#mai would love thoroughbreds

[buckyalpine]

Here is a list of things that make me mad in no particular order. Angry ranting. Pls ignore this, I'm just screaming into the void. These example apply to very specific situations I've encountered with people who are perfectly capable of doing better.

People who lack common sense. Social awareness. Common courtesy. Saying "Oh my God, I'd never do that" when they've never been even close to said situation but they're now experts on how they'd act while sitting on their pristine Thoroughbred horse, sipping on English tea with their pink so high it may as well be in their nose.

People who say "Well I wouldn't care if it happened to me" or "I'm just being honest" when you point out something they did/said.

When autocorrect/spellcheck decides it cannot for the life of it figure out what you're trying to spell OR it gives you suggestions for every word under the sun except the one you want. All you did was leave out a single letter with the rest of it spelled perfectly and spellcheck decides to go into a coma. So you fix the mistake and the little squiggly red line goes away. Fuck you.

Gnats. WTF is you're problem. I've Googled this shit cause I want to know why tf you can't just fly straight, why do you have to buzz all over the damn place near my head of all places.

Flies. Same thing as above. Why tf can't you just fly straight. WHY NEAR MY EAR. You have the entire world and you decided my room is the place to be? And now we're both miserable because you keep hitting yourself against the window after noticing your grave mistake. I leave the door wide open but you want to keep body slamming the glass.

Giving me life advice on something you know nothing about.

People who don't love their pets. Yeah, you take care of them but you do it as a chore and then complain about it. Those little fur babies deserve it all, give them the best or don't have pets at all.

Holier than thou attitude.

People who laugh at those who are visibly upset and tell them they're being too sensitive.

Allergies. IDK Why tf my body acts surprised as hell every single spring. It's just fucking pollen. Why are you trying to fight it. Do you understand that in your brilliant plan to try and fight the little evaders you actually make me want to end it all because my nose is itching and my eyes are watering and I can't breathe. Food allergies are another level of bullshit. I'll never forget the day this one girl tells me she wished she had allergies? Like it makes you special, mf what??? She was being serious too.

Thin, straight, fine black hair. Can't do anything with it. It doesn't hold hairstyles, doesn't curly, gets heavy as soon as you use any product and 90% of the time it just looks like Snape cosplay. Ask me how I know

Parents who buy their very young children shoes with laces. This is inconvenient for all of us. why tf would you do this when Velcro exists. Your 4 year old doesn't need laces when they have no clue how to even eat cheese with their crackers, mf why did you buy this shoe for them?!

Bananas. Hate them with a burning passion. The smell. The texture. I hate the peel is left out and about like it isn't making the entire room smell. Don't even get me started on banana breath. (Keep in mind this is not me saying I think they're gross. I wish I liked them because they're a super convenient snack and very healthy)

People who lie and say you can't taste the banana in a smoothie. Yes, I can. You always can. You can have 1000lbs of any fruits and that single banana will still stand out.

People who don't understand mental illness/ act ignorantly to those suffering.

Big companies who ask you to donate to stuff. You're going to use this as a tax write off, stfu.

Inflation.

People who laugh at others for not knowing something. Maybe that thing had 0 relevance to their life. Maybe they learned about that because they were taught something else. Either way, how is it funny.

People who laugh at those learning a new language. You're the fucking worst. They are LEARNING. Let them get used to the pronunciation, let them get accustomed to sentence structures, let them make mistakes without being embarrassed. You're the embarrassing one cackling you're damn ass off while they're trying to do something new. You're discouraging them from wanting to continue because you feel the need to be an asshole.

People who make everything a serious debate/conversation.

People who steal. Not out of necessity but just because they can. I'll never forget overhearing this group of kids in my high school bragging and laughing their asses off over how much candy they stole from other kids. They also stole phones. These were not troubled kids mind you, they were doing this for shits and giggles.

Eczema. So fucking itchy, why can't skin just act right. It feels awful, looks awful and just comes and goes as it pleases.

People who clown you for who you find attractive. Why. If I find this person attractive, what in the ever loving flying fuck does it have to do with you. It's just so unnecessarily rude. I don't even get how its funny or why you find it okay to call someone ugly as if this is something they personally have control over.

I'm going to add more to this list.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[hadesoftheladies]

FEMALE MOVIE/TV RECS (PART 5 / HORROR & CRIME DRAMA)

got inspired from a recommendation post so decided to make a list of movies and shows with female-centric stories/female protagonists. since i can't post all of the genres in one post, i'll split it into multiple posts and y'all can save or add to the list as you wish. (disclaimer: i have watched most of these, but i only know about the existence of others. not every movie/show on these lists will be my recommendation. my recommendations will be beneath the list with reasons. also some of these are way better than others in terms of storytelling/performance--which is why i'll list my faves separately):

Common Themes:

-Dangerous girls (they ain't innocent)/ girlhood as violent

-Stressed out and melancholic female detectives and authors (lots of drinking/smoking)

-Mothers who've seen too fucking much to play games/I'm a good mother until it doesn't let up

-Women handling shit/getting shit done

-Mothers who didn't want to be mothers but here we fucking are so might as well handle shit

-Evil women who are also unfortunately hot

-Female sociopaths (not always negatively portrayed)

HAVEN'T WATCHED

The Royal Hotel

The Silent Twins

The Kitchen

The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

I'm Thinking of Ending Things

Sharp Objects

Killing Eve

Abigail

Heavenly Creatures

A Quiet Place Part 2

Panic Room

Alice, Darling

Blood Red Sky

Rust Creek

The Marsh King's Daughter

Pearl

Longlegs

GOOD STUFF (NEVER WATCHING AGAIN THOUGH!)

Bad Sisters (8/10) (sisters plan to kill their sister's abusive husband)

Yellowjackets (9/10) (love as cannibalism)

Candy (7.5/10) (she's just a killer lol)

Cruella (6.5/10)(help my mom is a narcissist and it's hereditary)

Jennifer's Body (7/10) (boys aren't people lmao)

Bird Box (8/10)

Under the Bridge (8/10)

PERSONAL NOTES

I watched Tragedy Girls years ago, and I remember being grossed out and having a lot of fun as well. If you like Jennifer's Body, you'll probably like Tragedy Girls, too. And if you like Tragedy Girls, you may also enjoy Thoroughbreds. All three have a twisted sense of girlpower.

The Call isn't scary so much as its nerve-wracking and upsetting. It's not gory (although there is violence), but it deals with heavy subject matter. I can, however, promise a satisfying ending. Even though I doubt it would put you at ease.

Horror is my least favourite genre so bear that in mind. I just hate jump scares (because I hate being startled) and I don't like gore though there are times where it doesn't bother me so much. So this is definitely not an exhaustive list on horror recs. Crime is as close as I usually get to such dark stuff so I put the dark crimes, psychological thrillers and horrors together. I don't even want to talk about these that much because I'm nauseous already.

Watch at your own risk.

[christmascheeseballs]

Till Death Do Us Part - An Arthur Morgan x OC Story *Part One*

Content Warnings – Kidnapping, Death Threats, Micah Bell, Unplanned Pregnancy, Trauma, Angst, Character Deaths, Eventual Happy Ending (not in this part)

Word Count – 1.3k

Part One - 1.3k words (17th July 2024)

Part Two - 1.7k words (17th July 2024)

Part Three - 1.2k words (19th July 2024)

Authors Note – Some of you may have seen my desperate search for the fic I read years ago along a similar storyline to this. Despite constant searching, I never found it and am genuinely starting to think that it came to me in a dream. So here I am, writing a fic yet again. This will be my first fic since the days of Marvel One-shots over on Wattpad back in 2019, so sorry if I’m rusty!! This’ll either be 2 or 3 parts, should all be published within a week or so 😊

Also, can anyone let me know how to write masterlists/link fics? So that I can do the whole ‘part one here, part two here’ thing?

A quick introduction to the OC of this fic – Florence ‘Flo’ Morgan – 26 years old (1899, 34 in 1907). Married to Athur Morgan since the summer of 1896, and a part of the Van Der Linde Gang since 1885, as Florence Nelson, at 12 years of age. After spending her childhood growing up alongside young Arthur Morgan and John Marston, with Dutch and Hosea as her mentors and honorary parents, her and Arthur eventually became sweet on each other, choosing to court from 1890, learning that they were the loves of each others lives.

-x-

“Flo, please, go. I’m sorry” whispered Arthur, the both of you hidden just outside of the entrance to Beaver Hollow. A single tear slid down his cheek as he held your shaking hands, his cerulean eyes glistening with pure heartbreak.

You both knew the truth – the gang was well and truly at an end. It had been an unbelievable 19 years since you’d first found your place in this family of misfits, but the time had come. To make matters worse, you knew that you were to be continuing with life alone. Your husband, the sweet, strong, seemingly invincible man, was dying. And you knew it. He never told you, but he should have known by now that after 3 years of marriage, and even longer as simply clueless soulmates, you knew him better than he knew himself.

At your silence, Arthur gently pushed you towards your horse. A loyal mare, a sweet grey thoroughbred named Darcy. She had been a part of the gang since you and Arthur first developed your relationship, almost 10 years ago now. Sensing your wrecked emotions, she gently nuzzled the back of your neck, seemingly knowing exactly what Arthur was expecting you to do, and preparing herself for the long and emotionally draining ride ahead of her.

“Arthur, please. Let me come with you. We can do this together”, you sniffle, grabbing desperately at his hands once again. Even though you knew exactly what reality held for you, you still plead for a second chance, a glimmer of hope inside you that together, you could beat Micah and Dutch, and live out your happily ever after. In your heart, you knew that would never happen, so even going forward with the love of your life to inevitably die together would suffice your aching soul. Sure, it wasn’t the way you wanted it to go, but at least you’d be sticking to the promise of ‘till death do us part’.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I really am. But you know I can’t let you come. I need you to be safe”, he responded, holding onto your hands, squeezing them gently. “You have to be safe”. Taking your waist gently, Arthur lifted you into Darcy’s saddle, his arms as strong as ever for you, despite his developing weakness. He always found strength for you. You had no regrets in this relationship, or life in general, not really. But you wish Arthur could’ve brought himself to tell you the truth about his illness. You suppose he’d rather that you believe that he’d died in the inevitable fight against Micah and Dutch, not succumbing to a fatal illness. It was a pride thing, you guessed.

Holding back a sob, you settle in your saddle, your feet sliding instinctively into your stirrups. Arthur takes your hands once again, shaking palms sliding into yours, and stares into your eyes. His face says a thousand words, but instant he mutters four simple ones. And they mean so much more than usual.

“I love you, Florence.”

You lean down for a final kiss, pressing your forehead against his, trying to put the last 9 years of love and devotion into this last moment together. A sudden rustle from within the now mostly derelict camp makes Arthur break out of his trance, quickly bringing him back to reality. He reluctantly pulls himself away from you, giving you a final look and a bittersweet smile.

Arthur gives Darcy a final pat, thanking her for her years of loyalty to the both of you, and you gently spur her forward, encouraging her away from the camp, away from the danger, and away from the love of your life. As she falls into a gentle canter, you look behind you one last time, giving Arthur a wistful look as he turns around, readying himself for the oncoming fight.

2 months later

The last 8 weeks of your life had truly been the most traumatic time. But the morning you had just experienced made the whole thing a lot more real.

After the loss of your husband, you had managed to reunite with John, Abigail, and the others. While you were far from safe, it definitely felt a lot more relaxed than the past few months you had gone through. Although you were on the run from the law on a daily basis, you finally had managed to rid yourself of the constant fear of the gang literally killing each other. The remaining portion of the gang had managed to set up a small camp just north of Ambarino, in the state of Oregon. Constantly on the look out of people following you, it was far from relaxing, but felt like a paradise in comparison. If only Arthur was there to see it, you couldn’t help but think.

However, a new fear had come to head. Whilst you originally put the lack of your monthly bleeding down to stress, new symptoms had caused Abigail to start giving you knowing looks. Looks that you didn’t even understand, to begin with. But after a serious conversation, your condition was clear. Pregnancy. With the man who you became a widow to 2 months ago. Due to be born to a life of running, at least until the extensive bounty was off your head. The worst case scenario.

Curse your mind. Your overactive brain couldn’t help to focus on one small light in this dark, dark time. You were getting a part of him back. What if they had his eyes? His laugh? His dry sense of humor? His intense way of caring and loving for anyone that mattered?

If this didn’t make you feel guilty, you didn’t know what would. How could you be finding joy in this time? Knowing that your child would be doomed, and yet still feeling a sense of happiness in it? Knowing that you were to live a life of single parenthood, knowing that your Arthur would never get to even know that his child was ever even a thing?

While your future was terrifying, the chance of having a part of your love back healed a small part of you.

1 month later

As your stomach slowly began to swell, the inevitable change in your life started to dwell on you. Yet still, the only person to know the truth was Abigail. Dear, pure Abigail. You don’t think you could’ve done any of this without her. Her knowing looks and careful tone was all you needed to come to terms with your condition. Speaking of, you knew she was looking for you, knowing that the impossible conversation was long overdue.

As you sat by the edge of your measly lakeside camp in North Western Oregon, gently stroking your tiny bump, you heard Abigail heading towards you, turning to see her striding in your direction with purpose set in her face. “Florence, you ready?” she murmured as she sat down next to you, digging her heels into the sand as she turned to watch you intently.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose”, you sigh, the weight of the world sitting heavily on your shoulders. “What’s the plan?”

Whilst the plan was simple, it was far from ideal. In short, you’d leave. Find a little homestead in the west, with the money Arthur left for you, as far from West Elizabeth and the surrounding areas as possible, and settle down. When the baby has come, move somewhere more temperate, more permanent, and just make your life work. A heartbreaking, lonely life, but the only one that would work.

The second part of the plan was the part that broke you more. When leaving, you’d tell nobody. Abigail would act none the wiser, and not even John, your brother since a child, would know of your situation. Not Sadie, not Charles, not anyone. A life where you were doomed to merely exist as a mother, until luck eventually found its way to you. If that ever was to happen.

You had a week until the end of your life as you knew it.

-x-

Thank you so much for reading, please like, reblog and comment for part 2 <3

[darlingshane]

After Carmy leaves the pantry, Mikey breaks down in tears and slaps himself in the face. Was that on the page?

A lot of it was scripted. It’s a real testament to Chris, who wrote the episode. When he leaves him there, 99.9 shows out of 100, as soon as Carmy leaves that pantry, you go with Carmy. To stay on Mikey and be with him, it defies so much of how we do television, in terms of perspective and whose point of view we’re really looking at. It’s a private moment with this character that we know doesn’t exist. They give him two — the moment that he’s sitting there waiting for him, suggesting that he’s feeling the buzz of the pills that he just took, but more importantly, afterward: They leave him there to sit in that pain, and to show it. That moment was understanding that this dream was never going to happen, this was never going to work because he knew where he was headed. He knew where he was going.

Opportunities like that are so unbelievably rare to give characters that private moment. I do think Chris wrote the slap. It was just so, so beautifully written and makes it makes the job super easy.

How did you create that tension with Bob Odenkirk, and what conversations were had before that?

The power of an ensemble, like the power of theater, is you look around that table and everybody is just a thoroughbred. The tension is created in the room. Every time we went and did it, it was completely different — a new person sort of popped up and did this new bubble of intensity or dread. It was super fucking tense in there, because everybody came to play and everybody really knows what they’re doing. And the material is so gorgeous.

With Bob, I’m such a huge fan of his. I thought it was just such a perfect choice. He was so down to come at me, and vice versa! When you have an environment like that, everyone is willing to be a little bit dangerous, because there’s so much trust. There’s so much love and everybody’s so dedicated. The goal starts to then be, OK, how can I shock this person? How can I scare this person? How can I do something that they’ll never expect? How can I lose myself within this? When you create an atmosphere that’s that unbelievably creative and that unbelievably safe, danger is not a hard thing to find. It was really fun! It was like great theater work, and it’s really rare.

How many times did you film that scene? I imagine it may be a bit exhausting.

I would do that all day. I don’t really get exhausted, that’s like a thrill for me. The show moves unbelievably fast. It’s a real testament to what this group has found: the conglomeration, the alchemy of these great artists with this great material. Last year, I had to shoot my stuff basically on my lunch break. They flew out to L.A. for me to shoot that scene. And they told me, “We move so fast.” I don’t think there was a single day that we were there for more than six hours. [Chris Storer] gets what he wants. He shoots it the right way. The crew is as good as I’ve ever worked with. Everyone is so unbelievably dialed in. The cameras are always moving. They’re totally alive.

You said every take was different. How much improv was there — was the table flip scripted? And what type of forks were you using?

They were kind of like plastic forks? Oh, the table flip definitely wasn’t scripted. But it’s still a testament to Chris. I was like, “Hey, man, you gotta let me kind of go crazy at least once!” I do a lot of action stuff and I’m aware of how big of a reset that it is, where the food is meticulously laid out and it’s so specific and is a character within itself. He definitely gave me the green light. It’s funny when you work with directors, especially in TV, because sometimes they’ll give you the green light, but then be like, “Just maybe save it ’til the end.” Chris was like, “Go do you.” I think the funnest thing for me really, in that scene, was to be off camera and just to keep that intensity, keep that fight going with Bob and see everybody else’s reaction. It was just such a joy to do.

I put on subtitles for some of my second watch, especially the scene with you, Ebon and Jeremy talking about Claire. Your one-liners were cracking me up. Did you say she’s a “basket of biscuits”?

Yeah, “all that and a basket of biscuits” is a Jon Bernthal D.C. line for me. That was definitely one that I threw in. When Chris is behind the monitor, they’re cheering you on, sometimes they’re yelling lines from behind the monitors. It’s this comedic, super dark, really, really authentic and honest world. There’s this air of anything can happen and let’s push it, come up with stuff and be really, really creative. And honor the moment. It really is the best way to work. And with Ebon, it’s such a natural conversation for us. We really found that scene on the day.

[whatislovevavy]

New Fic Ideas?

Hey guys so I have two new fic ideas. I am by no means writing these now but I've been thinking about them for a while during the late hours of the night. I'm an avid equestrian so equestrian themed fanfics were bound to happen lol. Please let me know your thoughts and if anyone would be interested in reading these and maybe learning more about equestrian sport in the process <3

Jake Seresin x OC (name not yet decided)

fluff , smut, and a dash of angst

Jake Seresin has always gotten what, and who, he's wanted. A night celebrating a friend puts a woman into his lap that wants nothing to do with him, more preoccupied with securing a spot on the USA Dressage Olympic Team and taking care of her beloved Lusitano mare, Dolce Vida, than entertaining an insufferable, hot shot navy pilot. Jake Seresin has always been a sucker for things he can't have. Especially if they're Admiral Beau Simpson's daughter.

*Piaffes and Pirouettes (Two dressage movements expected to be performed at the highest level of dressage, called Grand Prix level dressage)

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Kalandra Harrison)

fluff, angst involving traumatic familial and romantic relationships, smut

Bradley Bradshaw could have sworn his heart stopped when he met Kalandra at Natasha's birthday celebration at the Hard Deck. Natasha's childhood friend seems to push his advances aside with a heart of gold and a shy smile. But he can sense her apprehension under the well-rehearsed surface. Natasha enlightens him of the refuge she's taken from romantic relationships through her well-loved off-track Thoroughbred stallion, Golden Hour, and her life-long goal of winning in the prestigious 5* Land Rover KY 3-Day Event. Will Bradley be able to convince her that he's worth taking a chance on, and that he's not there to pull back the bit on the dreams she's fought tooth and nail to achieve?

*Eventing is an equestrian sport that consists of three events: dressage, show jumping (jumping poles), and cross country (jumping over solid, non-pole objects). There are 5 levels to eventing and the 5* (5 star) Land Rover Kentucky (KY) three-day event is one few international competitions for 5* eventing."

Tagging some people who may be interested:

@sebsxphia @mamachasesmayhem @superskittles @djs8891 @ereardon @hangmans-wingman @entertainmentgal8 @seresinhangmanjake @goldenseresinretriever @withahappyrefrain@gigisimsonmars @chaoticassidy @teacupsandtopgun @i-wanna-be-your-muse @yuckosworld

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Addendum to the chapter 1 post that I thought of later:

“Not this afternoon—haven’t got time. I must mosey up to the North End to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I’ll find out what is wrong with him if he’ll only live long enough.” This is Eric's best friend, a well known doctor, cosplaying as, like, 1900s Dr. House. No concern for the patient's well being, just a Mystery that must be solved. No wonder Eric has such a low opinion of doctors!

(Sidenote: those of you who Anne, what is Gilbert like as a doctor? Because TBC didn't have a great opinion of them, and this book is not shaping up to be too complimentary either. Did LMM just have a fairly poor opinion of doctors in general that colors her work?)

On to chapter two, and we meet an actually sympathetic character! Larry West seems like a lovely young man, and I hope he recovers fully and that he and Agnes Campion are blissfully happy together. Unlike either Eric or David, Larry actually seems to care about the people under his charge, i.e. his students. I already want him to be our protagonist instead.

"The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and honest, man of business that he really was." Kilmeny of the Orchard, sponsored by the Better Business Bureau! There is absolutely an interesting thread to tease out across LMM's life and work that connects Eric Marshall to Barney Snaith, but I want to read more of this book before I make further commentary on that. But it does appear that Maud's opinions on rags-to-riches businessmen, uh, Evolved over the years.

Actually never mind, I'm gonna girl who's only ever read The Blue Castle this book a tiny bit more. Compare:

"And then those girls were as pretty as pinks, now weren’t they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my opinion. I hope it’s true that you’re courting her, Eric?”

and

“Prettiest girl in Montreal,” said Dr. Redfern. “Oh, she was a looker, all right. Eh? Gold hair—shiny as silk—great, big, soft, black eyes—skin like milk and roses. Don’t wonder Bernie fell for her. And brains as well. She wasn’t a bit of fluff. B. A. from McGill. A thoroughbred, too. One of the best families."

Women aren't really people, they are trophies and objects to be collected and revered. Barney grows out of this mentality through his travels. Eric... well it remains to be seen about Eric, doesn't it?

"Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high." So we're getting the standards by which Eric judges a future wife and the role she will be expected to play. He wants a society hostess, a woman who can step seamlessly into his mother's shoes. He wants her to be sweet and serene and, presumably, beautiful and delicate like his mother in her portrait. David and Mr. Marshall both basically want him to marry Ethel Taverse -- beautiful, well brought up, good lineage, of the Right Sort. Eric... honestly Eric has such fantasy standards for a woman that in a different book the resolution would be that he realizes that he's gay. He's doing that doesn't-realize-they're-queer-yet thing of, "it's not that I don't like [expected other gender], it's just that I haven't found anyone yet with [vague laundry list of impossible qualities]." I know that doesn't always translate into queerness, but it's an experience that definitely rings true to my baby ace teenage years before I had the words or knowledge to accurately describe my experiences.

"In all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room bed. And if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!” Go to PEI, but don't consort with the locals! The Wrong Kind of Woman might tempt you! This book is a great primer on how classism and eugenics go hand in hand, isn't it?

So our plot has been set up for us. Eric, a young man in possession of a good fortune, is off to Prince Edward Island, where he will soon find himself in want of a woman to be his wife. She will either be a commoner, whom his family and friends think isn't good enough for him but whom he loves and will stand up for, or she will be a secret aristocrat, whom he will pluck out of her shabby surroundings and return to her birthright in high society. I want this book to go with option a, because it's more interesting, but from what I know of it it veers closer to option b instead.

(What he needs is an Anne Shirley to whack him upside the head with a slate and tell him to stop being such a jerk, but I'm not holding out hope.)

[whywishesarehorses]

Two Lives Long Harnessed Together, Until One Could Not Go On

Rush may have been the longest-lived thoroughbred in American history when he died at 39. For three decades, his owner said, “He would fight for me, and I would fight for him.”

A New York Times Article, written by Mike Wilson, published on Nov 22, 2022.

WINDSOR, Conn. — Bridget Eukers paused in the barn, her thoughts seemingly far away, and touched her horse’s halter like an amulet. On the floor just outside his empty stall lay a scattering of yellow chrysanthemums left by a sympathetic friend.

Eukers explained she hadn’t often used the halter on the horse. She and Rush had an understanding.

“I would only really put it on to exercise him because we could go in and out of the barn without it,” she said, her fingers lingering on a strap. “I would just put my hand on his mane and we’d walk in and out.”

It had been just over a week since Rush had died on the concrete floor a few feet from where she stood. Eukers was still grieving, but also celebrating Rush’s extraordinary legacy. He was 39 years and 188 days old when he died, making him perhaps the longest-lived thoroughbred ever in the United States.

The record is hard to pin down. The Jockey Club, the industry’s breed registry, does not keep longevity statistics, so people in horse racing go by word of mouth. The horse thought to be the previous American record-holder was 38 years and 203 days old when he died in 2016, according to the racing publication BloodHorse, which first reported Rush’s death. An Australian thoroughbred lived to be 42, according to Guinness World Records. A typical thoroughbred lives into its late 20s.

Whatever Rush’s rank among senior horses, his death marked the end of a 30-year partnership — Eukers’s word — with horse and owner showing a level of dedication to each other that would be extraordinary for any two beings, equine or human.

“He would fight for me, and I would fight for him,” Eukers said. “Whether it’s your relationship with your horse, with your friends, or with your life partner, that’s what it comes down to. You’ll fight for me, and I’ll fight for you.”

They forged their relationship competing in equestrian events. Six days a week for six years, separated only by a saddle, they honed their skills, moving fluidly together and soaring over obstacles, three feet high at first and then three and a half. For Eukers, being with her horse became a way of life.

She attended college close to home so she could stay near Rush, turned down jobs that would have cut into her time with him, didn’t socialize much and never went on vacation. The longest she ever spent away from Rush was one week, for a school trip.

In return, he gave her joy by carrying her on his back — around show rings and across Windsor’s quilt of farmlands, often at a thundering pace fit for a racetrack. “It really is a special thrill to feel a racing thoroughbred at full speed underneath you. It’s just magic,” she said.

Beyond that, he gave her a purpose, and a measure of peace. The simple routines of feeding Rush, cleaning his stall and giving him medicine made her feel useful and freed her mind. He was a job she loved doing. “It’s one of those Zen things,” Eukers said. “You have that rhythm, and it somehow centers your life.”

Through all of life’s challenges — angst about the prom, hard days at work, dates that didn’t happen, her father’s death — Rush was there for her. Eukers said she occasionally wept into his neck. He actually didn’t love that.

“He would sit and listen,” she said, “but he would get to a certain point that was like, ‘OK Mom, you cried. We’re good. I’m going to go have my hay now.’”

The horse who became known as Rush was foaled in Kentucky on May 4, 1983. He was sold as a yearling for $60,000 ($170,000 today) and registered as Dead Solid Perfect. He ran 16 times and won once, in 1986 at the Meadowlands, according to the horse racing statistics site Equibase, with the Hall of Fame jockey Julie Krone up. After his racing career, he was sold to a new owner and trained in dressage.

Eukers’s parents bought the horse for her when she was in her early teens. Already named Rush, he was a beautiful athlete, Eukers said, with massive shoulders that swayed like a lion’s when he walked. He was also a scaredy cat, unnerved at different times by flowers, squirrels and a mosquito lamp.

“His mission in life at that point was to worry about things and he was really good at it,” Eukers said.

They grew to understand each other. She fed and groomed him and protected him from everyday objects. And when she asked him to clear a fence, he did, even though he was afraid.

“If I asked him to try, he would always try, and he would try and try,” she said. She still keeps the ribbons they won in riding competitions.

Eukers believes Rush’s diet contributed to his longevity. At 30, he indicated that he wanted a change from commercial horse feed. (“He started to tell me: ‘You know what? This just doesn’t work.’”) She began giving him organic meals of alfalfa pellets and whole grains. When the grains were too hard for Rush to chew, she turned them to mush in a slow cooker.

Last week, she still had two bags of bright green hay in the back of her car. It was made for guinea pigs, but Rush liked it.

Eukers stopped riding Rush when he was 35. He was still able to carry her, she said, but she now had a different priority: Her father had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Caring for Rush had to be balanced with researching treatments for her dad and just being with him. When her father died in 2019, she said, Rush was no longer fit to be ridden.

The once-brown horse was now mostly gray. He spent his days at Windsor Hunt Stables under an apple tree, communing with dogs named Wilson and Lola, red-winged blackbirds, wrens, a yellow barn cat and a quarter horse called Cowboy, who stole his hay.

Day after day, Eukers walked Rush up and down the little hill next to the barn, steering him away from the gravel path because the stones hurt his feet. She massaged him with essential oils while he napped. She tied a rope to him and had him trot in a circle around her. She experimented with all kinds of dietary supplements, and Dr. Michael Stewart, Rush’s veterinarian for more than 20 years, gave him steroids to keep him strong.

People would ask Eukers how old Rush was, and when she told them, they would follow up with what she considered an indelicate question: “How long do horses live?”

Last summer, Rush somehow hit his head when he was alone. Eukers could tell by the swelling and his behavior. It took him a long time to recover. He also suffered from an abscess on his left front hoof and persistent breathing difficulties. Amid it all, Cowboy, his companion of 14 years, died at 26, leaving Rush bereft.

About that time, Eukers, who worked in administration for an aerospace company, began receiving frequent texts at work alerting her that Rush was lying down, and she’d have to hurry to help him.

It is fine for horses to lie down, Dr. Stewart said in an interview, but because of the way their digestive systems work, they must get up to survive. Eukers always managed to get Rush back on his feet, often with help, but as time passed she felt less and less comfortable leaving him alone. She began to spend nights in the barn, placing a chair outside Rush’s stall and wrapping herself in horse blankets as she listened to his breathing.

“You and I would be lucky to have somebody care for us like she cared for him,” Dr. Stewart said.

On the night of Nov. 7, Eukers stayed with Rush until late, then went home to get a couple of hours’ sleep in her bed. When she returned at 5:30 a.m., Rush was down, spilling out of his stall onto the cold barn floor. Eukers called her mother, then Dr. Stewart. For hours they worked to get him up, but the cramped space and the slope of the floor worked against them.

In recent years, Eukers said, people often told her that animals can sense when they are dying. He’ll tell you when it’s time, they would say to her. But Rush didn’t do that, she said. Even after she rubbed his forehead and told him, “You’ve done enough, you don’t have to try anymore,” he kept struggling to lift his head and scrabbling to get his feet under him.

Finally, Eukers asked Dr. Stewart if he thought this was the end, and when he said yes, she made her decision. She had fought for Rush as long as she could. She knew that even if they got him up, they would be back here again soon, and Rush would be suffering, and he would try for her again.

[danniswrites]

Aki, My Service Dog

He is missed!

I'm sad that my ex supported this pet shop by buying not one, but 3 dogs, one for his parents and one for his sister. The other two did not live to the 13 years Aki did, but his brother was overfed. We follow our vet's recommendations and make sure we see an hourglass when we look down on our furbabies.

ASPCA.org is a very good source of reliable info. So many pet sites are not. If you are dying to get a thoroughbred dog, here's some tips: If you want a healthy dog, get a mutt.

You can go to AKC.org and read through the breeds, and nearly all of them have some sort of genetic defect. Some can be expensive. A reliable breeder will be AKC registered, not some other registry. They will be concerned about parentage and how healthy previous litters, and the parents' litters were. That's what you should be paying for. Good lineage. Backyard breeders don't care what they're breeding to what. You are better off going to a shelter or rescue site and adopt a rescue. No, you don't know lineage, but you can get the pet with the look you want, and feel good about getting a pet that would have been put down. About a quarter of rescues are thoroughbreds, just without the papers. Aki, even though he had AKC papers, was a rescue. He was terribly overpriced, and my ex was ripped off.

He was a puppy mill dog. There was no question that we wanted to keep him, even though the papers gave us a year to return him. We loved him, and he gave us love all his life long. Pet shops know very few people will return a dog once he leaves the store, so they keep making money that way. Backyard breeders offer comparatively cheap dogs and cats of a certain breed. They just buy two, probably from a pet shop, and breed them. They are out to make money. Breeders who register with AKC are usually in it for the good of that breed, going to dog shows and learning all they can about genetics. If a litter has a bad result, they don't breed that animal again. They are careful to let Mom rest well between litters and don't breed her every time she comes into heat. Good veterinary care is vital, as most thoroughbreds need help during delivery, though not all. It's an expensive hobby. Even with what they charge for pups, even 'pet quality' pups that can't be shown, they rarely make a profit. We got one of the few AKC breeders just in it for money. She probably only got $10-20 for each pup. She probably had a farm with lots of Moms only handled to get shots. Most of the pups probably died on the torturous truck ride from MO to GA, as do most pet shop animals. Truck drivers may or may not check on the animals they carry, on this days-long journey. The truck might not be air-conditioned. It is my hope you will adopt from a shelter or rescue. Or, from a reputable AKC breeder who loves and cares for the Moms who have the puppies. Most, the vast majority, do.

Pictures of Aki as a puppy, and his transformation after his first haircut, is on Imgur https://imgur.com/a/EauOmW0

[littlexredxhoneyxbadger]

How about 14 for the ask game for all of your MCs. ☺️

In reference to this post.

14. "What are your MC's hobbies?" Thank you so, so much for submitting an ask! I've been waiting for an excuse to talk about my brainrot children, and I really appreciate the opportunity to flesh them out. I did my main four, since I haven't really fleshed out or decided everything for Cassie or Chana yet, but I hope you'll enjoy these regardless.

Mary Frances Garratt Collecting rocks. Frances loves her rocks and has been known to skive off and wander off the path to collect them; plants, potions ingredients, and everything in between aren’t far behind. She’s small – barely 5’0 – and can’t swim, but she’ll go waist deep into the nearest body of water at even the slightest chance of finding the specific ingredient she’s looking for.

Beyond that, Frances can also be quite domestic. Her interest in plants, herbs, and potion ingredients transfers over (and primarily comes from) her time in the muggle world. She grew up very Catholic in a household with very traditional gender roles, and after her parents passed, the family she lived with used her primarily for “women’s work” – i.e. being a maid to them, and a nanny to their three children. Frances has a lot of built up anger for ways she was treated by the parents, but loved the children and teaching them things that she was never taught (and had to figure out herself).

Frances isn’t exactly a foodie, though (though she is the anti-thesis of the phrase “never trust a skinny chef”). She likes pastries, and she’s a fiend for most mixtures of sugar and flour, but a lifetime of sensory processing issues (and as a fellow autistic girlie, I sympathize) has left her with more of an enjoyment of the cooking process than eating it. Baking, though? Oh, this girl is definitely the kind of person who would make homemade cookie dough at 2am and eat half of it raw while baking the rest of it.

Fun fact: Mary Frances was named after my paternal great-grandmother, may she rest in peace. She had a 3rd grade education, married at 13, had 7 children, and never learned to read. My grandfather, her youngest child, describes her as the smartest and kindest woman he ever knew.

Esther Han-Ostberg Esther’s the creative one of the bunch. Born deaf, she still enjoys music from the vibrations, but enjoys visual medias far more. She grew up fairly isolated, one might even say a fair bit sheltered, but always found solace in painting, specifically with acrylics because she has exactly zero patience for oils. Poetry is a big one too, since she can’t hear the lyrics of someone singing; for Esther, it was a way to express her thoughts and stories in a slightly unconventional way, as opposed to strictly writing them down.

Stars are an interest of hers as well. Her father, a Swedish muggle, was a geologist who dabbled in some other forms of science, notably astronomy, which was a big part of the way that Esther got her name (which is both Persian and Hebrew for “star”), and though she didn’t have the greatest interest in stars or astronomy as a child, stargazing became a bonding experience for Esther and her father – a way for them to engage in something that didn’t require Esther to hear in order to enjoy, and didn’t require her father to be magical to understand (and especially given astronomy may or may not have been how Esther’s muggle father and witch mother met).

Daniel Harper If ever there was someone to call a horse girl (or boy, in this case), it would be Daniel. Like all of my MCs seem to be, Daniel grew up isolated and was the youngest of six sons born to two magical parents. His father split early on, when Daniel was a toddler, embarrassed at the possibility of having a squib for a son; Daniel’s mother, who wasn’t much better, remarried a wizard named Eric (who again, wasn’t much better), who bred and trained thoroughbred horses for racing and steeplechasing.

There, Daniel found his passion. He was isolated and bullied, in both worlds and by his entire family, but he had the horses, and when he was a pre-teen, he met a palomino filly not expected to survive the night following her birth, and it was there that he found his first love. The palomino, who’s coat color did not make her a particularly sought after item, was allowed to stay on the farm, and from there, Daniel found his best friend.

He named her Naomi, meaning “gentle” and “beauty”, though he chose it less for the meaning or more to make a pun: “NEIGH-oh-mee”.

Daniel trained Naomi all on his own after years of teaching himself how ride, and how to hunt on horseback. He slept in the barn with her and the other horses, was up all hours of the night and day to care for her and the others, and dedicated himself to caring for the creatures that – in his opinion – were nothing more to his family than a means of making money. No respect for the creatures, no love of the breed or sport, only love of the next sale on their mind.

But even years later, as he rides Highwing, he thinks back to his horseback riding and remembers fondly.

Tzipora Strausser Tzipora is a music lover, through and through, specifically piano. Growing up with a deceased mother and a father who toiled away all day as a miner, Tzipora could never have afforded the privilege of hearing music on a daily basis – much less ever learning to play an instrument or owning one.

But one of her earliest memories after her father’s death was at the orphanage that she grew up in. She was only six years old, unable to speak English or Welsh, only German, having immigrated to Swansea from Dusseldorf with her father less than a year prior, and most of the caretakers at the orphanage were at a loss of how to communicate with her. Though Yiddish, which many of them knew snatches of (being an Ashkenazi Jewish orphanage), shared some similarities with Tzipora’s native German, it still wasn’t enough to bridge the gap. The orphanage, run by a rabbi and his wife, was attached to a shul (synagogue), and one of Tzipora’s most vivid memories is of the first time she heard a cantor playing the piano during a Shabbos service. She couldn’t understand the words of the song, but with the notes, she didn’t have to.

After the service, she wandered away from her age group’s caretaker, climbed up onto the bench of the piano, and just started tapping each key to make a sound. When her rabbi approached her and asked her about the piano (in a language she couldn’t understand at the time, Welsh), Tzipora began to cry and thought she was in trouble for touching the piano without permission. However, the rabbi sat next to her on the piano’s bench and wiped her tears away, took her hands, and without a word exchanged between the two, taught her every chord he knew.

Tzipora always wanted to be a cantor or some kind of musician as a child, though cantors were rare in Orthodox Judaism at the time, and female cantors even more so. But even then, everything could change, and she could be sent from foster home to foster home, and then back to the orphanage and onto another foster home, but despite the fluidity and technique of how someone could play a piano, the songs always remained the same, and she knew that she could always find solace in tickling the ivories.

[husheduphistory]

About Last Knight: The Famous Face-off of Josef Mencik

The townspeople all loved Josef, he was courteous, kind, and generous with all his neighbors. The children delighted in seeing him ride into town and loved hearing his stories. The only thing that could be better was visiting his home, filled with all manner of unique items with tales of their own that Josef was more than happy to tell. Josef Mencik was a historian, but he immersed himself in the past in ways that went far deeper than paper and ink. He may have been born in a more modern age but in his daily life Mencik was the last of the medieval knights.

As dedicated as Mencik was to history, he was extremely secretive of his own and there is almost nothing known about his early days. He never shared the names of any family members, his birthdate is a mystery, and there is no known record of where he was born with historians only able to narrow down that he was most likely born in the Böhmerwald region of Czechoslovakia. In approximately 1911 he ventured out into the world and set his sights on an aged castle in Dobrš. He decided to make it his own, but this was not going to be an easy task. The castle had been standing since the 14th century and when Mencik purchased it it was a ruin, severely damaged by a fire and countless rainstorms that left it a shell of its former self. But in this broken structure Mencik saw his ideal home and after purchasing it he began the long road to rebuilding it.

Böhmerwald region of Czechoslovakia via 1930s. Image via Wikipedia Commons.

Mencik’s idea of bringing his castle back to its glory days was meant in the most literal sense. He lived with no electricity, no plumbing, absolutely nothing representing the comforts available to him in the early 1900s. Where modernity was absent, it was replaced with beauty. The halls were lit with candles and torches and as time went on Mencik filled his home with rare antiques turning it into a literal living history museum, a time capsule of the days long past that he happily shared with anyone who wanted to see the collection of treasures. This full embrace of the medieval age extended far beyond a refurbished home and an extensive antique collection. Mencik lived his life as closely as he could to a knight, traveling on his beloved thoroughbred horse and wearing fine suits of armor crafted in France. Some accounts state that he even had a moat around his castle….filled with wooden alligator sculptures.

Josef Mencik in full armor. Image via DannyDutch.com.

Like so many parts of his past, it is unclear if he ruled his private kingdom alone. According to some accounts Mencik was married to a woman named Ema Mencikova and that they may have had two children, but this has not been proven. What is well known is that everyone who knew Mencik thought very highly of him. By all accounts he treated everyone with respect, was always willing to help anyone in any way he could, and he enjoyed spending time with his friends and neighbors. He was a regular patron of the local taverns where he would socialize with everyone, ending every visit with his personal ritual “to swallow a whole herringbone, which he then drank with a good glass of rum and then shouted menacingly."

Everyone who knew Mencik personally knew of his genuine character, but his actions on one particular day in 1938 would make sure his story was told for generations.

Images of Josef Mencik on his horse. Image via DannyDutch.com.

In an early act of aggression, in 1938 Nazi Germany moved to invade Czechoslovakia in order to annex the predominantly German region of Sudetenland. As the Germans crossed the border through Bučina they were not anticipating any resistance, but what they were met with was more stunning and confusing than they could have imagined. As they crossed they were met by Josef Mencik, seated high upon his horse, dressed in full armor, and holding a very large halberd. He met them standing strong, ready, and defiant, but he also met them alone. As the crushing, modern machines of war rolled closer to the knight he did not flinch and he stood taller as they became more confused as to what exactly they were all seeing. Unfortunately, there is no written account to tell us about the words exchanged between the knight and the Nazis, but what is known is that instead of engaging or attacking Mencik, they all simply hesitated for a short while before continuing to march past him. As they went by some Nazi soldiers tapped their helmets at him, a signal that said they believed that Mencik was simply a delusional man not to be bothered with. As they moved past Mencik they walked into an early chapter of a war that would tear the world apart.  

There are many differing opinions about the actions of Mencik against the Nazis with some feeling it was an act of pure bravery while others feel it was foolish. Regardless of opinions, it is technically true that he did successfully defend his castle home which was never taken during the war. In 1945 though, the fortress that Mencik brought back to life and made into a home where he welcomed everyone with open arms, was removed from his hands when the structure became part of the nationalization by the new Communist government. The last medieval knight Josef Mencik died only a few days later in November 1945 and was estimated to be in his late seventies.

For all his living days Mencik sought to bring the past back to life, not just for himself but also for the present to learn from and enjoy. Although he was probably heartbroken by his home becoming nationalized, today his castle is open to the public and serves as a museum, welcoming curious visitors just as he did. Josef Mencik, the last knight, passed away nearly eight decades ago but his private kingdom, his history lessons, and his story of bravery in the face of danger have withstood the test of time far longer than he could have dreamed.

The remnants of Mencik's castle and more recent additions. Image via Michal Klajban / Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 3.0

*************************************************************

Sources:

Josef Mencik: The Last Knight Who Stood Up to the Germans In WWII by Samantha Franco. War History Online. January 11th 2023. https://www.warhistoryonline.com/world-war-ii/josef-mencik.html

Josef Mencik – History’s Last Knight Stood Against the Nazis by Travis Pike. Sandboxx.us. November 14th 2022. https://www.sandboxx.us/news/josef-mencik-the-last-knight/

Josef Mencik-the Czech Don Quixote. WWII Forums Gateway to the Second World War. November 18th 2021. http://ww2f.com/threads/josef-mencik-the-czech-don-quixote.76341/

[mthguy]

Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney perform “Good Morning” in the MGM film Babes in Arms (1939)

Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland proved to be a dynamic duo on screen, appearing together in such films as Love Finds Andy Hardy (1938) and Babes on Broadway (1941). The pair had an amazing connection, perhaps helped by the fact that they had a lot in common off-screen. They both came from theatrical families. Garland, born Frances Ethel Gumm, made her stage debut as a toddler in her older sisters' act; and Rooney, born Joseph Yule, Jr., had a vaudeville performer for a father and a showgirl for a mother.

Both had parents who pushed them into show business. Rooney moved to California with his mother in the mid-1920s to launch his career, and she even changed his name to give it more Hollywood appeal. Garland grew up performing with her sisters before landing a film contract when she was only 13 years old. MGM Studios boss Louis B. Meyer reportedly hired Garland without having her do a screen test. She, too, went through a name transformation to make her more marketable. From an early age, Rooney and Garland both knew all too well the ups and downs of the entertainment business.

Rooney may have only been a year or so older than Garland, but he had much more film experience when they started working together. He made his film debut in the 1926 short, Not to Be Trusted. From there, Rooney starred in a series of shorts based on the comic strip character Mickey McGuire.

Garland and Rooney first met in 1935, when Rooney was a rising star and Garland was just starting out, but it took a few years for the studio realize that Garland and Rooney would be a winning combination.

Garland made her first feature film appearance in the 1936 sports comedy, Pigskin Parade. Garland and Rooney made their joint appearance in the 1937 film Thoroughbreds Don't Cry. Garland later credited Rooney with giving her some of the best acting advice of her career while making this film. He told the talented young performer to perform her lines "like you're singing it."

Rooney had already made four popular films in the Andy Hardy series before he was joined on screen by Garland. Starting with 1937's A Family Affair, the series explored the lives of Judge James K. Hardy and his family. Rooney played his teenaged son Andy, and this friendly character who seemed to represent an all-American image quickly won over audiences.

Garland first appeared in 1938's Love Finds Andy Hardy as Andy's friend Betsy. Early in her career, she was marketed as a girl-next-door type. The two characters' relationship mirrored the actors' off-screen connection as well. Garland, just like Betsy, had a romantic interest in Rooney at the start, but Rooney, similar to Andy, was too busy pursuing other girls to notice her. He was involved with a number of other actresses, including Norma Shearer, who was 20 years his senior.

Garland's career soon started to take off. When Rooney and Garland appeared in 1939's Babes in Arms, the pair shared top billing. The musical, directed by the legendary Busby Berkeley, proved to be a huge hit. Rooney and Garland seemed to play off each other in a way that made their performances better, and moviegoers found them to be a compelling and magical pair to watch.

Babes in Arms is a film version of the 1937 coming-of-age Broadway musical of the same title. Directed by Busby Berkeley, in addition to Rooney and Garland, it featured Charles Winninger, Guy Kibbee, June Preisser, Grace Hayes, and Betty Jaynes. It was Garland and Rooney's second film together as lead characters after their earlier successful pairing in the fourth of the Andy Hardy films. The film concerns a group of youngsters trying to put on a show to prove their vaudevillian parents wrong and make it to Broadway.

It premiered on October 13, 1939, and became one of the 10 biggest hits of the year. With all the adorable gumption of its young stars, Babes in Arms pays thoroughly entertaining tribute to the magic of show business.

The film was nominated for two Academy Awards: Best Actor in a Leading Role for Mickey Rooney, who was 19 at the time and became the second-youngest Best Actor nominee, and Best Music, Scoring by Roger Edens and Georgie Stoll.

[christmascheeseballs]

Till Death Do Us Part  – An Arthur Morgan x OC Story *PART TWO*

Content Warnings – Kidnapping, Death Threats, Micah Bell, Trauma, Angst, Character Deaths, Eventual Happy Ending (not in this part), Reference to torture, reference to sexual assault, not described, one brief mention of both

Word Count – 1.7k

Part One - 1.3k words (17th July 2024)

Part Two - 1.7k words (17th July 2024)

Part Three - 1.2k words (19th July 2024)

Authors Note – I’m so sorry for the confusion of Bonnie the horse and Bonnie MacFarlane in this – my horse irl is a Belgian draft, and I thought it would be cute to put her in this but it just ended up confusing lmao

-x-

7 years later

February 16th, 1907

I found this old journal today while looking through my Arthur’s things. Me and Bea moved into our new home about 6 months ago now, and I finally had the chance to sit and go through all of our old belongings. I found Arthur’s journal, and after spending a few days crying over his sweet notes, all his loving words about me etched delicately with his careful script, I decided to start sharing my own thoughts. Share my problems to someone other than Bea or Bonnie. 

We now live on a ranch, west of Blackwater. God it feels strange to be back in this area again. After leaving Abigail and the others in Oregon all those years ago (I miss them all so much), myself and Darcy, my sweet girl, headed across the country to find somewhere safe to have my baby. We settled in North California, just on the border. While the busier state was helpful for delivering my baby, my country soul could not cope and we soon continued south. Hopping from place to place, we have finally found a home. Its been a lonely few years, and I haven’t seen Abigail or any of the others since those fateful days. As far as John and the others know, I either ran away or died out on the trails. It breaks my heart to break theirs, but needs must.

As I said, we now live on a ranch west of Blackwater - MacFarlane’s Ranch. While Bea is cared for my some of the local ladies, who enjoy teaching her to read and write, I spend my days in the corral, training the horses that the owners of the ranch bring in. I can still remember the days when my Arthur first taught me to ride, all those years ago. And now here I am, teaching horses how to take care of their riders, teaching young fillies and colts all the groundwork to set them up for life. I’m quite a horsewoman nowadays!

Speaking of horses; my sweet Darcy was retired 2 years ago now, and I have managed to organise for her to have her own paddock on the ranch to live out her days. I know that retiring a horse ain’t all that common round here, but Miss MacFarlane seemed to have a soft spot for my sweet mare. My heart genuinely aches when I bring her in from her paddock to check her over, and my sweet Bea runs over to see her, clamouring to ride. I allow her to sit on her while I walk back to the field, but that is all. She has the passion for horses that her daddy had, and that I’ve tried to continue for him.

My new horse is a stunning and versatile red roan Belgian Draft mare named Bonnie - I purchased her from a fellow in Montana at the same time as retiring Darcy, so I can promise that her having the same name as Miss MacFarlane is pure coincidence! Bonnie (the horse, that is) is such a perfect mare for my little family - she can drive us to the local town with the wagon, and also allow me to use her to ride, and even teach Bea to ride! I thought I’d struggle finding a horse as perfect as Darcy, but Bonnie sure ain’t that far off. Although, have a horse as stocky as a draft horse after years of riding a fine thoroughbred is definitely a difference!

I truly hope we can find happiness here. 

Florence Morgan

-x-

On the 25th May, 1900, Beatrice Abigail Morgan was born in the state of California, to Mrs Florence Morgan. And now, at nearly 7 years old, the two of you had settled down into the ranching lifestyle, with Bea finally given the chance to go to a proper school and learn to read and write.

Whilst life hadn’t been kind to the either of you over the past few years, you truly felt you’d found a place you could finally settle in. MacFarlane’s Ranch was a simple but efficient farm, with a well established cattle and equine business. While the men handled the cattle, a position had opened up in the training and husbandry of the horses; when you saw the role in the papers, you had nearly screamed. Especially when you saw the gleaming words “house available for successful applicant”. It was practically made for you. 

Now, your days consisted of waking up early; avoiding waking up Bea; feeding all the horses in the stables; sneaking back home; giving Bea her breakfast and sending her off to school with Mrs Nelson across the road; backing, exercising, and being thrown off countless different horses; ideally selling a couple to clients; before collecting Bea and preparing dinner before bed. 

A simple enough life, but busy enough to keep your mind free from the ghosts of your past. 

Free until nightfall, that is. That is when your mind filled with panic, dread, and guilt. Guilt for your husband, being left alone all those years ago to die to the hands of Micah Bell. You never got to visit his grave - as far as you know, he never got one. Dread and panic at the sickening gut feeling you had in the base of your stomach that something would happen; and soon. Years of running and fighting finally catching up with you.

-x-

You were used to waking up in a cold sweat, but tonight was different, your fears felt more daunting, more real – you awoke, gasping from the night terrors that plagued you, trying to steady your breathes and keep Bea asleep, her small body in the room next to yours. As your panicked gasps subsided, you swung your legs out of your cot, a daunting weight sitting heavily on your shoulders. As your eyes adjust to the darkness in your room, you glance at the clock. Despite feeling like you had been trying to fall into a sleep for hours, it was barely 1am.

A deep sigh left you as you stood, taking yourself into your small kitchen to pour yourself a mug of water. Standing at the window, you glance outside towards the corral, a small smile etching itself onto your face when you spot Bonnie led down, fast asleep. You envied her.

Looking past the corral, you spotted a group of pale, flickering lights – lanterns, you thought – moving swiftly towards the ranch. This wouldn’t be the first time bandits attacked the ranch, and would likely not be the last. You sigh, this must've been the gut feeling you had minutes before. Before the lights could get any closer, you grabbed your coat, covering your chemise, and shoved your feet into your boots. You picked up your Lancaster Repeater, the one Arthur used and lovingly cared for until passing it onto you, and dashed towards the MacFarlane’s farm house.

Hammering on the door, adrenaline rushed through your veins as you waited for the family to wake up. A shadowed figure appeared in the doorway of the farm house. “Florence? What’s goi-”, she stopped, realisation spreading across her face as she spotted the threat approaching the ranch. She grasped her rifle by the door, a serious expression setting in her face.

A fight was on your hands

-x-

The attackers had shocked you, at first. Whilst there were various casualties, they had not come in guns blazing, seemingly searching for something rather than being out for the kill. Their masked faces surveyed the area, before one man – which hauntingly familiar eyes - stopped on your figure, hidden slightly behind a cart in front of the corral. He stopped, and stared, before nodding at something behind you.

Next thing you knew, a pair of greasy hands wrapped themselves around you, one of them covering your mouth, the stench filling your nostrils, the other bringing a knife to your throat. Bonnie gave you a panic stricken look, her eyes darting over to your homestead. Big mistake. The man holding you spotted this look, and chucked – a sneer that you’d never thought you’d have the displeasure of hearing again.

“Go get her brat, Dutch.”

2 months later

As if life hadn’t been hard on you already for as long as you could remember, the past few weeks were just the cherry on top. After being kidnapped by Micah Bell, you were beaten, tortured, and taken advantage of on an almost daily basis. Fed the bare minimum to survive. As much as your blood boiled with anger when you saw the face of Dutch Van Der Linde, you had to thank him. He was able to keep Micah and his men away from Bea, a soft look appearing in his eyes whenever he laid eyes on her.

Although you hoped that you could sense the guilt when he glanced at you, he couldn’t bring himself to keep them away from you as well.

When you first realised it was Dutch seemingly orchestrating the attack on MacFarlane’s Ranch, you saw red – but could do nothing about it. Micah pressed the blade closer to the skin of your neck, breaking through the first few layers as you hissed in pain under his hand. Dutch turned towards your house, coming back out minutes later with a trembling Beatrice Morgan. But he looked pained.

Now, after being captured and tortured for the past few months, you knew that Dutch was as trapped as you were. Whilst you held no true sympathy for him, you knew that he did not take a part of your capture willingly.

As the days went on, you slowly begun shutting down, loosing any hope of rescue. You knew that Bonnie and her father, the sweet family that they were, would’ve tried to find you at first, but you also knew it was a helpless task. After taking you from the ranch, the group had travelled west, settling in western Texas for a few weeks. They had then moved east again, back towards New Hanover – but for some unknown reason decided to settle in the mountains of Ambarino.

Heavy snow and biting cold plagued you every day, as you clutched onto Bea, giving her the scraps of any food you were scarcely given, trying to have her eat as much as she could. Even Dutch sneaked her a few thinning blankets on one particularly frigid night. You were at a true loss of what could be done. Until one fateful morning, a gravely, and scarily familiar voice rang out from the mountains outside.

“Micah, if you’re in here, come out”

-x-

Thanks for reading, please like, comment and reblog <3

[mj0702]

So you're a vet? An emergency vet?

Country as in both 😅 favourite and origin xD

So I take you're more masculine ? Correct if I'm wrong!

Oh no, may I ask which sport? Basketball?

yeeeeah no... I work on a thoroughbred stud farm and we have foaling Season at the moment... but I can do some vet work to a certain point... 😅 I won't say what I've done in the past because I don't want to scar you for life 🤣😅

Country... I'm from Germany but I'm a halfbred (my old man was English)... favorite... France and Spain... I just LOVE the French language (they could swear at me all day long and I still would throw them heart eyes and start to drool) and the Spanish mentality is just unmatched... I've never seen people go from totally chill to basically slicing each others throats back to chill with one other so quickly as with the Spaniards

more masculine.. correct (and yet when the wife raises her eyebrow I scramble to whatever she wants to get done)

sport... dear God no... I played basketball in school... too much running and too many people 🤣🤣 it was alpine skiing... but the speed disciplines... so super G (no pun intended😅) and downhill... I was never... technical enough

[roguemonsterfucker]

Also a super important aspect of The Ultimate Horse Game for me is all horses being equal.

I'm fucking sick of these games that hand your first horse (or worse, let you customize it) and give minutes later say "Your horse is shit. Buy or breed a better one." And you have no choice but to move on from your first horse, potentially being forced to sell it.

All horses, stat wise, have equal potential in TUHG... Bad acronym. I promise it's gonna have a real name when it's released on the 12th of never.

I guess I could call it HUG. Horse Ultimate Game. Have to drop the 'The' for that version because uh. Obvious reasons, I hope.

Anyways, all horses start with the same stats and you decide what you want your horse to be trained in. So you balance it for your needs. Maybe you need a fast and agile barrel racer, or a horse suited for pulling a heavy wagon long distances. You specialize the horse using a skill tree and training activities.

It may end up feeling unrealistic to have a Thoroughbred that can do weight pulls and a Clydesdale that can do flat racing, but... I don't need to justify it. I want everyone's horses to be on a level playing field. I don't want any horse to be deemed useless because of its stats.

In Horse Isle 3, I loved breeding these beautiful midsized draft horses. But you can't do squat with them. I was breeding from foundation lines, so they had bad stats and even if they had the best stats for their breed, they never would be good for riding around. They'd always be slow. And even their strength wouldn't compete with other draft breeds. I adored them but they were fucking useless.

None of that here. Even if it's unrealistic, all horses are equal. You have to put work into them for them to be good, but they all have the same potential.

[villanevehaus]

Hi haus! You may have already answered this before but do you have any movie recommendations (preferably wlw)?

HI ANON this is where i reveal that i have an alphabetized spreadsheet of every wlw movie i have ever seen with ratings, links, notes, and content warnings so yes i have movie recommendations.

personal wlw favs: it's in the water 1997 (campy comedy), thelma (thriller/horror), the handmaiden (thriller), bound (crime thriller w butch/femme), kyss mig (romance), but im a cheerleader (campy comedy), disobedience (drama).

honourable wlw mentions aka the ones i would recommend: the incredibly true adventures of two girls in love (cute teen romance), battle of the sexes (billie jean king!), portrait of a lady on fire (drama/romance), the hours (drama/history? unique), elena undone (romance- i am contractually obliged to mention this bc of eve undone), DEBS (campy goofy spy), desert hearts (50s western- i am contractually obligated to mention this bc of borrowed boots), imagine me & you (comedy/romance), pariah (drama), the world unseen (historical/drama), i cant think straight (comedy/romance), freeheld (drama, based on a true story).

personal non-wlw favs: RAW (horror/thriller), the lobster (thriller?/romance), HER (romance/sci-fi), moonlight (drama), black swan (psychological thriller), sharp objects (psychological crime drama- its a series but idc), annihilation (cosmic sci-fi), fight club (fight club), the shape of water (romance), amélie (amélie), thoroughbreds (black comedy).

personal animated favs: prince of egypt (story of moses), spirited away (fantasy), who framed roger rabbit (comedy), wall-e (wall-e), ernest et célestine (cute!!!).

personal horror favs: RAW, the thing, american psycho, SAW series (amanda i love u), jennifer's body (is also wlw!), get out, silence of the lambs, carrie, scream series, ready or not, titane, nope, rocky horror picture show, stoker.

♡ movies ♡