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This is so stupidly Gator coded.

#fargo gator #gatorcore #gator tillman #gator coded

Bold What Applies to Your OC Tag

Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh

tysm for the tag, @the-golden-comet! These two boys are very busy:

SHILOH

RUCK

Template under the cut!

#writeblr #tag game #tag games #writing tag game #original characters #coyotecore #gatorcore #coyotebackstabbycore #writing #original writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing community #writerscommunity

💚🐊Alligator🐊💙

Unisex XL • Unisex S • 6-7 Child's

Unedited pics for your viewing pleasure:

💚💙💚🌍🌎🌏💚💙💚

Playlist Personality Tag

As always, I will probably put too many words. 🤠 But whatever,

Y E E H A W

Shiloh

Fun Facts:

His favorite musical arteest is Juice Newton.

ABBA's Angel Eyes is a sorta theme song for this version of Shy.

Ruck

The song that inspired Ruck many years ago is:

He was just a kid when I first wrote him up.

As a western character, his musical stylings are far more Colter Wall.

Fun Facts:

Ruck's greatest talent is music (guitar/singing) in modern and old western verses alike. He squanders it in both to be a no account criminal.

In modern times, he likes redneck & blues rock.

#OPEN TAG #playlist tag #writeblr #original characters #spotify #playlist #oc playlist #oc aesthetic #coyotecore #gatorcore #writeblr tag games

I got tagged in this one a few times; thank you all! My characters aren't too varied in the height department, but here's a slew of 'em.

#writing tag games #height comparison tag #original character #height chart #writing tag game #coyotecore #gatorcore #love this one

👶🏼 A character proves helpless.

Hello there, fellow Davy! (omg do we have the same theme, too!? Truly we are #twinning ✨) I present: Ruck trying to eat while worrying about his romantical compadre gettin' hisself killed: Important context: said compadre asked him to burn vs bury him much earlier on, and the burning of Ruck's farm was the catalyst to this whole debacle of a tale.

Pharady slipped into a bar stool and ate politely while Ruck leaned against the counter and picked at his food. His heart still wasn’t in it — not now, knowing his companion was in Stonetree where he’d narrowly avoided being shot through the heart the other day. A picture of him prone on the dusty street with a sucking chest wound invaded his mind, and he blinked it away. Where one nightmare ended another began, shifting into a too-real glimpse of his body swinging lifeless from the gallow. Sprawled on a jailhouse floor, peppered with bullet wounds, his pale eyes frosted over. Dumped into a mass grave on top of two or three strangers, dirt shoveled on top of him.

Don’t put him in the fuckin’ ground. You cain’t bury him.

How could he build a pyre? Wouldn’t he lie down and die, too? How could he set fire to what was left of his world after everything else had already burned?

#writeblr #writeblr ask game #inbox games #writing tag game #davywrites #western #gatorcore

The writing share ask game is so good! How about these:

🧨 A scene involving destruction. and/or 🚬 A moment a character was in the wrong.

Thank you, friend! ♥ I'll give a double-wrong character moment. (That's also kinda destructive?) Ruck rights a wrong by drowning an old outlaw in the river:

Curtis watched the man stride down toward him. He had been drinking from his flask from the moment he tore off on Andorran toward the river. It dulled what was left of his conscience and soothed his frayed nerves, but it made it difficult to make out Ruck’s fist moving in the evening light or the wild of his eyes until he’d been slugged hard in the temple.

The outlaw had fought a hundred fights. He could take a hit, even if it jarred his vision and made him stumble on his bare feet on the rocks. He dropped the boots he was holding and swung back, but he wasn’t as quick or as angry as Ruck, and he had far more whiskey in him. His fist was blocked by a raised arm, so he slammed the other into the robber’s ribs and they traded a dozen blows before his fist was deflected into Ruck’s chest and the southerner crumpled like a push puppet into the river.

Curtis was right behind him, snatching the little knife he carried out of his pocket. He lunged down with it to bury it between Ruck’s ribs, but his arm was caught and twisted, then he was swung down into the water. In an instant his wrist was held down under the frigid water and Ruck was on top of him, forcing his head under the shallow but fast-flowing water. When he could not raise up he panicked, and the knife slipped from his grasp. It swept downriver while he bucked and thrashed, but he was only able to break the surface of the water enough to take a few gulps of air before his strength waned.

He drew water into his lungs and clawed at Ruck, but all he could see was the wildly shifting silver of the moon through the water, and the silhouette leaning over him. He would have used his last breath to curse him if he could speak. He had thought of Arabel, free without him — of Cohen, lost without him — but in the end, Curtis Fontaine died full of the animal hatefulness that defined his last years.

#writeblr #ask game #ask meme #writing tag game #oc tag game #davywrites #gatorcore