God's-horse

thebloodbaymare  asked:

Every time I start to recover from this game I remember that V exists and then I am ABOARD THE FEELS TRAIN. FYI your headcanons are important. Anyway. I would be so incredibly psyched if you could write RFA + Minor Trio learning that MC has a horse, and their reaction to MC's Very Important Very Large Pet.

Fun fact my dad actually tried to get me to like horses as a child. I never really took to them. I have a healthy fear of large, muscly animals who can step on me. I only really like being stepped on by large, muscly women

Yoosung

  • OH MY GOD YOU HAVE A MOUNT LIKE IN LOLOL
  • HE WANTS TO FEEL LIKE A COOL KNIGHT WARRIOR MAN PLEASE TEACH HIM HOW TO RIDE YOUR HORSE
  • oh god being on top of a horse is scary they’re so tall
  • h e l p
  • You giggle as you lead Bloomington the III around the pasture with a terrified, squirming Yoosung on top of him. He tries to pretend that he’s Cool with this, because he wants to be a Cool Man, but he’s not cool.
  • he’s super not cool.
  • Luckily Bloomington is the chillest of horses, and he does not freak out with this strange blond wiggle-man being on top of him. He manages to stay on him for a good fifteen minutes before needing to get off and hyperventilate.
  • Despite being terrified, Yoosung also thought the experience was great, and wants to continue trying to get used to your horse. Eventually, you teach him how to ride your baby, and Yoosung is SO HAPPY.
  • SO DELIGHTED. 
  • HE LOVES YOUR VERY IMPORTANT VERY LARGE PET.
  • can the three of you join the SCA please

Zen

  • Zen is less thrilled with your very important, very large pet, because your very important, very large pet keeps trying to eat his hair.
  • He puts up with it, however, because your very important, very large pet is beautiful, and he loves posing with him.
  • The internet proceeds to blow up with photos of Zen the Prince on your gorgeous white horse, and you giggle when Bloomington the III becomes a minor celebrity for awhile.
  • People keep sending him treats. It’s adorable. You tell him how handsome he is and Zen gets a little jealous that he’s not getting all of your attention.
  • zen can deal with it. 
  • bloomy deseves it.

Jaehee

  • she. she doesn’t know how to feel about this’.
  • like. just.
  • he’s so big.
  • and so large.
  • and requires so much maintenance. 
  • But you love him dearly, and she loves you dearly, so she tries to get used to his presence.
  • At first, she won’t even come near him. She doesn’t say she isn’t interested, but she slips out of every offer you make to spend time together with him. She’ll watch him, but not much else, until one Valentine’s day when - in an effort to please you - she agrees to go on a walk with you and him.
  • It goes well. You see her smile. She says maybe another day like this wouldn’t be so bad.
  • Slowly, very very slowly, you get Jaehee acclimated to him. You have her feed him, have her pet him, and inch by inch, she starts falling in love with those big, brown eyes of his…
  • and the way you look in a jockey outfit, because HOOOOO DAMN DO THOSE RIDING BOOTS MAKE YOU LOOK MIGHTY FINE.
  • (like tbh her favorite part of horse maintenance is seeing you in your riding gear.)

Jumin

  • Jumin doesn’t Get horses, but he loves you, so he showers Bloomington the III with all the things a hose could want. It only increases in volume when you mention how hard it was growing up, and how you felt like Bloomy was the only creature in the world who understood you. Jumin gets it. He empathizes. And so, he wants to reward your horse for all of the company and comfort he’s given you throughout the years.
  • Toys, premium food, the best horse finery he can find… seriously, his man buys him a huge mcfreakin plot of land to do his horsey thing on.
  • He even tries to RIDE him, once you give him some lessons, though Jumin is a little absentminded and useless, so that doesn’t go entirely well.
  • He loves watching you with him, though, because you look so happy, and you’re always so very lovely when you’re happy.

707

  • are you kidding me
  • seven LOVES HORSES
  • you own a HORSE???!?
  • THAT’S THE COOLEST
  • You kinda have to reign Seven in around Bloomington tbh, because he’s a bit too hyperactive and horses don’t really like that. But oh man, once you get him calm
  • seven feeds him treats out of the palm of his hand and he has never looked happier in his entire life.
  • CAN HE ALSO GET A HORSE PL E A S E
  • (seven, no.)

V

  • he’s pretty shy around your horse tbh. He can’t see very well, and he’s not used to animals beyond cats and dogs, but Bloomy is so gentle and so good and V just melts when he nuzzles his hand and snorts on him.
  • He gets really interested in trying to photograph your precious equine pal. There’s some pretty interesting history with horse photography - people didn’t really get how horses moved until they could be captured on camera - and V thinks that historical background is neat.
  • You gallop and trot Bloomington around for V, letting him take his pictures, and you’re pretty sure that your diva of a pet enjoys the attention.
  • V eventually publishes a book of his horse photographs, and right on the very front page there’s a picture of you, riding him, and smiling with the sun in your hair.
  • (he says that one is his favorite.)

Unknown (Saeran)

  • Much like Seven, Saeran thinks your horse is great, but he’s way shyer about expressing his affection due to his severe emotional issues. With some coaxing, though, he consents to an introduction, and forming a relationship with Bloomington the III just… really… helps.
  • It’s healing for him, taking care of such an intelligent creature. He helps you clean his hooves, brush him, muck his stables, and you can see that he’s happy. It’s good work. Honest work. And at the end of the day, Saeran is rewarded with the love of an innocent, pure creature that doesn’t even understand the concept of evil.
  • Saeran gets so into horses, and when you start teaching him how to ride… it’s like the world has opened up for him.
  • After some time, he gets a horse of his own, and the two of you go on rides together through the countryside. It’s where Saeran belongs, out in nature, far away from the people who hurt him…
  • And he finally finds some measure of peace.

Vanderwood

  • “uh,” vanderwood says, swallowing something that is definitely not fear. “no thanks.”
  • To Vanderwood, horses are big, stinky, and smelly. They’re unpredictable, dangerous, and they just don’t get the appeal. And… they never really do get the appeal. Vandy just isn’t an animal person.
  • But they’re a YOU person, so they’re going to be as supportive as they can.
  • You can never really get them interacting with him, but they do go to every single one of your horse shows. You do dressage, and while they don’t really like Bloomington on his own, with you riding him? Oh boy
  • oh boy howdy
  • it’s impressive. the two of you are impressive.
  • They can appreciate that, at least, and the bond the two of you share. Vanderwood might not want to directly interact with your horse… but they’re never once unhappy that he exists.

This line if anyone doesn’t know comes from Tony and Fury’s conversation during Age of Ultron. The conversation where Tony says that the vision Wanda gave him, is the future. He blames himself. 

This is not just the end of the path the group started them on, Tony claims all responsibility. I started us on. This idea that Tony tries to push off the blame for his actions, is honestly baffling. Tony consistently accepts blame for other people’s actions. 

Let’s go through some of the movies and see where Tony takes responsibility. 

In Ironman 1 we see Tony Stark, talking with Yinsen in Afghanistan. He’s scaredd, confused, and in pain. Despite all of that, one of the first things he notices about his kidnappers, they have his weapon. Which he finds absolutely jarring because he only sells his weapons to the US military. 

He is absolutely shocked that these terrorists have his weapons, because Obidiah was the one selling to them behind his back. However, he takes responsibility for his weapons getting in the wrong hands, and sets out to personally destroy every stockpile of weapons.

He took full responsibility for something that was not his fault. 

What about Age of Ultron.

The entire movie in Captain America civil war, is Tony attempting to make up for what happened. Notice he again says my fault. He has taken every bit of blame, he doesn’t blame Wanda for what she did to him, or for what she did to help Ultron with his plan. He doesn’t blame Bruce for helping him study the scepter. He doesn’t blame Ultron because ultimately Ultron’s actions were his own, he was a sentient being. Tony takes all of the blame on his shoulders, and supports the accords as a way of preventing further tragedies like Ultron. 

Tony consistently accepts blames for things he was only marginally connected to. Other people expect him to, and he gets blamed for the actions of others regularly.

Example:

This man blamed Tony Stark for the crimes Howard Stark committed against his father. Tony is expected to pay in blood for crimes that are not his own.  

Or what about 

Who after years of planning, and evil deeds blames Tony for all of it. A drunk celebrity said he would talk with him and then didn’t. I understand maybe Aldrich was devastated, and dealing with depression. However, his crimes are still his own, he still chose to commit them. He has had years to get a good therapist, he chose to develop a serum that kills people, and causes them to explode. 

This is not Tony’s fault, this is Killain’s. He made the decision to be a villain. 

Now let’s look at some of the other Avengers accepting responsibility for their actions. 

Well, that doesn’t sound like accepting responsibility for unleashing the Hulk onto a city of innocent people, and completely disrupting Dr. Banner’s peace of mind. She has to have accepted blame at some point, Captain America wouldn’t let her get away with this type of thing, would he?

“She’s just a kid.” Oh, of course well at least he accepts responsibility for his own mistakes.

“Did you know?” 

“I didn’t know it was him.”

“Don’t bullshit me Rogers, did you know?” 

“Yes.”

Well he admits that he hid the truth for years after having his own lie waved in his face, not exactly taking responsibility.

What about Clint, he’s well known for considering the consequences of his actions. Mr. Clint “They’re considered.” Barton.

Oh no wait here’s another example of someone breaking the law and then blaming Tony for their own crimes. Wow the Aldrich Killian parallel I never wanted to make with one of my favorite comic book characters.

Now, all of the original team Cap is guilty of refusing responsibility for their crimes. What about Natasha? While we haven’t seen much of her origin Story she is supposed to be known for clearing the red off her ledger, and while we never see her take blame for much in canon, I blame Marvel’s shitiness with female characters and screen time. 

Or Bruce? Bruce is the only original Avenger we see taking blame for things other than Tony. He’ll take blame for any event the Hulk was involved in, that’s why he leaves at the end of AoU, because of Johannesburg. He still blames himself for breaking Harlem, despite the fight being necessary to protect people. 


Tl:dr this idea that Tony never accepts responsibility is really baffling to me, because team Cap never seemed to accept responsibility for anything they did wrong. Whereas Tony is constantly accepting blame, and working to improve himself and the situation. 

pjo/mcga-verse stupid headcanons

  • annabeth is terrified of sally’s baby at first bc its so small and so mortal and the first time she’s asked to babysit she reads like 3000000 books on childcare just to be safe
  • nico loves cactuses bc they are the only plant that doesnt wilt when hes around so he just starts a little indoor cactus garden in the hades cabin 
  • frank collects beanie babies
  • percy feels a lowkey rivalry with magnus when they meet bc the whole horses/sea-god similarity and takes absolute comfort in the fact that hes still the only one who can breathe under water and talk to fish
  • magnus is a frequent denim-on-denim offender 
  • jason loses/breaks his glasses on the daily so rachel starts keeping a stash of spares hidden in the big house - only she won’t tell him where they are 
  • grover checks in with percy and annabeth somewhat infrequently but whenever he does there are like 5 new ppl in their group and eventually hes just like guys wtf
  • samirah and sally meet one time at a chase family party or somethin and they get fuckin TIGHT and sally starts inviting her to things like percys grad party or the baby’s first birthday and sam just always shows up 
  • when thalia finds out annabeth also has family descended from a different culture’s gods she’s fuckin amped
CP bachelor AU: part 11

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

***

Damen is sitting on the edge of the white satin bedspread. His hands are laced together; the left thumb is on top. Laurent, leaning against the safe harbour of the closed bedroom door, experiences a small moment of displacement in time. 

“Halvik is probably hugging herself right now thinking about your genetic material,” Laurent says. It’s the kind of thought that he’d usually keep on the other side of his brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s stopped caring what he says in front of Damen.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Laurent taps the heel of one shoe, thoughtful, against the door. “I can fix this.”

Damen says, with a hint of anger, “If you’re thinking–”

No,” Laurent says. “I can’t–I’m not going to force them to stick around and pretend not to be in love. Any idiot could see that would backfire. No. I can work with this, but the problem is the story. We could…all right, I can frame it as head versus heart: Jokaste as the strategic choice, the smarter pick for someone in your professional position–”

“I don’t want to marry Jokaste,” Damen says.

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vanityfair.com
American Gods: Exclusive First Look at Mr. Nancy as Orlando Jones Talks Anansi Boys Spin-Off
Inside the mind of the African trickster god.
By Joanna Robinson

“Like many self-described “nerds,” actor Orlando Jones came across Neil Gaiman’s sci-fi/fantasy classic American Gods well before Starz decided to turn it into a series from genre TV buffs Michael Green and Bryan Fuller. But despite his Gaiman love, Jones never expected in his wildest dreams he’d land the role of Mr. Nancy/Anansi—one of the book and show’s many imported old-world deities vying for the increasingly fractured attention span of modern-day Americans. And Jones is attacking the role of the arachnid African trickster god with all the glee you would expect from a true fan. Mr. Nancy/Anansi is the only one of Gaiman’s American gods so far to warrant a spin-off novel—2005’s Anansi Boys—and speaking with Vanity Fair, Jones reveals his character might get the TV spin-off treatment as well. 

“But that’s all putting the cart well before the horse. American Gods has yet to premiere its first episode on Starz—but when it does, at the end of April, it’s Jones’s character who gets the splashiest intro. Fans of the novel will remember the “Coming to America” vignettes peppered throughout Gaiman’s book that explore how—over centuries of belief—immigrants have brought various gods to American shores. In the show, these vignettes become pre-credits cold opens plunked at the front of most episodes. Jones’s Mr. Nancy lucks out with the most memorable of those stories, set on board an African slaving ship bound for American shores. 

“With a fiery, showstopping speech, Anansi—clad in an anachronistically sharp plaid suit and occasionally morphing into his spider form—uses the full force of his charismatic power of persuasion to inspire an uprising among his followers. It‘s both incredibly socially relevant and one of the most memorable introductions a TV character has had in a long time. As Jones explains, it may also be a hint of much more Mr. Nancy to come.”

Hail Mary: Part IV

Part I  Part II  Part III 


I woke knowing instantly, breathtakingly, that Jamie was there, holding me. 

Thank God. 

Thank God he’d come after me. 

Thank God that his voice was behind me, urgent with tenderness, and his arms alive with exactly the same as they pulled me close against the chill“Are ye warm enough, mocree?” 

‘Oh, yes,’ I tried to whisper, but the words were subsumed by a tiny sound from my throat—a mew?— of simple, silly happiness; of closeness, of sweetness, and of complete security. I let myself fall back into the dark of him, the heat of his chest against my back; his knees behind mine; my mind swirling lazily, freely within the haven he had made for me within himself.  

Then I woke again and his soft, warm mouth was latching slowly into the curve of my neck and shoulder. I was moaning and he was moving higher; higher toward my ear as he whispered unknown syllables into my skin. Moaning. Moaning and feeling his breath, his lips, his love at my ear. Moaning, on my back in the heather with Jamie on top of me, slipping his hand into the neck of my shift to free my breasts. Moaning, gasping as he put his mouth on them, suckling me hard; moaning as his hand slid hard under my hips, pulling me up against him. Feeling him hard, even through the layers of clothing. Bucking against him, my fingers digging into his back. Moaning as he moved urgently forward and back, his mouth never leaving my nipple; moving with him, keening.

“I need ye,” he groaned suddenly in a hoarse whisper against my breasts, his grip on my thigh tightening hard and the motions of his hips growing alarmingly urgent with need. He was gasping from it, his whole body shaking. “I need ye now, mocree.”

“Have me,” I was groaning back, reeling with my own desire, feeling an electric wave travel through me as I heard his moan of lust, as he grappled frantically with my skirts. “Jamie, Jamie I’m yoursPl—


I woke, bolted upright, and gasped violently all at once, so fast and suddenly that the horse reared against her tether nearby and whinnied in terror. Instinct brought me flying across the clearing to calm her, but the moment she subsided, I staggered backward and fell hard onto the ground on the far side of her tree, shaking uncontrollably from head to toe—from rage or—something else—I couldn’t tell.

“Goddamn FUCKING hell!” I hissed in fury and despair into the night as I dragged myself up to lean against the tree. “Can’t he leave me the hell alone?”

No, I canna…And ye ken why, lass.

After Jamie’s startling proposal—that ridiculous…. heartbreakingly beautiful  proposal— I’d spent the rest of my evening on my hasty but effective escape plan. I’d passed round the laced whisky multiple times along with the plain that flowed freely in honor of Jamie’s pardon; no one had noticed that they were sinking further and more quickly into drowsiness than was usual. Before that, I had contrived a deep and sudden interest in discussing our route with Ned, memorizing the maps he pulled forth from his saddle bag, devouring them and repeating to myself over and over as he talked: that direction to the Ness. Follow it up to Inverness. Then a bit south and a bit east, and not far to Craigh na Dun. 

All had gone to plan. Until Jamie had followed me. Granted, I’d traveled infinitely faster on the horse onto which he’d thrown me than I would have on foot, but —

Jesus, the way he had looked at me—begged me—

But I had had to go—right then—had told myself I wouldn’t stop even to sleep, wouldn’t stop for a moment till I reached the standing stones and was back in Frank’s world. Yet, I had all but fallen from my horse, and hadn’t even bothered with a fire; just curled beneath my earasaid and fallen into a deep sleep.

But apparently not deep enough to keep out Jamie Fraser.

I sat there in the freezing night, bringing my knees up to my chin and hugging them in frustration. “Beauchamp….you stupid…. lust-crazed—”

It’s no’ just lust. Ye ken that, as well as I; ye ken what there is between us, mocree. 

“I didn’t even know what that word means, you bastard!” 

But it was clear enough from the way he had spoken it, the way it had sounded in the night as he’d reached for me, that it indicated some deep…. 

“I care for you, Claire”

“Dear God,” I whispered into my arms, longing, defeated. “…Jamie…”

Yes, of course there was something between us. 

Of course I felt it between us almost from the first.

Of COURSE that night in his arms had been… 

“Jamie Fraser, you stupid boy! Why the BLOODY hell did you have to propose?”

But thank God he had. Thank GOD, or else I’d have—what? Had him in the woods at the first opportune moment? Had—a life with him?

…I bet it would have been a good life…

Dear God. 

“Who….are you, Beauchamp?”

My horrified question resonated in the darkened glade, indicting, with no answer reverberating back. 

Go. Go now and don’t think of anything but your husband. 

That’s who who’ve got to be: you’re Frank’s wife. 

I scrambled to my feet and untethered the horse as quickly as I could. 

What a ridiculous fool I’d been, so be lulled into a prisoner’s security with the MacKenzies. My HUSBAND was back in the twentieth century with no notion whatsoever as to what happened to his wife. He’d spent nearly six weeks frantic with fear. And I’d all but forgotten him. 

“I’m coming, Frank,” I whispered as I set off at a gallop. “I promise.” 

The entire morning, the entire afternoon, the entire evening, my mind was a terror fugue, a mad fury of fear and guilt, punctuated by the haunting tones of Welshman’s song of the woman of Balnain. 

I lived for a time among strangers

Jamie. 

who became lovers and friends

Jamie, with the wounds I inflicted upon him showing in his eyes. 

lovers and friends

Jamie… 

lovers 

Jamie…

NO: FRANK.

FRANK, waiting. 

FRANK, worrying. 

FRANK. 

At last, as night fell once more, the hill of Craigh na Dun appeared in the distance. I kicked the horse hard and we raced up the slope, both of us panting and heaving. Could the animal feel my terror? 

I saw the moon come out 

FRANK. 

and the wind rose once more,

so I touched the stones

FRANK. 

and traveled back to my own land

FRANK. 

and took up again with the man I had left behind

FRANK. 

The stones were wailing, keening. 

I threw myself off the horse.  

“Frank…Frank…Frank….” was on my lips as I staggered to the stone circle. 

And as the wind did rise, 

rose so high my skirts billowed around me,

I slammed my hands against the screaming stone.

Frank. 


And nothing.


“Frank.”


Hours. 


Blood dripping down my hands and smearing the stone. 


“Frank….” 

“Oh, God… Frank….”


I had no voice in the dawn light. I had no tears left. 

My body was curled around the base of the stone, cradling the memory of the life I had had.

Once more.

Once more, the stone under my bleeding hands. 


And nothing.

Exactly. 


The sun was blinding me as I dug, the dirt like glass in my scraped and bleeding hands.

In the hole at the base of the stone, I placed my gold ring. It glinted in the sunlight as I stared down. 

From F to C with love. Always.

“Goodbye, Frank.”



Thank God the horse hadn’t strayed far. I found her at the stream and caught her by the halter, the panic I had felt rush through me in waves during my night on the hill surprisingly absent.

Frank was gone. Or rather, I was gone. The stones were a one-way voyage that was now complete. It was that simple. The Frank part of my life was now done. 

Why doesn’t his loss hurt you more? Have you no heart, you coldhearted—

But those were only echoes of guilt, calling out faintly to me from the hole I had dug—the hole I had covered over, handful by handful— at the base of the stones. 

And part of me had known it all along, hadn’t it? Since the first moment I’d realized I’d gone back to another time? The Welshman’s song had given me hope, yes, but of course I knew that there was always the chance I would never be able to return. 

In truth, I’d been grieving and healing from the loss of Frank ever since I arrived at Leoch. I had fled to the stones out of guilt, pure and simple. Lord, my very thoughts on that ride told everything in black and white: 

Frank is worried;’ ‘Frank is your husband.’ 

NOT‘I can’t bear another day without Frank;’ not ‘what if I never see Frank again?’; not ‘I ache to have you back in my arms, Frank.’

No. It was : “You’ve got to fight your way back to Frank. You’re his wife.” 

I loved Frank; had always loved, him even from the first…but I didn’t feel a visceral need of him when we weren’t together; not now, not when we first met, not even during the war. 

I hadn’t ever felt in almost eight years—even with nearly all of our marriage spent apart— the way I felt now, missing Jamie.

Yes, perhaps I would hear those echoes from Craigh na Dun many times in the years to come; but I had made my choice and I was turning the horse without conscious thought. 

I could make my way south to England, blend in and start a new life among the familiar voices, quietly, living out my life alone in atonement for what was lost and what wickedness had clouded my heart. 

But it was north that I was turning; north that I made for with all haste; to the life that the stones had just made possible. 

North.

To Jamie. 

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The Trevi Fountain (Fontana di Trevi) 1762 is Italy’s largest and most famous Baroque fountain, standing 85 feet high and 65 feet across. The fountain can be found in Rome’s Piazza di Trevi in the Quirinale district.

Water flows from the mouth of the dominating figure–Neptune, god of the sea–standing atop a shell-shaped chariot drawn by two sea horses and two gods. The horses represent the changing mood of the sea.