cowgirl-ish

[cowgirl-ish]

posted these on pinterest but felt like sharing them here too

if anyone wants to yap about oppenheimer w me my discord is @/doggone.cowgirl

[cowgirl-ish]

okay hi i’ve been working on trying to pitch the same show for two years straight butttt i have a couple of show ideas that i also wanted to share - i fear these will never see the light because they’re not full developed but here!!

first one:

a miniseries where you are a gay man living in perhaps early 1900s vatican. your parents want you to get married to a woman, however with you being gay - and the girl clearly having no interest in you, you decide to take one for the team. you decide to become the pope. (for added context, the only requirements to become the pope are abstinence and to be a roman catholic man)

first off - you spend hours a day catching up on catholic theology. your parents are strict, but you never bothered to listen until now. your parents are delighted to see you finally getting closer to jesus. it will delight your parents, who spent almost all their savings on your wedding, until you break the news that you have aspirations to become the pope.

however, you are devoted. the rest of the series is you slowly climbing up the ladder to become the pope. to your fellow catholic ranks, you are a wonder. someone who went from zero to quite literally model catholic as quick as one can. but to yourself, it’s all bullshit. this was all an outlandish idea to stop a marriage. but it’s working. and yku maybe start to develop a superiority complex on the way, which causes your ego to suddenly shoot through the roof.

when you finally become cardinal, you can’t take it anymore. the pope is so senile to the point where you can’t take it anymore. he clearly has dementia, and he’s fading fast. the cardinal community is panicked. so you take one for the team, once again and borrow the idea of moral relativism from your buddhist pals. hey, you should’ve been a monk! it seems a lot easier. but less satisfying.

you want this to be a “fuck you” to your parents for arranging a marriage with a girl whom you didn’t care for. to the boys on the playground who used to tease you for always wanting to get the mom role when playing house. not even to kiss your friends - your lasagne recipe was twice as mean as theirs and they damn knew it. the only thing holding you back now was the senile pope and the hot cardinal you were in the catholic equivalent of a rivalry with. but he was so nice, yet so sheltered and you could tell his parents put him into this life too. despite putting up a boisterous front, he left the cardinals after you promised to trade him a harry potter book if he would let you claim your right to the vatican. and now, you were just days away from becoming pope. because you were going to assassinate the pope.

you did it in secret - and over the months, you gained the trust of the pope. you became his right-hand man. but, in a twist of fate almost that of benny and mr house from fallout new vegas, you were going to betray him. but it wasn’t his chip you were going to steal - it was his life.

after a perfectly calculated murder, ding dong the bitch is dead and guess who just got voted to be the new pope?!

okay not got finished concept yet for second one, this and the other one are just side bitches in comparison but i’ll let you know once i have a treatment!! if ur interested

[cowgirl-ish]

character designs from a show i’m tryna pitch :)

[cowgirl-ish]

is this a common ship

they can give each other what they’re missing

[cowgirl-ish]

redoing my tumblr cause i wanna shift the focus of this blog!!

my name is riley, im (technically) 15, my birthday is in 2 days :) i was pretty popular on tumblr when i was around 12 for a completely different reason but i have completely different interests now so i felt like restarting my blog.

my main interest is las vegas history, so i’ll post a ton of facts about that and also wild west history!! they’re my two favourite topics so i’ll mainly post about them bjt i also enjoy

red dead redemption

the mafia games

mormon history

1910s-1950s music

i hate bethesda but fallout new vegas is fun, not a massive interest of mine but i’m assuming it will come up in conversation due to the contents of my blog.

martin and lewis

l.a noire

poker (i collect vintage/unique poker equipment!! i own a massive flag of nevada and plan on setting up a little shrine)

fashion

south park

birdwatching

vinyl collection

1950s in general

counts as 50s music but two of my favourite artists from that era are marty robbins and elton britt, they’re the ones i’ll post the most about.

my favourite movies are rope, oppenheimer cannibal! the musical and 1917

i’m a lesbian, demigirl and probably asexual! my pronouns are they/she 💗

i have ocd and c-ptsd, not diagnosed but extensively researched.

feel free to ask any questions about las vegas or the west and i’ll gladly answer in detail :) also open to making friends!!

[cowgirl-ish]

hi i don’t know where else to share this but i’m currently trying to pitch a show (which i might start posting about on here) but here’s a little thing i wrote where i described all the characters as perfume notes

if you’re interested, the logline for the series is “A bomb is dropped on Stanley Palmer’s life when he leaves the fallout shelter he’s spent his entire life in, and struggles to learn to survive in a world he’s been conditioned to fear, despite the fact that, to his surprise, war isn’t raging.” to provide context.

Stan

The remains of a campfire that was abandoned put out before it had any chance to create a spark, but burned enough to know you were supposed to be something you don’t think you’ll ever be. Notes of something akin to a gentle musk, the final grip of the final leaf to a tree, pine specifically, before it’s caught by the hold of the Autumn and falls to the ground with the others.

Combine that with some gently squeezed bergamot, made with calloused yet tender hands, the kind that are so broken that their mere existence is beautiful.

There would be burned paper too, not fully burned, just crisp and dark at the edges. You can still see ghosts and remnants of letters written prior, faded ink blotches staining the page. But when you look closer, you realise that they aren’t simply blotches, that this isn’t just burnt paper and that this piece of paper tells a story just the same, and this piece of paper matters to someone. Not every piece of paper is burnt out of malice and sometimes ink pens can spill.

Bluebells sitting in the clearing of a forest dell as you feel something you don’t think you have ever felt before. Perhaps it’s magic, perhaps it’s a glimpse into the childhood you never got, or perhaps it is the child himself, but eitherway you can’t tell if what you feel is yearning or complete and utter safety.

The bottom note is the smell of a dewy January morning, mourning doves cooing gently to each other on the same tree that lost all its leaves last year, but no matter what will have bloomed again by May. There’s frostbite on your windows and there is a murmuration of starlings fluttering gently outside. You have sourdough rising in the kitchen. You’ll probably go out to feed the birds later on.

Steven

Out of tune guitar strings that don’t sound the way you want them to but they will at the twiddle of a finger. The hollow inside of a guitar that has a familiar smell of chipped wood, and a scratched record that has been played so much, you can almost find love deep inside it’s cuts, and you can find tenderness within every jump and error in a track.

The rubber of a worn out football that has a million stories to tell, and the scent of the wooden trophycase it lies in.

A fire, much like Stan’s but one that burns out of complicity.

The asphyxiating scent of hairspray, your first pencil case and the suffocating crannies of wooden desks you have ducked and covered under.

The inside of mom’s bedroom drawer which smells like a cocktail of florals and crushed up miltown.

The faint musk of your first football coach's cologne, the smell of your first pair of cleats that were slightly too big so you ended up tripping over into the mud.

The gentle, warm blanket your mother knitted you as a baby that you still hold close to you, despite it being five times smaller than your chest, and it has been since you were eleven years old.

Bottom notes are faded cigarettes, the ones you have in secret, on occasion and light patchouli because it just fits. Red berries, paired with just a tad more musk, and something tender that you can’t really describe, but it’s something so achingly gentle it feels forbidden.

The quite literal fallout of your childhood is so strong that it will stay stained on your pulse points until you shower it off, but now it feels something not parallel from beautiful that you’ve been given the grace and the dignity to wash it off in the first place. The miltown and the football and the fallout aches beyond belief but you can live with the berries and the patchouli. And sometimes, you need to see a bit of the mushroom cloud rising above your thumb to know that you’re safe and everything else is behind you.

Eleanor

Messy haystacks, leather horse saddles. The teats of bottles used to feed baby lambs, old dolls that you refuse to let go of despite the fact that you don’t want to give birth to any children to pass them down to.

Faded denim overalls that have been washed more times than you can count, the absence of your mother at the dinner table that is so strong, you can almost smell it amidst the instant mashed potatoes and Kraft packets.

Smoking a blunt outside the jazz club, contemplating everything while still hearing warm, comforting jazz from inside.

The old card deck you’ve had since childhood that belonged to the mother you wish you knew, and the mahogany of your fathers always closed bedroom doors.

Desert flower that lingers on you for hours like spikes to a cactus reminding you you are surrounded by nothing but that doesn’t mean you are nothing. The warm feel of the packed Vegas bar that you have oddly found home in. This city is strange - it was the cause of your wounds and the remedy to it at the same time.

The soft scents of the Mojave desert lulling you to sleep - the hyde of the jackrabbit, the earthy notes of the sand and the white fir trees high above you that tell you it’s okay to wish you were more, but look at this life you have made for yourself.

The musk of a worn out Stedson with a gambler's brim and the inside of a pair of Ariats that will forever be too big but you prefer them that way.

An evening at the casino - your friends say you have a gambling addiction but hey, it’s only gambling if you lose most of the time. A Rosé on the table and your boyfriend waiting for you at home. The ache in your heart for a home has been quelled and dulled and it’s in ways you could have never expected.