#hustle stallion

[womuny]

YellowTapee x Lord Ju

[whytheylosttheirminds]

june gloom - r.c.

(Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader, 4.5k words)

summary: After 8 beautiful months tangled up with the richest man on the island, your trist comes to a screeching hault when it's time for him to find a girl more suited to his lifestyle. Even though you tried to move on, a photo of a new girl on his arm sends you both into a spiral that ends with him back in your bed.

content: angst/smut, drinking, smoking, what could be perceived as infidelity but technically isn't. this story is 18+ minors do not interact.

You met him in September, at a nightclub on the mainland. You had been dancing with your girlfriends all night, celebrating your best friend’s bachelorette party. It was the fourth bachelorette you’d been to in a year, now at the age when all of your friends were settling down and getting married. There was no ring in sight for you, though. Your friends would laugh and call you the wild stallion, a running joke among the group that no man could tame you. You never saw the point in marriage. You were stubbornly independent, insistent that you would make your own way in the world, promising yourself you’d never be just someone’s little wife. 

You knew this choice meant you’d struggle a little more than your friends, most of whom ‘married-up’ financially. You didn’t grow up with money, and you didn’t have any now. You had spent your whole life on The Cut and you had no problem spending the rest of it there. If the trade off for living your life however you wanted was hustling and jumping between dead-end jobs, so be it. You were much more interested in collecting stories anyway, always looking for wild nights and strange characters to fill your life with, briefly, not keeping anyone around for too long.

You went out every weekend, no Monday 9-to-5 looming over your fun. You’d brought many guys back to the little shack by the water that you rented, your barely-one-bedroom, as you called it lovingly. All the other bachelorette parties ended up with you bringing some guy back to your apartment for some pretty good sex and a completely ingenuine “I’ll text you sometime.” So when you stepped off the dance floor, sweat making your silk-slip dress cling to your curves, and the bartender handed you a drink that was a gift “from that guy over there” you smiled wide, knowing this night would go exactly as planned.

You smiled slyly at the tall blond in the corner as you took a delicate sip of your drink. He was gorgeous, eyeing you up and down like he was starved for you. His large frame was crowding the booth of the VIP section as he winked and lifted his glass to you in salute. 

This time, there was a problem. This time, the sex wasn’t pretty good. This time, the sex was earth shatteringly incredible. You genuinely didn’t know sex could be that good, that a guy you met at a bar could ever be capable of making you feel so euphoric, or come so hard, so many times. You didn’t know your own body was capable of the things he got it to do. You didn’t think you’d ever want to stay up talking and laughing with one of your hook-ups like you did that night. You didn’t think you’d ever wake up disappointed that the guy from the night before wasn’t in the bed next to you. And you definitely didn’t think you’d ever be the one to pull out your phone and text him first.

After that night, you saw each other regularly. It turned out he lived on the island too, though his estate was on the rich side of town. That first night, he only told you his first name. But when he had you put your number in his phone and text yourself so you’d have his, a note popped up at the top of the text thread that said “maybe: Rafe Cameron.” You recognized the surname immediately, it was everywhere on this island. After he left the second time, you googled him. Thousands of hits came up, articles about his family, pictures of them at their estate, on their yacht, at charity galas and property groundbreakings. Even though you knew his drive back from your place was only a couple of minutes, every night when he snuck out into the darkness, you couldn’t help but feel like he was retreating to a completely different universe.

After a few weeks, Rafe’s late night visits started getting longer and longer. After he’d fold you into shapes you didn’t know you could make and fuck you breathless, you’d lay in your bed, his head on your chest, smoking a joint and talking for hours. You talked about everything, the conversations weaving between casual chats about your common interests, to deep talks about purpose, values, and trauma, to joking around and teasing each other until you were giggling below him and he was smiling into the skin of your neck. 

You’d tell him about your plans to never settle down and keep chasing the next adventure. He’d tell you about his asshole of a father and the grand plans he had for him. Neither of you ever acknowledged how antithetical your life plans were. The truth that nothing real would ever work between you would hang in the air everyone once in a while, but you’d just push away the tension with a joke and fuck again. 

Even though your nights together would bleed well into the early morning, Rafe never stayed over. It was an unspoken rule between you, he never told you he wanted to stay and you never asked him to. You told yourself it was a good thing, exactly what you wanted, as you shivered in your empty bed and cursed the loss of his warmth.

One night, that May, you and Rafe sat on your bed, eating the take-out he had ordered to your apartment after you’d finished fucking. He was quieter than usual, distracted. Just a little earlier, he had gone down on you for longer than he ever had. Taking his time, praising every inch of you with kisses. He whispered little nothings into the soft skin of your inner thighs before devouring you. “So beautiful” and “so good to me, baby” and “all I can fucking think about.” He always talked to you sweetly, saying the nicest words while doing the filthiest things to you, but this time was different. Typically he was rough, which you loved, but this night he moved slowly, without his usual urgency. He brought you to orgasm on his tongue twice, before fucking you in missionary, his forehead against yours as you came at the same time. Since that moment, he’d barely said anything to you outside of asking what you wanted for dinner.

You sat in silence and picked at the Chinese food he’d gotten from your favorite place. You watched him as he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress and twirled a chopstick between his long fingers.

“You don’t like your food?” You asked him hesitantly.

“Hmm?” He looked at you for the first time in several minutes. “Oh, no it’s fine, it’s good.”

His smile was tight as he set the containers on your nightstand, out of the way.

“Really? ‘Cause you didn’t eat any of it,” you pointed out. You hoped your teasing would loosen him up a bit, but he just sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Hey, is everything okay?” You asked quietly, your hand reaching out to gently pat his leg. You had never seen him like this before and had no idea how to proceed.

He looked up at you and leaned back against the headboard, biting the skin around his thumbnail. You were getting nervous.

“Rafe?”

“I, uh, had a talk with my dad today,” he muttered.

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows in curiosity. “And how did that go?”

“About as good as you might think,” he chuckled humorlessly. 

Even though you didn't know his dad, after the many stories Rafe had told you about his father’s temper and general disapproval of him, you hated him.

You sat in silence, hand still on Rafe’s knee, as you waited for him to tell you more.

“He said, uh…” Rafe stalled, like he was struggling to find the right words.

“He said what?” Your heartbeat quickened in anticipation, the unfamiliarity of his tone throwing your thoughts into chaos.

When he still didn’t answer, you whispered, “Rafe you’re making me nervous.”

He responded to this, clearly feeling bad when he realized he had you on edge. He placed his hand over yours and finally made eye contact with you. You tilted your head and tried to read his expression with no luck.

“He told me he wants to make me the VP of Acquisitions at Cameron Development,” he finally said.

You shook your head slightly as a big smile of relief spread across your face.

“Oh,” you half-chuckled. “Well, Rafe, that's great! That’s what you wanted right?” You placed your other hand on his forearm and shook him playfully. “That’s good news, why are you acting like someone died? Jesus, you scared me!” 

He smiled at the gesture, you knew he liked the way you’d mess with him. But then he straightened up more against the headboard, pulling away from you slightly.

“That’s not all he said,” he explained.

“What else? He’s going to give you a million dollars?” You joked.

“No,” he said sternly, making the smile fall from your lips immediately. “He said if I want this promotion that I need to get my shit together and…settle down.”

“Oh,” your brows furrowed as you considered his meaning, not quite understanding at first. When it hit you, you pulled your hands away from him completely. “Oh.”

“Y/n,” Rafe whispered, observing the way your lips curved down slightly.

“You’re ending this,” you said flatly, gesturing between the two of you.

“I didn’t say that,” he winced.

“But you are, though, I mean you have to,” you had steeled yourself into an impassive tone, trying to come across as unaffected.

Internally, you were on fire, feeling so foolish for how happy and giggly you had just been, oblivious to the fact that you were essentially being dumped.

Neither of you had ever said this was exclusive, you weren’t a couple, there was no commitment made. Still, the way he’d talk while he was inside of you made your head dizzy with the possibility of it all. There was an alternate universe out there somewhere in the cosmos, where he made you his for real, claimed you in public, put a ring on your finger. Sometimes, when he was so deep you were seeing stars and telling you how much he “loved being inside of his girl” you’d allow yourself to get lost in the fantasy, just for a minute.

Then you’d wake up alone, still poor, still a pogue. You’d light up a cigarette and let the smoke engulf your delusions.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He made it very clear that he expects me to find someone soon, to get married and start a family. I can’t do that with you, obviously.”

Obviously. Your throat tightened at the hurtful assertion.

“Right, obviously,” you agreed. “I mean I’m just a pogue who lives in this shithole and you should be with someone more worthy of you.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Rafe muttered, closing his eyes tight in frustration. “I meant, ‘cause you know, you don’t want all that.” 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s okay, Rafe, I get it,” you scoffed. “This was never meant to be a long term thing anyway, we’re just fucking.” 

It was such a ridiculous assertion, your trist had gone so far past just fucking, but you needed to convince yourself it was true otherwise there was no way you’d make it out of this unscathed. 

Rafe just blinked back at you for a minute before standing from your bed. You were grateful he was moving quickly, the last thing you wanted to do was let him see you cry.

“Right, just fucking,” he agreed. “And I need someone who can run a house and have a family, y'know, and understands my world.”

Every single word felt like a knife in your gut. You nodded like you couldn’t agree more, shuffling down in your bed and pulling the covers up.

“Okay then,” you fluffed your pillow, as if it was any other night and you were just getting ready for bed. “I hope it all works out. This was fun, though. Lock the door on your way out?”

Rafe looked down at you for a few seconds, your back to him as you settled into your pillows. 

“You got it,” he answered. 

And then he was gone. And for the first time in your life, you cried yourself to sleep.

It was June now, a month had passed since the night you last spoke to Rafe. You had started going out even more than you were before you met him. You friends joked that you were alive from the dead, since you had chosen nights in with Rafe over social events for so many months. 

You were dancing at the same club where you met Rafe so many months earlier. You joined a few of your girls at the bar and waved down the bartender for another drink. 

“...posted on her story,” you leaned in to catch the end of your friend’s sentence. The girls were all leaning over to look at something on one of their phones.

“What are we looking at?” You slurred, already a few drinks deep.

The girl holding the phone told you they were looking at the instagram of a local influencer you all knew of.

You made a fake gagging noise. She was one of the richest girls on the island, infamous among you and your friends for her obnoxiously lavish lifestyle and her overly edited social media pictures.

“Ew, why?” you questioned them, accepting your usual drink from the bartender with a wink.

“Look at what she posted tonight,” your friend holding the phone showed you the screen. 

You studied the photo, your grasp around the cold glass got tighter as you took it in, your knuckles going white. It was a selfie - the girl you couldn't stand all done up in diamonds and red lipstick, gazing up lovingly at Rafe Cameron.

There was no caption, just a little heart-eyes emoji and his instagram tagged.

You never told your friends about you and Rafe. You felt strangely protective over what you had with him, not willing to hear any negative feedback about fucking around with a Kook prince. You knew they wouldn’t understand how perfect and intense your nights with him were. They wouldn’t believe that he was funny, sweet, tender. No one would ever know him like you did.

Like you used to know him. 

You took a sip of your drink and tried to act unaffected by the picture. In reality, your world was crashing around you. You knew he’d find his perfect Kook princess eventually, but you didn’t know it would be so soon, or that it would be her. You half-listened as one of the girls explained that she heard from a mutual friend that they weren’t official yet, but you knew they would be soon enough. Everything would go to plan for him, he’d get everything he ever wanted and you’d just watch through a screen. 

After telling your friends you had a headache, you took a ferry back to the island and walked to your apartment in the dark. It was a questionable choice in this part of town, but you needed the early summer night air to clear your brain. By the time you got back to your apartment you were sober, and yet you still felt like you might throw up.

You ran the shower in your tiny bathroom, letting the steam fill up the space and sink into your pores. The hot water turned your skin red and blotchy, but you couldn’t feel a thing.

BANG BANG BANG.

Your eyes flew open and you turned the faucet off quickly, hands shaking in panic. It was nearly 2 a.m. and someone was pounding on your front door. You wrapped a towel around yourself and padded lightly over the front door. 

“Who is it?” You yelled, trying to sound as menacing as possible.

“It’s me,” a deep voice answered from the other side. You peered into the peephole, even though you didn’t need to see him to know who the voice belonged to.

Rafe stood on the other side, his white button up untucked and his tie loosened. It must be the same outfit he was wearing in the picture.

Your body and brain both paused, unable to process the shock of seeing him standing under your porch light.

“What do you want?” You questioned.

“Can I come in please?” His voice was strained, weak even.

“Why?” You said with a guarded edge to your tone.

“Y/n…” Rafe pleaded.

Despite every instinct you had, you opened the door.

He looked frenzied, his hair tousled, and the hem of his suit pants splattered with mud. He still looked fucking hot, his sleeves rolled up a bit, revealing his muscular forearms.

“What happened to you?” You asked.

“I walked here.” His eyes flickered up and down your figure, taking in the sight of you in just a towel, licking his lips.

Your stomach tightened at the hunger in his eyes, but the pain of the last month burned fresh in your mind. Getting over him was the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and the long, painful process wasn’t even over yet. Seeing that picture tonight was just another sharp spike in the barbed wire he had wrapped around your heart.

“She couldn’t have given you a ride?” You spat at him.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need to ask who you were referring to.

“I asked her not to post that picture, I didn’t want you to see that,” he huffed.

“Why not? I knew it was coming." You summoned the same unbothered tone from the night he left you.

“We’re not-” he stumbled over his words, looking down at his feet. “She isn’t my girlfriend…”

“Yet." You jumped to the end of his sentence for him. His eyes flew up to yours. “But she will be,” you surmised with a sad smile.

He doesn’t disagree with you.

“She’s perfect,” you continue. “Gorgeous, rich, part of your world.” 

He sighs regretfully, both of you recognizing the words he said to you a month earlier.

“I know,” he agrees.

“Then why did you come here?” 

He doesn’t answer you, just clenches his jaw and keeps his eyes firmly locked to yours.

“She’s everything you wanted,” you point out. 

He nods his head in agreement again, “you’re right.”

“So then why are you here?” You repeat.

He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, blue eyes locked onto your lips.

“‘Cause she’s not you.”

You wish it didn’t make your heart race, wish it didn’t make your stomach flip, and you really wish it didn’t make you let out a small, nearly inaudible gasp. His heavily lidded eyes fogged over with need as he studied your face intently. Your gaze dropped from his eyes, to his lips, to his heaving chest, to his wringing hands. He flexed his fingers anxiously, and you wished you didn’t know what they felt like buried inside of you.

Your mind was racing, a million thoughts and most of them were warnings. You knew how this ends, the morning would come and he wouldn't be there. And a year from now they’ll be married and you’ll be haunted by this night. Every self-protective instinct you have left screamed in your head, pleading with you to make the right choice.

You were ready to appease the voices, about to close the door in his face, when his fingers reached towards you and just barely grazed the seam of your towel, tugging slightly with the most restraint you think he’s ever shown. All the noise in your head just stopped. Suddenly there was nothing in the entire world except for the man in front of you.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you breathed out hard and fast before grabbing his face in both of your hands and crashing your lips into his.

He lost it at the sound of his name on your lips and the taste of you on his tongue. His hands landed firmly on your waist, squeezing hard. His lips parted yours and his tongue invaded your mouth, hot and greedy. His hands slipped to your lower back, caging you into him with a flex of his biceps. You let out the sweetest little grunt as you jumped up, your arms and legs wrapping around him so he could carry you.

With you in his arms, he walked into your apartment. Still kissing him, you reached out and slammed the door closed. He let go of you with one hand to reach back and turn the lock, a sign of strength as he held up your whole body with one arm like you weigh nothing. He walked you both through your small apartment, not needing to look where he’s going to find your bedroom.

He bent low to drop you on the bed, you released your grip around his shoulders just long enough for him to roughly rip his shirt open and pull it off. He was back on top of you in seconds, lifting you up to scoot you both up to the top of the mattress. 

As his lips moved to your neck, you realized you’re already falling back into your old patterns, with Rafe controlling the tempo and doing most of the work. The familiarity made you anxious, you had gotten so addicted to the way he commanded your body and you weren’t sure you’d survive another detox. When he started rolling his hips against you, you could feel how hard and ready he was under his slacks, and made a decision.

You reached up behind his head and laced your fingers through his hair, tugging hard to separate his lips from your skin. A gasp passed through his lips at the sensation.

“You want me, baby?” You purred.

His brows furrowed, but he was too desperate to play games.

“So badly,” he admitted.

“You want to be inside of me?”

His eyes rolled back slightly at the sound of your dirty words. When he didn't answer, you arched your back and pressed up into his aching cock, letting the towel open just enough to expose your bare core, your wetness soaking into the soft fabric of his pants.

“I need it,” he groaned. “Need to feel your pussy around me again.”

At this confession, you released his hair and pressed against his chest to roll him onto his back, straddling him. You kissed him again, just as fevered as before. While your mouth clashed with his, your hands undid his belt and he lifted his hips to allow you to pull his slacks down, leaving him in his snug briefs. You bit his lip, smiling smugly when he moaned. You licked a stripe up his neck, loving the salty taste, Rafe already sweaty from how worked up you’ve got him.

You kiss up his neck, until your mouth is pressed into the shell of his ear.

You whispered, “Does she feel as good as me?”

Rafe said your name in warning, clearly not wanting to talk about her while you were on top of him like this.

You pulled his earlobe between your teeth and bit down, making him wince, pleasured by the pain.

“Answer me,” you demanded.

“N-no,” he stuttered as you pressed your hips down hard, your now dripping pussy sliding over the outline of his cock. 

You sat up straight, and he tried to follow you, his head lifting from the pillow, but you laid your hand softly on his chest and pushed him back down.

Rafe watched as you slowly open the towel and dropped it to the floor, revealing yourself completely. He lifted his hands subconsciously, reaching for your tits. You grabbed his wrists and held his hands back, just inches from your skin. 

“Does she make you as hard as I do?” You said with another circle of your hips.

He shook his head back and forth rapidly, relenting to your game. You lowered one of his hands, raising your hips off of him slightly, one more question in mind. 

He inhaled sharply as you dragged his hand against your pussy, his fingers instinctively rubbing with the perfect pressure.

“Does she get this wet for you, baby?”

“Fuck,” he grunted through clenched teeth, “No.”

You leaned back over him, lips hovering over his, your breath intertwined.

“Then fuck me like you’ll never be able to fuck her.”

Rafe’s restraint snapped in half and he flipped you on your back. He ripped his briefs down with one hand, while the other ran over your calf and brought it to his shoulder.

He filled you like only he can, like he was tailor made for you. You clenched around him hard as he pounded into you, eventually lifting your other leg so you could dig your heels into his shoulder. No more words were exchanged, the ecstasy and exertion and emotion all too intense for either of you to form words. 

This is it, you told yourself, tomorrow he’ll belong to her. 

The tops of your thighs pressed into your stomach as he bottomed out over and over again. You hoped he would think the water in your eyes was just a result of the pressure. He must've noticed it though, because he threaded his fingers with yours to soothe you, pressing his forehead against your temple, and panting desperately into your ear.

It only took a few more strokes for you both to come. The last time you heard his voice, he was crying out your name. He filled you completely, and you were still dripping with him when he climbed off of you, pulled his clothes on wordlessly, and left.

You laid still for a long while. No tears came to you this time, a bitter acceptance washing over you. 

He’s gone for good now, leaving you with another wild story to tell and freeing you to throw yourself into the next adventure. And he’ll have a picture perfect life, with the perfect girl.

You both got exactly what you wanted…

…right?

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

part 2

[azsazz]

In Storm

Rancher!Cassian x Reader

Summary: You want a baby and Cassian looks all too good in his flannel.

Warnings: Conversation about having a baby.

Word Count: 1,098

Notes: The Cassian era is era-inggg

_________________________________________

Rainy mornings are your favorite.

The sky cracking open and letting her feelings loose means that you get to sleep in, that your husband’s warm body holds you tightly as rain patters the windows in pretty songs. It means gentle calloused hands roaming your curves, soft breaths as he mouths against your skin. It means a slow and sensual fucking with a steaming hot bath following, where you can lean back into the comfort of Cassian and rest the day away.

But rainy mornings are not his favorite.

You find your husband standing in front of the large windows of the living room, staring out into the expanse of land you get to call yours. Yesterday’s flannel hangs loose around his broad shoulders, unbuttoned from when he’d hastily thrown it on to examine the conditions of the farm under the onslaught of rain. His hair is tousled, not yet thrown up into a haphazard bun the way he does when he works up a sweat from milking the cows or fixing the fence. His feet are bare, just as yours are, the hardwood flooring holding a chilled bite to it as you near his side.

Stepping up next to Cassian, you gaze out the window as well. The weather hadn’t called for a storm but the springtime is unpredictable. The horses graze in the pasture, seemingly unaffected by the drizzling skies. Their coats are dark with water but they’re getting on with their days as if the sun is shining brightly. 

Lightning cracks the sky and Cassian grunts, displeased. You can see it in the downwards slope of his mouth that he’s unhappy with the fact that he hadn’t brought the animals in yesterday, when he knew he smelled the metallic tang of a storm creeping in.

“They’re animals,” you try to soothe, “They should be used to it.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the stallions,” Cassian responds, not even sparing you a glance as he stares at the horses. “But my mares shouldn’t be out in this storm. Especially not Carrington. Ol’ girl can have that foal anytime now and she’s only out in the rain because you were adamant she needed ‘fresh air.’” His voice pitches at the end in a terrible impersonation of you and you scowl.

“So now it’s my fault?” you ask, incredulously. Cassian lets you sidle up to his side anyway, slipping between the opening of his flannel and his bare chest. You nearly growl with delight because he’s so warm. Turning your head, you press your lips to his pec. “You’re grumpy when it rains.”

“‘M grumpy because there’s chores that need to be done,” Cassian sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I should go out there.” 

Out there looks miserable. The trail leading up to the barn is muddy, puddles of rain scattering the path. The rain has kept its steady pour since you’d come down here to find your husband, and if you think he’s grumpy now, you know he’d be absolutely miserable after working out in the rain all day.

“Or, you can stay in here and we can spend a little time together,” you drawl, trailing your fingers along his chest. His muscles clench the closer to his waistline that you get. 

His hazel gaze cuts down to yours, “Last night wasn’t enough for you?” Cassian muses, eyes sparkling in the way that you know you have him. 

“Won’t be enough for me until I look like your best girl Carrington out there, nice and full with child.” 

Cassian’s fingers still from where they’re tracing patterns on your hip. “You really want one, don’t you?” He asks softly.

You shrug. It hasn’t been something you’ve talked about much, a child. Cassian is busy running the ranch and ever since Rhysand and Feyre moved closer to the hustle and bustle of the city to raise Nyx, you haven’t had anyone to really talk to besides the mares. And they just whinny and snort at everything you say. 

“It would mean extra hands around the farm,” you try to play off, cheeks heating. You slide from his side, eager to dispel the conversation your husband surely doesn’t want to have at this very moment. Not while Carrington is getting rained on, Gods forbid. “What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? An omelet? I just gathered the eggs yesterday morning so they’ll be nice and fresh.”

“Hey,” Cassian calls gently, snagging your hand as you try to dip away. He tugs you back to his chest, bushing some of your sleep mussed hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he can caress your cheek. His hazel eyes search yours, and the frown tugging his lips downward makes your heart ache. “Don’t walk away from me, sweetheart. You want a baby?”

Your eyes well with tears the longer he stares at you. His brows are pulled tight as he waits patiently for your response. The emotion in your throat is thick, but you nod, voice coming out raspy with it when you answer. “More than anything.” 

Cassian nods a little, taking in your answer. His throat bobs but he’s agreeing, nodding firmer. “Then let’s have one.” 

Your entire body locks up at his words. You didn’t think it would be so easy to convince him. All you had to do all of this time was ask? Surely, that is not the case.

But Cassian would be so wonderful with a child in his arms. He’d love them just as perfectly as he loves you, as he cares for the animals of his ranch. You’ve seen him with the foals and chicks and lambs. How he holds each one with care and parades them around the ranch, kissing their little heads and talking to them in soft voices. He’s made to be a father, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

“We’re trying to have a baby,” you breathe, clutching onto him. An all-consuming feeling rushes through your body, nerves perhaps, because holy shit, you and Cassian are going to try for a baby. “We’re trying for a baby!”

Cassian grins, mirroring your excitement. He pulls you into his arms and you lock your legs around his waist immediately, diving down to capture his mouth against yours. The kiss is exhilarating, hot and sensual as they both of you settle into the feeling that maybe this time next year, it could be you giving birth instead of Carrington.

You could not be more excited for the adventure you and your husband are about to embark on.

[hrrtshape]

giddy for cowboy and 50s starlet dr intro🤞

EMMA'S ✶ COWBOY DR INTRODUCTION.

⋆ ৎ EMMALINA — someone too polished for the dusty trails, yet somehow she  belongs. she’s got aristocratic grace stitched into her movements, but her eyes tell a different story—sharp, restless, and just a little mischievous, like she knows how to play people without letting them play her. coiled red curls peeking out under a dusty cowboy hat, a muddy dress swaying with every stride, and a shotgun by her hip. don't think she lost her girliness, she's still th e desert's doll.

the only daughter of a wealthy southern family, all debutante balls and lace parasols, but i had a rebellious streak the size of the rio grande. fleeing because of an arranged marriage (ugh, the audacity).

i've got nothing but a leather satchel (stuffed with a family heirloom i refused to leave behind and my father's revolver that i dunno how to use) and a determination that burns brighter than a prairie fire. maybe i barter my way through small towns, earning scraps by playing piano in saloons or trading tales about my scandalous escape. also this is where emma begins her kleptomaniac era.

enter the cowboys. maybe it’s a scrappy gang or a ragtag group with their own moral code. one of them’s like, “what’s a girl like you doin’ out here, all dressed up like a painted doll?” they don’t trust me at first (i'm CLEARLY high society), but i prove myself. slowly, i adapt—ditching corsets for prairie dresses, learning how to ride, and picking up a shotgun like i was born for it. and then i start getting my hands dirty. i'm breaking wild horses, and i'm starting to feel... free.

WANTED; dead or alive.

BY NOW, i'm a full-on cowgirl, coiled curls under my hat, sun-kissed skin, boots dusty from riding. no longer the wide-eyed rich girl—tough, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent. when i meet him, it’s electric. he’s heard about me, the rich girl who ran away and carved out a life in the wild west. i've heard about him, the notorious outlaw who’s too charming for his own good. he’s cocky; i'm unimpressed.

the friendship starts with teasing. he calls me “miss annie oakley” just to see me roll my eyes, and i mock his aim when he misses a shot. maybe we compete—who can ride faster, shoot straighter, or charm a crowd better? it’s all fun and games…until it’s not.

soon enough, she wants to pull out a riffle every time someone flirts with her cowboy. don't think he's different, one bad word and his hand's on his revolver. he’s willing to turn himself in to save her, but she won’t let him. cue the dramatic rescue attempt (and a big slap. because. he scared me. that's unacceptable.)

"I HEARD SHE ONCE SHOT A MAN FOR INSULTING HER HORSE." (not true. billy did it.)

𐙚 .ﾟ SKILLS 'N' SURVIVAL SMARTS.

— HORSE WHISPERING : i learn to break wild stallions, but maybe i've got this connection with animals. horses just get me—i'm like a prairie dr. dolittle.

— QUICK DRAW : my dad’s revolver isn’t just for show anymore. maybe i teach myself sharpshooting out of spite or survival, and now i'm outshooting the boys (although i doooo like it when billy stands besides me and shows me his skills. that makes me redder than the colour of my hair).

— CARD SHAKING : i'm scandalously good at poker. i learned at home, sneaking into games with the stable hands, and now i'm hustling gamblers in smoky saloons.

— DESERT NAVIGATION : i've (just) got an uncanny sense of direction. even in the dead of night, with nothing but stars and a whisper of wind, i can find my way.

— MISS LITTLE FORAGING EXPERT : turns out, a debutante can thrive off cactus fruits and prairie plants. who needs tea sandwiches, anyway?

— DIY EXPERT : i'm sewing up bullet holes in clothes (and skin), fashioning tools out of scrap, or repairing wagons like i was born for it. using cactus flowers as hair accessories, weaving dried grass into bracelets, or even painting my nails with desert clay for a matte finish.

townsfolk see her as a vision of grace. she's the girl with muddy hems but immaculate manners, always greeting strangers with a warm smile. they adore how she stop to pet every stray animal, braid ribbons into her horse’s mane, and hum soft tunes while watering flowers outside the saloon. kids love her—she's the one who makes flower crowns for them or helps patch up scraped knees with a motherly air.

whispers follow her wherever she goes.

❝ SHE'S NOT FROM HERE, Y'KNOW. RAN AWAY FROM SOME RICH FAMILY.

they speculate about her past, but no one knows the real story.

despite the ribbons and bows, no one can deny the way she handles a shotgun. a few have seen her shoot and learned not to mess with the girl who can charm their dog and take down a rattlesnake with one clean shot.

PRETTY AS A PICTURE. BUT I WOULDN'T CROSS HER.

. •   .      .     •      .    .•     . •       •    .     •   .      .     •      .    .•     . •       •    . •   .      .     •    

ミ DAY TO DAY ADVENTURES.

she wakes up with the sunrise, even in the middle of nowhere. brushes the dust off her skirt, pins her curls back with a ribbon, and dabs rosewater on her face because yes, even cowgirls moisturize. braids her horse’s mane, adding little wildflowers she plucks on the trail. her horse is basically her desert sidekick, and it looks just as stylish as she does.

boils water over the campfire for coffee or tea, sipping delicately while cleaning her revolver. checks the map she “borrowed” (read: stole) from a passing traveler. decides which town or trail to explore next based on vibes.

billy helps her saddle her horse, though he’s mostly just watching her braid its mane, shaking his head with a grin. she's fussing over his revolvers.

the gang takes on an honest (or not-so-honest) job moving cattle. cue her comedic disaster with wrangling stubborn cows.

[jacesvelaryons]

ch 1: idyllic

the reluctant empress

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

previous: prologue

next: updates every friday

summary: Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon is set to meet his intended future bride, yet the first meeting does not go as planned.

rated: pg13 (will go rated R/18+ in later chapters)

word count: 2.3k words

masterlist

“How strange, she thought, to be a part of what would surely become history, and yet still worry that she might trip on her heavy skirt.” ― Allison Pataki, The Accidental Empress

Growing up in the placid, tranquil countryside in the crown lands away from the hustle and bustle of King’s Landing, Y/N had learned to appreciate the simpler things in life. While her mother and sister always wished for finer silks and rarer jewelers, she had her sights on something else.

Despite the blood of Old Valyria running in her veins, she was forbidden from claiming a dragon, and there were no unclaimed dragons that were not guarded voraciously by the dragon keepers in the capital, as Queen Rhaenyra fiercely knew to keep dragons only within her immediate family. Only the main line of Targaryens had right to even claim one.

For now, her beloved stallion will do. There is nothing Y/N loves more than roaming around the streets of her childhood castle, of the quiet yet satisfied populace, a close knit community that did not have much communication beyond trade routes.

Her cream hued dress seemed almost mahogany colored after having been submerged in the dirt and waste, almost unwashed as a pig sty like the servants would lament, but she did not care.

Lying on the grass and feeling the sun kiss her skin as she dazes and enjoys the fine spring weather, her peace and serenity is interrupted when she hears the galloping hooves of a horse she knows is not hers.

“Princess! Your mother, Lady Alicent, commands you to return to the palace at once.” The loyal master of arms of your late father informs you and you groan as you stand up, smoothing the leaves and soot that stick to your hair and clothes.

“Alright Ser Arryk, I shall return immediately.” She climbs on her beloved stallion Majesty, as the knight escorts her back home. As you approach the gates of the brick castle, you see your mother and sister Helaena waiting for her by the cobbled steps.

Her identical auburn hair is in a tight knot on the crown of her head, in contrast to your loose, unruly curls down your back, and you sometimes think you are looking at a mirror of yourself seeing your mother, a preview of how she would appear when she aged. The same auburn hair, yet contrasting spirit.

“Where have you been, Y/N? You should have been studying with your septa.” Alicent coldly inquires, disappointed yet not surprised at her wild youngest.

Looking down apologetically, the young princess gulps as she approaches closer with a palm on the leather reins.

“I- I was studying my High Valyrian and etiquette with Septa Dyanna, and when I was doing well, she let me have a break and I got carried away. I explored the streets of our city, and…I’m sorry mother.”

“This will not be happening again. Get washed up for a bath, your things are packed and we make our way to the capital immediately.”

…

The Prince of Dragonstone wiped his brow as he attended his umpteenth council meeting for the day, having lost track of what needed to be taken care of, whether it was the safety stops in Dragonstone, rising crime in Flea Bottom or trade disputes between merchants in King’s Landing.

As he reviewed the notes he made alongside the commentary of his mother, he sighed as his eyes grew blurry in a daze of exhaustion, head rolling back as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hoping to feel some bout of wakefulness.

Ever since he was nothing but a babe, Queen Rhaenyra had a great future planned for her eldest the moment he was born, even when she was just Crown Princess herself under her doting, yet absent minded father.

“You will be nothing like your grandsire. I will make sure of it” She whispered to him as she looked down at his sleeping form, wrapped in the finest red and gold cloth.

As he hears the surreptitious footsteps of his stepfather’s boots, Jacaerys stands up straight, arms pinned to his side as Prince Daemon, Prince Consort to the Queen arrives to meet him with an indistinguishable expression.

“Lad, we have delayed and put up with your mother long enough. You can no longer delay your quest of finding a bride, Jacaerys. I have not forgotten the slight you have made in rejecting any issue of marriage and robbing your sister Baela of her birth right to be Queen.” The silver-haired warrior warns his son tiredly, brow creased and the wrinkles on his forehead growing.

Jace viewing his step-sister and aunt only platonically was not helped by how Rhaenyra was indifferent to marrying him back into the Velaryon line, where his younger brother, the future Lord of the Tides Lucerys, was already well married to her sister Lady Rhaena Targaryen for over a year.

“Daemon.” The younger exasperates. “I know you have not forgiven me for my avoidance of the altar, but you must understand my reasons-”

“You risk putting all the work us Targaryens and Velaryons have put to work with your delay! With you, the family line could end and our house will have no future. Reasons? What reasons? Pathetic.”

Where the avoidance of romantic feelings had been an issue of contention to his parents, Baela remained among his greatest confidants, a dear friend who advised him and objectively was a source of feedback when the matters of the state overwhelmed or confused him.

“I will eventually marry! I never said that I would remain unwed, and seriously accept whatever bride mother dangles in my face!” Jace slams the table in frustration, knuckles turning white as his fist curled tighter.

Daemon’s explosion of anger turns contained, restrained in a cold, expressionless gaze, unyielding and on the precipice of surrender.

“I have given up in the hopes of making Baela queen, but you will marry by the end of the year, by hook or crook, Jacaerys. You are as stubborn as your mother!”

…

“Your Grace.” Jacaerys bows as he enters the throne room, still bothered from his confrontation from his step-uncle.

Rhaenyra smiled at the sight of her eldest making his way as she sat on the Iron Throne, her ruby and amethyst crown glimmering from the sunlight trickling in from the stained window. Dressed in ermine and silks, she was dressed according to her rank, her voluptuous form after several childbirths adorned only in lavish fabrics, alongside the rings, bracelets and necklaces around her.

“Jacaerys, I assume you had spoken to your father.” She raises an eyebrow in slight amusement, knowing the reason of his arrival. The issue of paternity has always been a rocky one for him, with rumours of his bastardry because he did not resemble his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon. Prince Daemon Targaryen, his mother’s true love after both were widowed and her uncle, of course, was the only father figure he truly knew for most of his life.

“Yes, my queen. I have come to announce my intent to marry. I am aware you keep a long tally of eligible Valyrian maidens for me to marry to strengthen the purity of our blood and house.”

The Queen beckons him to come closer, as her trusted handmaiden Lady Elinda Massey unleashes a gold binded book in obsidian velvet titled ‘The Most Illustrious Valyrian Families’, compiled by the loyal Maester Gerardys.

“Our first choice for your bride was the Lady Baela Targaryen, your sister and Daemon’s eldest, but I think I have a better match for you. Do you remember Lord Maekar Targaryen and his wife Lady Alicent Hightower?”

“Yes. Lady Hightower was your childhood companion and he sired two daughters with the lady. Princess Helaena who was widowed by a Lord Celtigar, and her youngest daughter Princess Y/N.”

“I seek to finally connect all House Targaryen back to the main line to prevent any Valyrian blood to enter other houses. You should marry the Princess Helaena, widowed with a child, yes, but she is still young and has proven fertility, something we urgently need.”

Jacaerys was taken by surprise, his usually controlled expression unable to be reined back in but he gulped and nodded in acceptance.

“Of course, my queen. I have heard of correspondence that the widowed Lady Hightower and both her daughters are to arrive in the Red Keep. When is their expected arrival?”

“In a fortnight, the Lady Hightower and both Princesses of Dalston Keep shall arrive. The only thing we need left to seal the match and bring assurance and stability for the realm’s future is you formally ask for her hand at the Grand Ball three nights after. You reassure the kingdom that House Targaryen will continue and an heir will come.”

…

Cramped up in a worn down carriage that had been given to her father many decades ago, Y/N did not find it comfortable cramped up in her frilly, bulky black mourning gown.

Still mourning the loss of her mother’s uncle, Lord Hightower and the Voice of Oldtown, Lady Alicent and her daughters remained draped in ebony, black veils and ribbons everywhere. Packed in another carriage following their change of clothes, they would change to less muted colours once they were closer to the capital.

Yet the rocky path and turbulent weather said otherwise, as they could not change in time and had to reroute to make in time to the capital without upsetting the Queen and the royal family.

“Y/N, if you were not so careless and got lost in the wilderness, we could have already been there and spared the poor weather we have here!” Alicent scolded her youngest, sleep deprived with shadows under her large, brown eyes. Her black bereavement gown still had undertones of verdigris green, with subtle jacquard patterns of the tower of Oldtown with its green flame seen only in some lights.

Y/N awkwardly avoided meeting her mother in the eye while Helaena held onto her hand for sympathy and comfort, as the latter shook in agitation at the presentation that would change her fate.

Little Jaehaera was left in the care of septas, considering the distance was not too great from the castle and Alicent assumed she and Y/N would return briefly after Helaena would formally become betrothed to the Prince of Dragonstone.

Caught up on a slight slumber before their arrival at their destination, Y/N slowly opens her eyes as she sees the sunlight between the curtains percolate, as a gloved hand moves it aside, while her mother and sister are already wide awake, freshening themselves up knowing how close they are to making a match that would improve their stations greatly.

The musty aroma and ghastly sights of the streets of King’s Landing coming into view, the pungent waste from Flea Bottom wafting, and the curious, desperate pleas of starving children and peasants begging to their windows of their carriage left a burning mark on Y/N’s impression of the great, big city.

As they make it to the behemoth of architecture that is the Red Keep, the carriage makes a halt as it stops by the pavement, the crier announcing the arrival of Lady Hightower and her two daughters the Lady Targaryens.

Y/N reaches the handle to open the door but the doormen swings open the door before she even touches it, nearly tripping on her feet on the way down but she salvages it awkwardly.

Smoothening the wrinkles and stray taffeta on her gown, she gets off the carriage first, as the younger sister and the one who will not be queen, they save the best for last. Her mother follows gracefully before Lady Helaena arrives, her pale features adorned in her silver-blonde hair braided up the crown of her head and the veil making her appear as pale as a ghost.

Yet where Helaena is washed out and her features are diluted and contrast in mourning clothes, it only brings out the best of Y/N's burgeoning beauty. And the prince does not fail to take notice.

Crown Prince Jacaerys, The Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne awaits gallantly, dressed in his full regalia donned in the most formal of ceremonies of the throne. The abdicated King Viserys is too weak and frail, yet mustered the strength to leave his chambers, guided on a makeshift seat with wooden wheels assisted by a handful of servants to see his beloved grandson’s future bride.

Queen Rhaenyra smiles affectionately as she sees her companion in her youth, embracing Alicent after the latter curtseyed at her. Rubbing her shoulder in condolences for their loss, Lady Alicent gathers a smile that does not meet her eyes.

Dazed and distracted by the wonders of the exterior of the castle, a gentle tap against her ankle reminds Y/N to curtsey before the royal family, not wanting her blunder of etiquette to rob them of Helaena’s match that could change their fortunes overnight.

As Jace moves down the escalade to greet the ladies, he stands in front of Y/N, takes her hand and brushes his lips against her knuckles for a peck. “Lady Helaena-”Murmured whispers and panicked eyes abound the court present at the scenario, where Prince Daemon impatiently corrects his stepson, murmurs under his breath.

“That is Lady Y/N, the younger sister, my prince.”

Without missing a beat, Jacaerys nods with an apologetic grin, flashing his charm to make people forget his blunder, before he greets her mother and then his intended betrothed. Like clockwork, he whips out a compliment that all were so beautiful and the Lady Alicent was still so youthful you would think they were all sisters.

Helaena, already skittish and shaken by social events, greets the prince in a rehearsed speel and bow, nails digging into the beds of her calluses until they turned bloody. She, who painstakingly attended each lesson expected for a future queen, in the eyes of the court.

Although expected to marry Helaena, Prince Jacaerys held his breath upon his first impression of Lady Y/N instead. Taken by her wild, independent streak and glaring beauty that was highlighted in their obsidian gowns, he knew he would choose his own destiny.

…

I hope you guys liked it! The story has finally started and drama is just about to start <3 Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist. Updates will be every Friday night PST time.

[chrispineofficial]

i love megan so much. she’s like lol okay i will come on your show i will allow you to apologize to me i will measure the depth of that apology and use it to determine how i react to the product you’re hustling. like she did do all that and she was so gracious about it i fucking love megan thee stallion

[yumistr]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝓙𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐄'𝐒 𝓖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝓒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐒

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀! REBLOGS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED !

୨୧ ‧₊˚⠀i have been trying to find the right motivation and just overall meaning of making graphics , and while yes i do enjoy making them , i don’t like them just sitting in my camera roll to rot away. so , to start off small , i plan on selling prints i’ve made as A4 sized posters ( 8.3" x 11.7" ).

୨୧ ‧₊˚⠀also a quick disclaimer !! i will not be taking commissions until i’ve sold at least five prints from the examples i’ve provided. no , not five per example , just five in total. because , as i’ve said above , i don’t want these rotting in my phone , so of course i won’t want to make more and add to the clutter before putting the ones i’ve already made to use.

⠀

✿ 。 ׄ ׅ 𝟶𝟶 ׄ 𓈒

౨ৎ⠀◞⠀PRICES

✶⠀i’m a maximalistic designer , so it’ll be on a rare occasion that i take minimalistic comms , but bare with me as i try.

⠀⠀⠀•⠀soft ( your choice of mini or max ) — $6

⠀⠀⠀•⠀brutalism ( your choice of mini or max ) — $8

⠀⠀⠀•⠀video game ( your choice of mini or max ) — $10

✶⠀at max , im charging $10 (duh) , but tips are definitely appreciated and encouraged :3 !!

✶⠀i will also include freebies of your choose in the packaging , so when you send a comm also send your favorite idol , celebrity , or fictional character ( max up to 3 ) !!

✶⠀how i will take payments will be through zelle or cashapp ! & i will ask you to pay half of the payment before hand / when you order , and the rest of it once i’ve sent you the final draft before i go and print everything !

✶⠀sadly for right now i am only shipping within the US since that’s where i live and due to this merely being just a small side “hustle” of mine before i actually message a manufacture for my actual business.

౨ৎ⠀◞⠀EXAMPLES

✶⠀( specifically for these three ) sizes may vary depending on the poster dimensions , but if you would like yours to be the exact 210 x 297 / 8.3" x 11.7" then just let me know , no extra charge , of course :3 !!

✶⠀if you would like me to use any of the provided examples as templates for other preferred people ( ex ; instead of JT & cindy ➞ megan thee stallion OR instead of ada wong ➞ leon kennedy ) , just let me know and i’d totally be down to do that.

౨ৎ⠀◞⠀RULES

✶⠀please refer to my etiquette page before sending a commission !! all rules , do not interacts , and byf from that list most definitely still apply to my commissions whether or not this is writing / anime related. i still have a moral code at the end of the day , money doesn’t change that.

✶⠀i will only take orders on saturday / sundays since monday - tuesday im off work , meaning i can use those 48-72 hours to properly configure your print , then ship it out. though , this may change since i’m in the midst of trying to find a new job !!

✶⠀to properly order a print , send me an inbox without anon of your favorite tv series , and i will send you a dm once i’ve received your message to further discuss your commission !!

✶⠀i will / am willing to make prints of anyone and everyone that doesn’t fit my dni criteria. ( no’s ; chris brown , jay park , lana del ray. — yes’ ; megan thee stallion , choi san , laufey )

✶⠀when you receive your order in the mail , i will kindly ask you to send photo evidence of you getting the package and for your consent so i can make a post with the photo. if not that’s also fine , don’t worry. i just want to keep track of them through here since i am selling them through my tumblr.

౨ৎ⠀◞⠀ORDERING

✶⠀once i’ve officially dmed you about your order , i will send you a sort of form to fill out for your order. which, it will include me asking you info about your order , but more importantly i would appreciate it if you sent me an aesthetics board of some sort that would visibly give me somewhat an idea of what you want your print to look like.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⤷ like this !

✶⠀in short , it should include a few pics of references / inspo pics you’d like me to either use or incorporate ( i won’t completely plagiarize them obvi , but i will keep them in mind when editing ) , and also the face claim / person the print is about ( ex ; ricky ) , then finally if you want one include a psd that i can color drop from to use as a filter over your print.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ : 𝟶𝟶 ꞌꞋ ۪ ׄ ﹏

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

' . : ⟣ all in all , i’d truly appreciate it if you did commission me. it would mean the world , honestly. it’s been my dream to not only make prints that i know people would hang in their room, but also be able to do those cute kpop trading freebie things. it’s stupid yeah, but so damn cute ugh i love it smsm.

[spaceghostswim]

★✯☆spaceghostswim tag directory + about me☆⁠✯★

welcome to my blog internet traveler... ♡

to help you navigate my posts (and to make it easier on myself), i have created this guide. after the tags, i also thought i'd write a little about myself to further my introduction.

this post is under ever going construction so hopefully it'll be more coherent in time. enjoy your online adventures, surfin' the net and all that... 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

The Tags:

General: #musicposting ★ #art ★ #hiphop ★ #fashion ★ #techposting ★ #adult swim ★ #photography ★ #politics ★ #lgbtq ★ #wlw ★ #tumblrposting ★ #pop culture ★ #y2k ★ #heritage ★ #history ★ #women ★ #nostalgia ★ #resource ★ #design ★ #goofs and gaffs ★ #lmao ★ #writing ★

My Stuff/Original Content: #my posts ★ #photo editing ★ #selfpost ★ #spaceghostswim ★ #oc ★ #rambles ★ #my thoughts ★ #fave ★

Specifics/Fandoms: #crossover ★ #the boondocks ★ #huey freeman ★ #riley freeman ★ #jazmine dubios ★ #rick and morty ★ #eric andre ★ #the eric andre show ★ #hannibal burress ★ #tf2 ★ #demoman ★ #MF DOOM ★ #vocaloid ★ #hatsune miku ★ #a$ap rocky ★ #rhianna ★ #megan thee stallion ★ #sade ★

About Me:

names: ghost, The Wizaard, ★彡 [ᴅᴊ] ᴅᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴅʟʏ ᴅᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴅᴇꜰɪᴀɴᴄᴇ 彡★

age: approx. 105 in cat years, tumblr veteran of 11 years

location: earth, (unfortunately) not the united states, (fortunately)

labels: queer, blak (with a k, mob-style), neurodivine, non-binary, mythical

(current favourites)

cartoons: the boondocks, rick & morty, hazbin hotel, helluva boss, the simpsons, king of the hill, south park, daria, yolo crystal & destiny, bob's burgers (+ a great majority of cartoon network/adult swim shows, you've seen the blog)

anime: dragon ball z + daima, serial experiments: lain, steins;gate, soul eater, death note

tv: the eric andre show, community, broad city, it's always sunny in philadelphia, the mighty boosh, parks & rec

movies: popstar: never stop stopping, sorry to bother you, scooby-doo 1+2, shrek franchise (2 & puss in boots last wish r the best tho), human traffic, the secret life of walter mitty, good time, og muppet movie + treasure island, boy, kung fu hustle

music: honestly if i tried this post would be unreadable so i'll stick to 10 artists. just know i will listen to anything & it is my main passion.

A$AP Rocky, Jaden, Dance Gavin Dance, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, Frank Zappa, ABRA, Beabadoobee, Billie Eilish, Bloc Party, 311

[wickedfang-sso]

(TLDR for the story at the bottom!)

With the end of the Equestrian Festival, Sabine too had taken her leave to who-knows-where. Venor was glad to have been able to train with her, although couldn't help a slight sense of relief knowing she wouldn't be dragging him into any more trouble for a while.

Of course, Venor wasn't a fierce enough competitor to have obtained the Baroness' attention during the festival, however he did seem to have caught someone else's eye.

He received an unsigned letter from someone who'd apparently seen the transformation of Venor's pony, from unruly and barely-ridable to a reliable steed who's not too bad at dressage. They commended his good horsemanship, and wanted to hire him to aid in training up some other horses. Venor felt a tad suspicious by the lack of identity behind the letter, it could be some kind of scam…but they were offering much more generous pay than what he was making as a stable hand, it might be worth at least considering.

Enclosed was an address as to where to send his response, and - while the letter wasn't signed - it had a wax seal at the bottom, one Venor couldn't recognize.

He wasn't sure what to make of it. Firstly, it was odd that someone had taken such notice of him and Flicker - not that there were many people around here normally anyway, but even through all the hustle and bustle of the festival? And secondly, that they were around to see him but didn't bother to approach him directly. Although, perhaps they were simply shy he thought, he's noticed Jorvegians can be weird like that. More likely however was they simply didn't want their identity known for one reason or another, obvious from the lack of names anywhere on the letter. How did they even mail this?

Regardless of the origin, it was worth at least sending out a reply, for the amount of money he was being offered. He accepted the proposition, assuming nothing would come of it.

Much to his surprise, a few days later a horse along with a big lump of cash would arrive for him at the stables, accompanied with another letter explaining the horse's origins. The stallion had been an auction horse; an appaloosa bred for racing, however failed to meet the breeders' high standard and was sold off for pretty cheap. Nobody seemed to want him, allegedly, and who knows what would've happened to him if he'd failed to sell.

The stallion's show name was Flash in the Dark, but Venor came to refer to him as Blink. He certainly wasn't a purebred appaloosa, after a routine vet check some traces of thoroughbred and paint horse DNA were found in his bloodwork - which would explain the taller, more sporty build than the ideal breed standard.

Upon trying to work with Blink, Venor would quickly learn exactly why nobody had wanted him; he spooks at just about anything - especially cows, a woefully common sight around Jorvik - he's horrible to lead, antagonizes any other stallions he sees, and to top it all off, he's prone to bucking after taking a jump. Blink is, as some would call him, the epitome of a 'crazy' horse.

To say Blink was an intimidating project would be an understatement. After giving it some thought however, Venor was certain he could handle this. The stallion just needs some desensitizing, and more constructive ways of letting out that seemingly endless energy he's had pent up probably his whole life. Cross country would actually be the perfect discipline for him, so long as he can get over his fears of…just about everything. Oh boy, what has he gotten himself into?

TLDR; Venor received a very sketchy offer for a job training horses after the equestrian festival had ended. He accepted without thinking anything would come of it, and was promptly sent an absurd amount of money along with the most unhinged horse known to man. RIP

------

New honse! ^w^ He's supposed to be 16.3hh, but I'm not sure if I got the size right in the art...it's so hard calculating how big horses are supposed to be sometimes, especially while rearing like this 😵‍💫

[koremorningstar]

Reaper hasn't been a fan of all the hustle and bustle lately with sales horses coming/going from the Quarantine/New Arrival barn. While still a younger stallion, he seems to prefer the quiet the older horses do. Hopefully he can rest up now, poor guy!

[armynoonas]

Week 38

September 16

Joon on Instagram - stories

2024 Happy Chuseok Greeting

Umi on Twitter - wherever u r

JUNG KOOK: I AM STILL, Preview 3 - Standing Next to You

Hobi on Weverse

September 17

JUNG KOOK: I AM STILL - D-1

JK on Weverse

[Run Jin] EP.6 - The Prince of Tennis

BTS on Twitter - Jin selca

(Tennis coach) Kim Sang Gyun on Instagram - w/Jin

JUNG KOOK: I AM STILL

Megan Thee Stallion on Twitter - NEVA PLAY

September 18

Jin on Weverse - Jin selca, going to Milan Fashion Week

Gucci on Twitter - w/Jin

Joon on Weverse - part 1, part 2

Are You Sure?! - PHOTOBOOK Preview Poster

[Run Jin] EP.6 | The Prince of Tennis: Outtakes

September 19

Jimin x Jung Kook <Are You Sure?!> PHOTOBOOK Release announcement

Twitter - JUNG KOOK: I AM STILL - hungry

BTS on Instagram - I AM STILL

Are You Sure?! - PHOTOBOOK Visualizer

BTS on Instagram - story, I AM STILL

VOGUE Korea on Instagram - Jin x Fred Jewellery, reel 1, reel 2

VOGUE Korea - Jin x Fred Jewellery, photos 1, photos 2

September 20

Jin on Weverse - Milan Fashion Week

Jin on Instagram - Milan Fashion Week

I AM STILL hustling

esquire Korea on Instagram - w/Hobi

Are You Sure?! - Episode Highlights

Milan Fashion Week

W Korea reel 1, reel 2

Madame FIGARO reel 1, reel 2, photos

VOGUE Taiwan reel

VOGUE India reel

Cosmopolitan Korea reel 1, reel 2

Esquire Korea reel 1, reel 2

L'Officiel Singapore reel

BAZAAR Taiwan reel

marie claire reel 1, reel 2

WWD Japan reel

eyesmag reel

September 21

I AM STILL with you

Jin on Weverse Live

September 22

Tae on Instagram - stories IU concert

Hobi on Instagram - stories w/Tae, IU concert story 1, story 2, story 3, story 4

Are You Sure?! PHOTOBOOK - Behind Preview in USA🗽, Behind Preview in Jeju🏝️, Behind Preview in Sapporo⛄️

Jin on Instagram - Milan Fashion Week

Gucci on Twitter - Milan Fashion Week

[bettyfrommars]

Betty, my bf pays all my bills, bought me a car a house and lets me spend his money, is faiithful. Buuuuut cant make me cum. Do i stay with him?

💗.....

Well, my first reaction is a Hard Yes, because it sounds like he is really trying everything he can, and those generous, faithful, successful men are not falling from the sky, sad to say. Fanfics make it seem like all of these dudes come out of the box like this, but if they are a stallion in bed, they've had partners who they learned with and from. Most of the partners I've been with couldn't make me cum until I taught them how, and I've never met a man who didn't love the idea of being helped in that way. So yeah, if that's the only problem, he sounds like a dream.

I personally, can't imagine being with someone for more than 5 years--- I just wasn't built for domestic partnership commitments. But if he let me spend all of his money? I'd try.

I think you should enjoy this time being with someone who takes care of you so well. It's hard to find the time to read and write fanficiton when you are hustling two different jobs trying to pay bills and having a panic attack over finances (speaking from personal experience). Independence is overrated. I say grab your vibe and tell him what's up 💗

[whatiwillsay]

I think Taylor should stay out of politics due to safety concerns. She and her fan base have enough issues without adding additional drama and hate. She has security but when is enough enough. She’s already in jeopardy.

we’re all in jeopardy. we live in america where any yahoo can get weapons of war and spray on our local walmarts. we still all need to do our part. megan thee stallion and yvette nicole brown are out here hustling promoting kamala and a ton of other black women are as well. taylor can’t sit this one out. like i said if she wants to cancel the rest of the tour i fully support that but she needs to make her stance known and be on the right side of history.

[queenlua]

attn: sports drama enjoyers:

there is an absolutely BONKERS scandal unfolding at U of Michigan right now

the core issue isn't that interesting (they stole signs from other teams; they have now joined the New England Patriots club of Douchey Blue Bloods; etc), BUT

the person who did the sign sealing is some guy named Connor Stallions. which, first of all, fantastic name, 10/10, could not make up a better name if i were writing a novel about this account

anyway, Stallions is such a U of Michigan football superfan that, when he got admitted to both UMich and the US Naval Academy, he... went to Navy because Bill Belichick went there

and this was all according to keikaku, and by keikaku i mean this man has a ~600 page manifesto for How He's Going To Run The UMichigan Football Program, which he's been working on for years. dude was playing the long game to get the top prize

and i mean who knows. maybe if he wasn't caught stealing signs he would be ahead on his way. like, dude was an "off-field analyst," whatever that is, which is a paid coaching-staff role, gotta respect the hustle

anyway all the goss is over at the college football reddit plz enjoy

[quiisquiliae]

@highteyrna for Talon

He was lucky, or so he supposed. It certainly wasn't skill that had led him to Gwaren after all, instead a rather adventurous romp through the Brecilian Forest. A run in with some stand-offish Dalish and a frantic pursuit by some walking trees later, he'd had quite enough of that and found himself in need of some proper food and a chance to breathe and regroup. It was safe to say his curiosity was satisfied, and he had no intentions of going through that ever again.

It was lucky he supposed, that he had turned the right direction down the Brecilian Passage towards a city. The dense canopy of the forest surrounding him made it difficult to determine which way was north, and after an unnervingly short amount of time, the rocks and trees all started to look the same. Truthfully he could probably feed himself by hunting, but his own cooking left much to be desired, and hunting with a dagger was much harder than he had expected. Acquiring a new bow and getting much more practice with it were towards the top of his to-do list.

Bandit danced next to him, the hustle and bustle putting him on edge while Talon walked through the marketplace, scoping it out. He had little coin, and was in need of a new job. Food was easy to steal, but a place for Bandit to rest and a new bow would require money. Perhaps he could steal some of that as well.

A negotiation with a stable owner later and an agreed upon three silver for the night in exchange for mucking stalls that evening, Talon was satisfied with his horse's lodging. Once the black stallion was cared for and settled, the boy took off towards the market, off in search of food and coin.

It didn't take long for him to spot a potential victim. A woman walking through the bustling market, dressed in clothes nicer than many. Talon wasn't keen on stealing from the poor if he could help it, knowing they were often little better off than he, but she seemed like a reasonable target. He tugged the hood of his coat over his head, concealing the face full of tattoos and distinct violet eyes before sidling up to her, bumping into her as he deftly slipped a hand into her pocket, hoping for a prize.

[musicarenagh]

Megan Thee Stallion - "Cobra" Review Strap in, y'all, because Megan Thee Stallion's single "Cobra" is a sinewy serpentine bop that slithers through the underbrush of heavy hip-hop beats with rap verses sharp enough to cut glass. It's a track pulsating with emotional rawness and transparent introspection - an unguarded confession booth where vulnerability meets ferocity. Megan's lyrical dexterity shines as she navigates personal tribulations amid the blinding spotlight of fame. The juxtaposition between her powerful public persona and private despair is woven intricately into every verse; it’s as if you’re reading pages torn from her diary set to 808s. With a flow crisper than autumn leaves underfoot, she underscores how loneliness can persist even when it feels like the whole world's gawking at your every move. Production on "Cobra" grips you like cold fingers around your neck—it’s dark, brooding yet absolutely sleek. You get these booming bass hits punctuating moments of stark clarity throughout her narrative—each thump acting almost like a defibrillator jolt for your attention span. This isn’t background noise; this track demands to be front and center. The claustrophobic mix complements Megan’s confessional: contorted synth lines tangle around hard-hitting hi-hats creating a cinematic atmosphere so tense Hitchcock would applaud from his grave. Vocally? Please—she spits fire with the finesse of an artisan glassblower and brings heat strong enough to have Lucifer sweating! And let us not glance over that chorus – tongue-in-cheek wordplay dances cheekily with metaphorical depth illustrating both sexual autonomy and mental health struggles without missing a beat or breaking stride in rhythm delivery. Now sure, we could compare Meg to other greats—but frankly, “Cobra” cements her unique space within hip-hop history akin more closely perhaps to storytelling mastery reminiscent of old-school Tupac mixed with Missy Elliot's innovation if they had access to today’s production tech toys. "Cobra" sees Megan Thee Stallion metamorphosing once again—the hustle never stops but neither does the hurt—and she ain’t trying for stoic perfection here! She uses music as reckoning—it’s healing draped in Dolce & Gabbana rhymes dripping hot sauce wrapped boldness on display wrinkles-and-all style—an anthem for anyone who ever felt gloriously broken but determinedly unbowed by life’s bite. https://open.spotify.com/track/3Kh8X9lHztqVBTgw30HbXn?si=fa2814b6e4ea406b