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gremlin-girly · 3 months ago

Text

Pot

Part of the Green collection & winner of this WIP poll

Ask and ye shall recieve! Buckle up buttercups, this is my first fic of 2025.

Banner by me, made in Canva w/ Ari's pic sourced on Pinterest (very basic ik). Dividers by @/kodaswrld here

MDNI/Reblog Banners by @/saradika-graphics

Pairing: Ari Levinson x f!reader

WARNING: This fic not only contains smut but also consumption/use of marujuana. If that's not your bread and butter (or if you are a minor) please do not read. I am also not super knowledgeable on the subject... this is just my brain + google <3

Tags/warnings: SMUT, consumption/use of marujuana, p in v (wrap 👏 it 👏 up 👏), corruption kink, Innocence kink (if you squint) slight age gap (reader in their 20s Ari his 30s), praise (good girl), petnames (pretty girl, sweetheart, baby girl, baby, honey), reverse cow girl, sofa sex, vaginal fingering, teasing, soft!dom Ari, cum play, creampie, multiple orgasm

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through AI!

Summary: You go to your friend's dealer and get the deal of a lifetime.

Word count: ~3.9k

A/N: Now that we're through all those warnings; I can now formerly introduce to you the Green Collection. My first idea was actually for Jake and from there it spiralled but the majority voted Ari instead ☺️ I don't know if I should put it to a vote again or just surprise you with whose next? this has been in my brain all week and I'm on holiday Sunday (woohoo)

Oh and if you haven't seen, I've got a taglist going - just drop me a dm if you're interested! - x

Navigation | Green Collection | Ari Masterlist | Next

No names.

At least, no surnames.

That was apparently a rule of thumb when dealing with dealers. Not like you were stood outside his house (very awkwardly) or anything. Your friend gave you a thumbs up from the safety of his car.

That was the other rule of thumb; never go alone.

You grimaced at him and wiped your sweaty palms against the rough of your jeans, beginning to slowly regret ever mentioning that you wanted to try pot. Said friend in the car said they knew a guy who knew a guy who could help you out, so long as you went with them to get their pick up.

Not much could be said about Ari, other than he was a dealer. You'd asked but you'd been met with a shrug and a "he's a dealer. I get my stuff and bolt."

With your lips pursed into a thin line, you gaze up at the house. It looks inconspicuous next to the others. It's big and homey-looking with a well-kept lawn and a nice (but not expensive) car in the drive. You wonder if dealing is all he does, or maybe this is a friend's house, or perhaps it is his house but dealing is just the side gig. When the door opens you're still expecting a twenty-something year old with red rimmed eyes and a beanie opening the door, or a super scary guy decked out in tattoos. Joke's on you for making assumptions like that.

Ari is tall and muscular, taking up a good ninety-percent of the doorway with his broad shoulders. Long, brown hair fell in waves around his neck and, much like the lawn, his matching beard was thick but well-maintained and the loose light blue cotton shirt he wore complimented his eyes beautifully. You supposed he could look scary if he was angry and frowning, however, with his amused grin as he looked down at you he just looked like an over-sized teddy bear. But maybe that was the point.

"Can I help you?" He asks casually, his eyes scanning you.

"Um, I'm looking for Ari?" You can feel yourself shrink a little under his gaze, he was intimidating regardless of being teddy-bear like or not.

"That'd be me." He confirms. His blue eyes meet yours, challenging you to ask him what you're so nervous to ask.

"C-can I come in?" You stammer out quietly.

"Why?" He presses, making you squirm on the spot.

"Ah, I, erm..." you begin to panic. You can't say drugs - you'd sound stupid and what if he was secretly a cop?

Ari snorts and you look up at him with saucers for eyes. He's grinning, no laughing, at you. Your cheeks begin to burn as you pout at your feet. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"Very much so." He moves out of your way, letting you step through the door. "Come on in."

"Not what you were expecting?" He asks, leading you through to the kitchen where the curtains are drawn and there's multiple small bags with what looks like dried herbs inside them.

"N-no." You answer honestly. Your eyes fix onto a drawing on the fridge; a colourful child's drawing where the "people" are mostly vague shapes before looking back at the table quickly.

"At least you're honest." Ari chuckles. "This is your first pick up, I can tell. It's alright, I won't bite."

You wring your hands and wipe them onto your jeans. "Sorry."

Ari snorts again has collects two of the bigger bags and hands them over to you, watching as your carefully hide them into your purse. "Don't apologise. Do you even smoke? Or is Gabriel making you run errands for him?"

You look sheepishly at him; from what Gabriel had said, you weren't expecting this much conversation.

"I haven't tried it before and want to. Gabriel said he'd bring me when he came next."

Ari nods pulling an impressed expression, almost surprised by your naïve honesty. He picks up a small rectangular pack from the table

"Want me to show you how to roll?" He wiggles a pack between his fingers and looks at you expecting an answer.

"Um..." You shift on your feet, feeling a little out of your depth. It would be helpful to know but why would he be offering? Gabriel said it should be in and out and you can already feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket. Then again, Ari seemed nice and you couldn't deny that there was something enticing about the way he seemed to be interested in you. "Sure."

"Right answer." He winks at you and you can feel heat rush to your cheeks. "Hold out your hands."

He pulls out a paper from the pack. It's thin and almost transparent and he places it gently between your fingers so that you hold it in a v-shape, his fingers brushing against yours. He picks up an additional bag sprinkling the herby substance down the centre of the v and your nose crinkles at the smell. It's strong, too much like BO for your liking.

"Awe," Ari coos playfully at you. "It's alright, you'll get used to it."

You puff your pink cheeks in a half-pout. There's something oddly alluring to the fact he likes to try and catch you off guard, teasing and toying with you, and it annoys you that it's working for you.

With his fingers over yours he moves the edges of the paper up and down, before rolling it on itself leaving one edge sticking upwards. He moves the paper towards your lips with a curious look.

"Stick your tongue out." He murmurs and you obey without hesitation. Ari's eyebrows shoot upwards and he smirks. "Good girl."

Heat and shame wash over you as he glides the paper over your tongue and smooths the final edge flat. He inspects your handiwork before handing the blunt to you upright.

"Not bad. Consider this one on the house," He says and before you can take it he moves it out of your reach. "On one condition."

You blink at him. "Um. Okay."

"Next time Gabriel wants his pot, I want you to pick up for him again." Ari's lips tug upwards at the corners, flashing you a flirtatious smirk that makes you feel giddy.

"Sure thing." You nod clearing your throat as he walks you back to the front door. "I-It was nice to meet you."

Ari's eyes sparkle down at you as he opens the door, leaning in the doorway again as you exit. "You too. See you round, sweetheart."

You give him a nervous smile goodbye as you skitter back to Gabriel's car, feeling Ari's eyes follow you the entire way down the drive.

You see Ari again about two weeks later, when picking up Gabriel's next order as promised. The kitchen looks the same as you'd left it, the only addition a blunt that's gently billowing smoke left in an ash tray.

"Been practising?" Ari asks, taking a seat at the table.

"I - yeah!" You get a little too excited and clear your throat adding a quieter "Yeah."

Ari seems happy to see you so enthusiastic and drags the chair next to him out from under the table, patting the wooden seat. "Take a seat and show me."

You're aware of how close you are to Ari when your knee brushes against his and you fight to stay calm. He hands you the papers and watches closely as you pepper in the weed between the paper folded in your small hands; so careful not to spill a single stem. Then you roll tentatively, like he'd shown you before, peeking up at him as your tongue drags along one edge of the paper. The chair creaks as Ari's hand tightens it's grip and you hear his breathing stop for just a second. For a moment, you think you've done it wrong as you seal the blunt over but Ari breaks out into a grin, releasing the back of your chair and letting his hands slap against his thighs.

"You've learnt quickly sweetheart." He sighs, picking up his discarded blunt and taking a quick drag.

"Can I keep this one too?" You ask curiously, admiring you're work as Ari begins to sort through the stems on the table in front of him. His blunt hangs out of the corner of his mouth and his eye brows raise in your direction. The term smoking hot was never more accurate.

"What are you gonna give me for it?"

It's a loaded question and you both know it. Heat grows between your legs and you shift in your seat next to him.

"What... do you want?"

"Ah. Ah. I asked first." He tuts, winking at you. You shift your legs again.

"W-well." You clear your throat, feeling hot all over. "I don't think I'm smoking my joints right - I'm not getting the feelings that Gabi describes."

You peek up at him, feeling stupidly bashful and naïve for even thinking of asking him this, but the rush of being around him is too addictive. Ari's eyes don't leave yours, patiently waiting for you to continue.

"So I was wondering if you'd show me how?" You ask with soft pleading eyes, adding a hasty; "Please?"

"You wanna rent me?" Ari chuckles, looking over at you as he puffs out a cloud of smoke. "Whore me out?"

You fight a blush even though you don't find the idea unappealing. "N-not what I meant."

"Tell you what, since you asked so nicely," he sighs, running a large hand through his hair. "I'll take you up on that if-"

He pauses, setting his wrist down on the table with the blunt still smoking between his fingers, turning to face you fully. "You kiss me."

Now your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, lips parting slightly as if you can't believe your ears or your luck.

"O-Okay." You wet your lips nervously, leaning closer to his face. Your eyes drop to his lips for a brief moment before you push forward, colliding your lips against his. Beard scruff brushes your cheeks and your lips tingle and soon enough there's a large, warm palm on your neck that eases you closer against his body. You relax enough to open your lips wider, letting Ari run his tongue over your lips before he slips into your mouth. He tastes like smoke and temptation and you hum happily into his mouth, letting your lips move against his.

Your hands find perch on the thigh closest to you as you lean into the kiss, the tough muscle beneath your palms flexing under the material of his jeans. Ari's palm cups your cheek, his thumb brushing the faint curve tenderly as he kisses you, sending your brain and pussy feral. By the time you remember to breathe again, you're already light headed.

"It's yours." Ari's voice is thick and he takes another drag. He blows out the smoke long and slow, his blue eyes peeking at you and how you're watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to do something more to you. "I'll show you how to smoke next time and make sure you have the high of a lifetime."

"Thanks." You puff, leaning back and removing your hands from his leg.

"No more waiting on Gabriel either - I'll give you my number." With the blunt hanging from his lips Ari holds out a palm for your phone which you willingly give, you stomach swooping with excitement. "I'll text you when I'm free."

You can't contain the small smile that graces your swollen lips. This whole game of coy cat-and-mouse had you ready to jump his bones from the moment you met and the longer it continued the more you were struggling to keep cool.

You were so glad Gabriel had such a hot dealer to introduce you to.

The next time you see Ari is the following week.

You didn't want to seem too desperate texting him too soon but you couldn't stop thinking about your brief, but seemingly eons long, make out session. Luckily, Ari texted you first after three days inviting you over whenever you wanted for your smoking lesson, but due to work commitments, you had to postpone until the Friday.

Knowing you probably wouldn't just be smoking, you opted to wear some light make up and your lucky thong; paired only with a tank top and a short skirt. If the last two visits were anything to go by, you weren't sure how long your outfit would stay on.

The Uber to Ari's was silent, your head already spinning and you gripped the handles of your back pack filled to the brim with snacks. You hadn't wanted to come empty handed when he was still technically doing you a favour.

Even if he was going to fuck your brains out regardless.

You were less awkward now as you stood outside Ari's door and far more nervous. The cool air kissed your legs and your pussy fluttered with each passing thought of Ari's wandering lips and hands and if he'd tease you in more ways than one tonight or purposefully make you wait - or beg - for him to ruin you.

When Ari finally opens the door, he almost does a double take. His eyes are glued to the hem of your skirt, showing off the tops of your thighs. You can't complain, your eyes are glued to his body too; his tight white t-shirt that wraps around each muscle and his grey sweatpants that have a definite outline of his cock.

You swallow your drool and clear your throat. Ari blinks back to life and grins at you.

"You look good," he says stepping aside to let you through. You edge past him and peek up to smile coyly.

"Thanks."

"I've set up on the sofa. You want anything to drink?" Ari asks, closing the door and locking it behind him, following you through to the living room. "You can drop your stuff wherever."

"Um, no. I'm good, thanks." You drop your bag at your feet. You're back to standing awkwardly again, playing with the hem of your skirt, trying to think of how to start.

Ari walks past you to his sofa and throws himself back into a relaxed position, his eyes never leaving yours; his long legs spread open wide. As he'd said, there's a lighter, some papers, an ashtray and a small bag of pre-ground pot lined up next to him.

Ready for you.

"Alright then, let's get started." He says voice low, patting one of his thighs. "C'mere pretty girl. Show me what you've learned."

You inch towards him, letting his hands find your hips and guide you backwards onto his lap. His hands are warm as they run over your skirt, nudging your legs to straddle over his knees, spreading you open to the living room before you. You gasp quietly, shifting against his large, hard cock against your ass as Ari pulls you backwards, pressing your back into his firm chest. Your heart beats so fast it's almost non-existent; you'd wanted to be ruined and it looked like Ari had been on the same wavelength too. You can feel your pussy gush with need as you try to keep your breathing steady when the small baggy and papers are waved in front of your face.

"Roll us a joint, baby." Ari purrs, his breath fanning against your neck, making you shiver. Blushing, you take the weed and papers, balancing them precariously in your lap as you make up the joint and letting Ari's hands run up and down the expanse of your thighs with ghost-like touches.

"You're so good at that now." He praises, his chin digs a little into your shoulder as he watches you roll the joint. "Such a fast learner."

"Mm." You hum, jumping when his fingers dip under your hem and trace patterns against your inner thigh. Your clit throbs as Ari chuckles, his fingers inching higher but stopping before they're right where you want them to be. "Had a good teacher."

"Stop rolling." Ari commands gently, and you turn to look at him ready to stick your tongue out.

"Ah-ah." Ari shakes his head with a smirk. "I'm not gonna seal it with that. Not when I have you sitting in my lap like this."

Before you can ask what he means, his fingers dip under the material of your thong and run the length of your already-silky folds making you stiffen and bite down onto your lips to keep a pornographic moan from spilling out. Your walls pulse as Ari's nimble fingers work at your clit gathering more of your arousal before removing them entirely, leaving you to whimper pathetically at the loss.

He runs his wet fingers along the bare edge of the joint before cleaning them up with swift licks of his tongue.

"That's the good stuff," he rumbles. "Seal it over."

You do as he says, your brain clouding with lust as his other hand squeezes your thigh like a brand.

"Put it in my mouth, honey." Ari parts his lips for you to gently place the joint between his lips. The lighter flickers to life with one firm stroke from Ari's thumb and he raises it to the end of the joint, taking two quick inhales until the embers glow before tossing the lighter aside again.

You watch closely as he takes a long drag, moving the joint between his fingers as he swallows the smoke and then blows out two smoke rings. You squint at the sting of the smoke but can still make out Ari's smirk.

"Tastes fuckin' good." He teases, making your cheeks go more red. "Go on, take a hit."

He holds the blunt to your lips and you tentatively take a drag, coughing a little as you try to mimic him swallowing the smoke. Ari snorts at your attempt and kisses your nose, making your heart flutter incessantly.

"Good but you can do better." He holds the blunt steady for you. "I want you to take some long drags while I fuck your sweet little pussy okay? Long drags - and hold that smoke for five seconds each time."

You gasp at his words and nod firmly, taking the blunt end between your lips as Ari reaches under you to pull his cock free of his sweats. You can feel the a delicious squeeze around nothing as Ari runs the tip of his cock over the flimsy material of your thong before yanking it to the side. His cock is as big as you'd seen through his sweats, but there's a scalding heat to it as he taps the head against your clit, making you almost whine out your exhale of smoke one two seconds too early.

"Now, to me." He leans over your shoulder, lips parted and you immediately let him him take a drag of the joint. He shifts you in his lap, sighing out his smoke as he slides his cock into you, impaling you onto him. His hands hold your hips in place as he leans back into the pliant leather, groaning loudly as your walls clench around him to accommodate to his size.

"Shit, baby girl," he huffs. "You're fuckin' perfect."

You puff out what little smoke you managed to breathe in, moaning loudly instead as Ari bounces you on his cock. You're leaning back enough to be able to see exactly what he's doing; ramming his cock so far into your pussy his balls smack against you. Your toes curl and your thighs start to strain under the pressure of being stretched wide over his legs.

You try to take more drags but you're interrupted by your own moans and the mess Ari is making of your pussy already. Your walls milk his hard cock and you could swear for a second you saw stars as a familiar tightening in your abdomen signals a fast-approaching orgasm.

"Ari," you pant squeak his name as your pussy clamps around him, the wet sounds becoming louder and louder. "I think- hng - I think I'm gonna cum."

"I know sweetheart, I can feel that tight pussy squeezing me." Ari's fingers press into your hips as his pace continues, a loud groan erupting from his throat. "Take another drag for me first."

You suck on the joint hanging loosely between your fingers, taking a long gulp of smoke.

"Look at me." Ari growls out, a hand sneaking further around your waist and lower. As your eyes lock with his, his fingers find your clit, sending sparks across every nerve in your body. A smug grin crosses Ari's face as your eyes flutter and a moan rumbles in your chest before giving you another command, "Blow."

You breathe out the smoke into his face as he breathes it in, your eyes drooping to half-lidded pleasure.

"You look so beautiful doing that." He snatches the joint away from your loose hands and presses it into the ashtray, despite there being plenty left. He catches your curious look and smiles. "I need to focus on you, honey and I don't need you dropping your hard work."

Ari's fingers find your clit again, drawing tight circles as he fucks up into your tight hole. Your pussy spasms and you moan, your arms reaching for something - anything - to keep you steady as he fucks into you harder. The slapping sounds that echo around the room are drowned by your curses and groans as your second orgasm draws closer.

"You're doing so good for me, sweetheart." Ari murmurs into your ear. "Just knew I'd like you. 'M gonna enjoy having you around to fuck and fill-" Ari's words are cut off by a short grunt, followed closely by quick gasps for air as he cums inside your shuddering pussy. You follow suit, heaving for breaths as you gush over his cock again.

"Stay right there," He urges softly, pulling you against his chest. Slipping his softening cock from you and placing kisses against your neck, he murmurs "I'm not quite done with you yet."

One had runs fingers along your slit, jumping between teasing your oversensitive nerves to pushing his cum back into your leaking hole. With his other, he hands you the lighter before picking up the blunt again and holding it to you to light for him. Your hands shake as you reach over to light it, your poor legs convulsing over his as he strums your messy cunt without a care in the world.

"That's my good girl." Ari presses feather-light kisses against your shoulder and you whimper, trying to focus on lighting the lighter. You flick at the metal furiously and on your fourth attempt, a flame flickers to life and Ari lights his joint in the flame before taking a long drag and blowing the smoke away from your face. He looks like a dragon hoarding his treasure; smoke billowing from him as you turn in his lap and bundle closer, dripping all over him.

Ari watches you with a warm grin plastered to his face, his eyes are glassy, red rimmed and a little puffy as he offers you a drag. It's a small drag, no coughing or sputtering this time, but the weed seems to be taking effect because your body sways and you can't stop smiling up at him. Ari only laughs and urges you to lie further on top of him, running a large warm hand up and down the length of your back.

"You should wear skirts more often, sweetheart." He rumbles, taking another drag, his softening cock twitches against your bare pussy and you sigh with delight. "Although, this one might be ruined by the time I'm finished with you."

End

#gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x reader #ari x reader #ari levinson #ari levinson x f!reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson smut #green collection #chris evans characters

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serpentface · 6 days ago

Text

Cattle of some of the eastern Inner Seaway peoples.

(Note that these are all landrace types, many have high rates of introgression from other cattle types, and most are not altogether distinct from neighboring cattle or subject to intense artificial selection in general. Each type of cattle here can have tremendous variation in phenotype and may have individuals barely resembling the drawing or description. This post just illustrates the most common/characteristic traits of each type.)

(all cattle are shown in their summer coats)

Ganne, Wardi native cattle

This is the native cattle landrace in contemporary Imperial Wardin and most of its immediate geographic neighbors. It is an ancient population and has been the bedrock for subsistence for the majority of the Wardi peoples' histories, and remains agriculturally central as well as sacred and culturally beloved. It is not truly distinct from most of its neighboring cattle populations to the east, with few geographic barriers keeping it genetically isolated until the you reach the Blackmane mountain range.

This is an all-purpose type used for labor, meat, hides, milk, blood, manure, and fuel.

Characteristic lyrate horns, upward curving horns are common in some populations with recent wild aurochs ancestry.

Long, convex sloping face.

Long body with fairly lanky legs.

Long hanging wattle and fatty hump

Small eyes.

High poll

Significant sexual dimorphism in size

Substantial variation in color and pattern, though small clustered spots like this are notably common.

Long, thick tail.

Typically calm temperament.

Develops a short winter coat.

Strong tolerance to heat, resistant to water scarcity.

Comfortable in typical 40-60F lowland winters, but suffers in sustained freezing temperatures and does not instinctively graze through snow.

Excellent and highly adaptive forager, needs virtually no supplementation to their diet if sufficient pasture is accessible (aside from sedentary populations during winter).

Can fare well in a variety of habitats ranging from semi-desert scrub to open woodland, though best suited to grassland.

Meat of a healthy animal is relatively rich, moderate fat content.

Saungri, Ubiya cattle

This is the primary cattle type used by Ubiyan peoples along the northeast, east, and southeast of the Viper seaway, and is vital to the subsistence of Ubiyan nomadic pastoralists. Of the cattle listed here, it is most closely related to the ganne. The saungri is also likely the oldest of all types here.

This is an all-purpose type used for labor, meat, hides, milk, blood, manure, and fuel.

Tall, athletic build, fairly compact in length.

Long legs.

High poll.

Long hanging wattle and fatty hump on back.

Short, bristly tail.

Fairly large udder.

Curving horns are most common.

Significant sexual dimorphism in size, cows usually have forward-curving lyrate horns while most bulls have upward curved horns.

Typically calm temperament.

Color variation is tremendous, but bright red patterns like this are culturally favored.

Tolerant of heat, but not particularly resistant to water scarcity.

Develops a short winter coat.

Comfortable in typical 30-60F winter temperatures, though cannot handle sustained sub-freezing chill.

Excellent and highly adaptive forager, needs virtually no supplementation to the diet if sufficient pasture is accessible (aside from sedentary populations during winter).

Meat is fairly lean.

Ashyu, Yuroma cattle

A cattle type native to the contemporary Lowlands Yuroma city-states. These societies have a very long history of settled agriculture and have never been deeply reliant on their cattle, though it is still highly valued livestock and important to agriculture and the diet.

This is a multi-purpose type predominantly used for meat, hides, milk, and manure. Khait are favored for most labor, though the ashyu is invaluable for the tending of rice paddies and as a pack animal in marshy terrain.

Small, fairly delicate, and erect in build.

Long legs.

Long, thin tail with flowing hair.

Short, sloping face and big eyes.

Most have a mid-length wattle and a fatty hump.

Naturally polled horns or upward curving horns are most common.

Wide hooves amenable to uneven surfaces and marshy ground.

Very sure-footed.

Medium sized udders.

Typically energetic temperament.

Tremendous variation in color and pattern, but 'color-sided' patterns such as this are notably common.

Very tolerant of heat and humidity, but has very high water needs.

Develops a very short winter coat.

Winters in most of its native range are extremely mild and rarely dip below the mid 40s, sustained freezes can be deadly for ashyu.

Developed from mostly settled populations and not the greatest forager, does not range widely. Needs to be sustained almost entirely on feed during the sparsest couple winter months.

Meat is fairly tender.

Kulustaig

Cattle type indigenous to the Highlands northwest of Wardi land. This breed began as a population merger of approximately 1/3 proto-Finn native cattle 2/3 proto-Wardi native cattle, though most kulustaig are highly distinct from the descendants of the latter due to intense environmental selection and Relative genetic isolation. Its ancestors fully split from those of the taigrej finnek (below) about ~1800 years ago and shares the taigrej’s origins as a cattle-bison hybrid, though the last instances of bison introgression are negligibly distant. It happens to retain a few bison-like traits its cousin does not (notably muscular necks with high thoracic vertebrae, and the shape of its winter coat) due to environmental selection.

This is an extreme all-purpose type used for labor, meat, hides manure, fuel, milk, textiles from its winter coat, and occasionally riding. Shows particularly intense selection for milk production.

Stocky, long, low-slung and muscular

Fairly small.

Thick, blocky skull with a wide poll

Characteristic thick v-shaped or straight horns

The apparent hump on the back is highly arched thoracic vertebrae, which attach thick neck muscles.

Most have a short neck wattle.

Very large udders on average.

Develops a thick, curly winter coat.

Short, thick tail with very long, curly hair at the tip.

Typically docile, placid temperament

Very sure-footed.

Larger heart and lung capacity than lowland counterparts, tolerant of high elevations.

Genetically isolated kulustaig types are typically shades of black, white and grey, but most contemporary herds come in a variety of colors.

Excellent forager that tolerates nutrient-poor graze, instinctively digs through snow to access grass. Only needs minimal dietary supplementation in typical winters.

Tolerant of a wide spectrum of temperatures from about 20-80F, but suffers in very hot conditions without access to shade and cannot survive in (rare) sub-zero temperatures for long.

Meat is very lean and tough.

Taigrej Finnek, Finn native cattle.

This is the cattle type native to Finnerich. It can be considered a naturalized hybrid, derived from domesticated bison and cattle ancestors and gradually (largely unintentionally) backcrossed with cattle to create a fully fertile population. Major instances of bison introgression have been rare in most of its history since, but it occurs occasionally. The taigrej is highly valued for its strength as a pack and plow animal and its hardy, independent constitution.

This is an all-purpose type used for labor, meat, hides, manure, and milk.

Short, thick bulbous head shape

Low slung and thick-set, overall build is relatively sleek.

Fairly large and muscular.

Mid-large udders.

VERY wide poll.

The characteristic horn type is downward-curved.

Short tail with long curly hair at the tip.

Typical headstrong temperament, notably assertive towards predators when it has confidence in numbers.

Lots of color variation, though brindling is a particularly unique quality of this population.

Short winter coat.

Tolerant of the typical hot, dry summers and mild winters of its native range, though suffers in heat without access to shade and cannot withstand lasting sub-freezing temperatures.

Good forager and mostly self-sufficient when adequate pasture is accessible, but usually needs to be supplemented during winter months, will not instinctively dig through snow.

Moderately lean meat.

Tepang, Burri cattle

A broad category of cattle types from the contemporary Burri Republic, with numerous subtypes across the variable environments of its range. This one stems from a separate domestication event of aurochs than others shown here. In the Burri creation story, the first of the gods used a tepang ox to lift the land out from the ocean on its horns, and built the world atop it.

The tepang derives from an entirely separate domestication event of aurochs than the rest shown here.

This type is predominantly used for meat, hides, manure, and labor, though some tepang populations show selection for milk production.

Slight, lean looking build, but deceptively strong.

Fairly large size

Big round eyes

Delicate concave sloping face.

Characteristic forward facing horns

Narrow, pointed poll.

Long ear hair.

Most (but not all) tepang types have very small udders, owing to lesser selection for milk production by human populations with lower rates of lactase persistence

Typically docile temperament, a little skittish.

Massive variety of coat colors and patterns, impossible to determine a standard type. All-white coats with black spots around the eyes and nose are culturally favored for beauty.

Short winter coat.

Not an instinctive forager or roamer, as most populations have developed in settled conditions with limited pasture. Requires at least some dietary supplementation with feed year-round, especially during winter.

The Grajyi Steppe tepang is a significantly hardier variant of this type, which develops a thick winter coat and forages efficiently.

The meat of a healthy tepang is relatively rich and fatty.

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irelandseyeonmythology · 3 months ago

Text

Mizenhead, Co. Cork.

Photos mine

(Mythological commentary under the readmore)

I was able to take these pictures and train as a Celticist because of the passion and dedication of my mentors and colleagues in my MA department. If you enjoy these photos, please consider signing this petition to save the Bachelor Celtic at Utrecht, which is still taking signatures.

This was...probably a more difficult entry to make than I thought it would be. I know people probably voted for it on the idea of 'R loves Bres and R loves Balor, so this should be an easy post for them to make!' But it's...almost specifically BECAUSE I'm so emotionally invested that I struggle to make it. Are people looking for an academic, objective account for this? Are they looking for pretty photos? Both? Yes? No?

But...well. You all voted for this in a poll posted by me, knowing my interests, so you knew this wasn't going to be 100% objective, either. So...let's get into it.

When I visited Mizenhead, it was the culmination of over a decade of dreaming of getting to see it in person.

Many Americans, when they go to Ireland, have a certain idea of what they want to see, what they want to do. This can range from the Book of Kells to Irish run breweries to the Blarney Stone to the Cliffs of Moher to half-forgotten familial holdings to Cong, where The Quiet Man (starring John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara) was shot (sidenote: that village is also close to where the First Battle of Magh Tuireadh, ie Cath Muighe Tuireadh Cunga, took place.) For me, when I first got off the plane to Ireland, I knew that this was a site that I desperately *needed* to see (besides, of course, my uni), and that was Mizenhead. In the old days, of course, it wasn't called Mizenhead, it was called Carn uí Néit, or "The Gravesite of the Grandson/Descendant of Nét" (the 't' was softened to a 'd' as time went on, leading to its modern form of Carn uí Néid.) Sometimes, I still forget to call it by its more well known anglicized name, meaning that I'm constantly having to clarify, because that's the name I heard first, and it's the name that rings truest to me.

According to the Dindshenchas of Cairn uí Néit, written the better part of a millennium ago c, this was the spot where Bres Mac Elatha died at the hands of his rival, Lugh, being tricked under geas to swallow over 300 vats of bog water, in the guise of milk.

A dindshenchas poem details the most well-known story associated with the site, as it was known in the Middle Ages (translated, in a style a little too flowery for my taste, by Edward Gwynn, but, if I want to be honest, it has taken me too long to get this out as it is and I know that if I translate the entire thing, it will NEVER get done) :

[...]

6. Bress, a kindly friend was he, (he was a good friend) noble he was and fortunate, ornament of the host, with visage never woeful, of the Tuath De he was the flower. (Note: the BEST, what were you DOING Gwynn, lay off the medieval chivalry)

7. The drink of a hundred for each roof-tree was brought to the chieftain without fail, of the milk of dun-hued kine: he suffered from that fare.

8. In the reign of Nechtan bass-chain, of dear fame, of enduring purpose, at the cost of the King of the two Munsters, occurred the cause of the enduring name.

10. The kine of every townland in Munster — lasting harm! — by Nechtan's orders were singed, over ferns, till they were black of hue.

11. A mess of ashes was smeared by the noted men of cunning on the kine famed for fatness [...]

12. They fashioned stout kine of wood — that whole host noble and slender: Lug, who was dutiful on all occasions, chose them and brought them together.

13. Pails in their forks were set with cheerful nimbleness; red stuff, with no bright shining fatness, that is the milk that filled them.

14. Three hundred, that was their number on the road to that gathering: at this contest, through his cheating illusion, there was not a cow of these kine alive.

15. Bress, hot of valour, came to the middle of the field to judge them: thereby, without prosperous issue, he perished and died.

16. From the drove were measured three hundred measures, bitter-harsh, for the spear-attended king to drink: it was a preparation of ill-presage.

17. Bress had a vow not to refuse any feat that was offered him: he drank it off without flinching: I know not what it brings.

18. At the Carn of radiant Ua Neit it killed the stern scion, when he had drunk without dread a draught of the dark ruddy liquor

19. By reason of this unfair demand, without due observance since the failure of his vow, without rightful and seemly honour the grave of Bress covers him.

Stokes provided an edition and translation of the prose version from the Rennes Dindshenchas:

Then Bres came to inspect the manner of these cattle and so that they might be milked in his présence, and Cian (Lugh's father) was also among them. Ail the bogstuff they had was squeezed out as if it was milk of which they were milked. The Irish were under a tabu to corne thither at the same time, and Bres was under a tabu to drink what should be- milked there.

So three hundred bucketfuls of red bogstuff are milked for him, and he drinks it. Some say that he was seven days and seven mouths and seven years wasting away because of it, and he traversed Erin seeking a cure till he reached the same cairn, and there he died. Whence Carn uí Néit is named.

In other texts, the owner of the grave is changed: In the Early Modern recension of CMT, Cath Muighe Turieadh, it is actually Balor's death site, not Bres', Lug hunting his grandfather across Ireland until they have their fatal showdown there. John Carey, in "Myth and Mythography in Cath Maige Tuired", has argued that the attribution of this site to Bres was actually after the fact, with the attribution to Balor being the earlier of the two. On the record, I agree, on the basis that (1) Bres' usual haunt is Maginnis, in what is now Lecale, Co. Down and (2) Balor is consistently referred to as "Uí"/"Ua Néit", unlike Bres who, outside of this poem, is generally referred to purely as "Mac Elathan."

Generally speaking, Bres is not the figure from Cath Maige Tuired that most academics will say that they like, when they'll admit that they *can* like any of the characters, beyond a detached sense of general interest. The boisterous Dagda, the haunted and embattled Nuada, the exemplary Lug all gather far more positive reactions. On an anecdotal note, though, I've had a number of overwhelmingly queer people, usually in their late teens or twenties, approach me over my time doing this, and tell me how important Bres was to them, how interesting. Bres taps into something that, perhaps, many older academics, who are used to the rigid structures of academia, do not want to acknowledge: a willingness to defy society, to rebel, to question. The feeling of being torn apart by competing forces, of being conflicted, of being frightened and lonely. The feeling of being watched, of being judged, of being a player in a game by much older, much more experienced people, but still trying to play it anyway, even if he flounders in his execution. Because the truth is that Lug is easy to like, particularly in Cath Maige Tuired where he's at his least manipulative. He can do everything! He unifies people! He's charismatic! He's dutiful! He does everything exactly as he's supposed to and, as a result, has all the emotional depth of a thimble. (I like him best when he's taking bloody revenge, when the mask of the ideal hero comes off and he's allowed to be a little bit messy.) With Bres, there is no illusion that he's perfect, that he's flawless. No one finishes reading CMT and thinks that, really, it would have been better off for everyone if Bres had won. Not many of us can be Lug, but all of us have been Bres at one point or another, the question is simply whether we want to admit to it. All of us have fallen short, at some point or another, all of us have disappointed someone, including, at times, ourselves. All of us have watched as someone came onboard -- maybe they were younger, better with people, more competent, naturally talented, and left us in the dust. It's why people come away from Amadeus sympathizing with Salieri, because, at some point in our lives, we all venerate the Patron Saint of Mediocrity.

In an academic environment, I'm often asked why I'm so drawn to Bres. The truth is that there are very few academic explanations that can fully explain it. The answers that I give -- the complexity of his character, the insight he can give as an antisocial character, the parallels he has to Lug and to the broader world of the Tuatha Dé -- are not lies, but they can't fully capture the reality, either. In truth, the relationship I have with Bres isn't devotion, not in a religious sense, at least, but it is the sort of pure bond you can only form with something when you're a teenager, grasping for a piece of driftwood to cling onto through the waves of adolescence. He's been with me every single step of the way, in all his flaws and all his thoughtlessness, his melodrama, his rashness. He tells me that sometimes, I don't need to be perfect, I just need to survive. What it means to embrace liminality, even when society demands that we be boxed into neat little categories. He saved my life. In many ways, he gave me a life worth living. And, in turn, I crossed an ocean for him. I faced down a pandemic for him. I faced down hell for him. All to stand at his gravesite. I don't know if my pagan friends are right and that the Tuatha Dé's presences still linger in Ireland; I've never seen any cause to believe it, but, frankly, I've studied them long enough to know not to tempt fate on that score. I don't know if there ever is or was any trace of the man who I've spent so long studying that still lingers. I don't even know if anyone else ever stood by that cliff, looking down in the cobalt blue waters, the white tipped waves crashing against the rocks that jut out from Manannan's kingdom, and took a moment to think of him. Or what thoughts emigrants might have thought as they left in ships and, all too often, never saw their home country again, the grasping rock their last sight of their country. But I do know that on one autumn day, an American international student stood there and finally, finally took the chance to thank him for everything he'd done and to tell him that it was enough.

#county cork #mizenhead #ireland #ireland photo #ireland photography #eire #irish trip #travel #irish mythology #celtic mythology #mythological cycle #bres mac elathan #balor uí néit

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adobe-outdesign · 9 months ago

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I'd love to see a full-on review of Burlap from you! As a matter of personal taste, I do like it as a Plushie 2.0, but I also sympathize with your dissatisfaction in the loss of that creepy vibe. Which pets do you like best in it?

Poor, poor Burlap. It was originally introduced as Burlap Doll alongside Steampunk, Toy, and Origami as part of a 2018 poll to pick a new colour, wherein it came in dead last, probably because it was by far the least cute option of the four. That said, us burlap lovers were annoying vocal enough that TNT eventually caved and released it anyway.

Unfortunately that was a small victory, as there's been a gradual shift in appearance and tone. Burlap's original intent, and the reason so many of us loved it, is that it was creepy. Burlap pets were supposed to be dolls haphazardly stitched together from sack cloth and whatever pieces of junk happened to be lying around, with dead button eyes and stitched-up mouths. It was a very distinct vibe, almost scarecrow-like, and that made it really stand out.

However, TNT has been softening the colour over the years. Bright colors were introduced; the junk and scrap materials concept was almost entirely dropped; straw-like elements were replaced with soft fuzzy tan fur; and so on and so forth. Compare the Burlap Usul, released in 2023, with the Burlap Ogrin, released in 2020:

And just to be clear, the more plushie-like burlap pets are by no means inherently bad; a lot of them are downright adorable or have very pleasing designs. It's just that, for a site that celebrates Halloween each year and has an entire land dedicated to it, there's a strange lack of creepy colours available. There's Halloween, Mutant, Wraith, Ghost, Zombie, Darigan, and... well, that's it. Burlap was not only a welcome addition to this category, but it filled a very specific niche, as there were no other creepy doll colours. We already have plushie as a colour, but we definitely didn't have anything like the original burlap.

Favorite Species:

Lenny: The original Burlap Doll design put up for voting, the Burlap Lenny is delightfully creepy. The fraying fabric on the wings is a great touch, and I love all the metal bits used here; some springs for the head feathers, random scrap parts for the legs. It's fun, distinct, and has a ton of personality. I also really like the eyes, which are not only black but have red string in the middle, something even the other creepy burlap pets didn't keep.

Bori: The Burlap Bori has less scrap parts and fewer black accents, but it's still well done overall. There's lots of good details here, like the fraying fabric around the claws, the stitch work and material of the back plates, and the way the tail haphazardly tied together with some loose rope.

Quiggle: This isn't quite as detailed as the other three burlap pets, but it still brings a lot to the table with its freaky twig fingers and casual rope around its neck. The texturing and warping of the burlap texture is truly well done here and the whole thing has a great sense of dimension. The only thing is that while I like the mismatched eyes in theory, the blue feels a little distracting; I feel like maybe a light brown or tan might've worked better.

BONUS: Like I said, the plushie-style burlap pets are still very nice looking, and it wouldn't be fair of me to talk about only the creepy pets while not mentioning the non-creepy ones. The Burlap Kau is definitely the best of the crop, with super soft plush fur that reminds me a bit of Highland cows. There's nice detailing in things like the corduroy snout and iridescent eyes, and while there's some colour, it's kept to light earth-tones as to not feel jarring against the browns. Good stuff.

Least Favorite Species:

Scorchio: Even by new-age burlap standards, the Burlap Scorchio is a trainwreck. The eye-searing teal underbelly is both over-saturated and too low-contrast relative to the brown, creating an eyesore that draws too much attention to a pointless part of the design. There's no real creativity in things like the spikes, and the eyes don't feel like they align to the face properly. The stitched-together wings are a little fun at least, but it's not enough to save this design.

#neopets #neotag #lenny #bori #quiggle #kau #scorchio #burlap #neopet reviews

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r0-boat · 1 year ago

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Ok! So- I wanna draw you some fanart of the Bull farm Au. Is it possible to ask for what kind of horns/bull species all the boys are?

The species are up to the people's interpretation but I have a few to certain people

Volo:

Aurochs

Wild ancestors of today's cattle, now extinct. These guys were big boys! With giant cool looking horns.

I always headcanon Volo's backstory to be that he was a hybrid that was successfully restored from extinction into the modern day. These balls became extinct because of their habitation and overhunting, which probably would explain Volo's hatred for humans now.

(image- wikimedia)

Milo:

Hereford

These cattle are usually mainly used for me but I picked this one because they can be used as a working breed in certain places.

Hereford are also notoriously very friendly despite their big size.

I'm mostly see Milo as a mixed breed of cattle just used for farm work though if I had to pick a breed this would be the one.

Leon

Highlands cattle

Small flooffy intelligent yet silly.

their babies look like puppies.

I looked at Highlands cattle videos for hours.

They're so silly

Why are they like this?

Ingo/emmet

holstein

Standard cattle bread for their milk

(ya horny fucks) I really got nothing for this explanation other than the fact that apparently they're black and white spots are like fingerprints and I think it'd be cool if there's spots and patterns where the same coming out as twins, so they're super rare.

Maxie

Red Poll

I looked for a red cattle with no horns in this popped up, and when I looked at some pictures, I thought it looked like him until I did more research. And it turns out that these cattle are pretty popular because of their fertility rate and production of calves, so do it what you will, Maxie fans.

That's all I have for now if you would like to join the conversation please sending and ask I would love to talk more about Bull farm boys.

I don't have much but I hope you enjoy it anyways I had fun looking at videos of cows being cute.

#Bullfarmau #pokemon imagines #bull boys #hucow fantasy

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thiswasinevitableid · 8 months ago

Text

Greener Pastures (Vincent/Apollo)

Second place of the "First Rodeo" prompt poll was "Greener Pastures. For those who don't know, Apollo was introduced in this Amnesty Superhero AU. Thank you to @bellafarallones2 for playing in this space on Discord!

He was star of the rodeos but now they rob him blind

It took 18 years of Brahma Bulls and life on the line

To get this spread and decent herd but now he spends his time

Pulling night guard.

-Stan Rogers, Night Guard

“How many does that make?” Duck stands from where he’s examining the tire tracks at the southern end of the pasture.

“Seven.” Vincent removes his hat, fanning himself with it, “If they get anymore I’m in serious trouble. The car’s paid off but the house isn’t; I’ve already been to the bank once to explain the situation and they’re not happy.”

His neighbor stands, knees cracking worryingly for a man who’s only 32, “Cops got anythin’?”

“Nothing. I’m small potatoes, Duck, they don’t care about one old rancher losing his herd.” He sighs, “I’ve been on watch every night this week, but there’s too much distance to cover, and they know it. They got the last one out from under me.”

“You want me to help? Might go better with more eye’s on ‘em.”

Vincent considers it. He’s known Duck since he was 16, knows the offer of help isn’t given if it’s not meant.

But if this goes wrong, his friend doesn’t deserve to be hauled into jail with him.

“I’ll think about it. I have a plan tonight; if that doesn’t work, I might just take you up that offer.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vincent leaves a pile of windfalls from Duck’s orchard in the southwest corner of his property, and the cows can’t resist, munching happily as Vincent uses the scant oak trees for cover.

The black R.E.O pulls in silently, lights off. Dulce stomps her feet when the tires stop, but Vincent shushes her softly, petting a flank to keep her calm.

Two figures, the same size and height, leave the cab, ushering one of his heifers into the back of the truck. He can’t move just yet. He needs the proof.

As the truck begins pulling away, he pulls his Winchester from the scabbard on the saddle, takes aim, and fires four shots.

The cattle scatter, panicked, and Dulce nickers, alarmed. There’s two, responding bangs as two tires blow, sending the truck careening side to side before the driver loses control and plows headfirst into an empty drainage ditch. The passenger door flies open and one figure takes off across the road and into the neighboring field.

As Dulce trots over to the wreck, he hears another truck coming. The lights from Duck’s pick-up render the whole sight like a scene from a picture show, and the vehicle is barely stopped before the younger man is hopping out.

“Jesus fuckin christ, Vince, you scared the hell outta me. Thought you’d gone and got shot.”

“I’m alright. I worried the driver might not be. I didn’t aim anywhere near him, but I only got two tires with four shots.”

Duck hops down into the ditch as Vincent shines his flashlight on the door. When it opens, a figure is slumped over the wheel, and his heart climbs up his throat. Then the rustler stirs, groaning, and looks at Duck. His angular face is partially hidden by red glasses, and his pale hair is almost white.

“Hello.” The thief’s gaze moves from Duck to Vincent, then to the rifle, “Ah. I see. I understand my position is not an ideal one, and my bargaining power low, but I would appreciate it if you did not shoot me.”

Blood is running down his chin; he must have hit his nose in the crash. He looks more like a dazed deer than a threat.

“Get him into the house and get my cow back to the herd.” Vincent jerks his light in the direction the other man ran, “I’ll deal with that one.”

Duck nods and Vincent turns Dulce into the starlit night.

The second thief has made it a decent distance, but he’s only heading in the direction of more flat grass and so Vincent does him the courtesy of calling, “You may as well stop now. You won’t outrun me.”

He doesn’t stop, seems to try to sprint, only to fall a moment later. Vincent can hear him cursing the entire time he rides up.

When he dismounts, the man looks up, unafraid and sneering.

Vincent puts the barrel against his throat.

“The safety is on.”

“I know.” He sighs, “I’m not actually going to shoot you. But I need you to understand the gravity of the situation.”

The grin widens, “Coward.”

“Get up.” Vincent stands back so the man can climb to his feet. He seems unsteady on them, though it’s not until his hands are tied and Dulce is kneeling for him to get on that Vincent understands why; his ankle is sprained, though he’s been walking around on it without wincing this whole time.

The short walk back to the house is a litany of insults to his weight, age, intelligence, cleanliness, and parentage. Were it any other day, he’d be able to let it roll off him, remind himself that he’s not interested in the opinions of cruel people.

Were it any other day, he wouldn’t have spent the morning in the bank, staring down the loss of everything he nearly broke his back for.

The rustler thrashes and twists as Vincent helps him down, clearly trying to make a break for the ditch, or possibly for Vincent’s own truck. By the time they burst through the front door, he’s holding the boy by the scruff.

Duck is just hanging up the phone, and both he and the other thief jump at the bang of the windowpane on the door. The thief is holding a frozen bag of peas to his forehead, and in the light of the kitchen Vincent can now see he and the man trying to kick his legs out from under him must be twins.

“Apollo, for heaven’s sake, stop that. Hurting them is not going to do anything but make this hole deeper.”

“I will not be cowed by some fat, old man!”

“Be quiet.” Vincent turns to Duck, “was that the sheriff?”

“Yep.” Duck leans against the wall, frowning, “but he says he won’t send anyone out to pick ‘em up. When Indrid here gave me their names, that made a little more sense. These are Cold’s boys.” He glares at Apollo, “why they’re stealin from decent folk when their pa owns half the fuckin county is fuckin beyond me.”

“It is a long story. But I did tell you they would not send anyone; you needn’t have troubled with the call.”

“You ain’t exactly proved yourself the honest type.”

Indrid bites his lip, “If our actions have caused a financial burden, perhaps we could work it off?”

“At least one of you has sense, and some manners.” Vincent releases Apollo, but keeps a hand on his shoulder.

Apollo flicks his blonde hair from his face, then sinks his teeth into the side of Vincent’s hand.

“God fucking–” he catches himself, doesn’t swing out with his other hand to slap him. Instead he shoves at his shoulder and tries to pull away, tries to pull Apollos hair, but all the man does is bite down harder.

“Fuck, is he part Gila Monster?” Duck tries to pry Apollo off with limited success

“That is certainly one theory.” Indrid pinches his brothers nose, and after ten seconds of spluttering the other twin finally releases Vincent’s now-bleeding hand.

“Traitor! We could have run just then if you’d hit this brick with something.” He kicks Duck in the ankle.

“I am not going back to him.” Indrid says to him with what Vincent is coming to understand as very reasonable fear.

“Coward. Traitorous, useless coward!” Apollo lunges at his brother, but this time Duck is ready with the dog leash from the front door, wrapping it around his wrists and trapping them behind his back.

Vincent hauls the still-thrashing brat into the spare room, muttering, “I ought to put you over my knee” under his breath as he slams the door and slumps against it in the kitchen. Duck is watching him with concern.

“I…I’m sorry you had to see that. I don’t like to lose my temper.”

“Apollo has that effect on people.” Indrid sits back down as Vincent washes his hand and fetches a bandage from the bathroom.

“You don’t think he might have rabies, do you?” He’s only half-joking.

Indrid shakes his head, “It would be nice if it could be explained so simply.” He fiddles with the corner of the now-thawed peas, “I truly am sorry. And I wish I could say that we–or, I suppose, he–will not do it again. But that would be a lie. Father has his reasons for demanding we do such things. Apollo might steer clear of Capra Farms, but he will find someone else’s livelihood to undermine.”

“So, what, we’re just supposed to keep him here like a fuckin lion in a zoo?”

“That may be our best choice. At least for now.” Vincent looks at Indrid, “Can you bale hay and pick fruit?”

Indrid nods, almost eager.

“Duck, I suggest you take this Mr. Cold up on his offer. You need more hands than I do. I’ll keep Apollo here with me for now; maybe once he’s calmed down he’ll see reason.”

And if not Vincent thinks I always was good at breaking in horses.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Knowing when to ignore things is a skill. If Apollo can apply it now, he can get himself out of this. He will ignore the pain in the ankle that fat old goat made him bandage himself. He will ignore Indrid’s betrayal. He will ignore the inexplicable surge of heat that came with his captor threatening to put him over his knee.

He will ignore it. He will bide his time. And then he will take back his car, steal anything and everything of value Vincent Capra owns, and go home.

Apollo supposes he could use the phone in the kitchen to call the cops to fetch him. But Capra has earned vengeance, and that will take time.

When the door to his little room, with its small but comfortable bed and shelf of old books, is finally unlocked, he does his best to walk un-hobbled into the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Vincent does not turn from the stove, where he’s scrambling eggs in the early morning light.

Apollo says nothing, simply sitting down and pouring himself coffee.

Vincent turns, setting a plate of toast next to jam and butter, and the bowl of eggs next to a little vase of wildflowers. Apollo realizes he did not, in fact, take the old man's place at the table; there are two settings laid out.

“I want to apologize for my behavior.” Apollo says with as much sincerity as he can conjure, “my brother had the right idea. I will help around your…farm. To pay back what I owe.”

“Thank you for your apology.” Vincent replies mildly. Then he pauses in buttering his toast, “I’m sorry for how I acted. I doubt you can understand what losing livestock means, but all the same I shouldn’t have threatened you.”

He sets the toast down and Apollo realizes; the old goat is embarrassed.

Pathetic.

“I hope we might be able to start fresh this morning. I have a few jobs you should be table to do without aggravating your ankle.” He holds out a hand, “do we have a deal?”

Apollo shakes it with his best smile, “We do.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vincent doesn’t trust Apollo any further than he can throw him–which, after that bull bucked him in 73 and hurt his back, isn’t far–but at least the younger man can follow directions.

He fed the chickens and collected eggs, cleaned dishes and milked the cow Vincent keeps just for that. He also got himself barked at by Quixote before Vincent whistled at the dog to follow him out to the pasture.

When Vincent sets dinner on the table, the younger man actually thanks him before helping himself to the meatloaf and green beans.

There’s a clink as Apollo sets the fork down, staring at his plate.

“Is everything alright?”

“Why are you doing this? How are you doing this?”

“This being…?” He fills his water glass.

“The food, old man.”

“I’m not about to let you starve, or make a separate, sad meal just to punish you. So, you eat what I eat.”

“But why does it taste so, so good?”

Apollo seems so perplexed Vincent stifles a laugh.

“Because that’s how food is supposed to taste. I may not be a rich man, but butter and salt and nice spices are some of life's little joys,”

“Ah.” Apollo says, understanding without grasping his reasoning.

Vincent assumed Apollo’s life was a luxurious one up until now. Now he wonders if the twins had been like prized stallions, kept too close and penned in for fear of losing their value, greener grass only seen when they were let loose to do their fathers bidding.

“If you want a real treat, I still have cherry preserves from Duck’s last harvest. Can you check the freezer? There may be some ice cream in there that it would top beautifully.”

Apollo balks at the order a moment, but still stands up and opens the door. When he turns and nods, it’s with a far more genuine smile than the one he gave this morning.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

It takes five days for Apollo’s ankle to take his weight, and once it does Vincent puts him to work more concertedly. He spends all of Saturday fixing a stretch of barbed wire, comes in sore and sunburnt but flops into bed after dinner feeling…oddly pleased with himself.

Sunday morning finds biscuits and gravy in the kitchen, with Vincent telling him he needs to run into town for some supplies for dinner. Apparently, the older man observes the silly tradition of not working more than needed on Sundays.

When the truck pulls out, Apollo takes a test jog around the house, and looks over his damaged car. Unless he can lure a mechanic out here, he’ll have to take Vincent’s truck when he finally makes his run for it.

Climbing up the porch steps, he finds Indrid waiting for him with a suitcase.

“Duck drove me back to the house when I knew father would be gone. I got my things, and a few of yours.”

“Good. I’m sick of wearing these hideous hand me downs. The pants are all too short and the shirts all too wide.”

“I was also sent with this” Indrid lifts a basket of cherries, “it turns out Duck’s orchard is prize winning. He also sells hay to half the ranches in the county.”

“I do not care.”

Indrid sighs, “I know.”

“Is he mistreating you?”

“No” His brother looks horrified, “Duck has been wonderful to me. Especially given the circumstances under which we met.”

“Oh. good.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.” Indrid steps down, past him.

“I am not. Now go away. Vincent will be back soon and I want to sweep the house before he is.” He ignores how that sounds and wills Indrid to do the same. His brother cocks his head slightly, but says nothing else as he starts back up the road.

Vincent returns just as Apollo is tossing out the last of the dust and throwing a stick for Quixote to fetch. Dinner is pork chops, apple sauce, and onions cooked brown and sweet. Vincent sips his beer while Apollo sticks to an orange soda.

After their meal, Apollo is looking for something to read in the main bedroom when he notices the photo on the wall.

“That’s you.”

“After my first big win on the circuit. Two days later I put most of the prize money into the account that turned into this farm.”

“Ah.” Apollo feels something dangerously close to guilt.

“I do think I cut quite a figure back then.”

“Yes. Though you have only gotten better with age.”

It’s the kind of compliment that soothes the egos of little men who nonetheless have something the Colds need. Only when it’s out does he understand he means it. The Vincent in the picture, dark haired and beaming, dust on his cheeks, is handsome. The man beside him, grey haired, with more weight to him and more lines on his face, is stunning.

Vincent chuckles, accepting the compliment but not believing it.

“I…I was going to sit. On the porch. To watch the fireflies and…and maybe see if I could spot the owl who has been calling. Would you like to join me?”

Why is it so hard to ask? Why does it seem to take a thousand years for Vincent to answer?

A gentle smile, “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apollo is kneeling by the fireplace. It’s snowing outside, and Vincent sits in the chair before him, fully clothed, firelight making him look like a painting, like the statues of great men in the museums Apollo went to as a child.

The rifle is on his lap and he shifts the barrel out over his knees. Apollo leans forward, taking it into his mouth and sucking. Vincent murmurs that he’s doing well, that he’s so very pretty like this. The gun is not loaded, this he is certain of. Even if it was, he is certain he would not be afraid. It is safe like this, comforting, and as it always does the dream melts into the two of them in the fields, grass green as Vincent takes him into his arms.

He wakes up to the smell of coffee and toast, the way he has every morning for the last three weeks. Apollo is no fool; he knows what his dream means. Knows that every insistence to himself that he did not like men has been a lie, perhaps even the longest lie of his life. He also knows that his brother was kissing that silly cherry grower by the western fence last night.

If Indrid, odd and unappealing as he is, can make someone kiss him, surely Apollo can do the same.

They’re fixing the barn door today; it was knocked off its hinges by a bad summer storm. The chore passes uneventfully, the two of them discussing whether to go into town for a movie on Sunday, when Vincent’s jeans catch on a nail, ripping a hole in the thigh.

“That was close.” The older man checks to be certain there’s no injury, “thank goodness I wore the thickest pair.”

Apollo nods, eyes on the patch of now-exposed skin. There is a tattoo there. An arm and something green, he thinks.

Vincent has a tattoo. And if Apollo does not get a full look at it soon, he is certain he will lose his mind.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been hot enough that, were it anyone else but Apollo, Vincent would assume the suggestion of a swim was solely due to the weather.

But he knows his Apollo. There is always an ulterior motive.

He scolds himself as they arrive at the swimming hole; Apollo isn’t his. He’s working off a debt, and one day he’ll fly off somewhere new, either by mutual agreement or by stealing everything Vincent owns.

That option should worry him more, but it’s hard to view Apollo as a threat when the hardened cattle rustler is animatedly talking about the heron they saw on their walk here while trying to get out of his clothes.

He strips down and climbs into the water as Apollo is distracted by a hawk overhead. When the younger man sees he’s already in, he looks almost annoyed. Vincent does avert his eyes as Apollo tosses his underwear away; he’s swam naked with plenty of friends, but he’s certain Apollo has not done the same. He doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

That worry evaporates when the blonde stands directly next to him, looking down with an intensity Vincent is trying not to read too much into.

Then Apollo huffs, grabs his leg, and sends him backwards into the water.

He twists away and comes up spluttering.

“Hold still!”

“Apollo, what on earth-”

“What part of hold still was unclear, old man?” Apollo grabs for his leg again.

“What are you trying to do?”

“See your tattoo. I need to know what it is of!”

“Asking is preferable to drowning me.” His exasperation is fond as he sets his leg on a rock so Apollo can see the blonde merman inked into his skin.

“It’s…it’s a man.” Apollo blinks, tilting his head.

“Yes. He wasn’t cheap, so please don’t insult him.”

“Do you like blondes?” Apollo’s eyes flick to his face, then back to the tattoo.

“It’s been known to happen.” Vincent lowers his leg back down so he’s standing comfortably.

“Blonde…men?”

“Yes, Apollo.” He says patiently, amused that his clever ranch hand seems so stymied.

“As in you like men to have sex with? While also being a man?”

“That's generally how it works.” He takes a step forward as Apollo goes stiff and faces him like he’s expecting execution.

“I think I would like to have sex. With you. Because I have been having dreams that are about your gun. And sucking on it. When it’s not loaded.”

“Oh, my gun is always loaded.” He teases.

Apollo looks alarmed.

“That was a sex joke.” He says reassuringly, and hazards putting his arms around Apollo’s waist.

“Oh. Ha. Ha?”

Were he being charming, being bold, Vincent would fear this was all an act. But the awkward shyness of it all leaves no doubt in his mind as to what the man in his arms is after.

“You’re an odd little bird, Apollo Cold.” He strokes an angular cheek.

“And that is a good thing?” Apollo sets his hands on Vincent’s shoulders.

“I certainly like it.” He tilts his chin up,meaning only to offer the invitation, but Apollo is instantly kissing him. It’s painfully, endearingly inexperienced, and the younger man seems to know it.

“I, I have not done this before. I am sorry if I am bad at it.” He takes Vincent's hand and kisses over the skin still a little pink from the healed bite.

“You’ve picked up plenty of skills on my farm. I think you’ll manage this one.”

Apollo grins, bright and breathtaking as a sunrise, “I may need a bit more practice. Though I would prefer somewhere less damp.”

Vincent climbs from the water and helps Apollo up after him, enjoying the way his cheeks redden when he’s eye level with his cock. Then he fetches the blanket they brought, lays it out in the shade of a tree, and lays down with his lover in the soft, green grass

#vincent/apollo #vinlo #yeehawgust 2024

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