#Looking at you Dappling

[silverthelovebug]

I love this image

Cupid and Blondie have no reason to be doing allat

You can’t tell me they didn’t go to Thronecoming together.

“I’ll vote for you.” “I’ll vote for you too.” Type beat.

They made out after this/j

Seriously though, girls supporting girls, look how happy they are that Apple won (I’m assuming this is for the country that she won in), they are smiling and joyous, no jealousy :3 Raven is proud of her roomie!!!!!!

Meanwhile Cupid and Blondie are like intensely holding hands and begging gay in the back.

[cometblaster2070]

Headmaster Grimm: Is there anyone here who’s actually straight? Apple: *raises hand* Darling: *puts her hand down*

[forgottenarthur]

Eithne/Arthur - “ why are you looking at me like that? ”

flashback

Arthur looked quickly away at the sound of her words. He rubbed the back of his neck. Bit out a self-conscious laugh.

The day was gorgeous, the sun streaming beyond a canopy of gently waving trees. All around them, the field was bursting with wild grasses and flowers that seemed to dot the landscape with bursts of vibrant color: her greens mingling with his reds and blues, till the whole world seemed decked out for only them. And amongst all this, ensconced on rugs and pillows stretched out against the roots the sheltering oaks, motes of light filtered between the boughs, bathing Eithne in golden light as she spoke of her beloved Malconaire, her whole face beaming like the sun.

She was transcendant -- at once more a creature of this earth than he could ever be, and yet so untouchably ethereal he held his breath, almost afraid she might melt away at the slightest of breezes. A chorus of birds sang all around her as if they sang with delight just to be near her, and the dappled light wound round her like will-o-the-whisp attendants sighing upon their liege lady. The radiance of the sun was her nimbus, not glowing upon her but, rather, shining because of her and, despite himself, Arthur smiled again, this time a meditative look taking hold of his features as he stole a glance once more at her.

He'd seen her at balls and at tourneys, but as stunning as she was all made up in Roisin's finest glamors, they could not match her natural beauty here in this wild place, so much a part of her that it seemed to breathe as she did, the very wind stirring with her words. Her tresses were all the finer simply framing her face than caught up in a golden net, and Arthur thought that perhaps all that finery appeared garish against the smooth porcelain of her skin, beaming as it did here in serene sunshine. Her eyes blazed an azure so fine he was sure the sky blushed to be compared to a tint so luminous, and her smile, so rosy, seemed to capture the full lustre of the floral hedges that danced in the attendant zephyrs all around them.

Arthur smiled then, arching a soft brow as he looked at her. His voice, when he spoke, was very soft. "I should have thought that obvious."

For a moment, Eithne looked at him and then, suddenly seeming to catch his meaning, or perhaps -- he hoped -- thinking something similar herself, she colored slightly and looked away. "You mustn't say such foolish things, Arthur. Anyone might think you meant them."

"It would showcase their wisdom."

Laughing, Eithne made herself busy, then, leaning forward to draw a repast from the wicker basket at her knee. Her gown was a simple roughspun, but somehow, out here amongst the gently tilting trees, he did not think anything could have appeared more becoming and, sighing, he gazed heavenward.

"Tell me -- before...before my father," began Arthur, gesturing vaguely, as if to indicate a time before the conquest. "How did you spend days like these?"

Eithne paused in her ministrations, and Arthur was conscious, then, of the weight of her gaze upon him. He smiled, slightly, still looking skyward. "Well...when we could, much like this."

"Oh?"

"But, most often, taking baskets to the village, of course."

Arthur frowned, turning to look at her, then. "Are...are they fond of...wicker?"

She laughed. His confusion did not dissipate. It was Eithne's turn to look quizzical. "Do...I don't suppose you take baskets to people? Or...or perhaps your sisters? Your mother and stepmother?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know that most people in the Empire have much...inclination towards--" he shrugged, gaze sliding to the basket at her knee. "Baskets. They're useful, certainly, but--"

"No, it's not--we don't take empty baskets."

Arthur shook his head, shrugging.

"They're filled with goods. Gifts. Bread and cheese and lettuce and jams and...anything that might help those...less well off."

"So...its some form of...charity?"

"Yes! Precisely."

Arthur frowned at the basket before them, doubt churning inside him. Then, a moment, and he pointed. "And? Is...this...charity?"

"What?"

"I just--It's a basket."

Laughing suddenly, Eithne set a plate with cheese and cold chicken before him. "In this case, it's hospitality. I daresay, you're better off than I am, or don't they feed imperial princes?" she teased, grinning.

Laughing, Arthur watched her laughter, her whole face seeming to somehow brighten even further as her limpid eyes danced. Somewhere deep in his belly, Arthur felt warmth suffuse him, something bright and briliant blooming in his chest as he joined her in laughter. "Why do you think we all come here so very often?"

"I did not imagine you came as beggars."

Arthur paused, watched the merriness in her face. It seemed to him the birds were singing more quietly now, as if they were alone in all the world, with no other earlthy creature to witness. This moment was theirs. "Any man, even a prince, is a beggar before someone like you." I didn't think someone like you could exist... he thought.

She frowned. "You make me sound a tyrant."

He shook his head, sat up a little straighter. "No, I..." he shrugged, sighing. "Eithne, what I mean is...There's no one else in the world like you. No one. Anywhere, and..." he shrugged, laughed. "I would know. I've been most places in the world, after all, and...You've no equal, Eithne. No rival. To know you is to wish to know you better. To be with you is to wish never to be parted." Arthur sighed, then, self-conscious, shrugged. "I'm not much with words, Eithne...I just mean there is no one like you. You're the sort of woman a man would beg, borrow, or steal just to please but, despite it all, I know that...My father may own half the world, but that won't make you mine. I could shower you with gems and you'd frown just," he laughed. "Just as you do now at the idea. Riches aren't what matter to you so...we're all beggars. You see? I've got nothing you want. And that's...that's something I've never encountered before."

"You're wrong!" blurted Eithne.

Arthur frowned. "I--"

"You do have something I want."

"What is it? It's yours, I--"

"Oh, hush," whispered Eithne and, leaning close, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "There," she said, smiling, a blush blooming upon her cheeks as she leaned back again.

"Oh no you don't," chuckled Arthur, one hand slipping into the veil of her hair to cradle her neck as he leaned close. Her lips were soft as roses petals. Her breath was a warm zephyr. And her eyes, when he opened his own to see them, were brighter than the whole sky.

[daisyachain]

Saw a post that argues that there are some words that just shouldn’t be translated. Think suffixes in Japanese-language texts. They convey plenty of information and English doesn’t have anything close to peer-honourifics. I understand this impulse. In fact it’s a good middle option to convey information quickly: if it’s a frequently used, story-critical untranslatable word, sure, stick in a glossary.

My personal belief is that you can translate everything effectively. There’s always going to be some combination of words that creates the desired effect. Even if the word is linked into a cultural norm that doesn’t transfer, there’s going to be some kind of equivalency you can draw based on the fundamentals of human emotion. Ultimately I think it’s better to translate based on flow and naturalism while including footnotes—if it’s something like a translated novel or a dubbed show. Subbed shows are trickier since the subtitles ought to line up with the spoken words, but you still have a lot of flexibility. There’s always going to be something you can do. Take the suffixes. There are no words in English to quickly convey a relationship, but you can get around that by deploying tone and register. It doesn’t have the guaranteed result of a -chan* *denotes affection of the user or cuteness of the bearer, sometimes used ironically between friends, default for close female friends. It can still accomplish a lot.

[sovonight]

,

[steeltwigz]

was tryna walk through the Frightening Forest and heard this loud ass repeating foghorn sound, so to whoever is blasting their fucked up experimental tracks, can you please stop disrupting the peace of the woods?

[derrypubliclibrary]

sorry i actually cantstop thinking abt the last 18 minutes of losers a lovr story episode 11 i particulat EHAT

[girlhaggard]

💘🧃🩵🧃💓🧃❣️

[wildflowercryptid]

entering my darling charming / dappling theme era!

[bluejaybytes]

Top 5 splatoon weapons?

WAUGH THANK YOU FOR THE EXCUSE TO TALK ENDLESSLY ABT SPLOON

1. Dapple Dualies/Dapple Dualies Nouveau. My precious darlings. My babygirls. My beloved toothbrush guns. I have over 300 wins on Dapples Nouveau and over 100 on base Dapples. I love the incredibly quick dodge roll speed and kill time, and Dapples Nouveau having Torpedoes plays PERFECTLY into how I like to play, and with the Reefslider buff, it's not as horrendous a special anymore! I don't play base Dapples much anymore, but I love Beakon spamming and being annoying as hell with them <3

2. Heavy Splattling. I was a short lived Hydra Splattling main for a while there, got it over 100 wins, but I'm just not reliable or consistent with it. Heavy I haven't played TOO much (I only picked it up last Splatfest for Tricolor), but I really like how it plays, and suits me a lot better than Hydra did

3. Tentatek Splattershot. I was also a Splattershot main for quite a bit of time, and with the new buffs to Triple Inkstrike, I find it quite fun to play

4. Tri-slosher. Played this for the majority of the most recent Splatfest and MAN is it fun! I don't see it becoming a main weapon for me outside of Splatfests however, I'm just not good at aiming with Inkjet (although its a REALLY fun special)

5. Dark Tetra Dualies. I have a persomal rivalry with the Tetras because yes they're essentially a much better Dapples Nouveau. However while getting them to 3 stars (I want the holo stickers for all Dualies, all thats left is Gloogas but I'm procrastinating), I had to concede that yes, fine, they're fun and a good weapon. I don't like Autobombs (Torpedoes are WAY better imo), but I like the four dodge rolls and longer range that Dapples lacks

[shithowdy]

this is your periodic reminder that for all the artifacts and errors and "tells" one could possibly list, the only reliable way to actually determine if an image is ai generated is to investigate the source. it is becoming increasingly common for "fake classical paintings" to circulate around curative aesthetic blogs, and everyone should be using this as an opportunity to not only exercise their investigative skills but also appreciate art more in general. you're all checking out the artists you reblog, right? 🫣

so what are some signs to look for? let's use this very good example.

what a lovely late-impressionist piece blended with evocative leyendecker-esque themes! why haven't you ever heard of this artist before? surely tumblr would be all over an artist like this. who is justin brown?

your two options from here are to do a search for the name, or a reverse image search. i prefer reverse image searching, particularly when it comes to a common name like "justin brown". so what does that net?

Immediately, without looking at any text, something is wrong: it barely exists. an actual historical piece would turn up numerous results from websites individually discussing the piece, but no such discussions are taking place. Looking at the text, though, does show the source-- and at least in this case, the creator was honest about their medium.

But let's also look at the "exact matches", in case a source doesn't make itself apparent in the initial sidebar results like this.

This section will often tell you post dates of images, and here it can be seen that the very first iteration of the image was posted 15 days ago. It did not exist online prior to that.

Seeing how long an unsourced image has been floating around is a skill applicable to more than just generative images! See a cool image of an artifact or other intriguing item with a vivid caption? Reverse search it! If all the results are paired with that caption and only go back a few months, you might just have viral facebook spam.

Sometimes generative creators are dishonest about their medium and do not tag it like in the example, so that's when establishing "jpeg provenance" becomes important. While it can be a little trickier to determine if someone is using generative images and not admitting to it if they aren't trying to pass it off as a classic, something to consider is the age of their account and the frequency with which they post. Here are some account red flags:

-Did they only start posting art after 2022, or if they did before, did their style/skill level WILDLY change? Not gradual improvement-- I'm talking amateur graphite portraits straight into complex digital renders. Everyone starts somewhere, newness is not a red flag alone; it's newness combined with existing in a vacuum away from any community.

-Do they post fully-finished paintings several times a week? -Do many of these paintings seem iterative of a similar theme or subject matter ("three well-dressed young men face each other under shade and dappled sunlight")?

-Does their style change in inconsistent ways? An artist that can swap between painting like Drew Struzan and Hokusai should be pretty well known, right? Why is no one hyping this guy?!

-Do they have social media besides the source instagram? If so, what are they posting about? Are there any WIPs? Doodles? Interactions with other artists? Gallery dates? 3am self-doubt posts? Or is it all self-promo? Crypto? Seemingly nothing art-related at all for someone pushing out 3 weekly paintings?

Basically, if it's important to you to omit this stuff when you curate, please don't just smash reblog if the source doesn't seem to be the OP themselves. Seeking out sources was important even before this became an issue, now it is more than ever.

peace n love

[athalantan]

El mentioned having a cat a few books back. Now I can safely say it’s because of Laeral lmao

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[dekuneho]

late evenings ☆ ( prohero!katsuki x reader ) mdni | suggestive

Your ears ring from the absence of noise as you shut your room door behind you. The static buzz of the electric fan is barely a reprieve — it's pin-silent and unnerving, bereft of light and life.

"C'mere," a voice rasps out, shattering the quiet.

Instantly, your nerves settle at the familiarity of your boyfriend's timbre. Your eyes are still straining in the unilluminated room, but with the slivers of dappled moonlight, it's easier to piece in how Katsuki is taking up the room. On your bed for two.

It's cold as you breeze to him, your skin still quivering from that fresh shower, smelling of Katsuki's shampoo and your favorite body scrub. But it's warmer as you snuggle up to him on the sheets, his arms swiftly pulling you closer by the waist. Every tension you've been keeping wounded tight releases all at once. Katsuki's leg throws itself over your hip like you're a walking body pillow.

"You're late," he says.

"I have a curfew?"

"Idiot." Katsuki still looks displeased. "Did you even eat?"

You nose his collar, smiling in that secret giddy way whenever Katsuki makes you feel so warm and cared for. "Mm. Saw the plate you prepared for me. Little cold."

Katsuki flicks at the exposed skin by your hip. "Don't complain. Your fault for working overtime."

"Missed you, too, Katsuki," you say with great forbearance, languidly pushing off just enough to catch his expression.

In the filtered light, you can make out how Katsuki's still got that cute scrunch of pale brows. His eyes are stark red, watching. You wait patiently — he looks like that when he wants something.

A shiver lances up your spine as Katsuki's fingers brush over the nape of your neck. His skin there is cold from the chill of your legs and the room, compared to the heat that's rushed to your face and everywhere around it whenever you're around Katsuki.

"Cold," you say, wincing away.

Katsuki keeps you still. "Warm it up then."

He really did miss you. It's just his dick seems to have missed you more. "…You want to have sex right now?"

Katsuki's head dips in a single nod. To prove his eagerness, he brushes his hip over your leg, where you feel his hardness under his sweatpants like a brick of heat. You swallow in nothing in particular, knowing firsthand how he can do you so well, but sleep is already clawing at you.

"Let's just do it tomorrow," you say, unable to hide your amused smile. "My legs are already sore, Katsuki!"

Katsuki groans in frustration, though his face portrays a kicked puppy more than anything. "Fine," he snarls. "Not tonight. Just ignore my dick suffocating down there, I guess."

"Kinda hard when it's so big."

You laugh when you feel it twitch against your thigh. Katsuki swallows the sound up with a searing kiss in retaliation, and your giggles melt easily into sounds of pleasure. Katsuki's cold hands travel up your spine, but they don't do anything else, warming itself up on the blossoming warmth there.

Katsuki breaks away, muttering, "Don't complain when I wake you up."

"What? To you humping me like a dog?" You kiss his scrunched nose. "Tomorrow; it'll feel so much better tomorrow. I’ll make you feel good."

Katsuki jerks away. "Fuck you, stop saying sexy shit!"

A laugh bubbles out of you again. Katsuki's face softens nearly imperceptibly.

He shifts until your face is buried under his chin — to hide his expression, maybe, but you have no complaints surrounded by his scent. With this, it's impossible to resist the call of sleep. You're dead to the world when Katsuki's fingers trace mindless circles by your waist, but you don’t miss how Katsuki sneaks in a kiss to your forehead before you go.

[elodieunderglass]

for the horse asks: appaloosa?

Appaloosa - What's your favorite horse color(s)?

I don’t really have one but I LOVE when horses and ponies are what they’re supposed to be!

I’m also a huge fan of the primitive markings, and general Lascaux cave horse appearance.

So like I wouldn’t say flaxen chestnut is my favorite AT ALL, but the Haflinger!! . yes you are a cobby little horse with a big butt that needs to be a flaxen chestnut!! and everyone understands this. Perfect animal. No need to track changes. Also I do love when a horse has a bit of texture in their mane and tail, so respect to Haflingers for being the rare wavy-haired horsie. I don’t even like blondes so you see what I mean here about it just being the pure synergy of intention and form and style, the Haflinger just is perfectly complete.

And then a brunblakk fjord horse. The mealy muzzle. The dorsal stripe. Black ear tips. Someone from 20,000 years ago is grasping my hand across space and time and we are crying together about how perfect a thick little horsie can get. Granted the fjords always have the weirdest haircuts in the world, but you can see exactly why. This horse is so perfectly what it’s supposed to be that you can’t resist scrungling it a little bit. Also another animal that IS its name like: all Norwegian Fjords LOOK like the breed name is Norwegian Fjord, and they ARE all named things like Freya. As they should be. This is an animal that is exactly what it should be.

You know how horse people compliment each other’s horses by saying they have a kind eye? It’s hard not to have a Kind Eye if you are a brunblakk Norwegian Fjord.

And of course, my baby, my darling, my moorland mousie, the feral shaggy brown/bay with mealy markings that is the Exmoor Pony. You look at this tubby beastie and you say YES. YES YOU ARE BORN TO BE A LITTLE BEASTIE ENCOUNTERED SUDDENLY ON A MISTY MOOR . The sculpting of the contour colours! Some sculpture artist would spend hours with an airbrush trying to do that! and they just wake up in the morning , eyeliner: on, eyeshadow: on, lipstick: on, cheeks: contoured, muzzle: mealy, dapples subtle, ready to go. Can’t even see their eyes half the time, but underneath 25 pounds of luscious pelted mane they’re wearing natural mascara. And for what? Living full time on rocks in the rain, baby!! This is a cave painting horse and it always will be!

The reverse of that of course is horses who Shouldn’t Be That Color. For example I am a little bit upset by this chestnut Shire, who isn’t a flaxen chestnut and probably should be. What are you doing baby? You need some leg markings sweetheart. Can we just dye your mane and tail black maybe, you have bay energy. Ughhhhh I’m trying not to be prescriptive. Ughhhh all horses are beautiful and beauty standards are fake but ———— - sweet child we HAVE to style you somehow!!!! You are a Shire!!!!! WHAT IS THIS??

And I love - LOVE! - a grulla/grullo. Obvious reasons: I like primitive markings, and I have the aesthetic taste of a small child. Who doesn’t secretly love a deviantart sparklehorse?

but I will be the first to admit that it is a razor’s edge between a really lovely grulla horse who reaches back to touch our shared history and knowledge of ourselves, an unbroken thread of beauty that should be painted in a cave under an ancient mountain, like a jewel of the earth: and a necromantic vessel that was bred to encourage possession by evil ghosts, to be harvested regularly and sold at retail prices by some midwestern white woman as part of some tortuous work-from-home scheme. And I do understand this. I know this about myself and about grullas. Like, this one is a horse that probably shouldn’t - we probably shouldn’t have done this. You know?

Do not ask about cremellos.

[ghoulphile]

run rabbit run | c.h/the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 869 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, mildly dubious consent (kinda?), dom!coop, bareback, cum play, degradation kink, biting, pet names (bunny), man-handling, doggystyle, drabble, coop's gotta fuck you full so the ferals can't smell you ➥ summary | "the drabble thing HNNNGH think about coop calling you bunny from the start bc he clocked that you were always a down for it and you not getting it until he after you fuck for the first time" ➥ notes | do not look @ me rn 🫣 i feel like i've exposed myself too much lol masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

He found the rabbit among endless dunes of rock and rubble; a frightened, jumpy little beast that required a firm hand to tame, and an even steadier one to control.

And while it would’ve been easier to dump ‘em at Super Duper Mart -- get his caps worth, pounds of flesh for vials of chem -- he took a shine. Now, what exactly it is about you that captured his attention so thoroughly, he can’t be sure (though he could hazard a few guesses).

What he does know is this: if it wasn’t for him, you’d have been killed a million times over by raiders, fiends, and ferals alike. Always finding your way into trouble as soon as his back is turned.

Like now.

So if he’s a little rough with you, it’s only because he had to haul ass half-way across the flooded district when he heard you scream.

Nevermind the hard lurch of his heart, the sensation of his stomach droppin’ to his feet. You were supposed to be safe, holed up in the building he cleared yesterday.

Surprise, surprise; you decided to go poking where you shouldn’t, and now he’s gotta rescue your dumb ass. Skidded around a bombed out building only to find you fighting off a small pack of ferals, their rotted hands scratching at your arms and their teeth gnashing at your face.

Goddamn it.

Same shit, different day.

“What did I fuckin’ say?” he snarls, chapped lips pressed tight against your ear as sharp hip bones rut into the softness of your ass. “You’re dumber than shit sometimes.”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t - hhahh, slow down - didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Your hands scramble for purchase, nail beds aching from how hard you’re digging at the dirt.

Shoved onto the ground, pants sagging around your thighs as a stray rock digs into your cheek, scraping up the tender skin. “Won’t do it again, I promise.”

The Ghoul snorts, delivers a stinging nip to the tip of your ear. Your reedy whine soothes some of the agitation but he’s still bristling, aggression threaded through with tendrils of panic he refuses to acknowledge.

“I highly doubt that.”

You hiccup, knees spreading wide as your back dips - trying to get away, to get closer.

The fat head of his cock keeps hitting your cervix with every stroke, little fissions of pain kissed pleasure racketing up your spine as he stretches you past your limits and fucks you open.

Your gummy walls swollen and raw from the constant friction of his shaft, the rad burns scraping your insides up. Clit aching and so wet you’re dripping, a damp patch of earth beneath you.

“No, promise I’ll be good!” You pant, the scent of sunbaked soil and stagnant water heavy in your nose. “Please, please, please.”

Everything aches, limbs sore from your tussle and pride bruised as sweat dapples your brow, sticks the fine baby hairs to the back of your neck.

A hand clamps down on your hip so hard bones grind, yanking you back into every punishing thrust. Heavy balls smack against your clit on the in-stroke, stoking the embers of your desire. Your toes curl in your boots.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, bunny.” The Ghoul grabs your elbow with his free hand, tugging you up into his chest so his chin hooks over your shoulder, breath puffing along the side of your cheek. “You just don’ know when ta learn. So I’m gonna have’ta teach you. An’ I’ll do it as many times as it takes, you hear?”

You sniffle, nuzzling the back of your head against his face. “I mean it,” you say. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know there’d be any ferals around. Was just trying to find some more food.”

Groaning, his hips kick forward in a softer grind, still so deep you feel him in your stomach - pussy filled to the brim with cock - but not as harsh as before. As close as you’ll get to an apology until he’s done.

“This is your fault - you got ‘em all riled. Now, we gotta make you smell like me so take your punishment like a good bunny 'fore I decide ta eat you instead.”

And you do, letting him rut into you until he’s satisfied, aching and so swollen by the end of it that he has to bully his way in with every thrust, your pussy clamping down and milking him for all he’s worth.

When he finally does pump you full, you’re dumb and dripping. Limp limbed and sagging into the ground - only held up by the cage of his arms. Thighs shaking and clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat as he wrings every last bit of pleasure out of you.

“Sometimes,” he says, sitting back on his heels to watch as his cum oozes out of you in a sticky rush, dripping down your folds, “I think dumb bunnies like you are only good fer one thing.”

You whine when his thumb whispers over your clit, caressing your folds as he gathers up his spend. Gently fucks it back into you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. 

“But that’s all right, I like ‘em a lil dumb.”