This is the Laos Legacy feed. Currently working on generation 3! Also, you can read the whole story here: https://thelaoslegacy.tumblr.com/ BlueskyFeedCreator.com
Feed on BlueskyFeeds Stats
- 💙 Liked by 60 users
- 📅 Updated 5 months ago
- ⚙️ Provider blueskyfeedcreator.com
- 📈 In the last 30 days, there were 14 posts about this feed. These posts got a total of 298 likes and had 16 reposts.
The Laos Legacy Likes over time
Like count prediction
The feed The Laos Legacy has not gained any likes in the last month.
Feed Preview for The Laos Legacy
Hidden, might be NSFW
Hidden, might be NSFW
Hidden, might be NSFW
Hidden, might be NSFW
Hidden, might be NSFW
Hidden, might be NSFW
Hidden, might be NSFW
Luckily for Rowan, walking Buddy is a completely different story. Buddy trots at his side with soft, eager steps, tail wagging in slow, happy sweeps, the little leash loose between them.
After Clover’s rodeo routine, it feels like a gift from the Watcher himself.
1
1
29
Clover finally slows, her trot melting into a lazy walk before she comes to a full, satisfied stop.
“Girl,” he says, voice tight with betrayal, “we are definitely not doing that again.”
Clover snorts, tail swishing.
“No. Don’t you sass me.”
6
1
28
Rowan is 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 convinced this is how he dies.
He’s bouncing in the saddle like someone who skipped every basic lesson in existence, knees gripping too hard, elbows flailing, back arching in ways a human spine should not be arching.
4
2
30
But Clover keeps moving, tail swishing with undeniable enthusiasm, as if she’s been waiting weeks for this exact moment, finally getting her human where she wants him and deciding she will be the one teaching 𝘩𝘪𝘮 today.
0
1
28
Rowan barely settles into the saddle, when Clover decides patience is officially over. The moment his weight hits her back, she springs forward with the confidence of a creature who has absolutely done this before.
“Clover!” he yelps, voice cracking in sheer panic. “Clover, stop! I’m not ready!”
3
1
28
Rowan exhales, then pushes himself upward.
“Don’t let me fall, girl,” he mutters under his breath.
Clover shifts her weight, the tiniest adjustment, as if promising she’ll keep him upright. Or at the very least, that if he does fall, it won’t be her fault.
0
1
28
“Alright,” Rowan murmurs. “Moment of truth.”
He places one boot in the stirrup, steadying himself as he gathers the courage to haul the rest of his body up. Clover doesn’t move, just watches him with that patient, all-knowing look she reserves for his most questionable decisions.
1
1
29
Clover snorts.
"I feed you apples, you let me teach you something other than ‘cause chaos and destroy gates.’ That was the deal.”
She snorts again, as if to say that is absolutely not the deal, then nudges him sharply in the shoulder.
3
1
29
“I know, it’s too cold,” he murmurs, rubbing the spot between her ears the way she likes. “Don’t give me that look. I closed the clinic just for you, remember?” He steps back. “Today’s the day you finally learn how to let me on your back without trying to kick me into next week.”
2
1
29
Clover stands right outside, perfectly calm, perfectly unbothered, and perfectly herself. Her ears perk the instant she sees him, and she lets out a soft whinny, trotting the last few steps like she’s been keeping an eye on the weather and on him.
2
1
28
Clover hates storms. Always has. The wind spooks her, the rattling barn doors make her restless, and if she’s nervous enough she’ll absolutely try to break something in protest.
2
1
29
Everything is white. He can barely see the split-rail fence at the far end of the property. But Rowan doesn’t linger on the scenery. His first thought hits hard and immediate.
𝘊𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.
1
1
28
The cold settles over Chestnut Ridge like a heavy blanket, quiet and absolute. Rowan wakes to the kind of stillness that always follows a long night of wind and snow. He rolls over, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and turns toward the large window that looks out over the town.
2
1
29
“Well, then maybe quit givin’ the town somethin’ to talk about. Or,” he continues, “you take this lil’ fella home and give folks somethin’ real cute to gossip ’bout instead.”
Rowan looks at the pup. The pup looks at Rowan. Its tail wags exactly once.
"I hate you."
7
1
36
“Listen here,” he says. “You ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. You’re just young, good-lookin’, and new ’round these parts. Folks are excited. Women are… overly excited.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Didn’t say it was. It’s the truth.”
“I don’t want fame. Especially 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 kind.”
1
1
32
"I don’t want people talking about me like I’m some prize bull being paraded around. Or like I’m choosing favorites. Or, Watcher forbid, like I’m trying to break some record.”
Jeremiah snorts. “Boy, nobody thinks you’re breakin’ records. They think you’re breakin’ hearts.”
4
1
35
“No, I’m not alright,” Rowan snaps, then winces, immediately sorry for raising his voice at a man who could probably knock sense into him with one finger. “I… I don’t want to be the talk of the town.”
Jeremiah blinks once, slow. “Well, too late.”
3
1
31
Rowan drinks the beer in one long sip. The cold hits his chest like a slap, but it does nothing to settle the knot forming in his stomach.
He paces. A tight, anxious line back and forth across the dusty floor.
“Son, you alright?”
3
1
33