#vet ranch video

[fanfreakinfiction]

Listen to the Music

Chapter One: Should've Been a Cowboy

Masterlist 🖤

7.3K Words // Joel Miller x f!southern Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x younger/southern!reader (Could be video game Joel or HBO Joel. I like the 2003 timeline though, so we’ll just pretend the 2003 timeline is canon for both.) 

Chapters: 

One - Should’ve Been a Cowboy 

Summary: Jackson gets a jukebox which mean’s Joel has to install it! Annoying for him, but exciting for one certain someone who loves music. 

Tags: Multipart, SUPER slowburn, eventual smut, FLUFF, age difference, M/F, canon type violence, drinking, smoking, alchol, reader gives off innocent vibes but isn’t, Joel is grumpy, reader is southern, corny ass music transitions bc i love it, slight mention of religion (reader is from the bible belt), some mentions of smut.

A/N: Set in Jackson - probably a little out of canon but just rollll wit it. This is also a split POV! Also if you love 90s country music you will like this. I made a Tipsy Bison Playlist for you guys to check out where none of the music was made past 2003. 

Jackson was buzzing, quite literally. Every corner you turned, someone was eager to share the latest news.

"Y/n! Did you hear? Jesse and Astrid brought back that jukebox from the ski lodge! They’re gonna fix it up and put it in the Tipsy Bison!" Olivia shouted breathlessly from the stables' entrance, her jet-black hair falling in disarray around her face.

"Hell 'liv, you ran all the way here to tell me that?" You chuckled, taking a break from shoveling muck in the stables. Your Southern drawl emerged breathy and unusual from not conversing with anyone for the past hour. Wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, you greeted the teenage girl with a warm smile as she rushed to embrace you.

"Well, yeah! Mom said you liked music! Told me to come tell you! Said to meet her and Ginger there at 7:00 sharp!" Olivia exclaimed with contagious excitement.

You laughed, returning the embrace and appreciating the bond you'd formed with the young girl over the years.

The first friend you'd made upon arriving in Jackson was Caroline, a slender woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a mouth that matched yours. Hugging her hip was a young girl, Olivia, with jet-black hair and the same blue eyes. At the time, Olivia couldn't have been more than seven. In the four years since, Caroline had become like a sister to you, and Olivia like a niece. It was bittersweet watching her grow up, but you’d protect that little girl with your life.

"Well, your momma is right about that," you said, tucking a strand of hair behind Olivia's ear. "And I hate to tell ya, darlin', but Ellie beat you to it. I heard about the jukebox from her this morning." You turned Olivia towards Ellie, who was busy in the back of the stables, hunched over a worktable, oiling an old saddle Mike had found during a recent patrol.

"Ellie’s here?!" Olivia squealed, running off to join Ellie at the back of the stable.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you turned back to your work, the girls' excited chatter filling the stables.

As 6 pm approached, Ellie abandoned the saddle for a conversation with Olivia. Although it irritated you slightly, it also warmed your heart to see Olivia making friends her age. In this post-apocalyptic world, friends were a rare commodity, especially outside of safe havens like Jackson.

You were only five years old when outbreak day happened. Your parents were at work, and you were at daycare. You vaguely recalled your daycare teacher trying to stay calm, but panic eventually overtook her as she locked all the children in the bathroom. Your grandparents, miraculously, arrived to rescue you. Your grandfather, a Vietnam Vet who’d served two tours before leaving the military, was also a grizzled cowboy. He owned a ranch where he boarded and broke horses.

The most vivid memory you had of outbreak day was your grandfather bursting into the daycare with a .308 Winchester in hand, calling for you frantically. You recalled him nearly pulling your arms out as he scooped you up, then handing you over to your crying grandmother. Your grandfather reprimanded the daycare teacher sternly, instructing her to get the kids to a military outpost at the airport and then evacuate Tulsa. The exact words had faded from your memory.

You remembered the scent of your grandmother's perfume as you clung to her while she carried you out of the daycare. Fighter jets roared overhead, and you covered your ears as your grandmother hurried to their old Jeep. Your grandfather opened the passenger door for your grandmother, and she kissed your head. During the two-hour drive from Tulsa, Oklahoma, to his ranch, your grandmother had you play a game called "Keep Your Eyes On Jesus," where you'd focus on the silver cross necklace she always wore. That day marked the end of your life in the city and your chances of making friends. Your childhood died on the daycare bathroom floor.

"Helloooo, earth to Miss Y/l/n?!" Ellie's voice suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts as you continued to organize bridles, leads, and cinches.

You turned abruptly. "Hmm?" was all you managed as you met Ellie's gaze.

Ellie pointed to her empty wrist, giving you a knowing look. “It’s 6:20,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

"Shit," you murmured, quickly shoving tack items back into makeshift storage bins. Ellie laughed as she headed out of the stables with Olivia in tow.

---

Joel was exhausted, bone-deep tired. His knees ached, his back throbbed, and a relentless headache pounded behind his eyes. All this fuss over a damn jukebox.

Now, don't get him wrong; Joel loved music as much as the next person, and he understood why the whole town was buzzing with excitement. But he felt like people were acting as if they'd found a cure for the infection, not an old jukebox.

And yet, there he was, in the Tipsy Bison, helping to secure the wiring for the ancient contraption. A small crowd of men gathered around, drinks in hand, watching him work. Not a single one offered to help, and Joel knew why, but it still irked him to have the entire town gawking at him.

"You got time for leanin', you got time for cleanin'," Joel's dad used to say when he and Tommy were watching him work.

"Will it work?" Seth's voice interrupted his thoughts from over the bar.

Joel responded with a grunt as he connected two wires, causing the jukebox to spring to life. The bar fell silent, and Joel felt a wave of annoyance—or perhaps embarrassment—wash over him as he sensed everyone's eyes on him.

Slowly, he stood up from his crouched position on the dusty floor, his knees cracking in protest. He examined the jukebox, its lights aglow with a soft, white hue. However, the interior glass was so filthy that the song list was barely readable. His gaze fell on a doorbell wired to the coin slot. Joel pressed it once, his eyes scanning the various lettered and numbered buttons.

"S2," he mumbled to himself, thinking of Sarah as he hovered over the letter. With all eyes in the room on the back of his head, he slowly pressed the buttons into the old metal board of the machine, each button emitting a satisfying 'click.'

Silence enveloped the room, followed by a whirring sound.

Please don't make me look like a fool in front of the whole town, Joel silently pleaded, not caring to whom he addressed his thoughts—God, Satan, or Buddha.

Another click, more whirring, and then the old jukebox started singing like a canary.

"I'm in a hurry to get things done 

Oh, I rush and rush until life's no fun 

All I really gotta do is live and die 

Even I'm in a hurry and don't know why…"

The room erupted into cheers and hollers as the song "I'm in a Hurry" by Alabama filled the space. Joel released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A hand clapped his shoulder, followed by another pat on his bicep, as various townsfolk expressed their gratitude. He grunted in response, uncomfortable with the attention. He couldn't help but think he preferred it when the town treated him like some cryptid.

"Joel... drinks are on the house tonight. I think this'll be the busiest night since we found that Bud Light truck," Seth said, crossing his arms and standing next to Joel to admire his work. Joel shifted uncomfortably but nodded his thanks to the man.

"So, uh, how does it work with no coins, I mean?" Seth asked, looking at the old doorbell attached to the wiring coming from the coin slot.

Joel let out a soft huff. "That there is the 'coin,' per se. Push it however many times for however many songs, but… I'd maybe limit people to three," he quipped, attempting dry humor.

Seth smiled crookedly. "Yeah, I'd hate to hear the same shit twenty times in one day."

Joel sighed. "Yeah, let me see what I can do about the glass, and it'll be nearly new."

With that, Joel carefully worked the glass out of the jukebox, his eyes widening slightly as he pulled back the grimy cover. He didn't know what he had expected, but this jukebox seemed like a unicorn. As he pulled back the filthy glass, a list of songs greeted him—mostly country music, some '80s hits, and a few oldies like Frank Sinatra. Seth whistled softly behind Joel's right shoulder as the music filled the cozy bar.

"Can't be late, I leave in plenty of time 

Shakin' hands with the clock 

I can't stop 

I'm on a roll, and I'm ready to rock…"

———

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you speed walk through the snow towards your tiny cottage on the outskirts of Jackson. It was a modest two-bedroom, one-bathroom house, but it had a porch with a breathtaking view of the mountains. The unusual emptiness of the streets at this hour suggested that most of the town's residents were either at the Community Kitchen or the Tipsy Bison.

Almost slipping on your porch steps, you chuckled to yourself, attributing it to the icy snow. Unlocking your front door, you immediately shed layers of clothing in a trail leading to the bathroom. Excitement pulsed through you as you started the shower, envisioning the possibilities that the jukebox might hold. Maybe it would play Johnny Cash or some new Alan Jackson track you hadn't heard before. Alan Jackson held a special place in your heart.

Thoughts raced as you hurried through your shower, eager to join the buzz of the town. Drying your hair hastily, you searched for your special occasion jeans. They were a pair of dark-washed Levi's, the kind you'd nearly sold your soul for at one of the general stores. They hugged you perfectly in all the right places and, most importantly, were clean—devoid of stains or blood.

Pulling them up over your hips and buttoning them up, you checked yourself out in the mirror. A dark red sweater with a v-neck and your patrol boots completed the look. You adjusted the silver cross necklace around your neck, a memento from your grandmother, and heard her voice echo in your mind.

"Just keep your eyes on Jesus, baby… we're almost to the ranch."

Breaking your reverie, you felt ready to head out for drinks and music. Slipping into your coat, you ventured out into the sunset-lit, snow-covered streets of Jackson. The Tipsy Bison came into view after a short walk, and your excitement threatened to burst from you. The line outside the bar, however, crushed your spirits.

"No way..." you muttered, coming to a halt. The entire town seemed to be here. You watched from a distance, scanning the crowd until your eyes landed on a blonde-haired woman nearing the front of the line. She turned and made eye contact, flashing a wild smile as she waved you over.

There was a hint of apologetic awkwardness as you joined your friend. Some people in line shot you dirty looks for cutting, but it’s not like the bar’s gonna grow legs and walk away. 

"About TIME!" Caroline exclaimed, enveloping you in a warm embrace as you met her outside the bar. "Ginger's already inside; she got us a spot at the bar!" Her excitement was contagious.

"Sorry! I had to go home and change. I didn't wanna come out smellin’ like a horse," you apologized, returning the hug.

"Oh honey, a shower doesn’t change that," she teased, playfully elbowing you.

"Caroline!" You gasped, feigning offense, and lightly elbowed her in return.

Curious, you peered into the bar, attempting to glimpse over the tall men in front of you. Music wafted out, and you heard the buzz of chatter as people walked in and out.

“It’s a shit ton of Country music," you overheard someone say as they walked away, "Well, what’d you expect from a ski lodge in Wyoming in 2003?” came the retort. Caroline shot you a knowing look, and you suppressed a smile.

The line gradually moved forward, and you stepped into the warm atmosphere. Caroline hung up her coat, and you couldn't help but shoot her an envious glance at her overly dressy top – a pink silk halter tied tank top that accentuated her figure beautifully.

“The hell’d you find that?!” You asked, a mix of curiosity and a hint of jealousy in your voice. It made her cleavage stand out, and it seemed perfectly timed as an unfamiliar song started playing from the jukebox, capturing everyone's attention.

“Her hair was Harlow gold 

Her lips a sweet surprise 

Her hands were never cold 

She had Bette Davis eyes…”

Being on your own for so long after your grandparents had passed had made you lose a sense of pride in your appearance. But being in Jackson, surrounded by other women again, ignited that desire to care once more. Caroline had been instrumental in helping you rediscover your femininity, teaching you how to braid your hair and transform dull button-ups into something more womanly. Caroline had been a high school senior when the outbreak happened, with a life and dreams you couldn't relate to. She aimed for Harvard, wanting to be like Elle Woods from a movie called "Legally Blonde." Those aspirations had seemed foreign, considering your upbringing on the Ranch, where your grandfather taught you to care for animals, garden, hunt, fish, and, of course, how to shoot – and shoot well. 

Caroline was the first person to make you question your beauty, to make something seemingly frivolous in the apocalypse feel essential.

"I believe that caring for myself isn’t self-indulgent, but rather an act of survival," Caroline had told you when you questioned the worth of bartering for old Avon makeup from the general store.

Caroline took your hand, pulling you toward where Ginger had miraculously saved some standing room at the bar. You hardly noticed as your gaze fixated on the Jukebox, where a line of people awaited their turn to pick a song. Your heart sank a little; you didn't think Caroline or Ginger had the patience to wait for you to choose a song.

Stepping up to the worn wooden bar, you were greeted by Seth's crooked smile. "Be back with ya in a minute, ladies," he said, his old hands moving as fast as they could to serve the bustling crowd.

"Bout time!" Ginger exclaimed as you turned to her. "I didn't think Seth'd let me save space any longer," she added with a laugh, her eyes scanning your and Caroline's outfits with admiration. "Damn girl! What'd you have to sell for those?!" She playfully ran her hand over the material of your jeans.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Oh, you have NO idea!" you began, but before you could continue, Seth returned.

"Two whiskeys, please," Caroline ordered for both of you, prompting you to resume your story. "You wouldn't believe it, okay..."

"Here we go..." Caroline rolled her eyes, and you playfully nudged her. Ginger hadn't heard this story before, and you were eager to share.

"I was rummaging through a house right after I'd left the ranch, and I found a Walkman! Battery-operated and a whole box of cassettes," you explained as Seth brought the whiskey back. Ginger listened intently as you continued. "I picked up some of the names I recognized from the pile. I ended up with like 10 tapes and a whole pile of batteries!" You took a swig and leaned on the bar top, facing Ginger, while Caroline leaned on your shoulder, clearly having heard this story many times before.

"Who were the tapes of?" Ginger asked, taking a swig of her dwindling beer.

"So I had an Alan Jackson cassette, I had a Shania Twain cassette, hmm oh! Johnny Cash's greatest hits, which were technically four tapes, one Journey cassette, George Strait, and then I even found a Marty Robbins tape!" You listed the tapes off, trying to recall them all.

"Sooo? What's this got to do with those Levi's?!" Ginger asked, laughing.

"Well, damn, hold on, sister, I'm tryna set the story up!" you retorted with a laugh.

"Anyways," you continued, "one day I'm navigating some thick woods. My headphones are around my neck, and I still have the music goin'. Well, I clipped the Walkman to the hip of my pants, and this fuckin' infected came outta nowhere!" You gestured dramatically with your hands. "This thing fuckin' leaps on me and pushes me up against a tree—"

"—crushes the Walkman!" You and Caroline said in unison, and all three of you burst into laughter, drawing the attention of others in the bar.

Tears welled in your eyes from laughing as you recounted the memory. "I'd never been so fucking mad in my life!" you recalled, trying to catch your breath. "I also haven't cried as hard since the day I lost that thing," you said dramatically as you took a drink. "Almost wish it'd bitten me instead of killin' my fuckin' Walkman," you added bitterly.

"Well, what did you do to it?" Ginger asked curiously.

"The infected? Oh. I fuckin' stomped that thing's head in," you deadpanned, throwing Ginger and Caroline into another fit of laughter. "Like... a lot," you repeated, deadpan again as you took another drink. "Fuckin' thing destroyed my Alan Jackson tape...anyways, I held onto the tapes, maybe out of bitterness. But once I got to Jackson, I traded the tapes for the jeans." Ginger made an "Oooh" sound, nodding as if she now completely understood.

Caroline tapped you on the shoulder, about to say something, when the sound of a very familiar song filled your ears, and you had to bite back the squeal that threatened to escape.

"It's Alan Jackson," you said, your eyes gleaming with a serious excitement that caught Ginger's attention.

"Come on," you said, pulling Caroline with you onto an opening in the bar floor as the chorus hit. You pulled her into a two-step, a dance you had seen your grandparents do every year on their anniversary.

"I should've been a cowboy 

I should've learned to rope and ride 

Wearin' my six-shooter, 

ridin' my pony on a cattle drive 

Stealin' the young girls' hearts 

Just like Gene and Roy 

Singin' those campfire songs

 Woah, I should've been a cowboy…"

You sang unabashedly, as if you, Caroline, and Alan Jackson were the only ones in the bar. Your head threw back in laughter after Caroline begrudgingly tried to match your steps. After a moment, you were so engrossed in your dance that you didn't even realize other people had joined in, dancing to the music. Ginger laughed from her spot at the bar as she watched your and Caroline's forgotten whiskeys.

———

Seth had been right. This was the busiest Joel had ever seen the Tipsy Bison. Brooding in the corner of the bar, tucked into a dimly lit table, Joel sat, nursing his fourth glass of free whiskey.

Shit. If Seth was offering, he wasn't gonna say no to free drinks.

Joel's tired eyes scanned the room as he tried to determine who he recognized and who he didn't. His gaze landed on a particularly familiar set of eyes. Tommy.

He watched as Tommy approached the secluded table, offering a crooked smile to the man.

"Big bad Joel fixed the jukebox?" Tommy teased as he sat down across from Joel.

"Did it for the free drinks," Joel retorted, attempting to deflect the sudden unwanted attention, his face flushing as he averted his brother's gaze.

"Well… you may have just earned some points with Maria," Tommy said with a genuine smile.

Joel smirked back. "Guess something good did come from this after all." He could feel the whiskey settling deep in his chest as he spoke to his brother.

Tommy glanced around at the crowd, but a roar of laughter snapped both of their heads toward the bar. Three women stood a few feet away, listening to one woman tell a story.

Joel narrowed his tired eyes. He didn't recognize the woman engrossed in her story. However, he did recognize the blonde with the revealing pink blouse. She scanned the patrons of the bar like a hawk, looking for her next prey and obviously uninterested in her friend's story.

The woman had approached Joel two days after he arrived with Ellie, asking to bum a cigarette and then bombarding him with a thousand questions as she batted her eyelashes at him. Her name was something like Karen, he couldn't quite recall. But when another bout of laughter reached his ears, his gaze locked onto your form, now less hidden behind the woman with her back to him.

He watched almost mesmerized as you laughed and smiled. Pretty, was the only thing his brain could manage. Suddenly, your face became very serious as you said something that made the two girls howl in laughter.

Tommy cleared his throat after an awkward silence, and Joel realized he had been completely caught staring at you. Their eyes met, and his little brother looked like he was about to say something smart, but Alan Jackson's music broke Tommy's focus.

"Holy shit! I forgot this song existed!" Tommy exclaimed with a nostalgic laugh.

Joel's attention was drawn back to the bar by another bout of laughter. Except, now, you had migrated to the middle of the room. Your arms were placed perfectly on the blonde chick as you began dancing. The blonde appeared obviously embarrassed by the sudden change, making a face of disdain. You laughed, the sound caressing Joel's ears, and he felt something stirring in him. Maybe it was the whiskey, but deep down, he knew it wasn't.

He and Tommy watched carefully as more patrons began to crowd the space, joining in the dance. Tommy let out a huff of laughter, his eyes now focused on the scene. As the song ended, everyone clapped, and Seth, the bartender, felt it appropriate to make an announcement.

"Everyone, thank Joel on your way out! He fixed up the jukebox," Seth declared, and a wave of applause and stares washed over Joel.

Joel could feel a flush creeping into his face at the attention. He cringed inwardly as all he could manage was a stupid smirk while looking down at his whiskey glass.

"Jukebox Joel!" someone in the crowd cheered, and Tommy choked on the beer he was drinking. Joel delivered a swift kick to Tommy's shin.

"Haha! What? Come on… it's better than Jackass Joel," Tommy laughed with a smirk as he teased Joel.

Joel actually let out a soft chuckle at that and shook his head as he looked back down at his empty glass. "Prick," Joel muttered softly as he glanced up at his little brother. "I'm gonna go get another." With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the table and made his way toward the bar to get another drink.

———

"I'm gonna go have a cigarette. Save me a spot!" Caroline swiftly moved to grab her coat, leaving you and Ginger at the bar.

Ginger looked at you. "So how's the stables?"

"Mmm, they're fine. I've recently gotten some help from this teenager, Ellie," you replied as you finished off your whiskey, paying no mind to the man who muscled in on Caroline's vacant space behind you.

"Is she a good help?" Ginger asked as she also finished off her beer.

"Depends on the day," you said with a soft laugh. "She's a great listener, just a little poor on the completion side of things. Like today, I asked her to oil this saddle Mike brought in from a patrol. Olivia stopped by to see me, and sure enough, Ellie just ended up talking with her for the last hour of the day. It's like she won't shut up. I swear, these outbreak babies are somethin' else," you added with an exasperated sigh. "She's a good kid, though. Smart as hell. I'm just mad I'll have to get up early to finish oiling the saddle before patrol." You finished with a final smile as you looked up to make eye contact with Ginger, who appeared as if she'd seen a ghost. She wasn't even looking at you but over your shoulder.

"Ginge?" you asked worriedly, placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her a bit.

"I'm gonna go grab a cigarette," she said hurriedly, shaking your hand off her as she all but ran out of the bar, leaving you standing there stunned.

In an instant, your senses tingled with the presence of an imposing, commanding figure emanating a cocoon of warmth from the shadows behind you. A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine, and a cascade of goosebumps rippled across your skin as you executed a deliberate, almost theatrical pivot to meet the piercing gaze of none other than Joel Fucking Miller.

———

If Joel had a dollar for every face he'd seen turn away from him in fear, he would've been a millionaire twelve years ago. But nothing felt as satisfying to him as watching your little friend scamper off to leave you with him.

He waited patiently for you to turn around before he spoke. His eyes drifted from the back of your head, tracing the contours of your figure, to rest on the soft curve of your ass. The sight made his breath hitch, and his gaze locked onto a familiar little red tag that stared back at him—Levi's.

Fuck  he thought to himself. Those must've cost a pretty thing like you a whole lot.

After what felt like ages, you finally turned to meet his gaze. Your soft, youthful face surprised him. You were young, younger than him, maybe even younger than Sarah would've been.

Your lips parted slightly as you gazed up at him with your fucking doe eyes. His eyes traveled south from your lips to the silver cross around your neck. He cringed internally, his gaze shifting away from your neck as he signaled to Seth at the bar.

"Mr. Miller..." Your voice fell warily from your lips, carrying a soft southern accent that caught his ear.

Joel grunted softly. "Mhmm," he replied, waiting for Seth to bring his last whiskey of the night. He had to force himself to look away from you.

"You're… Ellie's dad?" Your voice sounded sheepish, not in the usual "I'm scared of you" kind of way he was accustomed to in this town, but in a "I messed up" kind of way. He spared a glance at you, noticing how you fidgeted with your hands and struggled to make eye contact, trying to look up at him apologetically.

"Mhmm," was all Joel settled for after a long pause. Your face paled, and he had to look away to keep from laughing.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Miller!! Ellie has been a great help, and I'd love for her to st—" You sounded panicked, and he didn't like it.

"Kid's got ADHD or somethin'. Can't finish anything she starts…unless it's food or a sentence," the words flew from Joel's mouth before he could process what he had just said. Seth rounded the bar at that moment and handed Joel his whiskey.

Joel took the glass and was about to take a sip when your giggle froze him in his tracks. It wasn't a laugh or a chuckle, but a full-blown giggle.

"Haha! She is very food motivated! Sometimes I catch her going for the sugar cubes that are meant for the horses," you laughed as you spoke to him. Joel looked down at you with a crooked smirk, sipping his whiskey as he turned his attention back to his glass.

"Well… uhm, I should probably..." Your voice trailed off with a hint of uncertainty, and from his peripheral vision, Joel could make out a flush on your cheeks as you tried to awkwardly excuse yourself from his presence.

"You let me know if she gives you more trouble..." What the hell was he doing? Was he actually talking right now or was it the whiskey? Slowly, he turned to look at you, his left arm resting on the bar as he slowly set his glass down, shoving his right hand in his belt loop. You were flushed, perhaps you'd had too much to drink? Or maybe it was... nah. He looked into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for a moment before dropping to that stupid silver cross on your neck. He wanted to rip it off your neck while burying himself deep inside you. Your voice brought his attention from your neck and his thoughts to the present, where he stared into your eyes.

"Yeah… I, uh... I will." You almost sounded confused and curious. You were biting your lip, your face still flushed, your hair framing your face perfectly. He had to stop himself from grabbing you by the back of the head and forcing himself on you. "Thanks for fixin’ up the jukebox..." Long gone was the shy demeanor as your words came out like sultry silk. You stared back at him seriously, and he could tell you were being genuine. He tried to swallow the sudden dryness the whiskey had left in his mouth. His aching back and throbbing knees from fixin’ the damn thing long forgotten as he rolled your thanks around in his head.

Damn.

He grunted in response and, with a white-knuckle grip on his whiskey glass, he forced himself to walk away. He passed by you, his form squeezing around yours in the crowded bar as people danced. He forced himself to look straight ahead when your left shoulder grazed his chest as he nudged past you gently. He slinked his way back to his table in the corner, where Tommy and Maria now occupied two of the four chairs.

As soon as he approached, they eyed him and stopped talking almost immediately. Tommy spoke up first with a smirk. "So uh..."

"Shut it," Joel snapped, his words coming out harsher than he had intended, and Maria huffed.

"Be nice. You're on my good side for the night. Don't make that change before I've even had a chance to enjoy it," she glared at him. Leave it to Tommy to pick a hardass for his wife.

"She's nice, Joel, but... she's young," Maria said with a sigh.

He felt angry heat flicker in his belly, replacing the momentary desire. He glared at Maria, who stared right back at him, and he felt his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding.

"Hon, why don't we go dance... enjoy it while we can?" Tommy's voice rang out, and for once, Joel was thankful for his baby brother.

He watched carefully as Maria reluctantly agreed and let Tommy lead her away. Tommy shot Joel a knowing look as he disappeared into a sea of people. Joel settled back into his seat from before, his eyes scanning the now dancing and raucous crowd.

Unconsciously, he found himself searching for you, scanning the spot where you'd stood with your friends, but it was now occupied by some other men.

———

"What the fuck, Ginger?!" You spat harshly as you confronted the two girls who were practically shivering outside, puffing on a shared cigarette.

"What do you mean 'what the fuck'? You were runnin' your mouth about the scariest man in town's daughter!" Ginger retorted, a mischievous laugh escaping her lips. "I wasn't about to stand witness to you getting your teeth kicked in!" she added, taking another drag.

"Wait, you saw Joel Miller?!" Caroline chimed in as she put out the cigarette.

"Saw him?! She damn near insulted his daughter in front of him!" Ginger laughed, and you could feel your cheeks redden.

"I didn't know he was behind me! You could've said something! I had to apologize, standin' there like an abandoned idiot!" You playfully frogged Ginger on the arm, your accent growing thicker with anger.

"Ow!" Ginger winced as she rubbed her skinny arm through her leather coat.

"Wait, you actually talked to him?!" Caroline asked as if it were an impossible feat.

"Well, yeah. I felt kind of bad… Ellie is a good kid, she's just very talkative," you explained, crossing your arms to ward off the cold.

"And he talked back?" Caroline continued her interrogation.

"I mean if you can call a couple of pig-like grunts talking, then yeah, I guess," you replied with a shrug.

"Hmm…" Caroline offered as she gave you a once-over. "Come on, let's get back inside." She headed into the bar, with you and Ginger following behind.

The night passed fairly uneventfully, save for a few men asking for a dance. Caroline, as usual, was the star of the night, charming most of the men into buying her drinks and joining her on the dance floor. Ginger cozied up to a man you recognized from the kitchen, someone she had been with before. You were starting to feel the fatigue kick in when you realized the line for the jukebox had drastically shortened. Excitedly, you made your way to the magical machine, your eyes scanning the list of songs. You were in awe of the extensive selection: Journey, Patsy Cline – one of your grandmother's favorites, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and some you didn't recognize at all, like Linda Ronstadt, ABBA, Earth, Wind & Fire…

You didn't even notice a presence near the bar, watching as you scanned the list in awe. Your fingers guided you, pressing the doorbell button connected to the coin slot, as you had watched so many people do all night. 

Your fingers grazed over the letter "J" for Joe—Jesus. "J" for Jesus, you mentally reprimanded yourself. Then you moved to a number, "5," your age on outbreak day. You listened to the machine click and whir in amazement. Unsure of the song title or the artist, you waited to hear the first chords.

"Came in from a rainy 

Thursday on the avenue 

Thought I heard you talking softly 

I turned on the lights, the TV, and the radio 

Still, I can't escape the ghost of you..."

Leaning on the jukebox, you listened to the foreign song by a band called Duran Duran. The lyrics suddenly made you feel melancholic as you absorbed each word.

"What has happened to it all?

 Crazy, some'd say 

Where is the life that I recognize? (Gone away)"

———

Joel couldn't help himself. He wanted to blame the whiskey, but deep down, he knew he wasn't even close to drunk. From his spot at the far end of the bar, he watched as you walked up to the damn jukebox. You looked like a kid on Christmas, that twinkle in your eye, just like Sarah when he threw her a surprise birthday party with all her friends, or like Ellie at the Museum…

He watched you hesitate when it was your turn to pick a song. His eyes drifted to those Levi's, like they had been poured onto you. The way they clung to your curves made his mind wander. He imagined himself coming up behind you in his kitchen while you prepared to cook something that he had hunted. His chest tucking into the curve of your back while he pressed his hips into the curve of your ass. The thought shot an arrow of fire straight to his groin. Fortunately for him, Maria's voice echoed in his head. "She's nice, Joel... but she's young." He knew Maria wasn't bullshitting him about that. You hardly looked the same age as the women you hung around with.

His gaze shifted from the curve of your hip to the profile of your face. From this angle, he could watch your eyes scanning the song choices. He wondered what you would choose and, for a fleeting moment, told himself that if you picked a slow song, he'd have to ask you to dance. He watched your face crinkle slightly as you read through the songs, likely because you didn't recognize most of them. Sipping his whiskey, he waited to see the outcome.

He observed as your fingers grazed the buttons until making their final destination. He couldn't help but imagine what those fingertips would feel like grazing his body in the same tender way. Your smile lit up when the jukebox whirred to life, and he released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding when the song "Ordinary World" by Duran Duran began playing. It was an odd choice, he thought to himself.

The semi-familiar song filled the now-dwindling bar. Couples still danced, others nursed their beers, and some chatted. His eyes remained locked on your face as you listened intently. He could tell you had chosen the song on a whim, not knowing it. He sat and watched as the once-childlike wonder on your face slowly dissolved into a heartbreaking frown, one that he had seen a hundred times before on different women's faces.

Heat rose on his cheeks as he watched the blonde from earlier drunkenly sling her arm over your shoulder. Suddenly, he felt like a creep for watching you for so long. He turned his gaze back to his now-empty glass as Seth came over to offer him another. Politely declining, Joel stood up slowly, adjusted his coat, and, feeling a pang of regret, he slipped out the side door of the bar.

"But I won't cry for yesterday

There's an ordinary world

Somehow I have to find

And as I try to make my way

To the ordinary world

I will learn to survive"

———

"Come on, kiddo… time for you to walk me home," Caroline hummed in your ear, her arm slung around you. Her alcohol-laden breath pulled you out of your self-wallowing music session. You slid your left arm around her waist, providing some balance as she leaned her head on your shoulder.

"My dad loved Duran Duran…" Caroline slurred into your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine. She had only mentioned her father once before, and it had been followed by a request never to bring it up again. Hastily, you changed the subject and led her to the entrance of the bar to retrieve her coat.

You grabbed her dark purple barn coat and draped it around her shoulders, making sure she was bundled up, then zipped up your own coat tightly. Caroline took your hand as you began to walk, leaning heavily on you. It had to be late because as soon as you stepped outside the Tipsy Bison, you felt your hair freeze. Both your and Caroline's breath fogged up the space in front of you as you surveyed the mostly empty streets of Jackson. Caroline's house was on the other side of town, and you mentally prepared yourself for the chilly walk ahead when Caroline made a mumbled noise into the crook of your neck.

“‘S lookin at you all night..” she murmured as you helped her navigate the snow-covered streets.

"Hmm, darlin'?" you asked, guiding her carefully.

"He was lookin' at you!" she repeated, a bit louder this time.

Confused, you adjusted your hold on her to prevent any accidental slips that could bring both of you down in the snow. "Who was lookin'?" you inquired, but she didn't reply. Suddenly, she went limp in your arms, and you let out a soft yelp at the abrupt change in weight.

"Carol?!" you called, trying to stifle a laugh as she put her full weight on you. "Shit. How much did you drink, darlin'?" you groaned, realizing that you were going to have to carry her home.

The walk across town to Caroline's house had left you wide awake. After taking her shoes off and tucking her into bed alongside a peacefully sleeping Olivia, you left the house quietly, ensuring the door was locked behind you. Stepping back out into the night, you were greeted by the sight of the quiet town, blanketed in snow with darkness settling in. A shiver ran down your spine as you took in the serene atmosphere.

You began your journey toward your own home, which lay on the opposite end of town. However, as you walked, your thoughts wandered back to the saddle that Ellie hadn't finished oiling. Despite your tiredness, you knew that if you went home now, you'd simply lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep. With a sigh, you turned on your heel and headed back towards the stables, your hands shoved deep into your pockets to ward off the cold.

As the stables came into view, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. The door was ajar, and a soft light spilled out from within. You knew you had closed up for the night, and the thought of leaving a kerosene lamp burning in a barn full of hay and the town's most prized mode of transportation was, unthinkable.

An uneasy thought crossed your mind; maybe it was Maria or Tommy, someone needing to head out for a late-night patrol. However, such occurrences were rare unless there was an emergency. With cautious steps, you entered the stables as quietly as you could, your senses on high alert.

To your chagrin, you found the horses calmly chewing on the hay you had left for them hours ago. The pit in your stomach deepened as you scanned the area, trying to discern any signs of an intruder.

"H...Hello?" you called out, your voice sounding uncharacteristically shaky even to your own ears. You couldn't help but think sarcastically, Oooh, very threatening. In that moment a thought crossed your mind that maybe Jackson was making you soft. You stood there, waiting for a reply, but there was none.

Confused and still on edge, you carefully followed the source of the soft lantern light. It led you to the back of the stables and into the tack room, your footsteps echoing softly in the enclosed space.

There, almost right where Ellie had left it, you saw the saddle that Mike had found on his patrol. However, what caught your attention in the dimly lit room was the unmistakable sheen across the leather. It gleamed in the lantern light, catching your eye immediately. It had been fully oiled, a stark contrast to the untouched condition it had been in earlier when Ellie had been working on it.

Confusion wracked your body; did Joel make Ellie come back to oil the saddle? Your fingers gingerly rubbed the leather between your fingers. No, this wasn’t Ellie’s work; this was oiled to perfection. Ellie was a good kid, hell, a great kid considering all the other children who’d grown up in this hellscape, but she oiled saddles like she was pouring syrup on pancakes. No, this had been done by someone with skill and experience.

A soft smile crossed your face as you reached for the lantern. Maybe Joel Miller wasn't the monster your friends had told you about after all. You'd have to ask Ellie in the morning. 

As you stepped out of the barn, relocking everything up for the night, you couldn’t shake the warm feeling in your gut. A feeling you hadn’t felt since you’d eaten your last meal with your grandparents... a feeling that scared you.

Unbeknownst to you, a dark figure across the street watched from the shadows, illuminated only by the orange glow of his lit cigarette as he leaned against a column under the roof of the general store. Joel took a drag from his cigarette as he watched you relock the barn for the night. He tried to tell himself the warm feeling in his chest was from the cigarette he'd been puffing on, but he knew better.

Joel took one last drag from his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and crushed it beneath his boot before heading home, maybe something good came from that damn jukebox after all… he thought to himself as his eyes followed your form walking off into the snowy darkness of Jackson.

[luinhealthcare]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well! I just got home from spending all day at the vet school. My feet hurt so bad, I don’t know how you people do that on a regular basis :P I’m a bit of wimp tbh

What are the hc boys’ favorite ways to unwind and decompress? Also who do you think would give the best massages? 🤔

I highly recommend compression socks if you don’t wear any, they make a world of difference in preventing pain in your feet, ankles, and knees! :)

Four likes jigsaw puzzles, the more complicated the better. He also likes video games.

Hyrule loves to be outdoors and exploring. He’ll go hiking, spelunking, kayaking, rock climbing, anything. Wild often joins him. They don’t get home until 1-2am, and no it totally wasn’t because they got lost in the woods.

Speaking of Wild, he also loves cooking and sharing that with others! He likes to meal prep before a work stretch so he can unwind with delicious food and little energy use.

Legend loves exploring cities that he’s traveled to for work. Libraries especially are a favorite of his. He and Four will also go to the bookstore together.

Time really just wants silence and time with his wife. Some nuzzles and a ride with his favorite horse is always nice too. But he rarely says a word when he really needs to wind down.

Sky will binge watch tv shows and sleep and exist and play his lyre. He often isolates himself out of low energy reserves but would really rather just quietly exist with others.

Wind plays video games and loves stargazing and sailing. He and Four often play games together, and he and Sky will go stargazing a lot too.

Warriors likes to unwind with people. He’ll go out for drinks and laughs, hang out at the ranch, watch a movie with Sky, go to an escape room with someone (they all go to escape rooms but Legend, Hyrule, Time, and Four in particular love them), anything that involves hanging out with others. When he’s socially drained, he’ll go for a run alone. He runs every morning.

Twilight just wants to be alone to decompress. And by alone, I mean no people - he absolutely wants animals around him. He, like Hyrule, will go out in nature. Unlike Hyrule, Twi will proceed to start a conversation with every animal he finds, however brief, and giggle when they scurry around. He often goes to the ranch and just disappears for hours with the animals. As he trains Wolfie, the two go exploring nature together. He will also spend time with the quietest members of the group, name Hyrule, Wild, Sky, and Four.

As for who gives the best massages, it’s Twilight, hands down 👍🏻

[cushfuddled]

Rabbit abuse videos: what to look out for

The internet is just SO rife with rabbit mistreatment and abuse. Rabbit videos rake up millions of views and everyone gushes over the cutesy lil' bunny doing something quirky and I just lose my mind all over again.

Some recurring bits to watch out for:

"Watch this rabbit take a bath!"

Rabbits should never ever be bathed (except as directed by a vet, given a dangerous health situation). Bathing is extremely stressful for rabbits, and damp fur can lead to ear infections (serious) or hypothermia (deadly). Regular bathing also wipes away the natural oils that would normally keep a rabbit's fur clean.

"My rabbit is only calm when I cradle him like a baby!"

When you hold a rabbit in your arms with the rabbit flipped on its back, you're inducing something called tonic immobility, wherein the rabbit is so stressed it resorts to playing dead. That's not a relaxed rabbit, that's a paralyzed rabbit.

"This rabbit once lived in a tiny cage, but now it has full reign of my ranch!"

Free roaming, wherein rabbits are allowed to "free roam" your entire home, is the ideal living situation for a pet rabbit. Rabbits are generally easy to litter box train (there are some exceptions, the same way some cats are fussy about their litter boxes). Cords can be fenced off, and chewable items can be placed on shelves. In a situation where complete free roaming isn't possible, the House Rabbit Society recommends a rabbit pen size of 8 square feet—though I personally would go for something more like 5x8 ft at the smallest! Rabbits should also get 3+ hours of exercise time a day when they're allowed out of their pen to really run and jump around the house.

You'll note my use of the terms "home" and "house." You can keep your pet rabbit outside, but this introduces risk factors like extreme heat, extreme cold, rain, snow, predators, illness, and poison. You'll need a predator-proof, weather-conscious shelter and access to a large, safe area for your rabbit to get those daily 3+ hours of exercise. You'll also need to provide them with adequate weather support (like heat lamps or frozen water bottles/tiles), and be ready to bring them inside when temps become dangerous (anything below like 25°F or above 80°F). You can usually let a rabbit run around your uncovered yard for a while so long as you're there to supervise, but you can't just dump them in the yard with a hutch and a timothy hay bale and call it a day. That rabbit can now be picked off by predators (neighborhood cats or dogs, coyotes, hawks, snakes, etc.), eat pesticides, litter, or poisonous plants (like ivy, daffodils, buttercups, poppies, rhubarb leaves, etc.), fall prey to mites or parasites, catch RHD from a nearby wild rabbit, die of heat stroke or cold, escape the yard and get lost/hit by a car, or even just get into something sharp or heavy in your yard and hurt themselves. Leaving a rabbit to just wander around a giant property is reckless and cruel. The rabbit does not need to free roam your whole yard to be happy; in fact, the rabbit will be less stressed and (statistically) live much longer in a sheltered environment.

"This rabbit gets along with my predator animal!"

Not all these rabbit-dog or rabbit-cat friendships are dangerous (some cats and dogs and rabbits, under the right conditions, can become friends)—but the nature of social media means content creators are often incentivized to capture cute viral moments at the expense of their animals' safety. Just something to consider with channels that produce lots of "prey and predator animal friendships"-style videos.

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Is Vet Ranch any good? They upload (or at least used to) animal surgery videos, and seem to be actual vets.

going to need more information than that.

[bradshawsbaby]

My dahling, you asked for a Rhett Abbott thought?? Maybe some thots in between?? (lol).

Spring is your favorite time of year with Rhett because the land around your house literally looks like The Shire. When you were building your dream home, Rhett kept asking if you could build a hobbit hole instead of renovating the place you got (lol). But the place is just as cozy and maybe more so.

It's old but you and Rhett make it your own. There's always some house plants in the windowsills and plenty of wide windows to let in the sunlight. The house is all full of wood and stone and the kitchen window has the pretty little yellow gingham curtains that Cecelia's mom made. Near the stairs is the old Swiss grandfather clock that Royal's mother brought with her from Switzerland after WWII (I'll have to send you the story I have for Oma Heidi, I cried while writing it) and in the living room is an old rocking chair that Royal's grandfather had made in the 1920s. Most of the other stuff is antiques that you guys have come across at the stores and shops downtown with Rhett and Royal having spent hours in Royal's woodshop restoring them.

You and Rhett love when spring comes because you can pack away all the heavy winter flannels and duvets and put out the ones for spring and summer. They're all soft pastel yellows, greens, purples and blues that you've collected and made over the years. You even taught Rhett how to knit and how to crochet even though he still insists his hands are too clumsy for it. You've made and fixed his shirts so many times that he's lost count and he always gives you "the look" whenever you give him a little twirl to show off the new dress or outfit you've made.

Your house has also become the ranch's unofficial animal hospital and nursery for the baby animals and strays. So far the nursery consists of Timothy, a little field mouse that was found in the chicken feed sack with a broken leg (Royal made him a tiny little leg splint from a toothpick, lol), Bambi, a little female dairy calf, Wilbur, the piglet who was the runt of the litter and needed to be bottle fed, Pinky and Alberto, a male and female chihuahua pair that Rhett found in an alley outside the Wabang General Store and Hazel and Clover, two little cream colored bunny rabbits that had escaped from a hoarder farm. One of the toughest yet was Chewie, a setter-spaniel mutt who's owner had given up on him because of a growth that had gotten really big on his mouth. You and Rhett immediately took him to the vet and had the growth removed and in no time at all, Chewie was eating again and had become your unofficial helper in the field when he had healed. And it's thanks to his sharp nose too that you and Rhett never have any trouble with pests or unexpected visits from your animal neighbors.

I may have to do a part two to this my dear because there's so much to go through (lol).

Stop, the animal hospital and nursery?! I’ll cry 🥺 I’ve been weeping over every animal video I’ve seen lately! Timothy the field mouse with the broken leg?! My heart can’t take it!

Ugh, I just want to live this simple, sweet little life with Rhett ♥️

[platonicallylovesick]

Me, under a yt video about a controversial yt vlogging family who keeps ranch animals: "My actual biggest fear is becoming someone like DayByDay. I dont have or come from money, I'm going to college for ranch management, and I want to dedicate my life to these animals. Its unlikely but like im so terrified of being too unknowledgeable and ruining animals like they do, its scary."

Random commenter: if you want to study in Animals , RANCH MANAGMENT IS NOT THE WAY TO GO . Go ask your Vet to become an animal assistant at the Veterinary clinic ,where you will gain greater knowledge about various animals

What the fuck is it that compels EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PERSON to take "i want to work with animals" as "I want to be a vet." Even when I specify that I'm old enough to be planning college and that im going into ranching, they all instantly go "Oh!! You must want to be a vet!!"

[insipid-drivel]

I came across your horse FAQ post, which was really great.

I thought you would enjoy that’s there’s a company out of Scotland called Highlands Unbridled, that does week long hours treks.

They have right on their website, that if you arrive and you can’t ride properly, they will cancel your trip completely. My vet is going on one, and they had to send a resume of their horse experience, and videos of their riding abilities, before even being allowed to book their trip.

I can only imagine the people that try to book with zero knowledge that get turned down quite quickly.

Hnnngh, that sounds like an awesome service for cash-strapped riders! I don't think there's anything wrong with pay-to-ride trail rides, but when you've had enough experience riding to hold your own, they can get stale. Even the horses often seem pent up and bored.

It's been over a decade since a rode seriously, mostly due to health problems caused by a busted gallbladder that made riding extremely painful for me, but I've since had my gallbladder removed so it's no longer a risk to me anymore, I've been getting healthier, and I'm starting to feel the itch to get back in the saddle again o_o

Anyway here's a story about how I almost died because my trail riding horse got overexcited and I only encouraged him:

So, I live up in the Pacific Northwest in the US. If you've never seen it or been there yourself, the landscape is very similar to the landscapes in the British Isles, including Scotland (I lived in the UK for a little while, over in Stratford in Warwickshire, England). I was living in Oregon at the time, and hadn't ridden in a bit, so my mom decided to buy us slots on a trail riding tour. The area the trail took us through was gorgeous - green fields, steep gullies, tall hills, and forests. It was after I'd had to retire from regular riding, and I was depressed because we'd just moved away from the ranch I was working at as a stable hand, so I was going through full horse-withdrawal. It was after the 2008 economic crash, too, so I knew we'd probably never have the money to afford me going back to riding seriously again, and I was too disabled from my gallbladder to work in the stables.

We arrive, and everything is as boilerplate and dry as any other all-skill-ranges-allowed trail rides. The horses were doughy and sleepy and bored. They were already tacked up and lined up waiting for everyone to pick a horse and fumble up into the saddles. I was grumbling under my breath about it, because I really dislike hopping on a horse that was tacked up by someone other than me. If a shitty tacking job is gonna get me killed? Then it's gonna be my shitty tacking job.

The ride starts off painfully boring. We're moving at the slowest walk ever - I've literally warmed up horses on the lead rope at faster paces - and this was before smartphones and good signal, so I couldn't just check out and let the horse carry me through the trails while I took selfies and farted around on social media. The scenery was pretty, but oh my god, I was practically drowning in my own horse's boredom.

We finally arrive in the heavily wooded part of the trail ride, and come upon a steep dip in the trail with a near-vertical wall of scrub and trees to my left, and a ravine so deep on my right so deep that you literally couldn't see the bottom.

My mom gave me a look at this point, because now she's dying of boredom, too. She's like, "I can feel this horse's soul dying under me," and I'm like, "Just the horse's?"

So my mom suggests we give our horses the command to stop walking and hang back. We were the last two in the line of riders, and the path we were taking was too narrow for horses to walk side-by-side, so nobody noticed us not keeping up. We kept our horses waiting at the top of the dip in the ravine, and it wasn't until the last person in the riding group was around a bend and out of sight that we started signalling to our horses, "Hey, we're not noobs, want to cut loose?"

The horses both seemed to answer, "Hell. Yeah."

My mom takes off on a gallop, whooping with glee as her horse bursts forward, down the slope in the path, and back up to the top. It was less than 1/4 mile, so she was well within eyeshot when she turned herself around to see me follow her. Like I said; the trail was too narrow for us to run it together, so she went first.

This is why I hate riding on some other person's tack job. I gave my horse the signal to cut loose and gallop, and as soon as my horse reaches top speed going down a hill with a ravine to one side that promised certain death, that the combination of the summer sunshine sweats + a loose fucking belly cinch that my saddle started sliding down my horse's right side toward the Death Ravine.

I am officially In Trouble, and the world around me literally slowed down like I was suddenly underwater. I stopped hearing normally. Everything went in slow-motion as the "Oh god, if I don't fall correctly, I'm fucking dead," played in my head, combined with my memory shrieking my mom's old SCUBA training at me that she raised me to believe: "Panic and you die."

All of a sudden, my right thigh tenses up on its own, and with more force than I could account for, my leg - seemingly of its own volition - jettisoned me off the slipping right stirrup to the left instead, and I was able to tuck and roll into the scrub and land on the high side of the trail and not tumble to my doom down the ravine. I was bewildered, because I was completely unharmed, and on god, I swear I didn't know anything about how to actually tuck and roll. I'd been told how, but I'd never, ever had to do it before.

It wouldn't be until years later that I'd find out I have Dissociative Identity Disorder (Multiple Personalities) and one of my alter personalities took over and saved my life that day.

Because despite what movies like that bullshit Netflix trash "Splitter" would have you believe, DID can actually be pretty fucking amazing and save lives.

[thewolfwarriors]

Florida!HTTYD Book AU

(specifically Florida Panhandle! AU) 

Like Hiccup, I too grew up around an archipelago of islands full of venomous and dangerous reptiles! (Had a couple of close calls too!) I went kayaking, boating, hiking, fishing, you name it! Unfortunately, growing up in Florida meant I had to deal with Floridians. So, again, like Hiccup, I ran into lots of...characters.

This idea started off from me making a joke to my brother about how Madguts would be a Trump supporter and drive a Ford ages ago. Then it all went downhill from there. (Honestly, I could write a whole post on Florida!Madguts alone.) Someone in the reblogs of one of my posts also wished for it. This one goes to y’all.

Incoming cursed-as-hell long-ish post:

Main Characters:

Hiccup - from a military family, can't go in the military because he can't pass any of the boot camps, works with his friend Fishlegs, obsessed with Marine Biology, scored 6s on the FCAT every year,

Fishlegs - Works at Publix, Wafflehouse, Coram's, Whataburger, etc., almost dies regularly from horse and yellow fly bites,

Stoick - giant, fat beach dad vibes, retired vet, always wears a big polo or Ron Jon Surf Shack Shirts with polarized sunglasses on, boomer Facebook profile, Corona beers, Margaritaville, drives a pontoon called the Fat Penguin, sold his old sail boat the Peregrine Falcon to Humungous Hotshot,

Baggybum - Marines, never takes off his raybans, goes hunting constantly, camo jackets, guns guns guns, Bass Pro Shop

(Basically, Stoick loves saltwater and Baggy loves freshwater)

Snotlout - Military brat, sports scholarships, ROTC, loves the beach, riding four-wheelers and going mudding, 

Bertha - school bus driver, ROLL TIDE, "You might be a redneck if...", Basically just Nanny-Maw, “plaid shirts with the sleeves ripped off” lesbian vibes, Blue Ribbon or Busch beer I can’t decide

Camicazi - loves the mud, always doing dangerous stunts on whatever motorized equipment she can get her hands on, constantly catching frogs/possums/snakes and brings them inside

Others:

Madguts - definitely wears a MAGA hat, drives a Full-Size Heavy-Duty 2022 Super Duty F-450 King Ranch® Pickup (tailgates EVERYONE), spits tobacco, hot boxes his trailer on a regular basis, runs a crime ring in the boondocks(drugs, dog fights, or simply selling stolen goods), divorced 4 times, Rob Zombie, meth, breeds Pitbulls,

Gumboil - also spits tobacco, Malboros, always rides shotgun with Madguts in his Full-Size Heavy-Duty 2022 Super Duty F-450 King Ranch® Pickup, Alabama Crimson Tide merch, has like 14 trucks he swears he's gonna sell and turn around in his yard, always speaks in inappropriate countryisms

Needless to say, but they're both huge gun enthusiasts and drink Bud.

Thuggory - listens to Butt Rock and Pop Country, Y'all Means All, camo and plaid long sleeves, well fitted Levi's, does everything with his Dad

Humungous Hotshot - Lives on the Peregrine Falcon, “#saltlife”, hooked on fishing, Hooters, sandles with socks underneath, Hawaiian shirts, GOLF, Panama Jack,

Tantrum - not even from Florida, prefers to be in the Keys, comes up to the Panhandle with Humungous so he can see his friends, "#beachbabe", This Video, Ed Hardy

Gobber the Belch - Thunderbeach, drives Harley’s, drives to Alabama to buy illegal fireworks, scary Wafflehouse chef, also Snotlout and Hiccup’s football coach/history teacher

[polijakefim]

❤️ Travis Fimmel ❤️

Travis Fimmel On Publicity And Hollywood: 'I Never Wanted To Be An Actor, Still Don’t

The star of 'Vikings' would prefer you not to notice him, thanks. 

He’d prefer if your mind wandered elsewhere – to things sublime, mundane, ridiculous, whatever. Consider the new, bezel-less iPhone; ponder your own mortality; think about a new gym regime that might add some lean muscle to your frame. It doesn’t particularly matter – just kindly move your thoughts elsewhere. Grazie.  

It doesn’t take particularly long to realise it, but not being noticed is one of the driving forces in Travis Fimmel’s life. Sometimes, it seems like his reason for being.

It’s why he bought, moved into and started renovating a ranch outside of Los Angeles. (He tried the Hills, WeHo, Malibu and Santa Monica.) It’s why he stopped going to parties in West Hollywood and started going down the road to an RSL-like venue frequented by Vietnam vets. It’s why he drives a Chevy pick-up, not a Maserati (or a Tesla, if you’re that way inclined). 

But here’s the upsetting thing. Fimmel’s chosen vocation is wholly built on being noticed; on being sampled, considered and propagated to audiences, then bought, distributed and translated into audiences even larger still. Being noticed is in all of Fimmel’s contracts.

Most upsetting for Fimmel is that, against all odds, this farm-raised Victorian is particularly noticeable.

He’s good looking, he’s fit, and, above all else, he has that ethereal quality that feels more and more difficult for actors-on-the-make to grasp these days: presence.

It’s why, in the early aughts, Calvin Klein decided to do what they’ve never done before: reportedly offer an unproven male model a one year, six-figure, worldwide deal to model exclusively for CK. (Klein himself has described meeting Fimmel for the first time: “So he walks into my studio, into my office, and it was like drop-dead… His presence was jaw-dropping. I called Steven Klein right away and said, ‘Don’t do anything. Just put him in the underwear and put him up against the window’.”)

The resultant underwear billboards gave Fimmel a decades-long reminder that, in life, some things will follow you forever. That presence is also why, against every convention of logic and industry, Fimmel secured a flight to Ireland – and the biggest role of his career, as stoic Scandi-warrior Ragnar Lothbrok in Vikings – by having a friend film an audition tape in a farm kitchen.  

Here’s the rub – you could spend a thousand pilot seasons with a thousand actors descending on LA; smoke a thousand confessional Malboros at Golden Globes after-parties, push veterans and rookies to reveal their darkest truths, and you’d never find an actor more reluctant than Travis Fimmel. 

We don’t mean reluctant in an, ‘aw, shucks’ kind of way. We don’t mean faux humility, or even overachieving insecurity. This isn’t schtick. This is entirely serious. 

“I just fucking came out here and tried to do it,” says the 38-year-old, when asked to describe the moment he realised he could be an actor. “I did a class. I never wanted to be an actor, ever. I still don’t.” 

Happily, things just seem to be going that way for Fimmel.

Vikings, treasured by critics for arresting cinematography, purist character arcs and a refreshing absence of gratuitous T&A, is coming into its fifth season. His upcoming slate of feature films is stuffed with an abundance of brilliant co-stars: from Sevigny to Whitaker to Buscemi. 

Fimmel says that none of the things he dreads most – from auditions to publicity, much like this – have begun to feel easier.

“I hate it. Absolutely hate it. It’s very unrealistic. There’s people that like to get up and talk in front of people. I wasn’t the kid that enjoyed reading out loud in class,” he says of casting meetings. “I’ve walked out halfway through, embarrassed, plenty of times. I put myself on video tape. I can’t remember the last job I got from actually auditioning. It’s horrible. Nervous, sweaty, embarrassed. I feel like a little monkey. I just panic. I get out of there.”

His agents, he says, are understanding about it. They know him pretty well by now – and they realise, wisely, that it’s not going to change.         

But while auditioning usually becomes less and less relevant to actors with the kind of momentum that Fimmel now has, publicity skews the other way.

As Fimmel, the formerly reluctant underwear model, and presently reluctant actor, becomes more prominent, studios, television producers and magazine editors only get hungrier for his face and time.

“You just have to do it. But it doesn’t get easier,” he says. “You get a bit more selective about what things you do. You try to do one thing that gets seen, so you don’t have to do five.”

Count GQ flattered.

“It’s always uncomfortable,” he adds, singling out head-scratchingly incongruent product endorsements that have nothing to do with his work. “That’s the worst thing, you have to promote stuff that you don’t like at all. Yeah. You’re just lying the whole time, mate.”

The panacea for all this, according to Fimmel? Isolation. Hence the ranch. Hence the commute. 

About an hour north of LA, he has a plot of land, a few horses, a motorbike. It’s a little more mountainous, but still comfortingly similar to his childhood in the little town of Lockington, Victoria, near Echuca.

“I don’t love living in town. I’d rather be home. I hopefully won’t be doing it for too much longer. I just want to make a bit of money and get home.”

This becomes a recurring motif of our conversation – Fimmel would, and will, go back to Victoria as soon as his career allows it. He says this over and over, without a hint of disingenuousness. 

“Shit mate, if I had the money, I’d have been home two years ago. You need a fair bit of money now to get a big farm in Australia – it’s so expensive. Unbelievably expensive. I’d love to be back – but I’ll be here for a few more years.”

With the conversation becoming more and more concise, it’s a worthy time to take stock of Travis Fimmel, the man. 

With gentle probing, he says this much – he’s not afraid of being typecast. He loves his TV crew. He despises social media – those around him learned to stop asking “long ago” if he’d start using it (shout-out to his 700k Instagram followers: that’s not him posting).

The last two things to deeply frustrate him were the tools missing from his woodwork shed, and the fact that his dog refuses to come to him when called (“embarrasses me in front of friends, every time”). He’s still maddeningly bashful about his modelling past (“I just did that modelling thing to get a visa over here. It’s really embarrassing mate, but what am I gonna do – not get a visa and make money?”)

One thing Fimmel makes unmistakably clear is his current passion: renovating his ranch, solo.

“I’m fixing it all up. The shed. Renovating the house. Putting up fences,” he says. He started renovating the house itself a while back. “I’m down to doing exterior stuff – the trees, building stuff on the deck.”

When we ask what he enjoys so much about it, Fimmel inadvertently stumbles into his real mission; his actual raison d’être. You know, the kind of thing that keeps a reluctant actor acting.

“I enjoy doing that stuff,” he says, stomping around the grounds, bathed in mid-afternoon sun. “I enjoy seeing nothing there, doing it, then seeing something that wasn’t there before.”

[cowboy-garfield]

can I have some backstory for your name?

Tekis born and raised so that kind of culture already permeates my life (most of the more heavily populated areas kind of don't have the "cowboy culture" but the region I lived in my formative years Absolutely did lmao. (Also my mom used to be a an ag/ranching vet tech and both HER parents were homesteaders/dairy farmers. She knows p much everything to know about that world and I grew up hearing her stories and stuff)

Tried typing an elaboration out like 3 times, but no matter how I shake it, it's just a little more personal than I want to get into on a site that is known for making bad faith assumptions lmao. I mean more than just queerness but this video essay is great, particularly about not shying away from uncomfy stuff re: cowboys

3. I've had a Garfield special interest since childhood. I adore that orange motherfucker so much I want to own all the Garfield merch on the planet specifically from the 80s. I don't really read the comics (though I did as a kid) ik they're pretty lacking in substance but he's like peepies or furbies or finfin where it's just. Little soft guy I'm fucking insane about. But he's a senior member of that club with Identity Stakes so.

4. This fucking image is certifiably part of my identity at this point. I shit you not, the only reason I haven't actually bought the damn shirt is because it would be too powerful. i would turn into an orange gollum. It's also already on my big Garfield themed water bottle as well as literally printed out on my wall. I'd be wearing that shit constantly. I already have a ton of Garfield stuff as-is, people would think I'm nuts. Which my GAD would never stand for lmao

[demolitionranchmerch]

Demolition Ranch Merch

Matt Carriker is an American YouTuber. He was born on October 23, 1986, in Boerne, Texas, U.S. Matt is famous for his YouTube videos. Matt started his YouTube channel in 2011. Demolition Ranch (7.49 million subscribers), Vet Ranch (2.85 million subscribers), and OffTheRanch (3.24 million subscribers) are his three YouTube channels. Other than YouTube, he also practices veterinary medicine at Fair Oaks Ranch Veterinary Clinic. Buy Demolition Ranch merch here!

Demo Ranch Merchandise Demolition Ranch Merch Website Demo Ranch Merch Store Demolition Ranch Merch Uk Demolition Ranch Merch Australia Official Demolition Ranch Merch Store New Demolition Ranch Merch Shop Demolition Ranch Merch 2023 Demolition Ranch Merch Long Sleeve Demolition Ranch Merch Women's Tee Demolition Ranch Merch Hoodie Demolition Ranch Merch T Shirt Demolition Ranch Merch Shirt

#demolitionranchmerch #demolitionranchmerchandise

[tomkiesche]

Go team! Butch was rescued by @laanimalrescue who once again came through! This is yet another rescue I am a fan of. I posted a video of Butch a while back. I have never seen a dog leak so much poo or shoot poop out when he coughed. No dog deserves to land in a shelter. However, it goes for Butch… I am happy it won’t end with him behind metal bars and on concrete floors. I look forward to hearing about Butch’s journey. And I trust he is in very caring and capable hands. Repost from @laanimalrescue • Butch is safe! He was on borrowed time and we had to give him a chance! When I picked him up on Monday I really wanted to post his freedom announcement right then but seeing the condition he was in broke my heart and challenged my spirit. He’s going to require a lot of vet care, time and love! PLEASE DONATE to help BUTCH. ❤️🐾 Right now the plan is to work on getting him healthy (skin and digestive system) and then we’ll schedule the neuter and mass removal on his tail. He got antibiotics for skin infection, allergy shot, blood panel, fecal test, skin scrape, X-rays, medicated bath, and meds for his soft poop. This guy has not had an easy life! It’s so incredibly sad that people neglect animals and then discard them like trash. Leaving him tied to a pole? Really?! L A Animal Rescue is a non-profit 501(c)3 animal rescue run by volunteers & your donations. We currently care for over 250 domestic and farm animals between our rescue ranch and foster network. HELP US CONTINUE HELPING MORE ANIMALS BY ❤️🐶🐈🐷🦆🐔🐴🐰🐦🦎🐐🐢❤️ 🔹 Sharing our posts which gives our animals more exposure 🔹 Becoming a monthly donor or making a one time donation 🔹 https://www.laanimalrescue.org/donate 🔹 PayPal: info@laar.org 🔹 Venmo: @laanimalrescue (last 4 digits: 1658) 🔹 Zelle donate@laar.org 🔹 YOUR DONATIONS ARE TAX DEDUCTIBLE #laanimalrescue #animalsanctuary #dedicatedtotheanimals #safehaven #laar #nonprofitcharity #butch #bulldog #medicaldog #abandoned #meatball #hotmess #englishbulldog #meathead #thelongroad #timetoheal #thisisrescue (at Friends of North Central Shelter - Los Angeles Animal Services) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmwWV-BrgcL/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sahmandbean]

How to Build a Ranch Home in The Sims 4 Like a Nerd

Ah, the Ranch. The Ranch is as American as Apple Pie... kinda. More on that in a minute. If you are looking for the perfect one-level family home that is beginner friendly, wildly customizable, and nearly everyone has lived in at some point, this is the build for you. Let's build!

If you prefer video tutorials, you can find that here.

The Ranch home originated in the American Southwest in the early 20th century, descended from styles like the Spanish Colonial, and started its spread across the states in the 1940s. Most have basements, where climate allows. This style is extremely versatile, which explains its popularity, and it was featured in popular at the time Western films, so it’s basically a movie star. This house can be anywhere, any size, and is as American as apple pie. (Apple pie was actually invented in England in the 1380s and wasn’t popularized in America until WWII, which is actually like the Ranch.) Anyway, although there are five subtypes of Ranch homes, they all have a few things in common: one story, although finished basements really add to the living area; open floor plans; low roofs; porches at front and back; family-oriented living; and are fairly simple shape-wise. One last fun fact: the main reason these homes took off was due to WWII vets receiving home loans upon returning to the states had few options, thanks to the Great Depression, and opted to have simple and stable Ranch style homes built. Alan Hess, author of The Ranch House, said “While architects in Western Europe and the Soviet Union met the need by building high-rise-apartment blocks, Americans created a consumer product that people wanted to buy. And that was the ranch-style house. It deserves respect because it solved the housing crisis of America in the midcentury.”

Floorplan

You will enter into the main living space, which has the living room at the front and the kitchen at the back. Of course, there have been many modifications and adaptations over the years, but this is Building like a Nerd so we stick with as original information as possible. The backyard-facing kitchen allowed the hardworking mother a clear view of her children as they played in the large backyard. Most bedrooms will be on the main floor, although some can be added to the basement if you have one. The overall footprint will be a rectangle, with front facing bump-outs on the left, right, or both sides. These homes were created with family life in mind, so a large deck and multiple child bedrooms are very common.

Exterior

The siding will be brick, siding, stucco, or some combination. This is a great build to use the wallpaper options that have automatic columns on the corners because it is so simple you likely won't have any issues with angles and whatever else it is that bugs them out. A garage is pretty key, but you can always use it as a gym or office space since we don't have cars...

You have a lot of freedom when it comes to landscaping. Simple suburban classics like a couple of hedges and hydrangeas are as applicable as a full fledged flower bed.

Interior

Because this home was so heavily featured in Western movies at the time of their initial construction, homes across the nation adopted the Western décor style. Patterned wallpapers, wood, paneling, iron decorative elements, and so on were incredibly common. The kitchen would be large enough for one or two people to cook together comfortably, with an island or table nearby for easy homework supervision. Bathrooms will be plentiful, as this is a new enough style that indoor plumbing was a major consideration.

If you want to bring the Ranch into the 21st century, try these tips:

Replace all that wallpaper with some nice, plain, neutral paint

Instead of having siding and brick on the same wall section, break it up to have only siding on some parts and only brick on others (or stucco or stone or whatever else you are using; they ain't picky).

Update cabinets and bathroom fixtures.

If you would like to check out my build, it is on the gallery. My ID is sahmandbean and the lot title is Ranch Suburban Shell.

If you want to learn more, you can find all my resources in this Pinterest board.

You can find the full original video tutorial here.

Thanks so much for building with me today! I developed such a new respect for the Ranch home when I researched all of this, and all of those random western wallpapers suddenly make sense.

[ifoundasquirrel]

Going to quote The Wright Ranch Rescue

***

This is the reason a rehabber should be located right away for babies that you find. This babies picture is after the 3rd time I cleaned his sinuses.

Keeper -“hello I found a baby squirrel a couple weeks ago and it was fine but now it’s not eating and acting sick and squeaking when it breathes, CAN YOU HELP IT?”

Me- “I am definitely not a vet but you can bring it to me and I can try and save it”

At this point I already know what is going on. It has been aspirated and now has pneumonia. Without antibiotics this baby will die. But I haven’t told her that yet.

Keeper -“ After you fix it can I have it back? I wanted to have it as a pet”

Deep breath Vanessa, Deep breath!!!

Me-“no you may not have it back. If I can save it then it will be released as it should be or you can choose to not bring it and it will die”

30 minutes later I received a text message that the little squirrel is in a box in front of my garage. She didn’t want to talk to me I guess 😊

Pray for this baby. Antibiotics/ breathing treatment and some pedialyte on board now resting in the incubator.

***

This video is hard to watch but it’s the reality of the choice too frequently and unfortunately these extreme cases are only becoming more frequent…

Please use your state resources or somewhere like Animal Help Now (http://ahnow.org) to locate a rehabber asap when you find orphaned or injured wildlife. Remember that for the baby to have a best chance all it needs is safety and warmth from you…

[faithtitta]

Demolition ranch cameraman

Demolition ranch cameraman series#

Demolition ranch cameraman windows#

Videotaped on early VHS equipment, the quality of the tape is not up to today's standards, and the camerawork is poor, to say the least. And it was Helen who also kept alive the family histories - including that saloon owner's poor opinion of her marital future.Īround 1980, Helen Comstock sat in her garden on a summer's day and made a 110-minute oral history that is presented here exactly as it was recorded, but divided into seventeen parts. It was Helen who saved the house after the 1969 earthquakes toppled the south chimney and shook plaster off the walls, despite Santa Rosa's subsequent redevelopment fever that led to the demolition of so many other old and beautiful buildings.

Demolition ranch cameraman windows#

Helen resisted the advice of "experts" over the decades who tried to convince her that the woodwork should be painted a nice clean white, and that the old place would be made brighter if the cathedral windows were replaced with clear glass. Comstock, who made it her home for about 51 years, all told. The preservation of the 1905 Comstock House is mainly thanks to Mrs. "A great mistake, Wilson, they'll never make it - his family's too damn aristocratic." The 1918 marriage of the farmer's daugher and the man who became a Superior Court judge did indeed "make it " Hilliard and Helen were wed for almost fifty years, and raised five children. It’s a busy life for the 30-year-old married father of three, but the chance to play with awesome firearms and get creative seems to be paying off."Wilson, I hear your daughter's gonna marry Hilliard Comstock," the barkeep of Santa Rosa's fabled Senate saloon said to farmer Wilson Finley, according to family legend. He generally does one or two videos each week for Demolition Ranch, and another for Vet Ranch, a veterinary channel that uses viewer donations to provide animals with lifesaving surgeries and veterinary care. Once he’s done shooting, Matt goes home and edits everything into a finished video. It can be a slow process moving the camera to different spots on the ranch or just setting up targets, but Matt almost always does it by himself. Matt shoots the videos himself using a simple handheld camera and a GoPro. You might think that with a channel this popular, Matt would have some help putting the videos together, but it is almost entirely a solo effort. Matt shot everything from razor blades and spark plugs to glow sticks and Mentos out of his shotgun and YouTube viewers ate it up.

Demolition ranch cameraman series#

One of the things that really helped Demolition Ranch reach more viewers was a series of videos featuring custom shotgun shells. He is willing to make fun of himself and try goofy things. While there are no shortage of firearm channels, what sets Matt apart is he is likable and doesn’t take himself too seriously. That ranks right up there with the biggest gun channels on YouTube and it’s showing no signs of slowing down.Īll the credit for the growth of Demolition Ranch goes to Matt. It took Demolition Ranch a little while to find an audience, but it has been growing rapidly and now boasts more than 1.7 million subscribers. He is a huge gun enthusiast and he likes making videos, so YouTube gave him an outlet. As the editor of TFB sister site ATV.com, I was able to borrow a tricked out UTV and secured a couple of 3D zombie targets from Delta McKenzie for use in a Demolition Ranch video.Īccording to Matt, Demolition Ranch came about while he was in veterinary school around five years ago. Some weeks later I made my way to south-central Texas with a video producer to talk to Matt in person and learn how and why he makes the videos he does. As luck would have it, he was happy to oblige. A couple months back I reached out to Matt Carriker, the man behind the wildly successful Demolition Ranch YouTube channel, to see if he’d be interested in working together on a project.

[herefortayloronly]

So the guy who attempted to assassinate trump wore Demolition Ranch, a gun YouTuber, merch. And I remember the guy who owns the Demolition Ranch channel used to be veterinarian at a vet clinic where they make videos for YouTube on the channel called Vet Ranch. And i used to watch those vet videos a lot! This is so wild because I literally haven't thought of Vet Ranch in years!!

I wonder how he is now lol. Like is he a trumper now? Like a full on trumper? How is his family because I used to watched videos of him and his family too.