#american curly horse

[deadendranch]

BENDING IT

Just doing a little fun barrel racing today. We haven't gotten the real barrels to the stable yet, so we just used some old tires, which worked just fine.

Both Larke and I had a lot of fun doing this, and even if Phantom (DER Phantom Force) is quite inexperienced in this, he surely has barrel racing blood in his veins. Didn't take him long to understand how it worked! Larke rode 'her' horse Jammies (OCS That's My Jam), and had a lot of fun with it too.

When she was younger she dabbled a lot in the barrel racing thing, and now she is just looking forward to doing some cow horsing, when she gets slightly older.

When we came into the barn Mateo was working on getting a hay spill off the floor.

"Whatcha doing, darling?" I asked him, not really succeeding in hiding my laughter.

"This stupid horse just spilled hay all over!" he grumbled, though I knew he wasn't exactly angry at the horse. I knew he loved them all, but extra work wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Larke just laughed in the background, before going over to give her dad a great big hug.

Phantom clearly loved when I scratched him, though his butt more than anything.

"Can you bring in some carrots, when you go by the feeding room on the way out?" I called after him.

"Yeah!" he yelled back, and exited the barn with the full wheelbarrow.

Before Mateo got back inside I caught this tender moment between Jammies and Larke. She really loves that mare, of that I am sure! And I also know that right now she cannot imagine riding any other horse. She will have to help with the young curlies in time though, just as Sorine will.

I just hope the twins won't be like the worst enemies for much long, and will make up. It's exhausting with their teenage drama about silly things, even if I know that's just how they are right now and some years forward.

#OCS That's My Jam #DER Phantom Force #DER Concealed by the Moon #american curly horse #American Paint Horse #Western #winter #pole bending #barrel racing #Dead End Ranch #DER #Larke Thorne #Mateo Lopez #Mette Thorne #Bridlepath #Equality Sims #the sims 3 #the sims 3 pets #sims 3 horses

[i-am-church-the-cat]

I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

#my writing #wip #is it a wip? im not sure #i still have more in my head but im sleepy so here #loscar #maxiel #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #formula 1 #f1 rpf #flower shop/tattoo parlor au #alternate universe

[blueberryarchive]

𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

୨ৎpairing: cowboy!jm x reader x preacher!jk

୨ৎword count: 5k

୨ৎgenre: smut, horror, angst

୨ৎtw: dead dove do not eat, mentions of death and gruesome details (human and animal), blood, mentions of arms and physical violence, cursing, smut (blood drinking and playing, period sex, rope play, degrading, dub-con, groping, penetration)

An Ewe and the Captive Bolt (a serie)

Today was his birthday, and for the first time in 28 years, the sky looked like a sheet full of spots. He felt ever since he saw Sirius and Canopus in the sky as two little white suns the night before, that this year was going to be different.

What Park didn't know was that what would be different was the pain he felt on the left side of his arm and his chest. The hot, thick blood soaked his shoulder and eye until it covered his eyelashes. The battered hat clutched in both dusty hands as he entered Carmen's diner, a child's shame on his tight lips.

The poor girl behind the counter dropped the key lime pie from her hands, creating even more noise in the place (which Jimin didn't appreciate being in such a state).

"Christ." She murmured, still static.

"Be a doll and bring me a glass of water, would ya'?" Jimin crawled to one of the seats, grunting as he felt his muscles burn.

The girl approached with a small towel and a terrified look.

"Never seen blood before?"

"No, sir." Her brown eyes were like two walnuts bouncing between Jimin's face and arms. She was adorable, her face round and her hair so curly that she reminded him of his sheep. If she hadn't been the sheriff's daughter, he said to himself every time he saw her.

"Are you hurt, sir? I can call my daddy and-"

"No need for that, sweetheart." He raised his hand. The last thing he needed was to have Montrell in his affairs. "It ain't my blood, it's my horse's"

Apparently, that seemed to affect the young woman more. Jimin was a little offended by her reaction.

"Why don't you bring me a piece of that delicious key lime pie you had in hand and two coffees."

There were more questions in her curved eyebrows, but she just nodded and walked away. Park took off his shirt, leaving a tank top underneath it, with the handkerchief that he kept in his jeans, he began to wet his hands and his face.

His fingers were still shaking from the adrenaline. The shrill sound of the car's tires driving away, the heated laughter cloistered behind the smoked windows, the last sharp sigh of his horse before Jimin ended his suffering. He had to find the bastards who ran over his horse. FH-6077, he read the plate in the distance before crossing the curve, and his brain couldn't stop humming the six digits like a prayer.

The sudden hand on his shoulder calmed the waters, the undoubtable smell of myrrh and tobacco from his companion.

"Happy birthday, buddy." His voice was gentle. If Jungkook ever went above a couple of those decibels, Jimin assumed he was going to die. Even seeing Park's bloody hat on the table and Park's bloodstained boots, he didn't flinch to ask.

Perhaps it was his ecclesiastical nature that gave him the confidence that at one time or another, others would fill the silence with their confessions. But Jimin could see in the father's noble eyes the desperation for an explanation.

"Sure." That was all he said. The girl approached the table with the pie and the coffee.

"Goodnight, Father John." She smiled widely.

"Night, Billie. How's your dad?"

"He really liked your mass today. I did too, I really liked the reading." Jimin noticed how the corners of Billie's lips twitched, contorting herself to try to look prettier for Father John. So obvious and adorable, but of course, Jeon would give nothing more than a shrug and the most predictable questions.

The difference is that Jungkook could fuck the sheriff's daughter. What father didn't want his daughter to be in the sacred hands of Father John?

Father Jeon (or John due to the Americanization of Jungkook's family) was tall, wide like a log, and robust like an unhorned bull. Attractive in every sense, but bland, shy until it hurts.

"'M glad, tell him I will visit Missus Davis next week."

"Do you have a smoke? I'm dying in here."

They both looked at Jimin who was just smiling with his mouth smeared with whipped cream.

"You can't smoke here, sir."

Jimin winked at her, grabbing the white stick that Jungkook handed him as he also sat down to end the unbearable flirting.

"I know, pumpkin. It'll be a quick one, I promise."

The girl didn't say anything else, and she walked away. Disappointment in her walnut eyes.

"I'll marry her in two months." Said Jungkook.

Jimin frowned. Jungkook curled his fingers, pointing for his friend to come closer and light the tip of the tobacco.

"Marry her? You can barely tolerate the poor girl."

"I love her." The father stated as he nodded slowly while he drank his coffee. "She's a good girl, I think she likes me, too."

"Are ya sure?" Jimin joked.

"Where's that bad hoss you've been riding since last month?"

Jimin's blood warmed again, the drags on his cigarette even longer.

"Fuckin' punks ran over 'im and broke his ribs. Had to do it." He pointed to the gun under his hat. The bloody clothes reminded him how clumsy he sure looked trying to pamper a horse that was already three steps away.

FH-6077.

"I'll find them tomorrow."

"I'll help you."

"What are you gonna do?"

They both looked at each other, the watery, electric current between them. Ideas undulated and braided between their cruel smiles.

"Haven't changed a bit, church boy." Smoke weaved into Jimin's blonde hair, his devilish smile vaporizing memories of his teenage pranks.

Jungkook drank the last of his coffee, his face falling back into the same bitter sadness that every father held as if he carried the weight of all the souls and sins of Rivermouth on his back. The silence was long afterward, the black night extended to the mountains, to the sky, to Park's own reflection in the glass. The round face with pronounced lips and rude, detailed eyes, sweet when they feel like it. The spitting image of his mother.

"I have some hippies coming to the ranch tomorrow."

Jungkook nodded, the pressure in the handle increasing, the clack of the cup being clenched by his teeth in a sip. Jimin knew he shouldn't have mentioned the hippies, but it was that ecclesiastical power. He knew that Jungkook hated the smell of pot, the long hair, and the colorful t-shirts, which reminded him of his father, previous father John.

God knows what Jungkook had to witness, the carbonic stench that emanated from that charred skeleton. The tongue pressed between two pieces of blackish board that used to be teeth. The fetid fat that ripped and curdled in the organs. There was not a day in which the poor man did not think about that before going to sleep and found himself face to face with the featureless face of his father, with the incinerated bowls pointed at the eyes of his son. Sitting in the chair under the cross that has sat on that wall since Jungkook's birth.

And Jungkook cried. He would close his eyes and every night, he would grab the skull and make it crunch under his thick hands. The body did not defend itself, it let its boy vent as if he were a sacred entity and knew that at the same time, the next day and every other day, he would appear again in that chair, and Jungkook would never be able to exhaust his anger against him.

"I have to go." It was the only thing he said leaving a ten dollar bill in the table. Park understood. "Go fetch a new hat from my house tomorrow, it's about time you threw that shit in the river."

"Hey."

Jungkook turned around. Jimin stopped smiling.

"Take it home in the morning, I'll make you breakfast before the rodeo."

Jeon looked at the floor with uneasy eyes.

"We'll see."

As he left the diner, the fresh wind conquered the father's soul. Nostalgia washed away his stony face and for the first time in years, he wanted to be a child again. Disappear with Jimin and sleep in the old hayfields of the abandoned Hillside.

He put on his black hat and started walking down the dark street, both hands in his pockets.

Today the smell of boiling fat was stronger than ever, the ghost of his father floated in the swirls of Rivermouth dust and, with it, the remains of the children who were later taken from that same cabin.

The white lace curtains let in the yellowish light of the first rays. The unmade bed, the smell of pine in the sheets.

In one corner of the bed, Park was dressing for the day, the muscles in his shoulder had swollen with the hours and makeshift cloths covered the open, bloody sores. Every so often, he hissed and swore under his breath.

The coffee began to gurgle in the kitchen as he finished putting on his boots, it was barely 6:30, but he already had the eggs frying and the beans hot in the pot. It seemed strange to him that his companion was not already sitting next to the window, Bible open and the first cigarette of the morning in his hand.

He turned off the stove just in time and poured himself a cup. Today he felt more domestic than ever, he had spent the night fixing every detail in the ranch, from the dust on his late mother's china to the rifles displayed in the hallway. To be frank, he spent the entire night cleaning every corner, maybe detailing every object in every room so that at the end of the weekend nothing would be missing, or the crash made him remember how little he's done in 28 damn years.

A porcelain jewelry box his mother had placed in one of the rooms was covered in a thin layer of gray dust; it was his mother's favorite piece. He hadn't opened it since the last time he stole a couple of pearls to buy his first rifle, the red stained his face with shame, and the only thing he could do as an apology was turn the house over with his own handkerchief and clean even the windows. He was surprised that the smell of lye and soap hadn't killed him.

Hearing one of his sheep bleating, he opened the window and decided to lower his chivalry a bit and smoke his first cigarette before Jungkook arrived. In the distance, he could see one of his ewes, fat and terribly woolly, walking slowly towards the barn. She was pregnant and Jimin knew that there were maybe 24 hours left, her skin was bulging, and her bleating was painful and whiny, she couldn't take it anymore.

The curtain caressed Jimin's face with the wind that was beginning to warm up, he took a drag of the cigarette and turned his body towards the kitchen. He felt a strange itch in his chest, the kind that bothers him when he senses a spirit floating near him. The greenish branches and the smell of sausages were mixed up with the subtle gallop of a skinny horse and the unexpected smell of myrrh.

He walked to the front door and opened it to find Jeon's promised hat. He sighed as he saw that not only was it one of his black deathly-looking hats, but he had also planted him at breakfast, sure to go see the grandmother of his very unexpected but predictable fiancée.

Long story short, Jimin had to eat four cowboys' breakfast and the whole pot of coffee, and the hat he would wear to the rodeo today didn't match his outfit at all. Dozing was the only thing he could do after loosening the buckle on his belt and putting the hat on his face.

The leather furniture was sinking under his body, the soft song of the river in the distance, and the birds pecking at his roof took him back to his childhood. Sleeping wherever he wanted without any purpose. He dreamed of the gallops of his first horse: Champ, a Tennesee Walking that had belonged to his grandfather, black as coal, glistening in the sun of his student days and running like a devil in a hurry. He dreamed that he was in public showing the animal to auction it.

"How do you encourage a horse to move forward, Sage?" A woman in the audience shouted.

"I don't know, kick his ass or something." Heavenly laughter coaxed him out of his lethargy.

His body sat on the furniture before he knew it, sweat covering his back, veins marked on the left side of his face. He ran with the unconscious weight of his body to the window, pushing the curtain aside with his finger until he saw the circular corral where his star horse, Arrow, was located, with a stranger on his back.

His fingers reached for the rifle lying on the rocking chair.

The blonde girl staggered on top of the animal while her thin fingers held his hair tightly. The horse's sleepy eyes moved from side to side, snorting as he searched for direction.

"Come on, horsie!" The girl snapped her teeth and laughed as the horse curved to one side. "Are you seeing, Hunter? It's moving."

Hunter was smiling foolishly, lying on the grass, his thin, wavy hair fluttering around his ears like a delicate flower. The dark glasses covered his wounded deer's eyes.

"You're such a cowgirl, my love." His voice was sarcastic.

And with a shot into the air, silence muted nature. He silenced the current, the clucking of the chickens that fluttered in the distance. Hunter, Sage, and Blondie turned to the cowboy who walked slowly across the grass towards them. A whistle from the stranger caused Arrow to raise his front paws until Blondie fell with a screech to the hard ground.

"Kitty!"

"Woah, cowboy." Jimin's silky voice approached, placing the buttplate of his rifle on his shoulder, aiming directly between Hunter's eyebrows. "Move slowly, ya wouldn't want to scare an alarmed man any further, now would ya?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

Blondie or Kitty or whatever her name was, rolled her red eyes.

"What the hell are you doing on my ranch?"

"Let's go, Hunter. I'm not going to talk to cornman." Sage was the tallest of them all, her shorts squeezed her thighs until they were overflowing, and her hair was long like a beach princess.

"Watch your fucking language around me, missy." Gritted Jimin removing the safety on the rifle.

"Sage, for once do you want to shut the fuck up."

Hunter raised his hands, sweat beginning to gather on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes shone as he heard the heels slowly approaching behind Jimin.

"Love." He exhaled.

"Is this part of southern charm, Mr. Park?" Coquettish, the dying accent of someone who once lived in these parts, daring, too much for her own good. But still, he lowered the gun, spitting on the ground.

When he turned around it was as if a pink burst of glitter and vanilla had slapped him from the stupor of sleep. The glasses were square and large, they covered almost her entire face, that was the first thing Jimin saw.

"Ma'am, are these your friends?"

"We are your visitors, cornman." Jimin ignored the Californian's irritating nasal whine as the sweet girl in front of him approached little by little with a smile. He felt the itch again, the one that senses a spirit floating nearby, this spirit was the nebulous memory of your face.

"Could you speak again, ma'am?"

"Sorry?" You laughed, and it was like birds were chirping in your throat. "You're Ari's son, right? I really liked the jams your grandmother used to make."

And oh, it couldn't be more obvious. It couldn't be more evident, not even because God had exploded your name in the sky. It was the stunning makeup and hair wax, it was the sequined heels and Patsy Cline songs reverberating from the old speakers. It was your name in the newspaper almost every week.

It was your sailor costume, the jam falling from your humiliated face, it was Jimin's hand caressing the bulge in his jeans that same night on top of the hay, imagining how you ate the strawberry jam that his mother made.

Now you called yourself Love, the name was as obvious as you were. Of course, your hippie name is Love.

"Miss Peaches '57." His voice was soft and trembling. Your eyes opened in surprise.

"Gods, I didn't even remember that title." You put your hand on your mouth, dressed as a Hollywood girl but your loving manners were indelible.

"Excuse me, where are my manners? Jimin Park." He raised his hand for you to place in yours, light and trusting. A chaste kiss to the back of your hand without stopping to see your eyes behind the orange glasses.

"You can call me Love."

"A sight to sore eyes, Love."

"Always." You responded. Jimin swallowed hard, trying to hide that nostalgic smile, 'pure in every way. With that same smile, he invited the four to go through their rooms, the tension subsiding fluidly with each laugh that came from your blessed lips.

It was as if you said one thing and the sun came a little closer, deorbiting out to your echoes, warming the room and Jimin's cheeks.

"Can you help me look for my suitcases?" You touched the shoulder of the cowboy who agreed and guided you to the front door. Like the good boy his mother raised, he opened the door for you, and outside stood a Packard Caribbean: long, yellow, and sleek as a sunflower.

"Nice ride."

"Thank you, it's from Hunter's dad. He gave it to him for his birthday. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Beautiful." His nose scrunched watching your stomach bulge down your cute little top, hard nipples contouring the pink fabric. You still were just good enough to eat.

Examining the car little by little, a detail began to emerge in his memory. Among them, glowing in the heat of that morning were the six digits from the night before: FH-6077.

When it came to religion Jimin didn't have many opinions.

As a kid his mother went to church every Sunday and took him. He saw the statues of Jesus suffering with indifferent eyes, he made his first communion only because they promised to give him a sip of wine with the host, he listened to the stories of death and plagues as if they were cartoons. 

God was a very complicated being, the more he thought about him, the heavier his body became.

To his surprise, God was nothing more than a sham, a wall between you and him. The host, that time Jungkook's father offered him, tasted like nothing and the wine went down his young throat tasteless.

"Body of Christ." You said, the music playing crisply on the record player Hunter had brought. The guitars repeated the same riff over and over, he hated it.

Jimin stuck his tongue out where you placed a small square of magazine paper no bigger than a fingernail. Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered, his knees throbbing as he knelt in front of you, your thumb brushing against his lips before sealing them.

"Amen," he sighed.

The host that you offered to his mortal body was as tasteless as the first, but only Jimin knew the euphoria that, like a hurricane's wind, announced the sweet path that awaited the cowboy.

Jimin was not a man who smoked more than five cigarettes a day, seven if it was a bad day. But your siren song in his ear convinced him to drown his morals in your dark waters, your hands took both sides of his tanned face and you threw him without warning to your sanctuary, towards the steepest rocks, to your glorious eyes. And damn, Park could drink the water from your pupils and die of poisoning.

"I missed you so much, I didn't know it until the moment I saw you." His lips said before thinking about it, narrow pupils lying on the grass next to you. You just laughed, it was the only thing you did and he just admired it.

At one point around noon, Jimin took the steering wheel of the Packard. Hunter, Sage, and Kitty were talking about a record, making strange sounds and asking the opinion of Jimin who was driving down the dusty road, making the engine roar so that you would scream next to him.

"Slow down!" You asked. He went faster, he didn't care.

The purring of the car made Jimin's body pulse, his mouth was dry, his arm no longer hurt, and his lips prayed the license plate of the car, over and over again.

I'm going to find it, he told himself. And when I find him I'm going to make them suffer, as the tips of the horse's bones pierced its dark fur, neighing over his own stupid words trying to calm the wounded animal.

Faster, find it.

Like oil, the green branches of summer became watery and greasy in his vision, and the dust was stalactites that bathed the car in yellow.

"Good luck, cowboy." Kitty approached Jimin, somehow he had made it to the rodeo. The horns announced his name on all four corners and people shouted his last name like the idol he was.

Sage and Kitty kissed his cheeks before he climbed on top of Arrow, the weight of his body creating echoes every time he moved.

There was no one in that audience who saw Jimin on his horse who was not surprised by the agility with which the rope rose above his head and created fluid circles to catch the rough calf that writhed with the knot in its thick neck.

Jungkook saw from a distance how the cowboy's smile was so bright, how he rejoiced at the applause and the roses that were thrown at him. His movements were vehement, fiery, and impulsive like a devil without fear of death.

The hat Jungkook had given him had a small, withered pink carnation on it. He stood up as quickly as he could at the end of the show, but before he could talk to him he only saw Arrow galloping thunderously in the distance, one girl was wearing the gifted hat, she grabbed Jimin's waist and with the other, she gave whiskey to the cowboy. The copper thread falls to his chest and settles on his strap.

"The sight of him today was incredible, I had never seen 'im like that." Billie smiled behind Jungkook, her cheeks red, eyes covered with a fine lust that she probably didn't even recognize.

The firmament rose high above his eyes, there was no star that Jimin didn't feel the overwhelming sound of fire burning in his ears. His body was sweating on the grass, and the smell of nicotine was strong after smoking two cigarettes to settle his reverberating body. The high had passed and his body was a used towel.

He doesn't remember much of what happened, but the remnants of the hallucinogen's burn made him understand that he had the damn time of his life. A laugh left his lips, embarrassed by how easy it was to convince him to do that stupid thing. What Jungkook told him was true: you haven't changed at all, cowboy.

"How's my favorite rodeo king?" The angel landed above his head, you were wearing his hat and a flowered dress.

"Roughened up, I guess." Just like after a good fuck.

"Don't get hooked or you'll end up like Hunter." You combed your hair as you walked around him. "He can't last a day without it or else he starts hitting Kitty."

"Why don't you report it?" Jimin stood following your steps. After looking around him for a few seconds, he realized that he was in the rodeo arena, darkness bathed the stadium. The blue moon showed your silhouette walking over the horseshoe tracks.

"Because Kitty doesn't want to, they are going to get married in a few months. He promised to stop doing drugs when they did. It wouldn't be good for a kid."

There was a lightness in the promises the Californians made to others, they nodded seriously, but you could see the consequences in their evasive gaze.

Jimin nodded.

"Are you always so quiet?"

He nodded again, and they both laughed.

"'M better when I'm not ten feet deep in an LSD hangover, I can assure that."

"Yes, but..." Your silhouette approached his body, and you carried the energy of ten bulls on you. Your immortal look, you haven't changed anything. "I asked if you're always this quiet."

Jimin inhaled as he understood your question.

"When I'm in the stadium I'm more vocal." He again evaded the answer you were looking for so much. His chest beat boldly like the time he saw you covered in strawberries and sugar.

"You were a star this afternoon, your eyes were shining."

"Always."

You raised your eyebrow and scoffed. "Sure thing, sir."

Blood surged to Park's neck, his eyelids drooping, his pride tainting his flirtation. Enough of the games.

"Run." He murmured, saliva pooling in his throat.

You frowned with your typical smile.

"What?"

"I asked you to run." His body suddenly lunged and you became alarmed, raising your hands. "As fast and as far from this stadium as you can."

His pupils didn't move, his soft smile was confident. Your skin grew cold with each step, at first slow and suspicious, the darkness of the large arena was intimidating because it felt like you were not moving forward.

You heard how an object created hollow, sharp sounds in the air. It was his lasso.

"No." You muttered, running even faster.

And swoosh, you fell to the ground. The rope squeezed your neck, leaving your body in mid-air, your tongue came out and your eyes bulged from the sudden lack of air; the hat fell away from you. Your body was no longer yours, your stupid fingers tried to loosen the knot, but it was too late.

The boots approached, collecting the rope that was left over around his arm. The silhouette became part of your blurred vision.

"Stand up."

"I. Can't." Your lips emulated as you writhed like a worm in the dust.

"Lemme' help ya'." Jimin snatched the rope for you to stand up, your knees moved up to him where his fingers loosened the knot a little. "Breathe, little girl. We don't want an accident."

Saliva came out of your mouth in streams and fell to the floor. Jimin grabbed your chin and wiped it.

"Don't make a mess now."

"I'm sorry, sir." And now you sounded as helpless and stupid as Hunter did this morning. It was adorable.

You were afraid to look up, your eyes trained on the hat a few meters away from both of you.

"Tell me, pumpkin. How can two ugly sons of bitches like your parents have such a beautiful girl?" He laughed, dragging the rope to where his hat was, you walked behind him with careless steps. With a couple of blows, he blew the dust off his hat and looked at you again, searching for an answer you didn't even know how to articulate or if you should.

His hand wrapped the rope around his fingers until he had you as close as possible, the smell of tobacco hammered your temples, and your eyelids wrinkled to try to wake up. 

Great was the surprise when you felt a pair of dry lips resting on yours, his tongue daringly passed over your lips so that you would open, his moans softening your fear.

His saliva was bitter and lovely, his tongue running flat across the outside of your mouth until it reached your chin and the tip of your nose.

"Let's see, open your mouth, sugar. Don't be shy."

You obeyed as the knot tightened around your neck, moaning as his lips sucked on the tip of your tongue and bit your bottom lip.

"God have mercy." He sighed, squeezing your chin with his hand. "How can you taste so damn sweet."

You moaned as you felt his teeth nibble gently at your neck, his fingers piling the fabric of your dress around his fingers.

“Mm,” you squealed, walking away even when it didn’t suit you. "Can't."

"It's a good thing I didn't ask." Jimin brought you closer, caressing your neck again.

"I'm on my days." Shame sealing your thoughts, in your eyes the hope that just the thought of seeing the blood would disgust him.

Jimin raised his eyebrows and slowly kissed you again, this time with the softness of an apology.

"A cowboy doesn't mind a little dirt." He murmured, touching the soaked towel that covered your underwear, two fingers pushed aside and the burning of your pussy collided with his cold fingers drawing a moan from your hurt throat.

"A good cowboy loves to get dirty." He smiled, removing the two soaked fingers from the red viscosity to put it in his mouth with a frown on his eyebrows. "Mm." He grunted, swallowing slowly.

You were speechless, stupefied. Who was this demon?

"Have you ever ridden a bull before?" His blood-tainted lips said, the idea shocking your senses.

You denied it, and God knows that was the stupidest answer you could give.

The animal began to make a mechanical noise beneath both of them, the leather surface pressed your thighs against the mechanical bull that began to move slowly.

Jimin's bestial eyes did not take off from you, the last of the bottle of whiskey went down his throat in long gulps and pushed the glass into the distance causing a roar.

Your legs were above his defined thighs, the bleeding wound between your legs dirtying his jeans but the cowboy didn't seem to mind. The dress already forgotten outside the stadium playing area.

"We'll go slowly because it's your first time on top." His consideration was so minimal, considering the situation. But you were a woman whose details annihilated your logic.

To the front and sides and then a gentle turn, this is how the animal began. Jimin moved his center with the animal, the bulge in his pants rubbing against your pussy.

One of his hands approached the dripping hole and with four fingers collected the blood until it painted his hand.

“Ah,” he requested, sticking his tongue out and you followed suit. His fingers got smeared on his tongue and cheeks until they reached his neck. With his tongue he passed over his lips, like wine he drank you, like sweet he possessed you and rejoiced.

His tongue entered your space again, the strange and bitter taste of your own blood while with his fingers he removed the zipper of his jeans until he showed that he was not wearing underwear underneath him, his tall and throbbing cock moved under his fist.

"Climb on, doll. You're wet enough for me." He laughed taking your body to sit on top of him. You hugged him as tight as you could as the mechanical animal began to move faster.

"We're going to fall." You whimpered. "Hurts".

"Shh, shh. Let me medicate you, it'll stop hurtin' when I dick you properly." One spank and his fingers squeezed the skin of your ass tightly. "You just have to move with me."

To the front, to the sides, two turns. You just had to keep your legs elevated a little, Jimin's cock sliding smoothly in and out with each movement.

"Now you're getting it. Fuck." Jimin hissed, squeezing your waist with his forearm. "You're quite the cowgirl, Love."

You moaned, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes absorbed every curve, from your breasts to your red-painted thighs. You were an angel, a myth that devours men. Your songs of pleasure echoing on the aluzinc walls.

The animal began to attack, abrupt and deeper.

"Does it hurt?" You asked between moans, watching the fabrics covering Jimin's arm begin to dye again. Jimin denied, cuntdrunk.

You removed the knot of cloth from the wound on Jimin's arm, running your thin fingers over the bleeding muscle. Park hissed, and the walls of your pussy tightened.

More, you wanted more.

Your lips sucked on the sores until you felt the metallic taste in your throat, Jimin pressed your body against yours. One turn, two forwards, three up. Your poor body trembled with the desire for the game to end but your pussy still wanted your walls to expand until Jimin's cock was molded inside you forever.

"If I knew you were such a slut." Park grabbed your hair to pull you away from his arm.

"If I knew cowboys fucked so well." The bloody smile of both of you was devilishly erotic.

The bull stopped suddenly, you looked at the man standing on the other side of you, rifle in hand, hot tears burning his cheeks.

"Jungkook? Jeon!" It was the last thing you heard before you fell face first onto the inflated floor, blood flowing warm and your eyelids falling softly.

#—📃: an ewe and the captive bolt #bts imagines #bts #bts fanfic #jimin imagine #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #jimin x oc #jimin bts #jimin fanfic #jimin dark fic #bts dark fanfic #jimin

[puzzled-pegasus]

Fun WoF character design thingies for if you want to make an OC

Tusks for IceWings, MudWings, or SandWings.

Brightly colored fins for reef SeaWings.

Silver freckles for NightWings.

Stripes, patches, points.

Faint leopard patterns for SandWings.

LeafWings with wings shaped like the leaf of your favorite plant.

Curly SandWing frills.

SeaWing fins that are so long they flop over.

MudWing horns that curve forward like a bull's.

MudWings with a snout that is lighter than their body, reminiscent of an American black bear.

SandWings inspired by your favorite snake--stripes, scale patterns, bright colored underbellies. You could also use a lizard species. Go nuts!

Scale colors or patterns inspired by your favorite dog coat color/pattern. Merles, tricolors, socks, patches. This would work especially well for SilkWings.

Additionally, SilkWing fuzz in any place you want. Tail tufts, chest puffs, fuzzy manes, puffs on the legs like a poodle, neck collars.

Horse face markings---stripes, blazes, snips, stars, diamonds.

Additionally, dark striped legs, dorsal lines, or dark frills on SandWings, reminiscent of mustang horses. Darker snouts and ears as well.

SeaWings that are light colored and splotched with darker blue and/or green, like a domestic koi fish.

LeafWings with a flower-like growth(s) somewhere on their body. Can be any color and help with camouflage.

Irregular, knotted horns for LeafWings, like branches.

Metallic silver or blue IceWings that reflect nearly all light with a dazzling mirror effect.

Long, thin RainWings that are very flexible.

Conversely: large, solid, muscular RainWings. Uncommon, but possible. Very good at lifting rocks for other RainWings so they can collect bugs to eat.

RainWings with hooks on their wings that help them climb.

HiveWings that shimmer iridescently like beetles.

Pink HiveWings.

SilkWings with exceptionally long antennae. Half as long as their body or more. Bonus if they're feathery.

HiveWing horns that jut out in front like insect mandibles.

Transparent winged SilkWings.

Chimera SilkWings----one wing set that is one color patten, and the other is completely different.

Swallowtailed SilkWings.

Albino HiveWings.

Scorpion-barbed HiveWings. Double tailed HiveWings.

Open ocean SeaWings that are silver like a schooling fish.

SeaWings OR MudWings that are patterned like a lake fish.

NightWings (or hybrids) with gold or coppery stars.

#wings of fire #wof #character design #character design prompts #oc prompt

[whywishesarehorses]

In relation to the curly horses. I've always wondered something about them. I personally live in a very very harsh climate in winter, -50s, high winds, heavy snow fall, ect for most of the winter months.

Is the mutation purely a cosmetic thing or does it affect any of the insulation properties of a normal coat if you know by any chance? The idea that it might affect their ability to bear one of my winters has kinda always turned me away from the idea of wanting to own one. Pretty to look at, but not a horse for me type of thing.

Supposedly, the American Curly Breed was founded after a rancher, Damele, watched all the horses on winter pasture die in 1932 except the mustangs with curly coats. He and his sons got to breeding for that trait deliberately. Decent readup on that here, but I have seen it elsewhere as well!

Additionally, the curly mutation has been found in at least three distinct horse populations: North America, Russia, and South America. Shen Thomas, director of the CS Fund, says "We suspect that in these three separate groups of horses, the mutation was instigated or supported by severe environmental conditions. There is good anecdotal evidence that curly-coated horses can survive cold better than those with straight hair. And interestingly, the regions where these three curly-haired groups developed are all similar in environment, being high-altitude plains."

So! Doable! Maybe even better suited to your climate than most.

#curly horse

[kate-embershield]

UPDATED HORSE LOCATIONS 3/2024

INCLUDES SELLE

Since neither SSE or Jorvikpedia has the current location for every horse breed, I decided to compile them myself. I'll be looking to Update this whenever a breed gets added, or changes locations.

This is ONLY G3, i'm pretty sure G2-G1 are all at Marleys Vintage Barn, but dont quote me on that, I was only looking for G3's

If i'm missing any locations or breeds, please tell me so I can add them.

Harvest Counties

Jorvik stables - Lipizzaner, Friesian Goldspur mill - Arabian, Pintabian New Hillcrest - Akhal-teke, Curly, Icelandic, Marwari Crescent moon Village - Knabstrupper, Jorvik warmblood

Goldenleaf

Belgian Warmblood Trakehner

Silverglade

Silverglade manor - Dutch warmblood, Andalusian, English thoroughbred, Lusitano, Selle Francais Marleys Farm - Percheron Steves farm - Dartmoor pony, Paso Fino, Shire

Moorland

Ardennes American paint Dartmoor pony Arabian Dutch warmblood Icelandic Lipizzaner Mustang Paso Fino Shire

Selle Francais

Fort Pinta

Haflinger Jorvik starter pony Galaxy Embermane

Valedale

Ardennes Irish cob Fjord Tynan Phoebe

Firgrove

Morgan Finnhorse Tennessee walker

Starshine Ranch

American Paint American Quarter Appaloosa Mustang

Mistfall

Dundull - Clydesdale, Connemara, North Swedish Redwood Point - Jorvik wild

South Hoof Farm

Chincoteague pony Gotland pony

#sso #star stable #star stable online #star stable horse #ssoblr

[svetzzi]

horse. but metal

Nathan - Friesian

Pickles - Kerry Bog Pony

Toki - Dølahest

Skwisgaar - Swedish Warmblood

Murderface - Bashkir Curly

Charles - American Saddlebred

That Is All Good Day 🐎

#the real fandom content yall been wantin I know I know #metalocalypse #svetz said a thing #horses

[draftmare]

American Bashkir Curly horse.

#appaloosa #American Bashkir Curly #Bashkir Curly

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin # 13:

The Mountain Goats' Sweden

Here's a (Mostly) True story:

In the fall of 1995, John Darnielle, the founder, songwriter, frontman (and, occasionally, the sole member) of The Mountain Goats taught me how to cook.

As a second year student at Pomona College I took the one on-campus job no one else wanted: fast food line cook. No one wanted the job because it required actual labor; every other on-campus job involved sitting at a desk in a library, museum, gym or office while doing your homework. But I was ready to heat oil, and labor. I was ready to eat as much free ice cream as I could in-between orders.

The job was an odd choice for a vegetarian like me at the time: I spent the first hour of every shift slicing enough partially thawed, homogenized meat for the full day of orders ahead; once both of my hands were entirely numb from the meat's cold it was time to drink a giant vat of free Sprite and then move on to other prep tasks. Slice the tomatoes. Fire up the grill. Then, once the place opened, I'd spend the rest of my shift burning all that sliced meat to a crisp for altered and/or indifferent fellow college students.

John Darnielle trained me. He'd already released two records at that point, but I had no idea who the hell he was. My ignorance drove him nuts.

By the time he arrived each day my hands were already numb and my personally selected music was already on the stereo system. In the fall of 95 that meant a heavy rotation of Guided By Voices' Alien Lanes, Uncle Tupelo records and Yo La Tengo's Electr-O-Pura. I'd put on Tom Waits' The Black Rider at closing time so everyone would go the hell home; that always cleared the room.

But I never played The Mountain Goats; I'd never even heard of them. Throughout that fall I worked alongside a blossoming rock star. And I had no clue whatsoever.

John was the first and only friend I've ever had who wore a leather jacket. He was also ridiculously old for an undergraduate; we're talking mid-to-late-twenties. Every day he'd arrive, compliment my taste in music, trade his jacket for a weathered apron and then look at me earnestly. It was weird. I saw that he wanted me to say something, that he wanted me to know something. Desperately. But I had no idea what the hell it was.

After a bit he'd sigh and begin the day's training. Here's how to flip 'em kid; here's how to fire up that grill.

Then, at some point, he just broke down and told me: he knew James McNew; he had a record deal; he was just back from a tour of Germany, where people were crazy for any kind of American music; he was starting to make some real money (hence the leather jacket). He thought I'd like his music.

At that point I'm afraid I made the situation much, much worse. I laughed at John Darnielle and accused him of lying.

"Yeah right, dude. You're a rock star. And I'm the queen of England."

He listened. He paused. Then he shut down the register and said we needed to go outside. And so we went. College kids stood about, confused. Who was gonna get them their curly fries if the kid in The Dead t-shirt and the weird old guy took a break?

I remember, like yesterday, standing next to him in the sun. He'd taken off his apron and put his leather jacket back on. The vibe was very weird.

"Look, I'm not joking," he said. "My band used to play shows here on campus, but we're just too big for that now. Go to Rhino records; you're a vinyl guy, right? They've got my latest album on vinyl for like 7 bucks."

(Remember: this was the secret golden age of vinyl: CDs cost $12-15 and records of the same thing cost $7-12. And we all thought we needed to spend more for the CDs! If I had a time machine, I would not go back and see who killed JFK; rather, I'd spend a sweet summer with Jane Austen and then propose marriage to her, then I'd travel to 1969 to see Neil and Crazy Horse live, THEN I'd go back to 95 and buy everything I could grab on vinyl CHEAP.)

Okay, back to John Darnielle in 95: "Look: my new record is called Sweden," he said. "Only it has absolutely nothing to do with Sweden. That's the joke. Listen to it; you'll know it's me right away. I sing like I talk. People think we have like 25 members in the band, but it's really just me and this girl who plays bass. I lie in my songs, all the time. But I'm not lying to you."

And then he just walked off. In the middle of his shift! I was left to man the counter on my own. Fries were ordered; burgers were burned to a fabulous crisp. And The Black Rider came on way early. I had something I needed to do.

As soon as the quitting bell rang I hopped on my bike and road straight to the record store. As usual, the counter was manned by the angriest guy in the whole world. His name was probably Haemon, and he always sneered at whatever I was buying. This was years before High Fidelity, but he was already auditioning for Jack Black's part. The dude just hated me. I remember buying a Sonic Youth Tee in there one time. He ripped me apart while ringing me up. Is it any wonder that a few years later we all decided to shop on Amazon?

Anyway, by the time I got to the store, I'd pretty much decided John Darnielle was for real. And quite quickly I found his record, walked it to the counter, handed it over guiltily (Rhino Records had their workers stand behind a counter that was a full two feet higher than the sales floor so as to allow Jack Black Sr. behind the counter, who was tall to begin with, maximum superiority over his pathetic customers), and then, for the first and only time, the guy did not give me a hard time.

"Well, well, well," he said. "You're finally buying something of value. Poser."

(Remember when we all called each other "poser"? Now we all call each other unprintable things. Ah, the 90's...)

Well, you can see where this is going. The Mountain Goats were indeed that guy John from my day job. His singing was ridiculous, like Lou Reed if he was a passionate player of Magic, The Gathering. His melodies were infectious, like Bob Pollard if he was earnest, not drunk. His lyrics were cute and bizarre, like Dylan if he actually attended college, then managed to double major in Classics and English. The recording process was infantile, like me in the kitchen. Or rather, like me in life.

It was all precious. It was all awesome.

I returned to work a day or six later, eager to see my new friend John and tell him all about it. He was a genius! He was Robyn Hitchcock meets Johnathan Richman; he was Thomas Pynchon with a guitar; he was my new hero.

And then, I never saw him again. That moment in the sun turned out to be the last moment we ever spent together. I guess he went and got a life.

Hello out there, John! It's 28 years later and your recent publicity pics make you look, in the words of one of this blogs' 40+ (wow!) readers, like an alternative high school teacher: he sees you; he respects your pronouns. Guess what, John? That's a better description of me than you these days. You're playing the Belly Up this fall. I'm not even playing Magic, The Gathering.

So go, take a listen to Sweden! It's great. Check out the hilarious T.S. Eliot intro to I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone. Enjoy the alternative Swedish titles for every song. Be reminded of how Hercules died: consumed by an article of his own clothing. Flip to the B Side and enjoy a nice coconut cream pie.

And while you are listening, picture an earnest and very talented guy in a leather jacket in 1995, patiently teaching a very young and hopeful kid how to flip burgers and fry up the grill. See him. See me. We're both dreaming of incredible futures: incredible futures that came true.

Happy Friday everyone! And John, while I've got you here: thanks for being patient and nice to me way back then. I'm sorry I needed you to introduce me to your music. Please tell Stephen Stills he sucks.

#the mountain goats #stephen stills still sucks #pomona college #pitzer college #tom waits #Youtube #james mcnew #guided by voices #guided meditation #uncle tupelo #the black rider

[dollysattictreasures]

A Life Of Faith Dolls

So recently I fell down this little rabbit hole and I want to share it. I don't have any of these dolls (and I don't really have any interest do) and there's little information about the company, so I got even more interested.

Background:

Created by homeschooling parents Lee and Bill Bereza in 1998, when they established Breezy Point Treasures. Together they based a custom doll on the Elsie Dinsmore book series by Martha Finley. Later they worked with Sandra Bilotto to design the dolls, and Lloyd Middleton to produce the dolls.The second character in the series was Mildred (shortened to Millie) Keith, Elsie's oldest cousin.

In 2003 Mission City Press purchased the company, and Elsie and Millie's appearances were changed. The dresses were more striking and stood out with lace and frills. Additionally their appearances were changed as Elsie was given pincurls and ribbons. Millie went from being a brunette to having blond hair and blue eyes (similar to Kirsten Larson) and the dolls got darker eye makeup and longer eyelashes.

Since the 2 original dolls were based off a book series, the original Elsie Dinsmore and Millie Keith series were re-released. One thing that seperated them from American Girl was that the story would follow their life- starting from childhood into their 20s and so on.

Additionally 3 new characters were introduced- Violet Travilla (Elsie's daughter in the series), Laylie Colbert and Kathleen Mckenzie. During this time the Elsie Dinsmore Collection was renamed to "A Life of Faith."

Once again the dolls were changed, this time with much more simpler outfits in contrast to their past look. After struggling to stay afloat, Mission City Press ceased production of the dolls in 2006.

Dolls:

Elsie Dinsmore- hazel eyes, brown hair with pincurls

Elsie is an 8 year old growing up in the mid 1800s in the South, on a plantation. They kinda gloss over the fact that she literally has slaves on her property and refers to them as just "servants." Anyways, Elsie is very wealthy but grows up without a mother, and for much of the story she waits for her father to return, as she's never met him. Her collection contained many dresses, coats, undergarments, a grand piano, some more furniture and accessories.

Millie Keith- blond hair, blue eyes

Aside from being a Kirsten Larson clone (I'm only half kidding) Millie Keith is a 12 year old girl living on the Indiana frontier in 1833. Her story follows as she is forced to move from an established town in Ohio to the unknown frontier. Her collection also features many outfits, coats, a horse, a table and chair set and many accessories. As far as looks are concerned, Millie does look very similar to Kirsten Larson, with one of her outfits even displaying her wearing loop braids.

Laylie Colbert- black hair, brown eyes, different face mold from the other dolls

Laylie Colbert is a 7 year old who's story follows her escape from slavery. In the story her family escapes and meets Millie Keith (who is 15) and the two become friends. Her meet oufit is supposed to be one that Millie gave her. Her collection literally has nothing- it has one nightgown, a robin hood costume (????) and a few accessories. She has the smallest collection out of them all.

Violet Travilla- black hair, brown eyes (well really red but I'll get to that later)

Violet Travilla is a 14 year old in the 1870s, and is the daughter of Elsie Dinsmore. She loves art, school, her family and God. Violet is the oldest doll out of the whole collection, so her story is supposed to feel personal to teenagers, so she's also very anxious about her future, and feels misunderstood. Her collection has many outfits, accessories, a sofa and a cat.

Kathleen Mckenzie- hazel eyes, curly brown hair, freckles, different face mold

Kathleen Mckenzie, the last doll to be released, is an 11 year old (although her face mold makes her look a lot younger) growing up in 1929. She has a lot of similarities with Kit, as her story talks about economic struggles, and she enjoys writing. Her collection has a lot of outfits, accessories, but no furniture.

Current State:

the Violet Travilla dolls have a defect in which over time her brown eyes have changed to a BRIGHT red. (seriously, look it up)

as I talked about earlier, A Life Of Faith bore some similarites to AG. With Kathleen's story being similar to Kit, Millie, the frontier doll's redesign looking very similar to Kirsten.

They promoted themselves as a Christian alternative to AG, with each doll coming with a dol-sized Bible, and each story talks about how the dolls overcome their struggles through God.

I want to say I have no problem with Christianity, or religious dolls. What I am going to judge is how they painted AG to be bad in their eyes, with the Baptist Press stating that AG donates to "homosexual and abortion-rights causes."

I also have a problem with how Laylie Colbert literally had no collection. A Robin Hood cloak to put over her original dress and a little nightgown just feels wrong. Every other doll got such large collections with such beautiful outfits and she got basically nothing in comparison.

catalogue from 2007 -> https://prokukol.ru/wallpapers/images/katalogs/alof2007/alof2007.pdf

From right to left: Elsie Dinsmore, Millie Keith, Violet Travilla and Laylie Colbert

Not Pictured: Kathleen Mckenzie

I know this was a long post, if you read it- thank you so much! I found this fun to research and fun to share :)

#agblr

[deadendranch]

DER Justa Thunder Burst #3703

DER Justa Splash Bomb #2503 x RRS Fosmanta #2508 Bay Splash White American Curly Colt Dead End Ranch

Here with his pal Amber Champagne Tobiano American Curly Horse Colt Gråravn's Radiant Rhythmic Pulse (after Gråravn's Color Me Champagne and DER Moxie's Tempo).

DER Justa Thunder Burst walking alongside his dam RRS Fosmanta led by Mette Thorne.

#DER Justa Thunder Burst #RRS Fosmanta #Gråravn's Radiant Rhythmic Pulse #American Curly Horse #dead end ranch #the sims 3 #the sims 3 pets #mette thorne #sims 3 horses #bridlepath #equality sims #der #the sims #TS3 #TS3 simblr #simblr #Spring 2024 Foal Challenge

[aqua2fana]

Homestuck race/ethnicity nationality headcanons

Since the beta/alpha kids are like pure white in the comics my brain immediately envisioned them as white and unfortunately it’s still the first place my mind goes but I do like to think most of them aren’t totally white

The trolls are based mostly on canon references, vibes, their lands in sburb, and their dancestors

John and Jane: white | polish/dutch | american (washington)

They’re white and nerdy sorry

Rose and Roxy: white/middle eastern | french/egyptian | american (new york)

I’m all for french lalondes but I also remembered Roxy’s planet had pyramids and decided they were Egyptian too

Dave and Dirk: white/east asian | spanish/japanese | american (texas)

The striders live in Texas so they’re most likely Spanish descent but they also reference Japanese culture so often that I just had to include it

Jade and Jake: white/pacific islander | english/tongan | american (phoenix islands)

The Britishness is from Jake and the polynesian part is from jade, they’re tan af

Aradia: latina/east asian | mexican/japanese | japanese

I know that canonically she’s supposed to be Japanese so she is part japanese but the dark curly hair, desert climate, obsession with death (day of the dead) made me assume she was Latina the first time I read the comic 🤷‍♀️

Tavros: latino/southeast asian | mexican/filipino | mexican

Man’s obviously latino and I made him Filipino because the actor rufioh is based off is filipino

Sollux: white/east asian | french/korean | canadian (quebec)

French because I immediately decided he was Canadian so french is statistically likely but he also has some Asian vibes so I chose the one country that’s split in two, obviously

Karkat: white | romanian/jewish | american (maine)

Karkat is super pale in such a way that his eye bags are extremely noticeable. He’s Romanian as a reference to vlad the impaler and all the castle ruins in Romania which remind me of his land. He’s Jewish for vibe reasons. Maine for lobsters and and crabs 🦀

Nepeta: white | english/german | american (tennessee)

Because I picture her with blonde hair (like a lions mane). She lives near the Smokey mountains where there are a small population of mountain lions and she’s a crazy wilderness explorer. Think of how cute she’d be with a Tennessee accent

Kanaya: south asian/middle eastern | indian/iranian | american (pennsylvania)

Vibes, imagine her in a sari or any other traditional Indian clothes, she’d be stunning

Terezi: white | greek/irish | greek

The scales, democracy, hello? Also she’s absolutely a red head

Vriska: white | greek/turkish | cypriot

Vriska is definitely white and she’s a pirate so instead of Caribbean (which is mostly black) she’s Mediterranean.

Equius: black | sudanese | american (kentucky)

He’s definitely black and he has locs like you wouldn’t believe. Kentucky because of mammoth cave as a reference to his land and also because of the horse derby

Gamzee: black/white | beninese/portuguese | brazilian

Hes definitely black coded in some ways but the icp are white sooo he’s both. I made him Brazilian for carnival

Eridan: white | scottish/english | american (california)

It’s giving imperialism and Silicon Valley simultaneously

Feferi: white/black | italian/trinidadian | italian

The only reason she’s half white is because I picture her with this light red strawberry blonde hair and it’s also a reference to the Roman Empire. She’s Trinidadian because I headcanon meenah as having a voice like nicki minaj

#homestuck #homestuck headcanons #john egbert #dave strider #rose lalonde #jade harley #jake english #roxy lalonde #jane crocker #dirk strider #karkat vantas #aradia medigo #tavros nitram #sollux captor #nepeta leijon #kanaya maryam #terezi pyrope #vriska serket #equius zahhak #gamzee makara #eridan ampora #feferi peixes

[fibrielsolaer]

FibS lays down the facts: April o' Neil

I'm so fuggin' tired of hearing morons drool out their mouths over this so here's all you need to know:

It's perfectly fine that Rise April is black.

April o'Neil has been portrayed as black before Rise.

April o'Neil was not "originally black" in the Mirage comics.

Rise did not make April black for woke points. Rise makes numerous changes to Turtles orthodoxy so that it isn't a boring repeat of the more traditional 2012 cartoon that immediately preceded it.

(EDIT: Many of the comic scans from this blog post, as well as some of its information, are from this blogspot post from 2018. I neglected to mention this earlier, but at least one person is asking. Unfortunately, people who reblog this post from earlier versions will not see this edit.)

The original creators of TMNT are Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman. Laird has always considered April o'Neil to be white other than considering possibly making her Asian in early notes; the confusion over April's race is solely due to Eastman.

In her earliest appearances, April o'Neil conveniently stands right next to known definitely-black character Baxter Stockman:

This April is as white as the Mousers and the lab walls and doesn't have curly hair. If anything she looks like Sigourney Weaver (Dutch, English, Scots-Irish, Scottish), right down to Ellen Ripley's outfit.

Since Alien came out in 1979 and Ellen Ripley is a massive influence on female lead characters even decades later, this resemblance might be intentional.

But Kevin Eastman, who has a habit of designing female characters based on the woman he is seeing at the time, redesigned April two issues or so later based (rather loosely) on his at-the-time girlfriend April Fisher (she has since passed away.)

April Fisher was, as a matter of fact, mixed-race.

Eastman later clarified that April Fisher was, of course, the source of April o'Neil's given name the entire time. (And I would like to point out that the surname of o'Neil doesn't preclude someone from being black.)

But being named after or inspired by a mixed-race person the creator knows does not mean the character is mixed-race, any more than the numerous My Little Ponies based on real people share those people's races (as opposed to being cartoon horse fairies or whatnot.)

April o'Neil specifically states that she got her hair done. That is to say, she got a perm.

Since black women's hair is already very curly, black women get perms to straighten their hair. April got hers to curl her hair - because she's not black, she's a white lady trying to look like a bootleg Paula Abdul (Syrian).

Or, quite frankly, any other 1980s pop star?

Because, y'see, now's a great time to point something out that Twitter & Tumblr seem to hope you'll forget:

The entire 1980s.

I'm pretty sure nobody who cares whether April o'Neil is black or not knows who Paula Abdul is, except maybe that she was a judge on American Idol. Paula herself might be a year or two late for April's redesign to reference her specifically, but April o'Neil looks like any random white woman from the 1980s. Because the Mirage comics were released in the 1980s. They take place in 1980s New York. And damn near every single white woman in the 1980s got a perm at some time or another.

I doubt these black April fanatics recognize half of them:

.....

Even the men got them!!

And eventually, around the time everybody else was over it, the exact same April o'Neil in the exact same continuity lost the perm:

Remember what Eastman said about April's "different looks"? Even in the same damn comic they can't draw her consistently. April here not only looks nothing like Paula Abdul April, but nothing like Ellen Ripley April either. Hell, she looks like a JoJo character.

And there are some panels were Paula Abdul April is shaded darker than in others, which you could take as April being black if you literally ignore the entire rest of the comic and pretend that's the only time she was ever drawn:

You know, like how people pretend Princess Daisy was "originally black" because she was sliiiightly darker in Mario Tennis than usualy, including ignoring that there are earlier illustrations where she is more pale?

A perm and a tan doesn't make you black. That'd be, y'know, blackface. Not like T&T actually knows what that means either, since they think a white person posting an image with a black person in it counts as it.

Don't you think the fact April looks like four different people in the same fucking comic should convince us that we can't deduce her race from interpreting the illustrations and instead, we should, I dunno, recognize that every single time April has appeared in color with Laird and Eastman's oversight, she's been clearly white?

As opposed to that one comic everybody likes to cite, which is a non-canon guest comic by Mark Bode that changes such details as the city it takes place in and April's job, which was originally published in black and white, whose black April was colored that way by another guest artist (Bill Fitts) and looks like a disco queen stereotype which I could've sworn T&T hated, and which was later corrected to a white April when republished:

We really shouldn't listen to uneducated narcissists who want to have their cake and eat it too, don't know who Cyndi Lauper is, and already had their conclusion ready before they looked at any of the evidence, blatantly misinforming us about the world's most inconsistent comic and pretending 98% of that comic and one of the most important decades in modern human culture just never fucking happened.

#tmnt #rant #april o'neil #rise of the turtles #rise of the tmnt #ninja turtles #mirage comics

[jorvik-fashion]

Tags Masterpost

Revelent tags will be under ‘keep reading’. Use the tags to find what you looking for.

General tags:

Character Outfit,   Horse Gear,    Normal Horse Breeds,     Magical Horse Breeds Asks

Outfit Styles:

I have not been that good at remember tagging styles. So these tags are lacking

Casual, Show - Dressage/ jumping  Fancy,    Season (Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter) Holiday (Easter/Midsummer/Halloween/Christmas/New Year), Color, Fantasy, Cosplays, Events - Full outfits that can be get during events Western Adventure Pride

Coat Colors (simple):

These tags are what an un-horse person would call a coat. If you looking for a specefic coat color, I use Jorvikpedia to tag horses coat. Search for the same coat thats mentioned on that site to find it here.

Brown (Dark brown/Light brown), Black, Grey(Dark grey/Light Grey, White, White and Black, White and Brown, White and Grey Spotted

Horse Breeds:

Regular:

Akhal-Teke, American Paint Horse, American Quarter Horse, Andalusian, Appaloosa, Arabian Thoroughbred, Ardennes, Belgian Warmblood, Curly Horse, Danish Warmblood, Dutch Warmblood, English Thoroughbred, Hanoverian, Icelandic Horse, Jorvik Warmblood, Knabstrupper, Lipizzaner, Lustiano, Marwari, Morab, Morgan, Mustang, Oldensburg, Paso Fino, Pintabian, Selle Francais, Tennessee Walking Horse, Trakehner, Westphalian 

Ponies: Chincoteague Pony, Connemara, Dartmoor pony, Gotland pony, Jorvik Pony, Welsh pony

Draft: Clydesdale, Finnhorse, Fjord, Friesian Horse, Friesian Sport Horse, Haflinger, Irish Cob, Jorvik Wild Horse, North Swedish Horse, Percheron, Rune Runner, Shire

Magical breeds: Aldrach, Alvirah, Antheia, Audra, Ayla, Barkhart, Birkir, Brinicle, Calder, Dorcha, Duskgrim, Ephyra, Erinys, Faramawr, Fawncy, Hanami, Heidrun, Hemera, Kampos, Kátur, Laverna, Lebkuchen, Nemain, Nixie, Pepita, Petra, Phoebe, Prisma, Proteus, Sedna, Shadowshield, Snowdancer, Solas, Songsorrow, Sylvan Unicorn, Tellina, Tenebri, Tombhoof, Tynan, Umbra, Vega, Vetle, Whinefell, Woodear, Zony

Outfit Contests:

All Rules, Information, Photo Guide Schedule Submissions Polls Winners

#masterlist #masterpost

[shiroselia]

I think my general rating of the Gen 3 (i.e the only gen I give a shit about because I have standards and don't actually like intentionally hopping around on outdated models) nowadays goes something like this (No ranking within the tiers I don't do that it changes per day p much)

Top 3 Favourites - Percheron, Appaloosa, Tennessee Walker

Really Fucking Good S-Tier Pons - Belgian Warmblood, Dartmoor, Dutch Warmblood, Finnhorse (The sun-bleached colour), Gotland, Haflinger, Icelandic, Lipizzaner, Paso Fino (The rose dapple colour), Shire

Perfectly Fine, Not Amazing Though - Jorvik Warmblood, Lusitano, Marwari, Morgan

Mid (Thumbs Up) - Clydesdale, Finnhorse (Every other colour), Fjord, Irish Cob, Curly (In my heart), Paso Fino (Every other colour), Trakehner

Meh (Thumbs Down) - Ardennes, Andalusian, Arabian, Curly (With my brain), English Thoroughbred, Jorvik Pony, North Swedish, Welsh Pony

Absolutely the Fuck Not - American Quarter Horse, Akhal-Teke, Chincoteague, Connemara, Knabstrupper

Worst Horse Award - Jorvik Friesian

No Opinions, But Probably Positive (Don't own yet, but want to) - American Paint, Mustang, Selle Francais

#I think you can see a theme here

[the-whumpening]

Meet the Character Monday #1

Eddie Glenn - Son of Bat

[Image ID: A sketch of my OC, Eddie Glenn. He sits hunched over, with his elbows on his knees, looking to the left of the screen. One hand is by his mouth, and he appears to be biting his thumbnail. Eddie has fair, curly hair and wears a hoodie and shorts. He's missing his ring finger on his right hand. The drawing is all in shades of blue. /End ID]

Basic Info:

Name: Edward (Eddie) Glenn

Age: 24

Birthday: Feb 14 (Aquarius)

Height: 5' 4" (162.5 cm)

Hair: Blond

Eyes: Blue

Favorite Color: Blue

Gender ID and Orientation: Pansexual; not overly pressed about gender. If he really sat down to think about it, he may identify as agender, but for now cis male is fine.

Pronouns: He/him mostly, but he doesn't mind others.

Other: Is autistic and ADHD

What's Eddie's role in the band? Eddie co-founded Son of Bat with James shortly after high school. He is the primary drummer, and he also designs the band's album art and merch.

Fun Facts about Eddie:

He thinks horses are kinda gross. Why are they like that?

Tarzan is his favorite Disney movie, and inspired his love of Phil Collins.

He believed in Santa until he was around 13-14. (Despite growing up Jewish herself, Eddie's mom wanted to give him as much of a "standard American" childhood as she could, including a secular Christmas.)

His sleep cycle is hyucked, so he usually ends up sleeping on the couch rather than his bed. Technically, he and Vince shared a room until Vince moved in with Cassandra.

He had to have his right ring finger amputated due to an infected injury at 12 years old. Luckily, he's left-handed.

Because of his AuDHD, he tends to forget to eat/misses hunger cues and struggles with low blood sugar, so he always keeps snacks/candy in his pockets for emergencies. Plus, gum is a great subtle stim and sour candy helps calm anxiety attacks.

Biggest Secret: Maybe not the biggest, but he's never told anyone that when he and James first met, he had a bit of a crush on him. As they got to know each other better, it quickly shifted into a more brotherly/platonic love, but he would still die of embarrassment if anyone found out.

Inspired by this post by @amaralionelli. I might not do all of those specific prompts, but I'm working on ideas for how I can rework it for my preferences. Also, this was just a lazy sketch so there's a ton of mistakes, pls don't judge lol

#meet the characters #son of bat #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #writeblr #meet the characters monday