but then i saw a horse

anonymous asked:

I saw someone say it's actually Gucci Mane in comments and I've seen that too but I thought that was like pronounced goosey-mane. like.. a horse with a mane resembling a goose or something. fuck.

GOOSEY MANE

anonymous asked:

(anon that got zoophiles on insta) the other day I saw a game cam pic under my "explore" of deer mating tagged with deerporn or something so I'm wondering if the algorithm now thinks i jack off to animals :((((

Omfg nooooo im so sorry.
It must be almost as bad as youtube. I watched a dressage freestyle video and for a while it kept recommending vids of horses mating.

WHY DOES IT ALL HAVE TO BE PORN

I saw the greatest thing today.  So I’m at a stoplight in the passenger seat, right?  And I hear hoofbeats nearby.  I look over and there’s a lady walking her horse. We’re close enough to be in talking distance and this horse is incredibly happy.  Her ears are pricked forward and she’s JUST SO DELIGHTED TO SEE EVERYTHING.

“I like your big dog!” I said.

“Thanks!  She’s an asshole!” she said, and the horse headbutted her so hard she staggered. SHE JUST LOVES THIS HORSE SO MUCH, GUYS, she laughed and patted her nose.

the princess stayed in the tower and read books about better girls, where their hands learned how to hold swords, where they rode in on horses. i gave her books as often as i could. she devoured them.

her princes saw her and pretended to be scared off by dragons. got too lost in the thicket. didn’t want to handle it.

“tell me what it’s like, out there,” she whispers to me for the millionth time. i take her from The Throne into her bed, tucking her in and making sure her feet are covered. 

“boring without you” i say as always, “but i did bring back a great story.”

i tell her about how the stars change beyond the equator. how there are places it looks like there are twin suns. how the desert crawls into you but so does snow. i talk about the taste of fruit and promise to bring her back some. she falls asleep while i murmur about rivers, and then in the morning i bring her from bed to Throne, even though she can do it on her own. sometimes she likes help, is all, and i’m happy to give it. 

she doesn’t want help getting dressed. the men come for me, blindfold masters i have almost befriended. the path we take away from her is always different, carefully manufactured so i don’t know exactly where she’s located. after all, a lady might get ideas about things.

they let me go in the queen’s room. i report findings, ask for fruit in the next week’s supplies, am told not to spoil the princess, that she must be kind and waifish and wanting when the prince comes. i spend an hour suggesting that fruit might turn the blood sweeter and am allowed six oranges.

in the next week, she marvels over them. turns them in her calloused hands. smells them. holds them until she can’t control her curiosity, devours them. i bring her books about rivers. i bring her books about deserts. 

“when is our birthday?” she asks me tonight. i’m knitting her a scarf for it.

“soon,” i tell her, “i’ll come by.”

she rolls onto one side, looks up at me in the dimming light. “I’m glad they chose you to be mine,” she says, and i drop a stitch. my heart sings against the inside of my wrists. i blow out a candle so she can’t see the blush and i can’t see her lips. i know what she means, i say. i know what she means.

it’s twenty-three for both of us. i bring her a cake we both eat, her on her throne and me on the floor. i am in the middle of laughing when she falls silent in the still night. “nobody else ever comes for me,” she whispers. i say nothing.

we have more cake, we go to sleep. i don’t know if she knows i’m awake, but i hear her crying.

the men come, the men take me. the one that smells like cedar always laughs at my jokes. the queen half-hates me because i remind her of “that nasty thing” they forced on their daughter. 

“the left wheel needs oil,” i mention, “she’s having trouble turning again.”

the queen’s nose goes up. she never reacts when i mention her daughter’s wheelchair by name - doesn’t find it funny we call it a throne, thinks it’s well enough to leave alone.

“well, she’ll have a prince in this next month coming for her,” says the queen, “i’ve arranged it all,” says the queen, “he’s … had the situation explained to him first this time. i thought it would be best,” says the queen. “we’re paying him…. quite a lot for his effort,” says the queen.

situation. she means that her daughter can’t walk very far. she means the situation of towers. i excuse myself. i find my girl books about turning down marriage. i’m not sure why. it’s all she’s ever wanted.

they blindfold me and take me. cedar laughs at my jokes. the sawdust one is here this time, even he chuckles at a few. we ride horses through places i’ll never see clearly. 

“so according to the queen this is the last time i’m needed, huh?” i ask them as they walk me blindly up too many stairs for my girl to make it down, “i’m sorry i never made your acquaintance.”

cedar laughs. he takes off my blindfold and for a second, lets me see his face. “it’s been an honor,” he says, shaking my hand, “you’ve been a perfect lady.”

i spend the day with my princess pretending i am not peeling apart from my bones. i just want her to be happy. to get to come home. 

it’s late. “do you think in a past life i was a mermaid?” she asks.

“almost definitely,” i tell her. 

it’s quiet for a while after. “what if,” she whispers, “i don’t want to leave?”

i sit up and look at her from across the room. 

“it’s just,” she says, “i have you here and all the books i need and nobody makes me walk too long and i don’t feel like… like i’m wrong here.”

i want to tell her she’s never been wrong. that she’s always fit into my heart like a puzzle piece. that, more importantly, the leadership i see in her glows like a fire - that, no matter her body, she’s always been kind and gentle and smart and sweet. a princess that could bring a nation to her feet and do so lovingly.

“it will be okay,” i say, “there’s more fruit to discover.”

she doesn’t say anything. i think i’ve ruined something by accident, but i don’t know what. i don’t really sleep. i don’t say anything when the men come take me.

the world outside without her is boring. no mermaids. i put my hand in a river once a day, just thinking about her. 

two weeks later i am awoken by my name, and a voice i recognize perfectly. cedar stands above me in the darkness. “i know two things in this world,” he says to me, “and one of them is about love.”

this time we make the trip without blindfolds. i see the squalor they keep her in. i see the waste surrounding her castle, the terrible place she’s in. rage fuels my footsteps even when they start flagging. 

the prince is already there. he has dropped her twice, cedar tells me. i am already running up the stairs even though i can barely breathe. i hear her crying through the door and i don’t need to get ready - the fire that starts in me burns so brightly.

i roar inside. turn dragon and beat back prince with girl made rage. the bruises on her body turn me into giant snake. i eat the man alive, or at least i chase him from the place, never to be seen again. later i will hear a rumor about a demon that stole the princess from him.

she cries into my arms. i take her down every single stair. i hear her murmur her thanks into my hair and then i kiss her, because i can’t handle it, because i have places to show her and she has my heart to lead.

my house isn’t much but it’s near a river. she likes putting her hands into it. i take her places when she is able, and otherwise i bring the places back. we read books together. cedar no longer works for the queen, but he’d rather live with the man of sawdust making tiny wooden figurines.

i lie in bed next to her, stroking her soft hair. “do you think i was a centaur in a past life?” she asks.

“definitely,” i tell her, and kiss her, gently. she holds my face and pulls herself closer to me.

“will i be a good queen? i mean, in this life?”

“i’m certain of it,” i reply. i can hear the truth ring in it. the bone-deep certainty.

she’s quiet for a moment. “you saved me,” she whispers, “and usually we’d end up married. but…”

i don’t know how to answer that. i feel ice down my spine suddenly.

“i’m not demanding, is all,” her voice shakes, “i’m asking this time. for you to choose me. for me to be yours, i mean. and for you to be mine. permanently.”

the next birthday we celebrate, we are both queens.

10

But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. He screwed up his eyes, trying to see what it was. It looked like a horse. It was galloping silently away from him, across the black surface of the lake. He saw it lower its head and charge at the swarming dementors…. ” Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Inspired by this particular headcanon, I couldn’t stop thinking of Harry having a tattoo of a lily on his rib - representing his mother who saved his life and also his daughter who life he constatly safes. Narcissa Malfoy saved him too so a flower is something that I imagine Harry craving in his skin (no matter how cliché you might think it is). It’s sweet and pure and it’s the contrast of dark, violent moments of his life. I really enjoy this concept and I couldn’t help but draw it today.

[instagram @potterbyblvnk] 

so i had this horse named max when i was growing up who didn’t have a mean bone in his body, i believe he genuinely had no desire to hurt anyone in his life, the only problem being that he was at times almost too clumsy to live.

he was a dirt-speckled white tall stocky arab gelding with absurdly long haunches and very dark quizzical eyes. he was very interested in new people and new objects and utterly terrified of anything that he couldn’t automatically define. he had very pronounced withers that would jam right up into your goddamn crotch when you were riding him bareback, and he had the worst, bumpiest, most broken-laundry-machine of a gait that would jar the teeth from your skull right as you were losing your virginity. 

he was the world’s largest dog. he would wander over without fail to come over and say hi and then he would slowly and sedately lick you all over your hands and arms without using his teeth once. the man. loved. to lick things. you offered him something to eat and he would ever so delicately pick it up with his front lip, deposit it dexterously in his mouth, then gently chew. he never bit or kicked a person in his entire life. he didn’t mind being sat on while he wandered around and grazed, and he was so tall and broad that you could sit on him backwards and lay forward with your arms folded on the big black-spotted white of his butt like he was a couch.

he loved having his feet trimmed. he would always be so interested in the man working with his feet, and he would lick them on the arms and they never knew how to deal with it. we got a lot of comments like “This is the lickiest damn horse I ever saw” and also “please god he’s leaning on me make him stop.” 

he’d trip over himself every four seconds, and while he’d amble like a lanky sedan chair on the way out on a trip, on the way back you’d have to keep your elbows yanked back to your sides and your biceps straining as you kept his head glued to his chest and kept him from going faster and faster. he had this amazing lunatic bursts of insane energy when the situation called for it, and while he wasn’t particularly fast, the mere sight of that much poorly aligned and desperately out-of-proportion horsemeat attempting to fling itself through the sound barrier was enough to make you want to sit down for a minute.

he became desperately unhappy once his lifelong partner-in-horse would leave  while someone took her out on a ride alone and he’d stand in the farthest mile corner of the six miles of pasture and scream his head off until she came back. his sweat always smelled more acrid and sour than hers did, and he always foamed in big greenish smears. he loved being brushed until his hair fluffed out gleaming white, and while hoses terrified him into emotional outbursts, he very much loved to swim, and stand in the shallows and churn the water while jerking his head up and down in dogged delight.

on hot summer days he would lay down in the softest most nibbled to the quick part of the pasture and sleep for hours in the sunshine with the breath wheezing in and out his mouth and his legs stretched out. 

he absolutely had to walk in front of his horse partner at all times. 

he didn’t like dandelion flowers. he liked eating hollyhocks and thistle flowers, and he destroyed my mother’s lilac bush by literally walking over it until it was on his undercarriage and scratching back and forth with a look of complete and total bliss on his long stupid face. 

if you walked up to him in the dark he would walk over, inspect you for food, then breathe on you and keep you company while farting gently. if you were taking a nap in the grass he’d walk over and lick you mournfully on your face while farting gently. if you were riding him and he saw a leaf that looked at him wrong he would explode in seven different directions at once and yank your arms out of their sockets, excitedly farting the entire time. 

he was, in every respect, the sweetest, dumbest farmboy who ever lived. 

A mother and her children.

Most countries have a version of the werewolf and a creature sitting on people’s chests at night giving them nightmares. These are the versions from Denmark.

If a pregnant woman wanted an easy birth she could crawl naked through the amniotic sac of a horse during a full moon. This was because people believed horses have the most painless birth of all animals.

She would get an easy birth, but if she had a son he would be a werewolf, and a daughter would be a mare (as in nightmare). Children born this way were sometimes called marewolves (mareulve), combining the two words.

Danish werewolves only had three legs and transformed every night. The werewolf could end his curse in a few different ways. He could eat the heart of a male fetus, so this kind of werewolf often attacked pregnant women. If someone else said to him “You’re a werewolf” the curse would be lifted from him, but be transferred to the person who said it. The safest way to end the curse was for someone to call out his Christian name while he was in wolf form. That would force him to turn into a human, and then a priest could bless him and he would never have to transform again.

Like werewolves the mares walked around during daytime as normal women, but at night they turned into nightmarish creatures who could enter houses as mist. They would hug or sit on people, giving them horrible nightmares. The victim would be able to see them, but they’d be invisible to everyone else. They could be sort-of cured too. If a person saw someone having a horrible nightmare they could throw cold water on them and the mare would appear as a normal person. People could also plug the hole the mare had entered though and trap her in the room. The victim would see her as this terrifying creature all night, but in the morning she would transform into her normal self with no memory of what had happened. She would stay human until someone unplugged the hole at which point she would remember everything and turn into a mist, going back to her mare ways. If she had children during her time as a human she would return at night to make sure they were okay.

Women could also be werewolves if they got hold of a wolf pelt, and men could become mares if they desired someone too much, or was envious of another person’s possessions. Sometimes they became mares randomly, and my favorite male mare story also shows how far a mare could travel in a night:


A Danish farmer walked into his stables at night and saw his horse having a terrible nightmare. He threw cold water on it and suddenly he saw a naked man sitting on it. The man looked at him and said “You shouldn’t have done that. I have a wife and children back in England, but now I’m stuck here”

anonymous asked:

gimme ur fave ereri official arts

Every official art that involves Eren and Levi together I love. But my personal favorites are these; 

They’re alone, Eren is petting Levi’s horse and it just looks so peaceful overall. Eren’s horse is nowhere to be found so I guess he should sit behind Levi and embrace him as they ride through the sunset lololol. 

The atmosphere in this pic is too damn romantic. They’re married. 

Look at my majestic babies. 

Eren and Levi on a date, eating fucking Burger King. 

Eren and Levi are naked, proof that they probably saw each other’s penises. 

This is one that not enough people talk about. Like, Eren is eye fucking Levi right now. And that plunger… says something. Eren is a naughty boy. 

Isayama sketching ereri during his free time. Seriously, Eren be stalking Levi, like Levi has his eyes closed and he probably has no fucking idea Eren is standing there, starring at him with a smirk omg…

Physical contact. Animators trying so hard to show how much they ship it. 

Gays in their natural habitat. Eren charging at Levi as always. 

My babies in the red carpet. Shining like the kings they are. 

When god blessed us with this beauty. Seriously, this is holy. 

I could go on but I think this response is pretty long as it is. So yeah, these are usually the ones I stare at for 200 hours. 

Are You Going To Be An Overprotective Baby Brother?

Pairing: Steve x Henderson!reader 

Request:  Could you do a Steve Harrington imagine of being Dustin’s older sister and prior to the monsters you ignored Steve even though he always tried to flirt because you’re pretty and smart but you’re also snarky and friends with Nancy and Jonathan and BFFs with Dustin and all his friends love you and post monsters with Dustin and Steve’s bromance you start to be friends with him and Dustin notices he likes you and gives Steve a overprotective baby brother speech? You can decide if he makes a move  

Warnings: fluff, a few swear words

A/N: Omg I love this prompt so much! Also, I have a requested El x reader coming out sometime in the next few days :)

Keep reading

2

I never had an imaginary friend, just imaginary circumstances. I was so into the Indiana Jones movies and I would constantly reenact circumstances. I broke my left arm three times, two of which were me trying to be Indiana Jones. The first time, I tied sheets together and tried to climb the side of my house after I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark. The second time, I was riding a horse and trying to gallop as fast as I could, like Indiana Jones, and got thrown from the horse. The third time I was bit older and it didn’t have anything to do with trying to be Indiana Jones.

  • Dad: There was a movie with Tom Hiddleston on TV last night.
  • Me: Really?! OMG! Which one?! Was it War Horse? Only Lovers Left Alive? High Rise? I Saw The Light? Midnight in Paris? A TV series, like, The Night Manager? The Deep Blue Sea? Thor? The Avengers? Kong: Skull Island? Crimson Peak? Which one was it?!?!?!?!?!
  • Dad: ... ಠ_ಠ

anonymous asked:

I don't like clowns tbh, I'm more of a cowboy person, cowboys are much harder to take care of than most species of clowns as they need huge open spaces and greener pastures but it all pays off when you hear their loud yeehaws. They are solitary creatures and are magnificent to look at in the wild; my Sheriff type cowboy once showed me an amazing lasso trick that you rarely see in captivity.

cowboys are hardly comparable because theyre such a unique and different pet altogether. with clowns its a lot of fun and ruckus and though the space requirements aren’t much more than a large circus tent, they do tend to make a lot of noise and mess, whereas cowboys need acres upon acres of open land that doesnt need much upkeep (you can mow it every now and then, but if you let the grass just keep growing eventually you can train them to cut it themselves- it’s a territorial/grooming instinct that they might be happier if they can express. personal choice though)

not to mention clowns may require a ton of fun props and gags that are relatively cheap individually but add up rather quickly, but cowboys NEED ranch animals to thrive. you know i walked into a petstore once and saw a cowboy setup with a fucking plastic horse? like, the machine ones. THAT was being sold as this “deluxe play equipment” as an “upgrade” from rocking horses. it pissed me off. if you can’t own a horse, don’t get a fucking cowboy. and yeah sometimes that can be enough to satisfy their rancher needs, but if you can sustain a small herd of cattle, that’d definitely be the optimal setup.

“oh theyre cute i like the spurs on their boots, but i dont give my cowboys real ranches because i dont like hearing their little calls” that call is of a satisfied vaquero who is confident in his territory and welcoming challengers (its in their nature.) if you are repressing that need & that call, youre literally repressing their happiness and youre a gunsel who shouldnt be handling ANY pets.