cowboy

black velvet in that slow southern style { indie rp }

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

yee... dare i say it? haw.

“better watch that cheeky mouth if i were you—”

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

YEEHAW

his lip   —– quirks. a chuckle like thunder. southern drawl.

                            “y’all love makin’ me one big joke, huh?”

[mintokkies]

Minho ♡ Countless MV

[lqminho]

© canusmile

[minsam2]

D- 2 Choi minhoday ~ ♡

                    ↳”Dancer ming”

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

i’m currently trying to branch out and reach new people to write with after some week’s rest from this blog - and specifically, i’m looking for nothing specifically at all. i love this character, i love this concept but it seems to be proving harder than usual to get the social ball rolling and i could do with having heaps of threads on my plate and a reason to write for this muse.

minho needs friendships, best-friends, ex-best friends, people from his past, people who are going to be in his futures; people from home and people from seoul where’s he’s just moved. i want him to grow and to experience so many different muses, and to build quality threads with these new people. even if you don’t have a thread in mind, i’d love to talk about our muses and our writing - really get down to the nitty gritty and figure something out. 

but i desperately need to know that people are interested in writing with this muse so please give this post a like or even follow and i can hit up inboxes/chats and get to plotting with some new people for some new and exciting plots.

– thank you! { minho’s mun }

[highwaykind]

Americana Moodboard: The Southwest

[lqminho]

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

redemptioninterlude‌:

Moments like this beside him felt like they were destined for some surrealistic portraiture. The both of them caught on literal, unfamiliar shores; with him no longer dressed for combat, but always waiting, waiting, for that cut to when he’d need to rush, to go, to defend. The idea of a nation’s safety riding upon his shoulders, that he might be the difference that saved lives and changed the course of history. Whereas for her, this… she had no such noble direction in life, and perhaps that was what sent her spinning, running, back to places like this, for him. Looking for a little groundedness in a life of excess that offered her too many possibilities, and no closed doors, the overwhelming desire to move, to make the right choice, constantly weighted beneath the sheer amount of options that lay open for her to take.

Not minding that he touched her forehead, her cheek, like he would a child he was gently scolding, someone who felt the truth so obvious a thing that seemed to miss the mark. Wryly, a smile spreading, knowing that making someone else happy could be easy but if it was the right kind of happiness…. “I can make life simpler for people. Relieve their everyday concerns. But does that make a person happy? I guess that’s what I want to know. I’ve always had everything. I don’t know what it’s like to be lacking in things like clean water or a home. I try with that. Go volunteer. Build homes. Try to save the environment. But is that happiness? Or am I just. Replacing their sorrows with something else for later. I don’t know if someone’s ever gonna be truly happy and satisfied.” a beat, passing, head turning to meet his eyes squarely. “Are you?”

Happy, that was, though she felt that needed no bookending, because what he described, saving people, serving those who could barely stand to serve themselves in times of war, that sounded like freedom, like goodness. And maybe, that was what made him happy, her American friend who was halfway torn across two worlds, who could barely figure out how to manage those conflicting experiences within himself. Not that she blamed him, the search for a grounded, emotional response was a difficult one at best, digging a heel into the sand. “I mean. You are a hero. There’s no buts about it.” and he was right, maybe it wasn’t about what she was going to get out of it… just what the other person was. Afraid to make the mistake of giving too much and sparking worse attitudes within others, having seen that before, too.

You give, you give, and the only question after was when they’d get another handout.

Money waking up the ugliness in others.

But that wasn’t his world to understand, either, just like she wasn’t sure how to deliver the medicine to the neediest. Hesitating for a moment, chin propped up against the boniness of her exposed knees. “… what if I funded the upcoming runs? You don’t need to tell me where they went. I just wanna know that they did some good for someone who needed it the most. That’s enough for me. And then you get another chance to be the hero of your dreams. And mine, for a little while.”

 ongoing with @sovtherncomf0rt // minho

A broad back stretches on that cool grass, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as arms lift and extend above his head; chest filling with such a deep breath the dog-tags tucked away beneath his collar jingle with movement. A thousand thoughts, perhaps, were running through his mind at that very moment -- passing through filters upon filters, and different scenarios; he was never able to shake the discomfort that came when people labelled him as a hero or something else... had he ever wanted to be seen in that light? He doesn’t remember feeling so - it was self-gratifying and it turned his stomach, he just remembered wanting to do something for someone else who couldn’t.

 -------------- teeth worry his lip, his lashes open and he’s left looking at the expansive sky above him. It makes him a little dizzy to comprehend just how many stars there were peering back down at him. “Hm,” The sound came deep from his chest, and he slowly sits back up; using the heel of his palm to push back the dark bangs left mussed on his brow. “Too easy,” A smirk of sorts.

Reaching between them, the pilot’s thick hands start wrapping up the foil and packaging of the little picnic they’d eaten; clearing away the mess and gathering up the trash. “I think it’d be better for you to do somethin’ physical, y’know? And see your efforts pay off in real-time.” He speaks, scratching at a patch of stubble darkening the line of his jaw. 

“I’ve got some plans for tomorrow if you’re interested--- paintin’ some houses for families without the resources. Wanna come down and put in some hours work for now money?” He chuckles; rolling the sound like molasses on his tongue; glancing across to her in the half-light of the gloam around them. “Get down an’ dirty if y’know what I mean.” A click of his tongue and a wink at the cheek joke. 

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

theme updated

some threads dropped + replying to only those i have active interest in.

making new icons   !!

looking for new threads !!

[allminetherainbow]

Minho behind the scenes of Illang: The Wolf Brigade.

[ilysminho]

minho’s eyes when he gets competitive (requested by anon) 

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

mmxtters:

Hanging back a little, Kijung’s gaze flickers from the back of Minho’s head, to the door he’s fighting to open as it contains the sounds of large animals. However, once the door does swing open he is met not with yaps and barks, bouncing legs, snapping teeth and clawing paws, but sweet looking, large dogs keen to touch the man. Then he is essentially… left. 

Stepping forward, the bartender peers in, before hearing neighbours shuffling behind him he quickly slips in, so’s not to make a scene, and swings the door closed behind him. Kicking off his trainers, Kijung slowly steps into his apartment, eyes wide as he takes it all in. It was both not what he was expecting and also so Minho it seemed obvious. He steps slowly after him, as eyes roam to take it all in, before he stops by the doorway and gazes in at him with a small frown. Now they were here he did not seem well, as walls crumble and he is able to really deal with his illness.

“Minho-ah?” He calls out softly, not wanting to bother him, but also not knowing if he should perhaps leave him be and allow him to be alone. He just wanted to make sure that he was alright and had everything he needed, or if there was anything further he could do.  His eyes lower curiously to the dogs, they didn’t seem interested in him at all, and from that he  felt more comfortable around them already.  They were big, sure, but gentle.

his apartment had high ceilings indicative of a designer who’d taken inspiration from older, georgian styled homes that were so popular in central europe; the walls a red-brick bare, but smoothed in places of dark wood, the flooring scuffed and worn but the peeking spots of a wood untouched by thick polish was almost charming in itself. tall windows let in vast pools of light from the outside, the kitchen missing a doorway but instead a high arch - transforming the room into a much more open space. a choice of his. 

minho didn’t function well in tight spaces! he grew up on spilling, golden fields of texas where the breeze would brush by his bare toes and cheeks, the sun darkening his skin - the heat seeping deep into his muscles. he’d walked the halls of his parent’s barn home and found comfort in the creak of an old, warped floorboard. seoul was sometimes too new for him, impersonal and stark.  clinical. a city without warmth at the booming heart of its center; so he’d searched far out and wide, found an apartment complex with older neighbors and found himself a home between the dusty windowpanes and squeaky door hinges. i’ll fix that--- a constant thought. 

he looked a lonely sight braced against that countertop, clutching the edge with fumbling fingertips; clumsy and uncontrolled -- the water was cold in his chest and he could feel it spreading down his throat, but what he wanted most to feel was the sedative in his medication. a numbing to the anxious tremble in his touch, the ache in his lower back from a spine snapped straight; one he couldn’t relax even if he wanted to. zeus and jupiter had already flanked him; leaning against both sides of his legs. he was almost about to zone out when kijung’s voice called him back.

turning his head; the pilot stares at the boy stepping foot into his home for the first time. “yeah----” he answers, his brows dropping into a neutral line. 

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

aroixs:

starter for: @sovtherncomf0rt muse: sang mihi  connection: strangers, friends, s/o

            parties weren’t a scene that mihi was the most fond of. though it was an excuse to look good and mingle with potential customers, those are about the only purposes they serve for her. they’re crowded, and dim lighting can be hard to navigate. not to mention people partaking in activities that lead to an impaired state of mind; something she does not care to partake in. though that doesn’t mean she has to be a party-pooper, right? so when she sees someone sitting by themselves on a couch, she has to put her nose into their business. it’s a quality she has. “this is supposed to be a party. you’re supposed to dance, or drink, not sulk.”

                       Out of place was an understatement, the pilot was mostly older than the general age of the party-goers; and he’d lost the very person he’d come with, a feeble attempt to help him mingle with more Koreans, the improve his deeply southern twanged speech. Minho stands towering over most, but during the course of the night, he’d found a quiet little spot on the edge of the sofa and he was mostly sipping on the edge of the whiskey, unable to keep up with the alcohol infused conversations around him. 

--- However, a lithe body plops down beside him and she at least sounds less intoxicated; or maybe she was easier to understand. The pilot would admit his Korean ability wasn’t fluent but he did his best having spent his life in Texas. “Ah---- was I sulkin’?” He asks, chuckling in embarrassment. “Sorry.... I jus’ don’t think I know anyone here is all.”

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

mmxtters:

Hearing the tires softly screech as they pull to a stop, Kijung is pulled from his lulling calm, coming from the contact of skin, resting on a broad shoulder and the smell of male deodorant that he enjoys so much about members of the same sex. Lifting his head he blearily looks around for a moment, not knowing the part of town himself, but it seemed nice, quite, residential, unlike the party high street he lives above. 

As Minho moves to pay, Kijung uncoils himself from the man and reaches out for the door, slipping long legs out and touching loafer to the pavement. Straightening to his full height, with the car door swinging shut behind him, Kijung takes the neighbourhood in the quaint flowers and happy hubbub of calm activity around. Could anything be better then a lazy summer Sunday morning spent here? Unlike the street below his flat, still filled with busy shoppers and the loud market, here you could lie in bed, with the window open and hear birds or people laughing and sweeping… or maybe he was painting that idyllic retired life he’d always wished for again. 

Hearing Minho’s car door close, the bartender looks around and smiles softly, before slotting in behind him as they move to the apartment block and start the climb up the stairs. He may have long legs but Kijung is not fit. He stands and pulls pints all days, sneaking ‘stress cigarettes’ around the back alley when he knows he wont get caught, he is not a climber! By the time Minho is jingling keys and they level out, Kijung is a little out of breath, but quickly turns to bow in greeting as an elderly couple leave their flat, still arm in arm like young lovers and his gaze follows them, before he hears the dreaded sound of something shuffling behind Minho’s front door as he unlocks it. … dog. 

There’s a sound of highly strung whining that comes from behind the door as the pilot fights with the aged bolt, the door shuddering when paws from behind jump against its frame - the dogs can smell his stress and are trying to reach him quickly, almost as much as Minho is trying to get inside too. The door swings open, and the dogs ignore the presence of a newcomer; immediately crowding Minho’s knees and hips, noses and gentle licks on his pants, the quick touch of his knuckles that come when he puts his keys aside, but he’s already moving towards his kitchen; his medication is there. 

Minho’s apartment was old for a reason, he found comfort in living in a place with a rustic touch - had grown up in a barn house where the high ceilings had beams soaked with its history, chips missing here and there, the hallways almost warped from the passage of time but with each creak of the floor beneath bare feet, as a child, the pilot found that living in place that had so many souls between its walls before him gave a touch of excitement. He’d dream, spend hours thinking of the things that had gone on; he once had climbed beneath the porch and crawled straight beneath the house, hidden from the burning sun outside; the earth was cool against his palms and knees - he lay there for the longest stretch of time, on his back, eyes closed, listening to the world around him.

            --- Ever since, he couldn’t find a home in new buildings; where the paint was so pristine it seemed unnatural, and the windows without a single speck. It felt stuffy to him. Like the air was pressing against his throat. The apartment here was far from routinely perfect, but it was perfect for him -- the spacious rooms, the red brickwork on the walls, wooden-framed windows where the glass rumbled if a car drove by too fast. The floors beneath creaked in certain spots, and rose where the foundation was uneven; but for Minho, it gave him comfort of home. 

In the kitchen, he’s filling a glass of water and shaking out two white pills; knocking them back with a generous gulp of liquid, the dogs sitting against his thighs and with the glass empty, it hits the countertop before his head hangs forwards with a deep sigh. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking so he clutches firm in front of him, trying to still his heartbeat.

[yourdailyminho]

[sovtherncomf0rt-blog]

find me @  cowboymin #6645 on discord for some quicker conversations