “you’ve got my cattle hands if you need ‘em. some of em' boys been itching for a good brawl anyway.”

jj clapped his shoulder. “appreciate' it.”

as he turned to leave, will called after him. “You might want to pay a visit to the old blackwell woman out near Dead Man’s Creek.”

jj frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “She still alive?”

will grinned. “old as god’s bones, but yeah. and she’s got stories. She knew your granddad. Knew your woman's folks too. might be she knows what Silas is really after.”

jj nodded once, already mounting up. “thanks, Will.”

the storm was coming, and he needed every edge he could get.

WHEN JJ RETURNED home, he found you in the barn, breaking in a young colt. your sleeves were rolled to the elbows, sweat glistening on your collarbone, a streak of dirt smudged across the skin of your cheek. you were singing under your breath - something soft and extra quiet.

jj leaned on the post and watched you for a moment before saying, “you always sing when you’re angry sweetheart?”

you didn’t stop moving. “keeps ma' hands from turning t' fists.”

he chuckled, stepping inside. “I talked to Will Nolan. he’s in.”

your eyes lit up for a second, then dimmed again. “that’s one ranch. we need more.”

jj nodded, clearing his throat. “I’m workin' on it. I’m goin' to see Blackwell tomorrow.”

you stopped brushing the colt and looked up, wary. “why?”

“she knew your family. might know more about Silas and what this fight’s really about.”

you swallowed. “he knew my mother, jj. He looked at me like… like he recognized me. And not in a good way.”

jj crossed the barn and crouched in front of you, the sun's color catching in his hair. “you don’t gotta to be afraid of him.”

“I’m not afraid,” you whispered, eyes locked on his “I’m angry.”

ONE HOUR LATER.

the smell hit both of you before the sound did.

burning hay.

jj was up first, rifle in hand, sprinting out the front door in bare feet. you were seconds behind him. the barn was ablaze - orange flames licking skyward, black smoke billowing out of the wooden structure.

“no, no, no..” you cried, running toward the doors. jj grabbed you, holding your whole body back. “ts' too late sweetheart! It’s gone..”

“the colts are in there-”

his teeth gritted and before you knew it he let go of you and charged toward the side of the barn. fire crackled, heat slamming into him like a wall. he kicked open the side door, disappearing into the smoke.

your heart stopped. like literally.

he came out thirty seconds later, coughing hard, shirt charred and arm bleeding - but leading two panicked, half-burnt colts.

you ran to him in seconds, eyes wet. “you motherfucker-.”

jj grinned, a breathy laugh leaving his throat. “told ya I was good for somethin.” as the fire raged behind them, you looked past the smoke to the far edge of the field. there, silhouetted on horseback at the top of the ridge, was a man.

watching.

SILAS POURED a glass of brandy and set the false deed on his desk, the edges still slightly singed. “they’ll burn,” he said gruffly, more to himself than anyone else. behind him, the deputy spoke from the shadows. “that was just a warning?”

silas nodded. “the next time, I won’t light a barn.”

he lifted the glass to his lips and smiled.

“I’ll light her.”

taglist: @bbyg4rl - @baocean - @loveharlow - @mytaping - comment user to be in taglist !

[theactualclrofblue]

Just some random doodles, mostly designing Tango

ALSO SMALL RANTS:

Beards: okay but like I’m trying to make them all look older (cuz I’ve seen a lot of stuff saying how people should draw them older 😭) so I resorted to giving the guys who have beards irl, beards. Turns out THEY ALL HAVE BEARDS BUT IT DOESNT WORK FOR SOME OF MY DESIGNS?? Like tried giving Grian one, NOPE. But for like Joel and Jimmy, IT JUST MAKES SENSE. Joel without stubble is odd to me (no hate to the designs lol). It hurts for trying to change up my designs cuz I draw beards (stubble really) the same.

Ranchers: I don’t know much abt them but they’re adorable as hell from what I’ve seen. I’m gonna eventually watch all of Tangos POV and finish Jimmys. Working on it tho..

Jimmys design: idk, he just turns out like a butch lesbian and it’s so funny to me when he’s like the straightest guy ever. And his designs are always really straight looking even if he’s shipped with every guy lmao

anyway working on something big with Grian rn 🫶

[orangehalfpeeled]

curiosity ..

[darkmaga-returns]

The Democratic Party has taken on an extreme anti-masculinity stance. This was not the case in the past when we had strong leaders like JFK who exuded class and masculinity. Gender was a fact rather than a feeling. Fast forward to today, and we have the likes of Tim Walz claiming he was selected to pander to the male vote. The Democratic Party made a $20 million investment in a campaign called “Speaking with American Men” or the SAM plan.

The SAM plan aims to study the “syntax, language and content that gains attention and virality” of American men. The strategy is to target young men who do not have a long history of voting within party lines. The party has begun to place pro-Democrat ads in video games as part of a broader outreach program, as if young men will be pleased to have their games interrupted with political jargon.

The ”man enough” ads are hard to stomach and astonishingly not a parody. Millions spent on studying how to appeal to men, and the party is still utterly tone deaf. The ads that began circulating during Kamala’s campaign state that men are “man enough” to vote for a woman and support abortion. The actors they used for the video were not heterosexual men who actually supported Kamala or the Democratic Party. The man in the video who discusses being “man enough” to braid his daughter’s hair is actually a bisexual Nigerian immigrant who has appeared in gay pornography. Another by the name of Wayland McQueen has a history of discussing why people, men in particular, must acknowledge their white privilege and feel ashamed for existing. The man who is supposed to be a bearded, rugged grandpa is unmarried and unemployed. The man portraying a rancher is a gay acting coach in real life. The Democrats failed to hire anyone from their target voter base, adhering to DEI initiatives.

[cecilebutcher]

Ever wondered “jeez, why aren’t there any spy fics in this fandom?!” Well dear reader, you’re in luck!

Sorry for leaving like that (You don't deserve to get caught in my mess) is an empires/hermitcraft/life series spy fic!

Its main (and currently only) ships are flower ranchers (aka, Tango x Jimmy x Scott) but if people want me to explore more ships I will gladly do so<3 (that is if the story takes off and people like it😭)

Below the cut I’ve put the first chapter so people can read it and see if they like it for themselves!

Enjoy!!

(Also, rebloging helps with engagement, likes don’t, plz reblog if you liked it)

Even though Scott has been working for E.V.O -short for Eclipse of Veiled Omens- for almost two years, he still didn’t know much about the place.

See, around a year ago, one of his friends told him about this place. Apparently they needed new recruits and he was the best fit for it, so after mulling it over for a few days, he agreed.

His friend, Pearl -moth hybrid- , had introduced him to a few other people, then took all of them to a private plane where they flew to an island in the middle of nowhere.

There were 9 other people besides him and Pearl -and the pilot- on the plane.

A girl and guy -siblings, he assumed- with ginger hair, were sitting in a corner, Deep in conversation. The girl had her hair braided, with flowers embedded in the two braids. While the boy had short curly hair and a beard.

But the most noticeable thing about them? The deer antlers decorating their heads, and the fluffy deer tails sticking from their backs.

A few feet away sat a blonde guy on his phone, occasionally taking a picture of himself or two. While a brunette guy with a beard -similar to the ginger from before- tried to explain something , obviously annoyed by him.

In another corner lay a body. The only thing he could see were boots and a bit of blonde hair sticking out from under the book located on their face. He assumed this person was asleep.

Finally he managed to find Pearl, sat with her back to him while talking to a girl with brunette hair and pointy ears -like him! An elf, maybe?- and another blonde guy who seemed to space out every few seconds.

That left two other people on the plane that weren’t him -or the pilot-

A cat hybrid with white ears and black hair, and a brunette guy with a beard -what was up with guys and beard here?- both in the seats in front of him.

They told him their names were Kathrine and Pix, and that they were good friends with Pearl.

Later on, he’d learn that everyone on that small plane was friends with her. And they were all here for the same reason, an opportunity they cannot pass up.

When the plane landed, Pearl ushered them all out with a huge grin and started talking about how excited she was to have them all here.

They also met the pilot of the plane, a guy by the name of BigB -odd name- who was apparently part creaking -how, Scott will never know-

Pearl walked them inside while BigB went to “report to the boss” that everything went smoothly.

A man in a suit greeted them. First thing Scott noted about him -well, second, aside from the mustache and the suit- was that he looked nervous as fuck, which Pearl happily pointed out while smacking his back -an action that seemed to annoy him more than hurt him-

He introduced himself as Mumbo, and he was in charge of their training alongside Pearl and a guy named Skizz -the siblings seemed to perk up at the sound of that name-.

Skizz, it turned out, was the adopted father to the siblings -whose names were apparently Gem and Fwhip-. Scott figured it out when the two hugged him tightly and called him dad.

Then, after a quick introduction to everyone else -The guy taking Selfies was Joey, with him was sausage. The previously unconscious girl was False, the two talking with Pearl were Oliver and Shubble- they finally found out what this job was.

A “spy” company -in quotation marks because that’s what Pearl did with her fingers, to which Mumbo smacked her shoulder for- that had various clients. From presidents, to royalty, to rich people. If someone pays, they spy for them. -Pearl also mention that they do bodyguarding and other stuff from now and then, which earned her another smack from Mumbo-

Then they set off on their training.

They had a tight schedule that Mumbo, Pearl and Skizz made sure they stuck to. They even had their own cafeteria with a fixed diet, which was mostly super fancy food, so no one complained.

Training was…… interesting, to put it simply.

Every week someone new would come in and help train them.

And every week, they got their asses kicked -except Gem, Gem would humiliate their trainer without breaking a sweat-

They also found out that each of them would be transferred to one of four sections after they finish their training.

There was:

medical.

Information gathering

Spying.

And gadget making

Everyone grew closer in the time they trained together. And they became inseparable.

They also learned that whichever one they got in, they’ll be working underneath the second in command, not first.

Apparently, the first in command in each department was a secret very few people knew, that includes their three trainers. -and chef, who they still haven’t met, for some odd reason-

When asked, their trainers gave them a brief summary of who works where. Pearl and Mumbo both work with gadgets -alongside the mysterious chef- and Skizz gathered information alongside their pilot, BigB.

They also learned that both Mumbo and BigB were the second in command of their respective department, meaning everyone reported to them.

And soon, they were all assigned their departments, and also met the person they -technically, since there were still the mysterious managers and ever more mysterious boss- will be working under, and reporting to.

As they already knew, Mumbo was in charge of gadget making and ensuring they all were all to code. They also learnt that he was one of the people who worked here the longest, and was one of the very few people that had met the boss, and directly reported to him.

Information gathering -which Scott quickly realized was a nicer way to say hacking- was the responsibility of their previous Pilot, BigB. Like Mumbo, he worked there for as long as he could recall. Unlike umbo, BigB was apparently there when the place was founded, and was close to the Boss.

Then they met Lizzie, A fairy with pink hair and light blue wings. She was wearing a simple flower dress -completely ignoring the dress code, Pearl mentioned- with a kind smile on her face. She spoke very excitedly to them, and welcomed them into the “family”. Pearl informed them that while Lizzie was one of the most cheerful people they had, she was in charge of Spying, and was one of the most skilled -and deadly- people they had. To which Lizzie just smiled at.

Last was a person with orange hair and what to him looked like a white mediaeval doctor coat. Quickly, he realized their hair was moving, like actually moving. And then realized the hair was a bunch of snakes sitting in a bun like state. The second thing he noticed -which was somehow less jarring than the living snakes on their head- was their green skin. This person, they were told, was Cleo, the main Doctor and technically outranked even the head of department.

Then they were all assigned to a department and went their separate ways.

Scott, Gem and Oliver -who they called Oli - all went with Lizzie, who happily explained that they were the best batch of spies they’d got in a while, and that she was very excited to have them under their wings.

They also learned that they had the most privileges as spies “high risk, and high reward” as Lizzie stated.

The best thing about it -in his opinion-?

If they manage to climb the ranks, they get their own rooms!

But for now they stayed in the same dorms they were previously in -Him and Fwip, Sausage and Joey, Oli ans Pix, Kathrine and Gem, and lastly Shubble and False-

When they finally got to the spy building -because of course they had their own buildings- Lizzie gave them a quick tour, then introduced them to “The most important people” -her words-

The first was a tall guy with messy brunette hair that reached his shoulders. He was sat on a bench watching two people spare and throwing “encouraging” words their way. He wore a white button down shirt -with the first five buttons unbuttoned- , with black pants and boots. Lizzie called out to him -what kind of name was Scar?- and he turned his head to look their way.

The second he saw them, a huge grin appeared on his face and he introduced himself. His name was Scar Goodtimes, and was apparently not that good of a spy, But still got amazing missions -Lizzie disagreed, she said Scar was the best of the best-

The two who were still sparring were Etho -a fox with platinum grey hair, who Scott briefly recognized as one of the trainers Gem beat in a fight, causing both Skizz and Pearl to laugh- and Grian -A parrot avian who kept taunting Etho and calling him washed up-

Lizzie allowed the Three of them to roam around the island for the day, and told them that their actual training would begin tomorrow.

So they went to check on their friends.

In the redstone building -Aka gadget making- Fwhip False and Pix were cheering with Pearl as Mumbo and another guy -Pix told them his name was Joel- were fighting with robots. He also told them that they met the chef, a netherborn by the name of Tango, who had hair that would turn into fire randomly.

Next was the information Building -or hacking, whichever one you’d call it- where Joey and Sausage were huddled around a claw machine as a blonde guy -merman, if the fins and gills were anything to go by- was trying to get what looked like a stuffed fox from inside.

Skizz and BigB were both sat around a table with a short brunette man -who had a cape made out of mose- chatting. Skizz introduced them to the man -BDubs, an elf with plant magic- and told them the blond guy was Martyn, who was “somehow, the best of the best” -Skizz’s words-

Lastly was the “Hospital” -it was literally written like that on the sign- where they found Kathrine and Shubble talking to a guy with horns. Immediately, Gem ran up and hugged him.

This man was named Impulse, a demon who was in charge of the medicine distribution, and apparently Gems other dad. Unlike the two buildings they visited, Impulse offered them a tour of the place and explained everything to them, going as far as answering questions that had nothing to do with where he worked.

Soon they stopped at an ajar door, and when they peaked in, they were met with the sight of Cleo facing them. But they weren't looking at them, they were glaring at two people sitting on the floor with their heads down. One of them had brunette hair and a tail -Impulse told them he was Ren, a dog hybrid and nurse- next to him sat another Avian, and Scott couldn’t will himself to look away from him.

He was…

Stunning

He had two giant yellow wings, matching with his blonde hair. He wore almost the same outfit as Cleo, and Impulse, but it was very light blue -same as ren-. And the back was open, showing a small part of his back.

“That’s Jimmy,” Impulse told them, nodding his head in Avian's direction. “He’s the head nurse. He’s also related to Grian, another Avian, I’m sure Lizzie introduced you guys”

At the mention of his name, Jimmy turned around with a raised brow, and Scott could feel his face heating -a bit unusual for a frost elf-.

Stunning wasn’t a strong enough word.

Jimmy was breathtaking

He had freckles scattered around his face -Scott could vaguely see them going down his neck-, and feathers in the place of ears. He also had a scar that ran across his nose -he realized later, that both Lizzie and Scar had the exact same scar-.

But the thing that -literally- stole his breath away were his eyes. One was a nice cornflower blue, and the other was a lovely amber brown.

He blinked at them then grinned, and Scott decided that if he were to die today, he had no problem with that.

Sadly, the grin on his face died quickly, as Cleo decided to abruptly disturb Scotts fantasies by hitting Jimmy on the head with a book, then lecturing the two men on the floor.

That was, apparently, their que to leave according to Impulse. He quickly ushered the five of them away and told them to “Never make Cleo angry, if they wanted to continue living”

And that was the last time he’d have any sort of peace on this island.

The next day, he woke up by water hitting his face, and was met face to face with Grians annoyed face -Apparently he woke Oli and Gem the exact same way-. The Avian told him he had ten minutes to get ready before they left.

And when Scott was 1 minute late he found no one.

Impulse -being the angel that he was, not literally, he was clearly a demon hybrid- took him to the spy building and towards Grian, Lizzie, Etho, Scar, Oli and Gem.

Lizzie was busy arguing with Grian, while Oli and Gem stretched and talked. Etho just, sat there, doing absolutely nothing. -he couldn’t find Scar-

When Lizzie saw them approach, she hurried over and apologised to both Scott and Impulse about all of this.

Then they trained.

And trained.

And Trained.

It was exhausting

Everyday, he’d wake up before anyone else -or if he “overslept”, Grian would wake him with water, usually a water gun- get ready, have breakfast, then go and train for hours on end.

Only the weekends were easy, and that’s only because they would go back to training with Pearl, Mumbo and Skizz.

In conclusion, his body Ached.

And from what he could see, so did Gem and Oli.

After a few more months of absolute Torture, they were finally done training, and could start the actual work.

The three of them -Scott, Oli and Gem- got sent to missions pretty regularly. And when they were not on missions, they were helping the other people from their group -the ones that came with them in a plane- with something or training.

After a while, things got easy, and he started enjoying what he did.

He had wonderful friends that he adored. His trainers -bosses? What were they?- weren’t as bad or cruel as he expected. He grew close to both Martyn -from the amount of times the two of them gossiped- and Cleo -who turned out to not be as scary as he thought, still pretty scary though-

And he was content with it.

Until those two decided to fuck him over and insert themselves into his life.

——————

Well uhhh, that was it! I hope you liked it and will give the account fic a try^^

Comments and ideas for future chapters are more than welcome!!

[howdyjourney]

Sing Your Body Electric

- chapter 2 -

who: William H. Bonney x Original Female Character

genre: western romance longfic (multiple chapters)

tags/warnings: This fic is Explicit / 18+ only. Minors, please step off the porch.

(not exhaustive):
Outlaws & Runaways • Slow Burn (rewarding) • Oral Sex • Handjob • Face-Sitting (f)—“from behind” / bent-over hay bale • Rough Sex & Soft Sex in equal measure • Praise Kink • Body Worship • Protective Billy • Scar Kissing • Mild Restraint • Gunshot Injuries / Recovery • Period-Typical Violence & Racism (historical context) • Runaway Heiress • Found Family Outlaws • Slow-Burn to Very Hot-Burn

(lmk if you want to be tagged)

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Chapter two

The first sun-slice knifed the horizon as the coffle shambled past a warped cedar post proclaiming BROKEN YOKE, POP 172—the “1” paint-flaked to a ghostly suggestion. A split ox-yoke hung nailed beneath, weather-silvered and cracked straight through the bow, as if the town were bragging it understood the notion of things split apart and worked to death.

Red Beard rode ahead of the mule cart, reins loose, hat brim casting a triangular shadow over his grin. Behind him, the two other outlaws flanked their living cargo: five weary Black fugitives roped hand-to-hand and Eva Fairchild tied separately, a short lead fastened to Red Beard’s saddle horn like a dog leash. Dust, kicked by their own tired feet, rose in small ghosts then settled on sweat-shining backs and Eva’s tattered calico.

Broken Yoke was waking slow. A stray dog nosed an up-ended slop bucket, lifting its head only long enough to narrow eyes at the procession before resuming the more holy pursuit of bacon rinds. A stable boy, hair mussed and shirt half-buttoned, leaned against the livery’s split-rail corral, jaw cracked wide in a yawn big enough to swallow dawn. Beyond him, under the false-front awning of the town’s single mercantile, a drunk lay curled like a comma, hat over his face, last night’s bottle still balanced against his ribs.

Red Beard sucked his teeth. “Civilization,” he announced, as though he’d personally conjured the ragged Main Street from desert dust. Eva caught sight of an ordinary dawn: a woman in a gingham wrapper shaking crumbs from a flour cloth, a half-clothed child chasing a hoop, laundry already flapping on a sag-string line. She drank it in—mundane acts free folk performed without thought—and felt the rope tug her forward.

At the livery gate, Red Beard dismounted. The mule blew out a dusty breath, happy enough for a halt. From the office emerged Stub Pearsall, a wiry old buzzard in suspenders and no shirt, chewing sage like it might turn to tobacco if he worried it long enough.

Red Beard tipped his hat. “Morning, Stub. Got a quick store-keep for you.”

Stub’s eyes moved over the captives the way a rancher checks cattle ribs before an auction. “Them five?” He pointed with a split cigarillo. “Broker wagon rolls through Friday. I’m full up ’til then.”

Red Beard shoved the rope line forward. “They ain’t stayin’ in your bunkhouse. Chain ’em in the feed shed. Keep ’em watered and quiet. Twenty percent off the top once you weigh ’em.”

Stub spat sage pulp. “Feed shed’s for oats, not folks.”

“Oats don’t fetch fifty a head.” Red Beard smiled thin.

Stub shrugged—commerce trumping complaint. He beckoned Isaac, Ruth, Mercy, Jonah, and Eli toward the side yard where a paddock gate hung crooked. Two stable hands appeared with shackles, faces blank.

Eva’s pulse thundered. She opened her mouth, but Red Beard yanked her lead. “Not you, dove.” He leered. “Got special use for your kind.” He untied her wrists from the cart rail but left them bound before her. Even the small relief of circulation felt like sin.

As Stub led the others away, Eva locked eyes with Ruth. Rain-drenched memory flashed between them—the lullaby hum, the map hidden in Eva’s bodice. Ruth held the gaze one breath, then squared her shoulders and marched, Samuel sleeping against her chest. Jonah stumbled, head bandaged, but Isaac’s steady hand kept him upright. Eli said nothing, jaw set despite the sling at his shoulder.

Eva tried to memorize every detail: the way Mercy tucked a wool scrap under Samuel’s chin, the hitch in Jonah’s step, the bite of sun on Isaac’s gray temple. She feared she might never see them again.

“Move along, lace-stocking,” Red Beard growled.

He hauled her across the wagon ruts toward the center of town. The street tilted gently uphill, opening views between board-false façades: a narrow chapel in peeling white, a schoolhouse bell beginning to clang, its rope pulled by a sleepy girl whose braid reached her waist. The bell’s bright note struck Eva’s ribs, a sound so clean it hurt.

She tried to slow—just a heartbeat—to savor the ordinary ring. Red Beard jerked the rope; pain flared in her wrists. “Quit gawkin’. Madam Dove pays prime for fresh faces.”

They turned past a hitch rack where a black-dappled mare stamped and shivered flies from her flanks. Eva reached her bound hands, brushed the mare’s shoulder in passing—one breath of velvet hide, smelling of sun-warmed dust and hayloft darkness. Another ordinary miracle.

“Hands off merchandise,” Red Beard snapped, shoving her forward. Ahead loomed the tall front of The Cherished Dove Saloon & Social House—three stories of clapboard optimism with pink trim curling like icing around sulfured windows. A faded painting of a wing-spreading white bird arched above the door, its beak chipped away.

Music drifted—piano half-awake, a ragtime figure stumbling over its own heels—and with it floated the sweet-rot scent of stale gin and perfume too eager to hide sweat. Eva’s stomach knotted.

Inside, she knew, the next scene of her life was waiting: velvet wallpaper, counting rooms, laughter carved thin as bone. For a moment she pieced out a vision—grabbing a bottle, ramming glass into Red Beard’s eye, fleeing down some alley—but her wrists burned, her back throbbed, and the map pressed a hot ache against her breastbone. She couldn’t even outrun herself.

The saloon’s batwings creaked open. Red Beard nodded to the bouncer, big as a church door. “Tell Dove I caught a wild one,” he chortled. “White lace, southern tongue. She’ll pay double.”

Eva stepped over the threshold. Behind her a stray dog barked lazy disinterest, the school bell tolled its last note, and sun flared off a distant ridge of storm clouds gathering for the march. She felt the door slap shut on the morning—and on whatever small taste of freedom had brushed her fingers.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the sweeter stink of trouble. Eva straightened as best she could, lifted her chin.

Delilah, she thought, clutching the map through her torn bodice, keep that sky wide. I haven’t finished singing yet.

And she walked forward into the dim, where whiskey, music, and a busted chair-leg awaited their cue.

**

The sun hadn't yet cleared the clapboard ridge of Broken Yoke’s roofline when Red Beard hauled Eva around to the alley mouth. The smell hit first—rot-soft fruit peel and piss-slick brick, overlaid with the sweeter musk of rosewater trying too hard. Two cats clung to the fence post, locked in a slow-motion fight over a pigeon’s wing. A broken bottle winked green in the gutter. Behind the saloon, a narrow back door flapped twice in the wind before a woman appeared, waddling into the light like a great lavender riverboat sliding off a muddy dock.

Madame Dove, as legend claimed, wore silk even at sunrise. Today’s gown strained at the seams: lilac with seed-pearl buttons and a fox-fur collar that might’ve died of old age before being tanned. Her fan—lace-edged, chipped bone—snapped shut as she caught sight of Red Beard. Keys jingled at her hip like silver chains on a jailer’s belt.

“Well,” she drawled, voice like syrup left too long to burn, “look what the dust drug in.”

Red Beard tipped his hat, tugged Eva forward by her arm bindings. “Got a special delivery. Five for the broker’s pen, and one white dove just for you.”

Dove glanced past him toward the livery. “You keepin’ livestock over in Stub’s shed now? He’ll want his cut.”

“He’ll get it,” Red Beard said. “But this one’s a house bird. Virginal type. All lace and lullabies. Name’s Eva. Just needs polish.”

Eva jerked her arm from his grip, even as her wrists stayed bound. “I ain’t for sale.”

Dove looked her over slowly, from dirt-slicked bare feet to bruised temple to the ruined line of a once-pretty collar. Her eyes narrowed at the blood stain darkening the back of Eva’s calico. “Not polish,” she muttered. “Scrub and rouge.”

“She’s got spirit,” Red Beard offered. “Bit of wild in her. That’ll fetch a premium if you play it like innocence spoiled.”

Dove’s lip curled. “It’s a slow week. Miners all gone chasing ghost veins in Mesilla.” Her fan opened, fluttered against her chest. “Still… white girls are rare coin these days. What’s your ask?”

“Hundred,” Red Beard said, bold as brass. “No haggling.”

“Please,” Dove sneered. “She’s dirty, bleeding, and smells like pondweed. I’ll give you seventy.”

“Eighty-five. She tried to bite me on the road. Teeth still white. And take a look at that caboose. Folks’ll line up just to see that thing bounce.”

Eva turned sharply. “Go rot, you bastard.”

Dove’s fan flicked up to hide her smile. “Eighty-five,” she agreed. “Once she’s bathed and seen by the doctor, I’ll decide if she’s worth advertising. Keep her in the east washroom ‘til I count out the drawer.”

Red Beard shoved Eva toward the back step. “Mind her. She bites.”

“She better,” Dove muttered, unlocking the rear door. “That’s what sells. Some boys’ll pay double for a tigress.”

The washroom was little more than a cedar-floored cupboard with a chipped basin and a clouded mirror. Light spilled from a grated upper window, catching on old nail holes and a sagging towel hook. Eva’s reflection startled her—hair tangled in sweat-ropes, blood dried on her cheekbone like war paint.

“Stay put,” Dove ordered, then turned back to the alley. “Frankie!” she bellowed. “Count out eighty-five! And fetch the chair from the card table—this girl needs somewhere to sit besides the floor!”

A grunt answered. Eva caught the name—Frankie, the one with the scattergun and fish-hook teeth. She froze.

Moments later he appeared, breath heavy with onions and leftover whisky. He carried a three-legged chair and wore his usual smile—a leer with more gum than sense. “Where you want her, ma’am?”

“Just set it inside,” Dove called back. “And don’t touch.”

But Dove was already halfway down the alley, haggling over coin with Red Beard again, and Frankie’s eyes darted back to Eva with interest too familiar.

He set the chair, then didn’t move. “Don’t look like a dove to me,” he said, sidling closer. “More like a little hen with her feathers plucked.”

Eva stiffened. “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh I ain’t touchin’. Just lookin’.” He let the last syllable linger. His fingers trailed toward her arm anyway.

She didn’t give him the chance.

Knee to groin—sharp, fast, mean. He gasped like a fish jerked from water. She slammed her shoulder into him as he doubled, then snatched the broken-back chair by its leg. Wood creaked. Frankie cursed, tried to grab her again.

She yanked hard. One leg snapped off with a groan of old glue. She gripped it two-handed like a cudgel, brandishing the splintered end.

“Touch me again,” she snarled, “and I’ll stake your belly open like a gutted pig.”

Frankie backed up, hunched, spitting curses through clenched teeth. “Bitch—Dove’s gonna kill you!”

Eva didn’t lower the leg. Her breath came fast. Her wrists still ached, tied in front, but the weight of the improvised weapon grounded her. The fine point of the splinter gleamed like a tooth. Her heart banged against her ribs, but her hands didn’t shake.

From outside, Dove shouted, “What in hell’s all that racket?”

Frankie scrambled back through the doorway. “She’s crazy! Tryin’ to kill me!”

“I said don’t touch her, didn’t I?” Dove barked, voice furious but unsurprised. “Go cool your dick in the trough.”

Eva held the chair leg tighter. Her arms trembled now, not from fear, but fury. The weapon didn’t make her safe. It didn’t undo anything. But it was hers, and it had been his, and now it wasn’t.

A small victory. The only kind she could afford.

Behind her, the basin faucet dripped. The light shifted.

She waited, chair leg in hand, for whatever came next.

**

The hallway carpeting—a once-crimson runner bleached to garnet—swallowed the thud of boots as Eva was frog-marched past closed doors. From behind each panel seeped a world of muffled giggles or ragged snores, perfume tang, last night’s gin. Frankie kept his wary distance now, cursing softly at every step. The chair-leg cudgel remained gripped in Eva’s bound hands like a crooked scepter; splinters peppered her palms, but she let them bite.

At the end of the hall, a maid awaited—plump, gingham-aproned, reeking of rose water. She opened an ornate door and bobbed a curtsy to Frankie. “Bath’s ready, Mister Frank.”

“Get her scrubbed.” Frankie’s voice cracked as he spoke, tender regions clearly still complaining. “Madam says no bruises where customers see.”

Eva stepped through on her own power. Frankie slammed the door, lock clicking.

**

The room was the size of Rosemead’s pantry, but gaudy as a New Orleans bordello brochure: peach wallpaper streaked with gilt vines, a chandelier missing two arms, and in the center—a copper hip bath half-filled with steaming water. Against the far wall stood a full-length mirror framed in tarnished gold leaf, the glass foxed and spotted, but still grand enough to flatter sin.

Two other girls hovered, apprentices in Dove’s employ. One stirred rose-oil into the bath with a silver dipper; the other laid out corsets, silk stockings, a hairbrush missing half its bristles.

The maid clapped plump hands. “All right, pet. Dress off. Soap waits.”

Eva backed a step, raising the cudgel. “Touch these ropes and I break wrists.”

They blinked at the threat—half amused, half uncertain—but training proved strong. The older apprentice advanced anyway, fingers reaching for the knot at Eva’s bodice.

Her thumb grazed the lash wound. White lightning bolted through Eva’s nerves; pain sharpened to fury. Eva dropped her shoulder and slapped—crack of skin on skin. The girl yelped, stumbling into the copper tub, water sloshing onto her skirts.

Rose maid gasped. “You dare—”

“Dare and more,” Eva hissed, backing toward the mirror, chair leg lifted. “Bring your madam. Bring your dogs. I won’t sit like meat.”

Steam curled through lamplight; water dripped onto floorboards. The maid, cheeks blotched with outrage, decided bruises on her person mattered—she barked an order: “Fetch Dove.” The younger apprentice fled.

Left alone with the maid, Eva eased to the gilded mirror. Her reflection made her suck air through teeth: hair wild, temple bruised plum, lip split, throat streaked with mud, bodice torn and stuck to the seeping lash wound. Blood, dried now to rust, peaked at corset laces. Yet her eyes—the same ones Delilah had called storm flickers—blazed bright, unbroken.

She hunched, using the mirror to block view from the door, tugged at her bodice laces. Within the cotton lining, the crumpled map remained—damp, but intact. She smoothed it once, kissed the corner where Delilah’s thumbprint marred ink, then folded tight and tucked it beneath her chemise, over her heart.

Downstairs, boards creaked—a door slammed—voices rose. Eva stilled, listening. Madame Dove’s unmistakable drawl floated through the floorboards, booming with performance:

“White virgin, boys! Auction at miners’ day. First taste goes for fifty, second for thirty. Pure lace, southern peach!”

Laughter, coarse male, echoed back. Coins clinked. A piano struck a bawdy chord.

Eva’s stomach turned. She tore the remains of her sash, cinched it tight around her bound wrists, trapping a sliver of the chair-leg beneath so she could still wield the splintered tip. Then she shoved the copper tub with both shoulders. It screeched, skidded two feet, wedging against door and wall like a barricade. Bathwater slopped, steaming across floorboards.

The maid shrieked, brandishing a bath brush. “You’ll pay for that!”

Eva leveled the cudgel. “My body’s mine. Anyone tries layin’ claim, they leave less of themselves than they came with.” Her voice quavered only on the last word, steadied by a ragged inhale.

Below, Dove’s voice climbed louder, bragging about “silk-soft skin, lips like cream.” Each syllable was a nail hammered into Eva’s resolve.

She planted bare feet, pressed shoulder blades—one ringed with wet blood—against the gilded mirror, and waited. Chair leg poised like a spear.

“If dying’s the price,” she whispered to the empty peach room, “so be it. But I’ll not lie for coin. Delilah, keep me strong.”

Footsteps thundered on the stair. Door latch rattled, met the tub’s iron weight. Dove’s muffled outrage seeped through the panels.

Eva lifted the splintered wood, breath steady in her chest. Outside, thunder cracked—much closer now—as if the very sky consented to raise hell.

**

Dust rode the company harder than any foreman. It clung to Jesse Evans’s boots, frosted the black of Tom Folliard’s hat, and wormed under the kerchief at Billy Bonney’s throat until every swallow tasted like pulverized sandstone. The three outlaws clattered in from the east trace single-file—Jesse out front on his flashy paint, Tom whistling arpeggios on a lather-flecked bay, and Billy last, reins looped loose on a wind-skin chestnut who nickered every third step as though complaining about the miles.

Broken Yoke wasn’t much: six plank storefronts, two canvas tents, and The Cherished Dove Saloon towering like a painted dowager above them all. But the town sat just far enough from Mesilla law to feel friendly, and rumor said its water trough still ran sweet after summer flash floods. That was good enough.

As they reined in at Farnum’s Livery, Billy rolled his shoulders—the rope burn across his right palm still raw from that last misbegotten horse raid—then swung down, boots thumping in the chalky dust. Low thunder grumbled to the east; the sky there stacked blue-black anvils on the horizon, but here the sun still baked the street to biscuit crust.

Jesse slung a leg over the paint’s neck and landed cat-light despite the trail grime. “Sheriff keeps mail at the smithy,” he said, wiping off sweat from his mustache. “Might be a letter from Santa Fe lawyer about them lost wages.” He shot Billy a look equal parts warning and affection. “Try not to spend our whole stake before I’m back.”

Tom laughed, thumping his saddle for emphasis. “Save me a chair at the faro table, Kid. I got feelin’s about today.” He guided the bay toward the gambling hall without dismounting, humming that rag he liked—“Buffalo Gals,” off-key.

Billy offered a salute with two fingers. “Tell the dealer I’m comin’ for his teeth later.”

When they’d gone—Jesse pacing up the boardwalk toward the smithy, Tom disappearing into the saloon’s side door—Billy let his eyes settle on a sorrel gelding hitched alone under Farnum’s awning. Good withers, kind eye, legs clean. Saddleless and for sale if the hand-painted placard was to be trusted. Billy’s boots drifted that direction like metal filings to loadstone.

“Belongs to a rancher out of Ruidoso,” drawled Farnum himself, emerging from the stable shadows. Gray ponytail, chaw lumping one cheek. “Horse’ll cut a cow on a dime, but rancher’s ridin’ freight wagon now—bad back.” He spat juice, nodding at the sorrel. “Wants ninety.”

Billy clicked his tongue, studying the animal. He had eighty-five dollars even—part Jesse’s, part Tom’s, part his own. Wages from three sleepless weeks guarding a logger’s payroll through Apache country. They’d planned to divide it in the morning, after a night’s drink.

Eighty-five. The figure felt heavy, substantial—as much as he’d ever had in one purse. It could buy months of fresh cartridges, or one fine mount to outrun half the territory. But it was meant to pay Jesse down for grubfront loans and Tom’s terrible luck at cards.

He slid a hand along the sorrel’s neck; the gelding flicked an ear, accepting. A damn fine animal.

Thunder boomed again—closer, a bass drum behind the sky. Storm smell wafted over the street: crushed sage, distant ozone. Billy’s bad knuckles ached, as they always did when lightning prowled.

Decision pressed like a hand on his back. Not yet. He’d look again after a drink, when the sky figured its mind. He stepped away, dust swirling around bootheels as if reluctant to let him go.

Inside his jacket he counted the roll once more. Eight tens, a five, three singles. Enough for one prime bottle and still square the debt—if he resisted the urge for cards. He flexed rope-scabbed fingers, felt the stretch tighten skin. Just whiskey, he promised the storm. One shot to wash dust off my teeth before Jesse’s lecture.

Across the street The Cherished Dove flaunted a new coat of faded pink, sign creaking in the gathering wind. Piano notes staggered through batwing doors—somebody practicing runs too early for business. Billy hitched his shoulders, pushed beneath the sign, and let the saloon swallow him whole—

—only to halt when a raw, furious voice slashed the quiet.

“Touch me again and I’ll brain you!”

Wood splintered. A chair-leg clattered. Billy felt the prickle down his spine—same tingle he always got just ahead of trouble, lightning on a fence wire.

He sighed, tasting storm in that breath. So much for whiskey in peace.

Boots crunching grit, he stepped sideways toward the porch’s far edge, instincts already mapping angles, counting threats.

Dust still followed him like a loyal dog— and now, it seemed, so did the trouble.

**

Billy stopped dead. Two heartbeats later the batwings burst outward and a wiry slip of a girl in mud-stained calico staggered onto the porch. She clutched half a busted chair leg—oak splintered to a wicked point—and looked ready to swing for Hell’s gate itself. Sweat glued her dark hair to her cheeks; blood streaked her temple. Two house bruisers followed: one red-faced, mustache curled with grease, the other thick as a feed sack. Behind them waddled Madame Dove, robed in lilac silk, fan beating at the muggy air like a frantic hen.

“Little bitch broke a Louis the Fourteenth!” the madam screeched. “Forty dollars import!”

Billy measured the tremor in the girl’s knees, the white scars threading her knuckles, the furious spark in fawn-brown eyes set a shade too close for debutante beauty. Bravery? Desperation? Likely both—dangerous fuel either way.

“I said I ain’t for sale,” she spat, southern drawl sanded by rage. “And I ain’t spreadin’ for any of your drunk swine neither.”

Mustache Man lunged. She swung—chair leg swishing past his ear, slamming a post, showering splinters. He cursed, backhanded her. She reeled but held the weapon, fire still crackling in her stare.

Thunder—distant, east of town—grumbled like an impatient judge. Billy sighed. Whiskey would wait.

He put his boot on the bottom step, took the porch lazy, hands loose at his belt. Mustache Man turned, nostrils flaring. “Ain’t your business, mister.”

“Maybe,” Billy drawled, thumb hooking his gun belt. “But looks to me like you’re losin’ an argument to a girl half your size. Thought I’d officiate—make sure the fight stays fair.”

Red-Face sneered. “Payin’ customer? Then drink. Pick a girl. If not, haul your hide.”

“Depends.” Billy’s gaze slid to the girl. “You want outta this dove-cote, sweetheart?”

She swallowed. “Yes,” she rasped—small sound, all the louder for the iron in it.

Madame Dove rustled forward. “That chit is mine by bill of sale—one hundred dollars U.S. tender.”

The chair leg trembled in the girl’s grip. Billy clocked the flinch, the faded lash mark peeking above her ripped collar, the way desperation warred with pride in the set of her jaw.

“One hundred,” he echoed. He counted mental coin—nineteen bucks in his vest, sixty-odd in the saddle cantle. Horse money. Hell.

He sent a glance toward Mustache and Ham-hock. Storm smells drifted off the eastern flats; a brawl would bring deputies or worse. Money stayed quieter.

“Eighty,” he offered, drawing soft bills from inside coat. “Horse-seller’s price.”

“Ninety-five.” Dove’s fan snapped shut like a guillotine.

“Eighty-five, and I replace your damned chair.” He cocked a brow.

Lilac silk shivered—eyes bright with greed. “Done,” said Dove.

Mustache Man sputtered, but a sharp whack of Dove’s fan muted him. Billy counted eighty-five even, added a silver dollar that chimed tiny thunder against her palm. Transaction sealed, he stepped between bruisers and girl.

“Drop the splinter, darlin’,” he murmured.

Slowly she unclenched; the javelin of chair leg clattered boards. Shoulders sagged, fury drained to bone-tired relief. Billy produced a handkerchief, offered it. She dabbed bloody lip, eyes never leaving his.

“Name?” Billy asked low.

“Eva,” she breathed after a tremor’s pause.

“Just Eva?”

“I… can’t remember the rest.”

Amnesia? Maybe. Maybe lie. But terror carved truth deep around her mouth: she wasn’t going back anywhere. “Eva’s enough for me,” he said.

Before he could guide her down the steps, a familiar whistle cut through evening. Jesse Evans strolled out of the smithy across the street, envelope tucked in breast pocket, grin sharp.

“Billy!” he called. “Buying yourself problems again?”

Billy angled a shrug. “Horse money spent itself.”

Jesse’s smirk widened, boots crunching grit. “Least she prettier’n that dun gelding.” He tipped his hat to Eva, eyes twinkling mischief, then to Dove with mock flourish. “Ma’am.” With a lazy salute he sauntered on—letting Billy own whatever fallout followed.

Billy took Eva’s elbow; she flinched—memory of rough hands—but he gentled the grip. They stepped to the street while Dove crowed after coins. Billy felt thunder roll closer, humid wind lifting dust. “Lean on me,” he muttered. “You look set to drop.”

At the livery rail she halted. “I don’t know where to go.”

“Don’t fret that now.” He loosened the mare’s lead. “I’ll ride you till we find a town wants a schoolmarm or baker’s wife. Folks’ll treat you kind.”

She studied him—a look too old for her years. “And if I remember…?”

“I’ll see you home,” he promised, though he suspected no home was fit anymore. He swung her up first, vaulted behind. She sat stiff as dried rawhide.

“Lean back,” he said. “I don’t bite.”

Lightning spidered across the far horizon, painting the desert bones silver. Billy clicked tongue; the mare loped west down moon-washed track. Eva’s slight weight settled against his chest by slow degrees. He felt the tremor ease, felt something else kindle low in his gut—protective, unwelcome, undeniable.

He’d meant to buy a horse tonight. Instead he’d bought a storm in calico—a heart-shaped rump and eyes full of broken skies. A nuisance. He almost laughed.

“Couple days,” he told the wind—half to her, half to himself. “Just till I drop you safe.”

Behind them Broken Yoke’s lanterns dwindled, thunder broke like distant rifle fire, and ahead the trail stretched black and uncertain, smelling of wet dust and new mistakes.

Billy tightened one arm around Eva—whether that was her name or not—and rode on into the lightning’s restless grin.

🌹

Saddle up, folks. The fun is about to begin soon. They just need to get to know each other better. 👉👈

[norts-trolls]

POKEDESSERTS ARE HERE!!! Food pokeon and dessert themed alike! I baked them with exrta love and I thank @luckydrunk for helping me color two of em. As always these are payp*l only. For an extra $15 I will draw an icon for them!! DM me if interested. And please remember to read my rules there have been a few changes!!!

Alcremie(20):SOLD

Wafflecone Lopunny(30): SOLD

Slurpuff(20): SOLD

Appletun(20):SOLD

Vanillite(25):SOLD

SHINY macaroon poplio(25):SOLD

SHINY Polteageist(25): SOLD

Crepe Mega Absol(20): SOLD

Jolly rancher Cherubi(20):SOLD

Dragon's beard Scream Tail(20): SOLD

Dipped Strawberry Clefairy(25): SOLD

Jello Gengar(25): SOLD

Shaved Ice Alola ninetails(30):SOLD

Marshmallow Twist Galarian(20): SOLD

rules below

BY PURCHASING MY ADOPTS, YOU ARE AGREEING TO THE FOLLOWING.

You must Credit me for the design

You may NOT edit my original work in any form or way.

You may change the design and species after you've bought the design, but must keep the design recognizable and Still leave me credit.

Gender and bloodcolor is ultimately up to the buyer.

You may not repost the original artwork to deviantart, instagram, or other social media/portfolio sites.

You can however store it in your deviantart sta.sh, post it to tumblr profiles, or upload it to websites like toyhou.se with proper credit. (Lil-Nort)

IF THE ADOPT IS POC DO NOT CHANGE THAT DETAIL

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ABSOLUTELY NO USE OF AI WITH ANY OF MY WORKS

Message me the word Goat so I know you read the rules!

[stygiansauce]

LMAO fair fair. Completely forgot sports teams are often uh. Location Revealing.

I too now need to see mumbo get bullied as a ref. Enrichment (for me not him).

You could have Etho as a previous player for the redstoners, and now their coach, as a sort of nod to him being one of the OG redstone youtubers.

Also I SWEAR I had written something about needing to see ranchers fight on the ice but I. Guess I didn’t. Glad to see you somehow picked up my brainwaves and included that they fight in your answer anyhow ^^

HI HI!

Bullying Mumbo is national pass time (that poor man). We will beat him up (with love) but hes not a ref for nothing! Mumbo makes fair calls and loves the game just as much as everyone else. he's fantastic for this role.

I'm still rolling Etho around, but I do like this idea. I was considering him and Beef coming from a canadian team and just being so good everyone makes fun of them for it.

YES THE FIGHT. SO, the way I have ranchers meeting is split two way. Either, Jimmy starts his career on the northern city redstoners, meets Tango, they start their thing, then he gets traded and it becomes a game of how often can the flirt on the ice without getting caught. BUT I kind of like option two more. and this is, They meet during a game. They have no idea who the other is save for Jimmy hearing some good stats about Tango. the Southland canaries are an entierly new team since the last time they played the redstoners, so it'll be a rough game for everyone. at some point, Tango gets heated and goes after Grian. Jimmy doesn't stand for this at all, he gets between them and fights on Grian's behalf. It's MESSY Tango gets a bloody nose, Jimmy's lip is split. They both get ejected from the ice and Jimmy is PISSED.

because Pearl had come all this way just to see him play and now hes out of the game all together and its only the first period. and they run into eachother in the guts of the arena trying to get back to the locker room and it's "what the hell was your problem out there?" "Me? Dude, I wasn't even aiming for you." and they fight and someone pushes first, and there's no ref out here, just grown men having a hissy fit, and then someones hair is pulled and the air is charged and Jimmy has split lip but that doesn't stop him from kissing Tango. and tango has blood in his beard but that doesn't stop him from kissing back.

ANYWAYS. I'm having so much fun with writing now that I'm not a student anymore, this is great.

[delopsia]

If Outer Range's characters truly are loosely based on the Greek Gods, then Royal is Chronos, Cecelia is Rhea, Rhett is Zeus, and Maria is Hera.

Let me explain.

The moment Outer Range's season one starts, we open up with a stormy shot of Royal and his horse, Tilly, riding in a dark field with Trevor's body.

Voiced over the shot is Royal speaking to the audience, "You know anything about a Greek god called Chronos? He carried a sickle. He used it to cut a hole. A tear in the cosmos, between heaven and earth, to separate this world from the next. To separate the known from the unknown."

Immediately, we establish a link to Greek Mythology, and this is repeated later in the episode when Autumn catches Royal throwing Trevor into the hole. Through season one, we learn that Royal has used the hole to time travel on three occasions.

To escape the shame of accidentally killing his father

When Autumn pushes him into the hole

And when he jumped back in after the hole transported him three years into the future.

Through this, it's somewhat implied that Royal is Chronos. He doesn't carry a sickle yet, but he is deeply linked to this hole; he's the only one aware of its presence aside from Wayne. The hole is consistently there when he needs it. To escape his father's death. To hide Trevor's body. To show him what will happen in three years, if he does not change fate. And it deliberately returns him to the exact time period he just left.

But that isn't the only thing.

I've seen a lot of debate on whether Cronus, God of the Harvest, and Chronos, God of Time, are the same entity. For this interpretation, I'm arguing that Royal is based on both because he shares characteristics of both of them. For simplicity's sake, I'm just going to keep saying "Chronos" since that's how they spell it in the show's official subtitles.

Royal is depicted as a cattle rancher; he's a harvester of some fashion. In art, Chronus is often depicted with a gray beard, and I find it fun that Royal happens to share this feature. Is it exact? No, but its a detail in common.

Now here's where I get to the big thing. When Royal was nine and jumped through the hole, it brought him to "present time" as we'll call it, where he was taken in by the Abbott's as their own, and lived along side Cecelia, who he later married. Technically speaking, Cecelia was Royal's adoptive sister.

What did Chronos do? He married his sister, Rhea, the goddess of the Earth. Establishing Royal as Chronos and Cecelia as Rhea.

Now that I've laid that groundwork let me get to something nifty.

Rhett is Zeus.

Here is a photo shared by Amazon Prime on their Instagram.

This photo originates from the S1E2 scene when Royal reveals what happened after Autumn pushed him into the hole (refresher: he traveled roughly three years into the future). As pictured below, it's the same outfit.

You're probably wondering what the hell an outfit is supposed to tell us. Well, I'll show you. The belt buckle.

Here's his S1 buckle compared to the one in the future.

S1:

Future:

We can assume that this is the buckle Rhett earns during episode 8, after he wins the Amelia County Rodeo Finals. It's a huge tradition that bull riders win buckles, and they wear these literal trophies with pride. With how Rhett has been chasing this dream for a decade, we can assume he's going to wear the ever-living hell out of that buckle.

But do you see that on his buckle? That, my friend, is a lightning bolt.

Who is the God of Lightning? Zeus. The lightning bolt (or thunderbolt) was his most iconic weapon.

But we can't draw from that, no no no. I have something else.

In S1E1, we are introduced to the fact that Rhett sleeps around a lot, a trait Zeus is infamous for. Who haven't they slept with? Until his childhood crush, Maria comes back into town, and he's still just as crazy about her, despite her never reciprocating his advances (until now) and telling him (in Spanish) that she doesn't usually go out with men like him.

Similarly, Zeus was enchanted by Hera, the Goddess of Marriage. (Haha, get it, Maria...Marriage...similar words...I'll stop) but she didn't want a damn thing to do with him. But as the story goes, both Maria and Hera come around and agree to be with them.

Which establishes Rhett as Zeus and Maria as Hera.

Edit: I remembered another detail, Zeus and Rhett are both the youngest sons!

I don't have a solid standing on this portion, but Perry reminds me a bit of Poseidon.

Poseidon was angry with Odysseus for blinding his son, Polyphemus. While Perry doesn't have a son, he does have a daughter, Amy. Who was "blinded" by her past and became Autumn. It's a stretch, but I wanted to share the thought lmao.

This...does partially concern me about how Rhett's relationship with Maria may be depicted in season two, but you know what? I am ✨brilliant✨at sticking my head in the sand.

[zombietoilets2234]

New attempt at writing. Tell me your opinions and feedback thanks and enjoy.

It was late in the evening. I was driving home from work after a hard day. You see I had just gotten fired after some complaints from customers about my hygiene. I'm six foot two inches heavy weight and I don't like to shower. Never seen the need to, as I like my smell and am very proud of it. I guess other people are afraid of the smell of real men, because my boss called me to his office and fired me, there loss. Anyway I'm driving down the road with the windows down. It's a hot summers day and the AC is broken I can feel my sweat collecting in my underwear and my armpits.

I'm in the middle of the country and on the side of me are miles of farmland and ranches. Cows graze lazily in the fields the hefty aroma of cow pies wafting into my nose, God I love that smell there is something so earthy and sweet smelling that just makes me want to take a deep breath and revel in it. As I pass this real flat stretch of empty fields my car starts making this grinding screeching sound and smoke starts to billow out of the hood. Just great something more to top off this perfect day. Grumbling I pull over getting out of the car I pop the hood to check what's going on. DAMN over heated the engine. So after wiping the sweat off my brow I hefted up my pants and started back to one of the one of ranch houses I saw coming down this way. It was twenty minutes till I reached the nearest one grumpy and out of breath I knocked on the door and waited for a response. Looking around I started noticing the scenery this was a nice small house blue in color with white trim but this was tiny compared to the giant blue barn behind it. These people seemed to be horse ranchers because there were horses running back and forth in the fields. Looking at them and noting the big round balls on some of them my guess was a stallion ranch. Almost drooling on myself I couldn't help watching those balls swing back and forth while they Galloped about . That's when the door opens and out comes what I hope is the ranch master he's tall about 6,5 nice and chiseled with gorgeous blue eyes and a beard and belly to match.

Drinking him in I look him up and down noticing the considerable bulge in his pants. Guess the stallions weren't the only ones who were hung. Evening sir sorry to bother you at this time but my car broke down just up the road so you mind if I trouble you for a glass of water and to use your phone as mine doesn't work out this way. By the way my name is Ethan what's yours. I stretch out my hand to give Him a hand shake. Nice to meet you Ethan my name Dean. He took my hand and shook it. So can I use your phone I asked again not wanting to let his hand go wishing those hands were stroking my cock as he fucked me with his hidden monster. Yeh sure no problem, come on in he said with a smirk. Thanks nice place you got here sir. You here by yourself. Yeah he said just me and the horses and a couple of stable hands who come in and take care of the feedings and mucking out every couple of days but they're not here right now. Oh so no misses in your life I asked hoping he was on my side. No, no misses don't have the time to look right now disappointed with his answer I asked where his phone was. over there by the fireplace on that end table. Oh thanks just one moment.

After calling for a towing truck I hung up and asked Him for some water and if he minded I stayed till the tow truck arrived. No problem how long will they be you think. Well they said it may be a couple hours because they only have one person in right now. Well make yourself comfortable on that couch and here is some water and I have beer in the fridge if you want something stronger. Thanks I would love a beer so he went back into the kitchen and grabbed two beers and into mine he placed something I didn't see. He hands me the beer and I take a good draft from it burping rather loudly ugh that was good it's got to be 110 degrees out there right now man I said. 113 actually he said hottest day of the year so far. No shit I said staring to feel sleepy well hope you don't mind but I need to take a nap I'm exhausted. He just shrugged and said no problem I'll wake you when the tow truck arrives. With that I close my eyes and drift off into nothingness.

After what feels like hours later with a jerk I open my eyes things are blurry and my brain is sluggish what first comes to my mind is I can't move I'm in a bent over state my feet wide apart and something forced down into my throat. groaning I try to focus my mind but a headache is making it hard. What first comes in is the smell of horses and the deep earthy smell of road apples. Hey look who's finally awake. Its Dean he's grinning ear the ear. Well aren't you just perfect I needed a new one after the last one was sold to my friend. You see I need you to be my horses new slave and that means your the new fuck toy for them .

End of part one of you want a part two let me know