#Horseback cart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ceilidho · 1 month

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.

And then it lingers.

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

1K notes · View notes

noeou · 1 year

Text

A NEW ADDITION.

what if you moved into their dorm instead of ramshackle? ( or, life in the heartslabyul dorm. )

includes: riddle rosehearts, trey clover, cater diamond, ace trappola, and deuce spade. ( gn!reader )

contains: fluff! can be interpreted as romantic or platonic, just really close.

more like this: masterlist.

[ riddle rosehearts | housewarden ]

riddle is very much 'all up in your business' for a lack of better words. he's always making sure your room is tidy and in peak condition.

if you have any issues at all, regarding the dorms or studies, he's the person (he'd like you) to go to. if he sees someone else helping you with something he exceeds in, he'll be down for a bit.

you become the dorms designated defense attorney, to stand up againt riddle whenever one of them gets in trouble. it's totally not because he has obvious favoritism.

whenever it's your turn to paint the roses red or take care of the flamingos and hedgehogs, he always joins you.

using the excues that 'it would hurt to go back to the basics after a while' but he knows it's because it's the only time you two get alone together, uninterrupted.

riddle convinces you to join the horseback riding club with him, or at least ride with him every once in the while. with no warning he may wake you bright and early just to say you'll be joining him.

[ trey clover | vice housewarden ]

errands have never been more fun. you guys are sam's biggest customers, as you shop for a majority of your dorm. it's nice not having to leave campus for such things.

whenever he goes out he asks if you need anything, on the rare occasions you don't join him.

he always gets or prepares dinner for you, riddle, and cater.

being the more approachable warden, most students come to him. upon seeing you're also a valuable person to go to for help or advice they do so.

at first, trey is very apologetic about the extra work but them becomes grateful when he sees it doesn't both you.

sometimes the freshman duo, but they mostly are out and about.

once a month, you two eat out at the lounge as a reward for the both of your hard efforts.

[ cater diamond | third year ]

barges in your room, if he's not already in there, while he's on live. no matter what you're doing. (of course, unless you tell him you're busy/srs beforehand.)

you're a reacurring face on his magecam, and they all love you. the amount of stan accounts is unreal.

your room is pretty much like his second one, he has his own corner even. each weekend he shows up to your door with a suitcase, 'cause the wardens won't let him stay on week nights.

on said weekends, you trick him into going 'grocery shopping' with you by disguising it as a 'snack run.'

he's always annoying you and asking for your opinion on everything.

he was very strategic and asks riddle to put you room next to his, when the warden says no he settles for a very specific room number for you. turns out you're now under his room and have to put up with his stomping.

if you listen carefully, you might be able to decipher morse code, but what do i know?

[ ace trappola | first year ] + [ deuce spade | first year ]

you three become inseparable, skipping down the heartslabyul halls with grim hanging onto your head for dear life.

ace is another one that is constantly bothering you, much unlike deuce who's just kinda there.

you three have weekly sleepovers in deuce's room, because it's the tidiest. and microwaveable dinner from sam's because none of you can afford the lounge.

when you go out for groceries, it's you and deuce getting the things you need and ace running around putting random items in your cart.

sometimes you guys sneak out of the dorms, and walk around the sleeping campus. you only head back when you exhale fog, knowing it's probably near morning.

you guys eat in the most obscure places, in school and your dorm. you always find hidden rooms in heartslabyul and make it your new 'spot' until you get caught and just find another when you do.

your punishments from riddle now consist of being unable to leave your rooms and see each other, telling other punished students to guard your bedrooms.

you one hundred percent have walkie talkies and peak out your window, judging poor passerby's outfits.

989 notes · View notes

city-of-ladies · 21 days

Text

Mongol women at work

"No records account for women specifically working on the postal roads as couriers, although Mongol women often had physically demanding jobs. Alongside elite women sometimes participating in hunting and warfare, women at all levels of society would herd animals and were in charge of packing up wagons to move camp.

Additionally, Yuan governmental policy assigned specific jobs required for the smooth running of the empire to households (for example, post-road couriers), which meant that if a man was not available to do a job (due to absence or death), women would be obliged to step into the role assigned to her family.

In the record Heida Shilüe 黑韃事畧 (A Sketch of the Black Tatars), the Song dynasty envoy Peng Daya’s 彭大雅 observations from a visit to the Mongol territories in 1233, expanded upon by Xu Ting’s 徐霆 (another Song envoy) record from 1235–1236, both men note that Mongol women did many tasks on horseback. Peng writes, “In horsemanship and archery, babies are tied with cords onto plats which then are fastened onto horses’ backs, so they can go about with their mothers”. Xu Ting elaborates on Peng’s observations with this anecdote:

I saw an old Tatar lady, when she had finished giving birth to a baby in the wilderness. She used sheep’s wool to wipe off the child, then used a sheepskin for swaddling clothes. Binding the baby up in a little cart, four or five feet long and one foot wide, the old lady thereupon tucked the cart crosswise under her arm and straightaway rode off on horseback.

This is a strange story—why would Xu Ting have been in a position to witness a woman giving birth? As his account of the Mongols highlights, the Mongol population that Xu Ting interacted with were post-road couriers during his travels within the empire and personnel at the Mongol court, and it is unlikely that he witnessed a woman giving birth and immediately riding off on her horse to take up courtly duties, so it is plausible that this was a woman he saw who was working along the postal road, filling in for an absent male relative. Therefore, while no specific accounts of women postal couriers exist, in reading between the lines of Xu Ting’s narrative, the possibility of women postal workers in the Yuan becomes more likely."

Riders in the Tomb: Women Equestrians in North Chinese Funerary Art (10th–14th Centuries), Eiren L. Shea

#history #women in history #women's history #mongol women #working women #13th century #mongolia #yuan dynasty #mongol history #historyblr #china #asia #asian history

37 notes · View notes

redlittlefoxari · 3 months

Text

To The Ends Of Faêrun: Chapter Fifteen: Shadow Purge

This series is book two of a fanfic I have already written called Astarion Epilogue: An Adventure in Making Life

Master List Here for Books One, and Two

*List includes a prequel that is essentially one-shots of their adventures over the fifty years after the battle at the end of the game*

Warnings: Blood, Sex, Violence, NSFW 18+, Smut

Summary: After a week's journey, the party finally makes it to the Last Light Settlement to meet Halsin.

A trip that would typically take more than a week took only five days on horseback. Tav recalled when they had made the trip from Moonrise to Baldur’s Gate over fifty years ago, and how they nearly collapsed from exhaustion, racing to beat the armies of the Absolute. This trip was definitely more pleasant than that it was, as the roads were empty primarily due to the cold weather, and thus, they were left undisturbed the whole trip, which had Tav sending up thanks to whomever was watching over them.

She had been on edge with Apple, keeping to the back of the line with Gale in the middle and Shadowheart leading the charge. Tav watched for any signs of danger and constantly had to tell Apple to keep her head down or, at the very least, put up a protection spell. Astarion sat behind her on the horse they shared, and Tav received more kisses on the back of her head and gentle rubs against her armor than she could count over the last five days. He, however, was just as tense as Tav was. Late at night, the two would sit up, holding each other until Apple fell asleep, and then they would take shifts watching for any sign of danger.

Gale taught Apple almost every night for two hours so that she wouldn’t fall behind when she finally returned to her classes. Giving Tav and Astarion the opportunity to hunt for something to eat. It was primarily for Astarion to eat, but no one complained when they returned with rabbits or other animals that filled their bellies. They still kept where the blood came from away from Apple, who just thought it came from the bag of holding that Tav carried at her side.

After five days of being on constant high alert and watching Apple on rotating shifts, Tav and Astarion were thrilled when they caught sight of Moonrise Towers. What was once a dark and desolate place had turned into something that resembled the glory it once held before Shar and Ketheric had destroyed it. Now, there was the sound of children playing in the streets, people laughing, and so much color everywhere they looked.

“Gods, it doesn’t even look like the same place.” Astarion looked around in awe.

“It looks like the shadow curse never touched this place at all.” Shadowheart dismounted from her horse. “If we didn’t know what happened here, I would be hard-pressed to believe it.”

“Truly, we did the right thing.” Gale misty stepped off the back of his horse.

“If we didn’t, I’m not sure we would have ever found Astarion’s ring.” Tav grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“So it all worked out in the end to benefit me.” Astarion flashed a smile to no one in particular. “Can’t say I’m unhappy with how it all turned out.” He leaned down to whisper in Tav’s ear. “It led to the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“What would that be?” Tav leaned into him, turning her head slightly to get a better look at him.

“Our wonderful family.” He kissed her ear, and she smiled at his comment.

Apple stayed in the cart, not daring to leave until Tav or Astarion told her it was all right. “And you all, including Auntie Karlach and Uncle Wyll, broke the curse?” Apple looked at Tav and Astarion.

“Yup!” Tav jumped down from her horse. “And Grandpa Halsin… speaking of which…” She looked around for the big wood elf. “Where do you think he is right now?”

“I’m sure he’s off somewhere pretending he’s a real bear.” Astarion motioned for Apple to get out of the cart. “He did always prefer that form over having to wear clothes.”

They all looked around in wonder at the change only just over fifty years had done. Where there was once death and darkness, there wasnow light and happy people going about their day. Halsin hadn’t been boasting when he had talked about turning Moonrise Towers into housing for others and that the settlement looked utterly different from what the party would remember. Even when Tav and Astarion had come through the settlement in search of the ring that allowed him to walk in the sun, it was nothing compared to what it looked like now.

“I like clothes just fine, Astarion.”

A large booming voice came from behind the group, and as they all turned, knowing exactly who it was: Halsin came into view. The now over four-hundred-year-old elf looked much the same since the last time he paid Baldur’s Gate a visit. A little more tired around the eyes, but still full of strength and wisdom from years of hardship and leadership. He stood wrapped in furs and carrying a bundle of firewood tied together with some rope, allowing it to stay together for more accessible transport.

Over the last six years, Hasin had come to visit them in Baldur’s Gate many times, bringing Apple gifts that he had hand-made or found along the way. She had so many wooden ducks, cats, owlbears, and other animals that it was hard to keep track of them. Halsin had become the grandfather that Apple lacked since Astarion didn’t know where or if his parents were even still alive and had no intention of finding out, and Tav only had her mother. Though if her father were alive, she wouldn’t let him near Apple. Tav would have killed him on the spot if he had even tried if Astarion hadn’t gotten to him first. Luckily, they didn’t have to answer that question as Tav’s mother had killed him a long time ago. So no,w Halsin had taken up the role with great pleasure and was the perfect fit for Apple.

“Grampa Halsin!” Apple broke from the group and barreled towards him, arms stretched wide to wrap him in a bear hug.

“My little Apple!” Halsin dropped the wood and knelt down. She collided with him, and he took her into his arms, standing and spinning her around in a circle. “How have you been, my sweet little cub?”

“Good!” She giggled. “Well, I got into trouble, but we are fixing it.”

“I know a little about the trouble.” Halsin looked at Tav and Astarion. “Let us get inside. We have set aside some rooms in the inn for you all.” He nodded towards a young man. “Grason will ensure your horses are housed and fed for the night.” He moved Apple so that she sat on his shoulder.

A thin teenager appeared and started gathering up the reins. “I’ll be sure they are taken care of, and no one messes with them.” He bowed and walked away.

“Thank you!” Tav called to him.

“He is a good boy, and I have told him that he is to take care of the horses before he gets to join in on the festivities this evening.” Halsin signaled to follow him.

“Festivities? Are you throwing a party?” Tav looked around and just now noticed the decorations being strewn about. ”I hope you’re not throwing a party on our account.”

Halsin laughed. “No, but your arrival did match up perfectly.” He turned slightly to speak. “With everything going on, I’m not surprised that you don’t know what day it is.”

“Are you going to tell us, or do we get to guess?” Astarion had a small bite to his words.

Tav looked around to see strings willed with dried cranberries and citrus fruits. Cinnamon, pinecone, and evergreen wreaths hung from every door and post that was physically possible. Large vats of mulled wine, hot apple cider, and food of every kind littered tables as they passed. In the almost two weeks that had passed and with everything that had happened, Tav had forgotten what celebration was coming up.

“Midwinter?” Tav said as she looked at Astarion.

“Correct. I’m not surprised Tav figured it out just by looking around.” Halsin smiled at Tav and then returned to where he was going.

Grasping for Astarion’s hand, Tav laced his fingers with hers as the rest of the party made small talk for the remainder of the walk to the inn. On the way, Tav looked around in wonder at just how much everything had changed and the life that had been breathed into everything around them. The thought that they had done this was something that filled her with wonder and pride that they had done good.

After a ten-minute walk, they made it to the Last Light. What was once a broken-down beacon of hope was now completely restored. The outside stone looked like it had been polished and cleaned, but spots still had moss staggered, which Tav could only guess was because of Halsin. As they crested, the stoop of the inside front door looked like a lodge. Gone were the holes in the floor and the smell of decay. Now it looked new with the smell of pine and citrus, no doubt from someone making spiced cider for the party later tonight.

“Gods…” Gale's breath hitched as he took in the sight. “It doesn’t even look like the same place.”

“It’s not.” Shadowheart touched the wall. “They have gone and made it anew.”

“You have the room right there to your right.” Halsin pointed towards the large room that had once been used as the infirmary. “We have put some walls up so that it is a little more private.” He walked towards the door and opened it. It led into a hallway with multiple rooms tucked away. “I’ll let you get settled before we talk about the matter at hand.”

“Thank you, Halsin.” Tav gave him a large smile as he put Apple down.

“It’s nothing after what you did for this place.” Halsin gestured for Tav to go. “I’ll be waiting at the table when you are ready.” He pointed to a set of tables and chairs by the fire.

Tav walked down the hall and looked in every room to see what was available. Several rooms had single beds, while only one in the back housed a bed large enough for two people. She looked to Astarion, a question in her eyes. Are we taking shifts? He gave her a slight nod before placing his bow down in the corner and leaving the room. Tav longed to feel him against her skin at night and missed snuggling up to him as she fell asleep. They just feared that they needed the added protection just in case something happened. There were several times on their adventures both while fighting the Absolute, and on the adventures afterwards that they had been woken up by a stranger leering over them in their sleep. Tav chuckled as she remembered that, one of those times, it had been Astarion.

Everyone picked their spots and quickly made their way out to Halsin, who had a small gaggle of children around him, begging for him to come and play with them. Tav could feel Apple vibrating with energy beside her. Her eyes filled with the desire to go and ask to play with the children. It had been almost two weeks since Apple had seen any of her friends, and Tav could tell that she missed them terribly. Tav looked to Astarion, another question in her eyes, and as he looked from her to Apple, he melted a bit and mouthed the word okay.

Tav smiled at him. “Apple.”

Apple turned towards her. “Yeah, Mamma?”

“Why don’t you ask them if you can play with them while we talk to Halsin.” Tav patted her head.

“Really!?” Apple’s eyes lit up with excitement.

Tav felt a pang of worry. “Just stay where we can see you.”

Apple ran off toward the other children and expressed her interest in wanting to play with them. It’s not as if Tav didn’t want Apple to make new friends. She was just worried about introducing Apple to strangers that she did not know. Astarion and Tav needed to meet the parents back home before letting her go to their houses. The same went for if Apple wanted to have friends over to the house. Tav let out a long sigh of resignation, knowing that she needed to loosen her leash on her child. Otherwise, the next few weeks would be torture for everyone.

As Apple ran off with the other children, going to play in the square right outside the Last Light Inn, Halsin motioned for everyone to sit. “They really are good children.” He gave Tav and Astarion the largest smile he could muster. “I would be more worried about what she would do to them.”

“We’ve just never taken her this far out of the city before, and traveling with her on the road...” Astarion paused. “You know all too well what can happen.”

“I do, but there is nothing to worry about here.” Halsin leaned forward in his chair. “I keep everyone in line for the most part.”

“The most part?” Tav could feel fear rising in her chest.

“Again, nothing to worry about.” Halsin leaned back. “Mostly teenagers who have a rebellious streak in them, and again, I’m sure Apple can put them in their place.” He looked to Gale. “She attends your school. Do you not teach them how to defend themselves?”

“It is true Apple knows a few offensive spells, like Fire Bolt, Magic Missile, and Thunderclap, but she knows far more defensive spells as she is only six.” Gale stroked his beard. “She is extremely bright for her age, but that often doesn’t equate to common sense.”

“Which is how we got into this situation in the first place,” Tav cut in as her fear was replaced with pride as she heard all the spells her daughter knew. “We need to ask you a few questions about the local forest and if anything strange has happened.”

“Ask away!” Halsin seemed delighted to be asked anything about nature. “You should start from the beginning so that I am in the loop.”

“Of course.” Tav nodded.

Over the next thirty minutes, Tav explained everything that had happened. The goddess, the quest, what they knew about Mielikki, anything and everything that could help them locate her. They didn’t know much about Mielikki, the goddess of the forest, only that she didn’t like to stay in one place for too long. She had her favorite spots, to be sure, but they needed to know if any of those locations had been acting strange. It would do them no good to just wander around with no clear direction to random forests that would eat away at too much time. This time, they did know how long they genuinely had.

“That is quite the tale.” Halsin fell into silence as he absorbed all that he was given.

“It is…” Tav took a deep breath and looked over to check on Apple, who had summoned dancing lights for her new friends. “We need to find Mielikki and return her to Angharradh before something horrible happens.” Tav turned back towards Halsin and the others. “I will not let Angharradh take Apple.” Tav straightened her spine. “It will happen over my cold, dead body.”

“If we could avoid making Apple an orphan, that would be nice,” Astarion cut in. “Because I would be right next to Tav, fighting tooth and nail.” His eyes dilated. “I’ll rip out Angharradh’s throat myself.”

“That might be a little harder than you think.” Halsin gave a sad smile. “She is queen of all the elves and is the reason for our very being. If the lore is to be believed, if she is slain, so is all of elvenkind.”

“That could just be something she made up so no one would try.” Astarion waved his comment off.

“If it is true, then tell us if you know anything about where we can find Mielikki?” Tav Looked into Halsin’s eyes. “Any dying forests? Sightings?”

Halsin thought for a few moments before replying. “A couple of high elves came through here the other day with their son, telling a tale about how Evereska forest was dying.” His face changed into something serious. “That the great trees that many homes and buildings were built into have dried up and started dying, and that even the surrounding forests have started to do the same.”

Evereska was a major city where elves and other fair folk came to mine and produce great healing potions from its waters. It was one of the only places where elves and dwarfs got along due to it being a refuge. If it was dying despite thriving for centuries, it was highly suspicious. It was a place favored by many gods, particularly Mielikki, due to the harmony the locals shared with the wildlife, who chose to live with the trees instead of cutting them down. Building many of their homes in the giant blue-leaved trees that covered the city.

“Alright then, I say we head there first thing in the morning.” Tav gave Halsin a smile. “Thank you, Halsin.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” He stood, his tall frame towering over everyone at the table. “I wish to join you.”

“I don’t know if that is a good idea…” Tav thought about the poor horses. “We don’t have a horse large enough to carry you.”

“You are large enough that you could carry one of them,” Astarion put in.

“I am only a little over four hundred years old!” Halsin bellowed. “In my bear form, I can keep pace with any horse in walk or a trot.”

Tav considered what he was saying. He and Shadowheart were middle-aged by all rights. Elves typically lived for around seven to eight hundred years. Him being just over four hundred placed him in the same position as Shadowheart, and Tav was letting her come along. Her only argument was his size, and he had already thought of a way around that. With breaks to eat and rest along the way, he wouldn’t slow the party down due to his size or age.

“I have no more excuses for why you couldn’t come.” Tav shrugged. “Plus, it would be nice having another elf. Astarion and I have been taking shifts watching at night.” She looked to Astarion. “Maybe we can actually get to sleep next to each other again.” She gave him a small smile.

“The two of you have been sleeping separately the whole time you have been on the road?” Halsin looked appalled.

“Well, we can’t really ask the old wizard and Shadowheart to watch the gods know they need all the sleep they can get.” Astarion gave the two in question a long look.

“You know words can hurt, correct?” Gale placed a hand over his heart. “And you have no room to talk; you’re older than Shadowheart and I combined.”

“I’m also an eternally young vampire, sooo.” Astarion drew out the last word and tilted his head as he gave Gale a cocky smile.

An argument ensued between Gale and Astarion about respecting your elders and who demanded more respect. Tav just sat back and watched the two throw insults back and forth, trying to laugh at the absurdity of it all. As she felt eyes on her and not on the men bickering before her, Tav turned to see Halsin assessing her with the eyes of someone with wisdom well beyond her years. She gave him a small, nervous smile, and motioned towards the epic word battle, rolling her eyes to emphasize just how ridiculous they were. Halsin, however, still didn’t move his eyes from her, and instead looked as if he had made a choice. Tav had no clue what that was, as he didn’t share it with her before speaking again.

“So it is decided!” Halsin sounded cheerful as he switched gears.

Gale and Astarion stopped their bickering at the sound of his voice.

“And what’s that?” Astarion asked.

“Tomorrow, we set off to Evereska, but tonight!” Halsin paused for dramatic effect. “Tonight, we celebrate.”

Tag list:

@ofmyth-andmagicart @lunaredgrave @littlekidsteve @omnia--mea-mecum-porto porto @ayselluna @myreadingmanga123 @kismet-of-the-divine @nicalysm @justlilpeaches21 @five-salty-bitters @lenarosic88 @caydevakarian @supervrgnsokay-blog @ravenswritingroom @kalypsoox @foxiecelery @wisteriaofthegraves

50 notes · View notes

practicecourts · 1 month

Text

@jilychallenge I've struggled with my January challenge but it clearly needed some additional prompts, so thank you @jilymicrofics for the Moody March list. So here it finally is @petals2fish.

I loved your Hungergame AU Catching Fire so I hope you will like this Medieval Jily fic. JilyChallenge January 2024 Theme: Love in Tough Times. Prompt: oh lord, o lord what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run, Oh Lord, Oh lord, I’m begging you please, Don’t take this sinner away from me (The devil’s backbone / civil wars) / TS Don’t blame me (Oh lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I’ll be using for the rest of my life @jilymicro-oops || Moody March day 4 || despondent || ca 1250 wrds. Read Chapter one: To Hang... on ao3 thanks @tinyluminaryzombie for last minute beta reading (Chapter 2 will be up sometime tomorrow) ! please check the warnings in the notes !

To Hang...

People enter the city through the guarded gates, most are on foot, some on horseback. A few heavy carts, pulled by oxen with laboured breaths, make their way to the heart of town. The smells of baked goods mingle with earth and mud and unwashed clothes.

Lily has escaped her sister's nagging and moves through the throngs of people who have come to watch the procession later today. Unlike others who have come to their wares at the market or in the hopes of making a good bargain, Lily has come on a fanciful whim. She has met someone, a stranger. Rationally she knows he will be long gone. He’s a man of adventures, a sword for hire, who does not linger in a place like this. Still, she's come today on the off-chance she might catch a glimpse of him.

The sun still hangs low in the sky but she can already tell it will be another hot day.

read on...

#jily micro oops #jilychallenge january chapter 1 #medieval AU #james potter #lily evans #under the gallows #jily #jily fic #day 4 Moody March

36 notes · View notes

loggiepj · 1 year

Text

FORBIDDEN

Part 7 | Part 8

Part 9

AT THE CRACK of dawn, Pietro and Y/n journeyed on horseback towards Steve's camp, with fresh supplies in tow they disguised as merchandise if ever the encounter with a Deviant couldn't be avoided. The two had also disguised themselves as traders, with Y/n pretending to be a man.

News had somehow reached Y/n's ears that Deviants were looking for someone with Y/h/c hair and Y/e/c eyes; they were looking for her. She knew he was looking for her.

As a precaution, Yelena and another Avenger scouted the pathways last night to assure the roads were clear from any surprised attacks.

The entire camp was devastated when they found out what Deviants were doing to witches they had captured. The team was hesitant to reveal the information at first, but Y/n knew they deserved to know the truth, so they'd know the urgency of rendering more rescue missions even when winter was still at its peak.

Wanda took the lead on gathering more volunteers from her kind, teaching them what she knew and telling them that some humans could be trusted too.

This didn't go well with Vision when he found out about the unjust slaughter. He immediately complained, even raising anger along his peers, that all humans should be punished for what they have done. If Wanda weren't there to oppose his actions, he could create a mutiny within them.

This was what led Y/n to ask Pietro about Vision. Not because he was Wanda's soon-to-be-husband, no, Y/n reminded herself. But it wouldn't hurt to ask. Wanda deserved to be with someone good regardless.

"Tell me something about Vision," Y/n said.

"Mm?"

The snow wasn't too deep along the main road; the sound of their feet, the horses' and the wheels from their small cart scrunching against the soft ground filled the air. Y/n hesitated, hoping to let the sudden question go away. But she knew she wouldn't have the chance to ask Pietro alone later since he was always with Wanda or his friends.

"Is h-he . . . Is he a good person?"

Pietro sighed, immediately thinking about the reason why Y/n was asking. He thought she was worried about the camp's safety.

"You don't have to worry about him, Y/n," he answered, giving her a pursed smile. "He may be arrogant and self-absorbed, but he can be trusted. I even think he's softening around the others, too, if you ask me." He chuckles.

Y/n forced a laugh; jealousy rumbling in her stomach. She didn't bring it up anymore, settling on the fact that Vision and Wanda are together and she wouldn't let herself come in between. She's not that kind of person.

Upon reaching Steve's camp, which was a small terrain as compared to the main headquarters, Yelena was already there chatting with someone by the entrance. Four women were standing and giggling beside her.

When Yelena saw Y/n and Pietro approached, she waved to the others. Yelena holding one of the woman's hand made Y/n realize her bestfriend was urging the woman to come along with her.

"Hey, Y/n. Hey, Piet," Yelena greeted them. She instructed them to park the horses and the small cart in the courtyard outside the great hall, the camp's own pavilion. Smaller tents and wooden sheds were set up next to it. "Steve's just finishing up some work in his shop." She pointed at one tiny shed beside the hall, with a furnace on top bellowing smoke to the air.

The place had lesser campers, mostly rescued witches who would be transferred later to the Avengers' main camp. Y/n had only been in their camp twice, thrice counting now. It almost looked identical to the headquarters, with Steve and Bucky, his brother, wanting to make it look like home. It almost felt like Y/n never left.

Yelena jumped giddily as she placed her arms around Pietro and Y/n's shoulders, pulling them to meet the women standing before them — the witches Steve had told them about.

"Hey, lovely ladies. Let me introduce you to my friends. This strapping handsome man here is Pietro," Pietro smiles shyly as he waved his hand, "and this is my bestfriend Y/n, the one I told you about."

Y/n's face flushed red as she stood there awkwardly and smiled, avoiding the eyes of the women swaying in front of them. Steve was right. They did have that aura of allure Y/n couldn't place. It was as if anyone who'd stare longer at them, they would be ensnared with desire.

Well, except Y/n, of course. She was already enchanted by a certain witch who answers to the name of Wanda. Her entire being was already ruined by the witch's presence in her life. How Y/n could still exist knowing that the person she wanted most in this world already belonged to somebody else was a wonder to her.

"Piet, Y/n, these are Monica, sisters Nebula and Gamora," Yelena winks at the last one, "and Kate."

When one of the witches attempted to walk forward heading towards Y/n, Y/n stepped back.

"I thought you were a man at first," the witch named Nebula said, brushing a strand of her own hair over her ear. "I've never had a woman before. I heard they're great lovers, insatiable under the sheets."

"Now, come on, sis," Gamora appeared right beside her, invading the normie's personal space. "Don't be selfish. We can share." She brushes the collar of the tunic Y/n wore. "And two is better than one, if you know what I mean."

Y/n forced a nervous laugh as she ducked and quickly stepped away from their grasp to escape. "Excuse me, ladies," she said in a hurry as she pulled Yelena to the side, leaving a confused and glaring Kate behind.

"What are you doing?" Y/n hissed in a whisper. "We're just going to provide the supplies to Steve. And then we're done."

"Steve says it's fine. Plus, you need loosening up. And the witches like it, Y/n. They love pleasuring people as much as they get pleasure from it. It's not like a brothel—"

"I don't need loosening up."

"C'mon, Y/n," Yelena massaged Y/n's tense shoulders, "have a little bit of fun, we still have a spare time before Steve finishes the concoction he's making. And the sisters seemed nice."

Y/n and Yelena looked back behind them and the witches were already staring at them, smiling seductively.

"No," Y/n said firmly, shaking her head. She pulled Yelena with her as she led them to the shed where Steve was.

"You used to do these with me, Y/n."

"What? Galloping around brothels to brothels. We don't—"

"Okay, when you say it that way, it sounds worse."

Y/n only grew silent. Like a bulb lighting up inside Yelena's head, a smirk slowly spread on her face. "Wait, is this because of a certain witch waiting for us back home?"

Y/n's breath hitched. "What? No, it's not because of Wanda. She's just a friend."

Yelena only laughed, clapping her bestfriend's back. "See? I didn't even mention her name, yet you concluded it was her I was talking about."

Y/n's eyes suddenly widened, realizing her mistake. She couldn't think about how to protest against her accusations.

Thankfully, Steve came out of the shed, with a small burner and two vials containing a murky liquid in his hands. "Oh great, you're all here."

Yelena only groaned in annoyance, followed by Pietro, who was already wrapped around by Monica.

All of the excitement vanished the moment Steve led them inside the camp's own infirmary, where a few patients, witches and humans alike, were lying on bed, injured and immobile.

"What's wrong with them?" Yelena asked, pointing to a few barely moving, with bodies wrapped around in bloody bandages.

"The last mission they went to was horrendous. They barely made it out alive. Deviants had been brutal, their weapons laced with venom." He raised the vials he brought with him. "I have been making a serum to cure them, even just to lessen the pain they feel."

"Y/n got stabbed before," Yelena said. "But Pepper was able to heal her."

"Jane had tried all means." Jane was the healer in Steve's camp. They saw her busily tending to one patient at the corner, an old woman, who was groaning in pain. "That one over there, we rescued her from a carriage. She's an elder witch, a rare find in the eyes of a Deviant."

"Elder witch still exists?"

"In hiding." Steve nodded. "A few of them though. But I think she's dying along with other normies."

"Maybe, Pepper can help," Y/n suggested. "Maybe, she knows more spells."

WHEN THEY returned to the main camp later that day, Y/n immediately headed to Pepper's hut to ask her. It wasn't hard to convince the witch to help, but Y/n could see a moment of hesitation in Pepper's eyes. But she could just be imagining it.

Later that night during dinner, Pietro immediately shared some details about their visit — the famed enchantresses — to his friends. Eventually, it reached his sister's ears. Even Vision seemed interested, giving vague hints suggesting himself to volunteer for the next mission.

Wanda glanced at Y/n, who had her head down the entire conversation. She wondered if the blush on the human's face was of a seductress' doing. But she didn't stay long enough to find out.

Y/N ACCOMPANIED Pepper back to Steve's the very next day even when the sun had barely made it out of the horizon. They were disguised as men so as not to attract any passerby's attention, even when they knew no one was up at that time.

The disguise didn't work on Wanda, her eyes following Y/n's movements as the human arranged her hair in a tied bun underneath her cloak, keeping her hair inside. Y/n still looked like a beautiful woman in Wanda's eyes underneath all the clothing she wore. Wanda was blessed with a quick display of the human's sculpted stomach before she inserted her tunic into her trousers and fastened a belt around her waist. There was a moment when not a single thought crossed Wanda's mind but of Y/n's lean figure underneath her garments. A forced cough from Pepper brought her out of trance, making her cheeks red when she realized she was actually ogling over Y/n.

Wanda shrugged her silly thoughts aside, then stiffened when she suddenly remembered about the witches Pietro had shared to the group yesterday.

"Wait, I'm coming with you," she said, volunteering herself. Y/n could only furrow her brow in confusion but before she could complain, Pepper was already throwing Wanda another pair of men's clothings her way.

The moment was tense and silent when Wanda and Y/n rode on the back of the horse together, the witch sitting behind the human. The horse's stability made Wanda glad she wouldn't have to rely on holding unto Y/n. But when they encountered a tricky pathway, the sudden gallop made Wanda grip tight around the human's waist. She could hear Y/n laughing in front of her and when Y/n turned to look, asking if she was okay, there was a swift moment where Wanda savored the look of happiness on Y/n's face before she playfully slapped the back of her shoulder.

It took Y/n a second to calm herself down when Wanda slowly wrapped her arms around her stomach and stayed in that position for the remainder of the journey, her forehead or cheek sometimes pressed against the human's back. Y/n prayed the sound of the horses and surrounding noises from the early hours of the morning could hide the loud thudding of her own heart.

Wanda savored every second of it, grateful Pepper was riding ahead of them. She terribly missed the human. She missed the wonderful nights she had spent with Y/n and longed for them to happen again. Sometimes, she'd find herself leaning unto Y/n's back, breathing her in, treasuring her warmth, prolonging the feeling. Her mind filled with thoughts, pretending for just this moment that this was real, that Y/n has reciprocated her feelings.

No matter how amazing the ride was heading to the destination, Wanda still couldn't help but feel jealous when one camper immediately approached Y/n the moment they arrived in Steve's camp.

Pepper immediately went ahead, before someone blocked Y/n and Wanda, stopping their tracks.

"Hey, you came back," a female witch said, slowly approaching the two. Y/n waved and smiled at her. "Maybe we can continue where we left off yesterday. Luckily, my sister's still asleep, so I'll have you all to myself. Ohh, and you've brought a friend. How nice."

Consumed with inexplicable emotion close to rage, Wanda pulled Y/n away from the witch's grasp. "We're here on a mission, Y/n. We have no time for you to make sheep's eyes at."

Y/n eagerly followed Wanda, or let herself be dragged by her. "I'm not here for any of that."

"Yeah, lie all you want. But I can see it in your face."

"What? There's nothing on my face."

Wanda gave her a quick glare. "You're as red as a tomato."

Y/n scoffed. "I am not."

"Yeah, keep it in your trousers for the rest of the mission, maybe."

"What? You're being mental."

Wanda stopped walking, which made Y/n bumped into her back. She turned to face the human. She was about to open her mouth to retort but the close proximity between them suddenly rendered her speechless, her own heartbeat starting to race. Her line of vision drifted towards Y/n's lips, craving to have her thumb brush over the lower lip just to gain access, hoping she'd have the courage to taste Y/n and claim her.

Y/n wasn't faring much better; she could literally smell the wonderful alluring scent that she knew only the witch possessed. The closer they were, the more certain Y/n was in wishing she could just take Wanda, kiss her and make her her own.

When Pepper called out for them to follow her to the infirmary, they jumped apart in an instant.

"What took you so long?" Pepper asked the moment the two entered the tent.

Wanda let out an annoyed sigh. "This one right here is a philanderer."

"It's not true," Y/n immediately said. "I barely even talked to Nebula."

"Oh, Nebula, the girl has a name. And for your awareness, you were this close to bedding with her." She demonstrated the length of the distance by her thumb and forefinger, showing only more or less an inch.

"This is outrageous. We're not even standing that close. And I didn't even acknowledge her advances."

"You smiled at her."

"I was being courteous."

"What a load of rubbish! Courteous or aroused?"

"Stop arguing like a married couple," Pepper said, breaking them apart. "Some of the patients are still resting."

Wanda immediately stepped away from Y/n as she calmed herself down, her arms crossed over her chest. Pepper was partly right. She was acting like a jealous wife, when she had no right to any of Y/n's business. Y/n could literally have any of the witches outside and Wanda shouldn't care. Fuming, she walked towards the end of the tent.

When Wanda passed by one of the bed, the occupant, an old frail woman, suddenly bolted upright and pulled her wrist, surprising her.

"You."

Wanda looked behind her before turning back as she stared at the woman in confusion. "Me?"

"You're the offspring of Iryna Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch."

Wanda glanced at Y/n, Pepper and some witch she could assume was the healer of the camp, who were still discussing about the spells, not noticing their interaction. She turned back to the injured woman and nodded.

The woman's pupils were suddenly gone; her grasp on Wanda's wrist becoming tighter each second that passed.

"Be wary;

Not everyone is what they portray to be;

To end the great war between flying foxes and soaring eagles,

A red spider lily will come after the devil's kin."

Then the woman collapsed on her bed, her body shaking violently. The healer and Pepper immediately ran to the patient's aid while Y/n towards Wanda.

Y/n held Wanda's hand. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Wanda couldn't reply, her eyes widening at the scene before her.

The woman eventually stopped moving. The healer Jane checked her pulse. After a moment, she let out a sigh.

"She's dead," Jane announced.

Author's note:

Follow me on my social media accounts. Thank you. ❤ Facebook : loggiepj | https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100089779552892&mibextid=ZbWKwL Instagram : loggiepj | https://instagram.com/loggiepj?igshid=NDk5N2NlZjQ= Twitter : loggiepj | https://twitter.com/loggiepj?t=EiFoKQyY1L-HCAMkBV2qCg&s=09

Taglist :

@bibliophilicbi @swiftie1-0-1 @whitewidowsbite @aliherreraaa @smromanoff @wandanats-goodgirl @supaheroine @eliii1sblog @bananasplits-world

#wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda #wanda angst #short prompt #enemies to lovers #elizabeth olsen

152 notes · View notes

myemuisemo · 3 months

Text

"On the Great Alkali Plain" part 2, from Letters from Watson, arrived in my inbox this morning, bringing with it a predictable cloud of dust from approaching horses (since this isn't a George R.R. Martin novel, so we're not going to introduce characters just to kill them off immediately).

But what a caravan! When the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, waggons and carts, men on horseback, and men on foot. Innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, and children who toddled beside the waggons or peeped out from under the white coverings.

Either we're running late on the Oregon Trail (since Doyle did not have social media to live-blog progress across the dusty waste) or the year 1847 is important, and these are Mormons.

“Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson,” asked one of the band.

These have got to be Mormons.

“Nigh upon ten thousand,” said one of the young men; “we are the persecuted children of God—the chosen of the Angel Merona.”

Tell me you're a Mormon without telling me you're a Mormon.

“We are the Mormons,” answered his companions with one voice.

OMG, they're Mormons.

This makes the geographic names a little dicey -- the Mormon Trail ran through Wyoming, similar but not identical to today's I-80, so the Rio Grande River should be nowhere nearby -- but Doyle didn't have access to Google Maps, and it's not like his readers in the UK would go factcheck. Even with the Transcontinental Railroad completed back in 1869, most places in the Great American Desert were still remote in the 1880s, and California on the far end was still feeling the effects of isolation. Doyle also misspells the Angel Moroni and uses a masculine-ending name on a Sierra, so he's working from popular myth and the memory of things he's read. I wonder how many letters with corrections he received.

(At the time Doyle was writing, "Mormon" was the term used by the group themselves. Since about the 1980s, church leadership started urging the use of "Latter-Day Saints" instead. When I lived in Phoenix, that's near a big LDS population in Mesa, so I wince at using the older term. From here on out, if I'm quoting Doyle, I'll use "Mormon," but if I'm talking, I'll stick to LDS.)

The big reason the LDS wagon train is headed west is because they practiced polygamy at the time, and this was considered both illegal and immoral in larger U.S. society. (That's not a critique of polyamory today, when enthusiastic concept and clear rules are normalized.)

So far Doyle's account of the LDS party is generally positive -- they're organized, efficient, knowledgeable about their surroundings, prepared for danger, and responsible toward people needing rescue, if a bit holier-than-thou -- but I can't believe he's going to handle polygamy with anything other than distaste.

Polygamy is the thing LDS have been known for (to their chagrin after the mainstream LDS church banned it), so at the end of this section, Doyle's original audience is split into two groups:

Readers who have no real idea what a "Mormon" is and accept it as just one more crazy American thing, who now figure Lucy is rescued and wonder what goes wrong later to lead to murder; and

Readers who know about polygamy and are feeling dread for Lucy.

#sherlock holmes #letters from watson

21 notes · View notes

minsyal · 1 year

Text

Long May He Reign, Pt. III

Tywin x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The Hand of the King spends years vying for the princess's affections. Only fate would have it that the two cannot be. As Aerys Targaryen II slowly descends into madness, can their love survive his instability and the war to come?

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Masterlist

“He may enter.”

With granted permission the guard swung the door open to reveal Tywin dressed in a tunic of red and black. The leather was spotted with holes that revealed more fabric beneath holding a slick sheen to its texture. His hair was combed back without a single strand falling loose to frame his aristocratic physique. Upon spotting the princess in her chosen attire, he did not shroud the look of pride from his profile.

“The dress is fitting.” He tipped his head in an approving fashion, giving her a knowing look at her second choice of gowns. The alluring gaze he held on the definitions of her figure instinctively had her smoothing down the bodice once more. “Lannister red is quite flattering. Though, I am in disbelief that anything would look otherwise.”

An attractive rose tinged at the bridge of her nose and to the heights of her cheekbones as his words resonated in her system like the bass of a song. She brought a delicate finger up to tuck a loose strand of porcelain hair behind her flushing ear and peered at him through the curtains of her eyelashes. “Your words are most appreciated, my lord.” Playing with her fingers in front of her body she hesitated to speak in the presence of her guard, but did so anyway. “You look rather dashing yourself. After all, Lannister red suits a Lannister best.”

He allowed his eyes to linger a moment longer. Then, casting her an astute expression, Tywin nodded and outstretched his arm for her to take. “Come. The tournament waits.”

Made of a white-painted wood and designed to intricately display the Lannister wealth, the carriage waited for its passengers at the base of the Rock. For anyone else it would be vastly improper to sit concealed within the hiding walls of the cart, but as the Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock nobody would dare question his choices. That is, nobody except for the king.

Jostling back and forth as the wheels started turning, the two settled into their respective spots sitting opposite one another. Despite having the space for two more, they chose to sit knee-to-knee. Brushing against each other on occasion was no mistake as the princess situated herself on the edge of her cushion. They had all the secrecy they could ever hope for in such a public environment. Though the population looked on, none could truly tell what was happening within.

After entering the city on horseback, open for the world to see, it felt strange venturing out concealed by the plush walls of the cart. When they arrived, she was tired and not meant for any sort of outing. Her hair had been ditsy, unbraided and flying in all directions. She looked more like a land worker than a royal. Now she was bathed and fashioned in a more suiting way to uphold her title.

Lannisport’s energy was extravagant, too. The unbridled curiosity that bled from the villager’s prying eyes had melted away into a subdued and exotic buzz of anticipation and excitement for the day’s events. Reaching out into the air, the princess was sure she could feel it thick with suspense.

Leaning forward, she let herself fall into a trance as she watched the city pass by. As they ventured further into the heart of Lannisport, the smells and sounds marinated and held more depth. “I anticipate that Ser Arthur will be besting my brother in the joust today.” She commented offhandedly, folding her arms at her stomach as she turned her neck to look upward to an inquisitive Tywin.

A curious hum bombinated from his lips. Squared shoulders pressed into his backrest, heightening his stance even in his seated position. One could find it intimidating, but she was more so amused by his always-perfect posture. Rather than move his head to show he was granting her his full attention, his pose remained solid, but this attention was there nonetheless. “Why is that? Prince Rhaegar has garnished a reputation when it comes to his performance in jousts.”

An ardent laugh brought his chin tucking downward. “He wins because people fear that knocking a prince from his horse will put an end to their family line.” She nudged her knees against his. “Also, I asked Ser Arthur to win.”

“Is there a reason?”

Sitting to her full height, which was still considerably shorter than the towering man before her, she flitted with the draping of her skirts. “Rhaegar was not exaggerating when he said that my journey was full of complaints.”

“You are a princess.” Tywin argued in his remarkably calm tone. “Traveling by horseback is hardly an appropriate means.”

“And how do you presume I’ll return to King’s Landing, my lord? Shall I walk so as to not dishonor myself by riding?”

“I’ll be returning to court at the conclusion of the tournament.” Using the muscles in his stomach, he pushed himself from the backrest to lean closer to the princess. “There is an abundance of space in the Lannister wheelhouse.”

Gasping dramatically, she placed a hand over the exposed skin of her chest. “What will my father think, Lord Tywin?” She shook her head. “He already believes me to be conspiring against him. Should I be seen in your private quarters, I think that he will think you are a conspirator, too.” Her coy demeanor evanesced as she spoke the words out. They struck her harder than she expected, falling from the cliff tops of her mind and tumbling downward like the disturbed snow of an avalanche. Where a soft smile had once been planted, a strange intensity grew. “My father thinks that I am conspiring against him.” She admitted with slumping shoulders. “You must be aware of that saying regarding the Targaryens. A coin is to choose our fates. Madness or greatness. We are only afforded the two, there is no gray water to wade in.”

“The saying is commonspeak tripe.” Tywin cut her thought from the root. “It was a coping mechanism created to explain the complicated to the simple.”

“Still.” Her fingers rubbed at the smooth fabric that laid upon her legs. “I have done nothing warranted of greatness in my time, nor am I set for it. Does that mean that I am destined for the opposite side of the coin?”

Soothing warmth covered her chilled hands. “There is no coin that can determine your future. You are young. You have many years to pursue greatness.” Slipping her hand into his, he covered it comfortingly with the other. “Let us not focus on that today. Today, we worry not what others think of us.” Trying to lighten her mood, he batted at the clouds that formed over her head. “Today, we will watch Ser Arthur best the prince.”

~~~*~~~

The marketplace was astir with the ingredients of a lively tourney on the way. Bakers rushed from their bakeries to line the streets with fresh goods situated on cooling racks. Jewelers set up lush and vibrant canopies to attract the eye to their precious gemstones. Smiths of all kinds beckoned upon their soapboxes, loudly proclaiming that any highborn lord who wields their weaponry will be granted great strength in their future endeavors. All swarmed like flies to the list where the tourney was to take place.

Rolling to a stop, the carriage holding Tywin and the princess opened with a small army of guards from the city watch squaring the two in.

“What are we doing in the market?” Her head could not move fast enough as she tried to view everything in a single second.

“The list is not far from here. As the princess of the Seven Kingdoms, I think it appropriate that you see firsthand what one of its great cities offers.”

Happy to take any opportunity to see more of Westeros, she nodded as they made their way away from the cart. Although, some would question his true intentions with walking the princess down the market street. Some wondered whether the two were betrothed, deciding against it when they could not recall any formal announcement. Others thought it to be a display of the power he held over the ruling family. The majority were just happy to see their ruling lord walking the streets.

As they strolled down the textured cobblestone walkway, smoothed from years of activity, a crowd gathered on the sidelines to throw praise to Lord Tywin. “Seven blessings, m’lord!” One yelled from a balcony above, gathering her child as she pointed him out. “May the gods smile upon you, Lord Tywin!” Another hollered, this time from behind a growing host of onlookers. As word spread of the princess walking amongst the people, many more flocked to the streets to see if she was truly the “hag” her reclusivity had named her.

The princess was awestruck by the love and adoration the city seemed to hold in their hearts for Tywin. He continually nodded and waved to varying members of their audience, each time earning more kind words from those compelled by other’s displays.

While the princess was concerned with the people, Tywin’s true focus was solely on her. She primarily led the group as her eyes guided her from one side of the street to the other. Warm breads filled with cinnamon and ground cloves nipped at her nose, followed by strong scents of freshly baked apples and lemon zest. Fennel and cardamom wafted from a nearby tavern’s opened window. Purchasing an apple crisp from a trusted merchant who often supplied gourmet goods to the Lannister’s household, Tywin handed it to the princess only after one of the guards tested it.

A particularly interesting merchant caught her eye, situated just past the baker. Tucked between his steaming racks and another table sat a young boy, no older than seven. With smudges of dirt covering his rounded reddened cheeks, he appeared far underfed and weary from crafting his wares. His shoes were thin, likely not protecting his feet from the ground given the blisters and calluses that coated the bottoms. Blonde hair had turned brown with oil and sweat. His eyes were downcast almost appearing as though he were asleep.

When the shadow of her figure covered his face, he sat up and brushed his hands down his face, dragging the dirt further across his skin. He had a torn yellowed blanket at his feet. Frayed edges held years of memories as it was more than likely his nursing blanket from when he was born. Tiny wooden statues that could fit in the palm of one’s hand were meticulously laid out, lined in rows of five with three rows total. Each was different from the other despite some being the same animals, but all were equally charming. “Did you make these?” She asked with the welcoming tilt of her curious head.

“Yes!...” He sucked his bottom lip between his large bucked teeth and took a deep breath to calm his heart as it beat from his chest. “Yes, m’lady.” He corrected.

The grooves and edges of one of the carvings bit into her skin, but she paid it no mind. A small lion with a crooked nose was the focus of her interest. Its mane was lopsided, heavy and bushy on the right side but practically nonexistent on the left. In no way was it intimidating like the beautifully crafted Lannister lions that decorated the Rock. Nonetheless, she found herself charmed by his efforts as he clearly put time into each. As she flipped the statue around in her hand, the merchant to his right nudged his shoulder with her sandal and whispered something in his ear. At her news, he straightened his back more and went wide-eyed. “Y-you can have it, princess (Y/n)... m’lady… your grace! If you want it. Free of charge for the princess, m’lady.”

“Nonsense.” Tywin interjected, regarding the young boy who immediately recognized him and grew another foot. “A man should never sell himself short.”

Looking to the merchant next to him seeking guidance, the boy found none. “I-”

“I believe this should cover the cost.” Holding a silver stag with the likeness of Aerys II pressed into its surface, Tywin extended his hand out to the child who took it and examined its edges with the surface of his thumb.

“Thank you, m’Lord!” He exclaimed, pocketing the coin in a concealed flap on the interior of his pants.

“Have you eaten yet today?” The princess rubbed her finger over the lion’s nose as the boy shook his head. Unintentionally, his eyes flitted to the still-steaming bun in her other hand. “Here.” She lowered it to where he could reach. “Freshly baked. Enjoy it while it’s warm.”

The boy looked again to the merchant who he seemed to know. She nodded her head forward and beckoned the boy to take the offering from the princess. Examining it, his mouth watered at the sickeningly sweet sugar that frosted the exterior of the golden pastry. Looking upward to the princess, a wide childish smile spread from one side of his face to the other and he lurched forward to wrap his arms securely around her waist. His cheek pressed into her side, leaving a reminder of his presence in the form of a small tan smudge in the red and white fabric.

Unknowing of the boy’s intentions, the guards of the city watch stiffened and began to grasp at the child’s clothing. Bubbly laughs stopped them along with the halting of her hand. Instead of ripping him from her side, she embraced the boy and ruffled her fingers through the top of his head, uncaring of the sleek oil left behind.

“Thank you, m’princess!” He stepped backward and stumbled as the excitement jolted through his system like lightning.

Bidding him farewell, she and Tywin continued on with their progression toward the list. As they got closer, the street became more densely packed and louder than it was before. Tywin’s hand found permanent residence on her shoulder, ensuring to him that she was always with him even when his head was focused elsewhere.

“I cannot believe this is only one part of the city.” The princess excitedly placed her hand against Tywin’s bicep, gripping slightly as she channeled the innocent naivete that had been trapped within her since birth. Beyond the castle’s walls was an entire world to experience, and she had barely scratched its surface.

“If you wish to venture through the entirety of Lannisport, I will personally see it so.” Tywin mirrored her elation in a more refined approach.

The wall of armored guards parted as a young man approached. “Lord Tywin.” He called as he stopped with a jump in his step. “Princess.” From his attire, she could conclude that he was a squire. Young in age and unarmed, he was likely the child of a western lord. “The king has arrived. He waits in the viewing stands.”

Nearly the entire population of Lannisport that wasn’t taking advantage of heightened traffic were seated on platforms of sturdy wood or perched on any rooftop that would merit even the smallest glance at the action. Men and women, boys and girls, all flocked to the streets as the exhilaration invigorated the air. Young women swooned at the idea of catching a fleeting tick of the prince’s attention. Young men were dazed and could only hope to be like him.

The princess arrived with Lord Tywin, an unexpected move but one that was unavoidable as they had already been traveling together. Entering beneath a tented pitch of red velvet and golden tassels, he was announced loudly by the middle-aged bellman who rallied the joyous cries of his people for their lord. Tywin did not bask in the cheer like Aerys had when he entered previously. Instead he held his composure by nodding to a few, giving a curt wave, and then using his hand to sweep the attention back to the king. The princess sat nearest to the action, blocked from it by the waterfall blockade that protected the royalty and highborns within. She watched and listened in utter awe as the masses roared with intense acclaim for Tywin. Praises were sung on the highest of clouds as the moment seemed to slow. Women waved their scarves and men shouted loudly with boasts of their lord. Turning her attention from the field to her rear, she could see the clear upset on her father’s face.

They should cheer louder for me, Aerys thought selfishly as he gripped his fingers tightly against the wooden chair he slouched in. His focus flickered from the people to Tywin, then downward to where Cersei sat next to his daughter. Before he left King’s Landing he had been informed that she had left with Rhaegar, Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur, but seeing her here with his own eyes made his blood boil over. She was to be kept within the Red Keep, sealed away from the public’s view, safe within its suffocating walls. Rhaella, his wife, was kept under lock and key. He wondered if she would have to meet the same fate. He forced a smile - one of the first fatherly actions he had made since returning from Duskendale. Returning the gesture, he noted the way she reclined into herself and tore her gaze from his to engage in conversation with Cersei. The two started laughing with Jeyne Farman at something Melara Hetherspoon had said before turning their attention to the entry of Prince Rhaegar.

The people’s welcome for the Lord of Casterly Rock was great, but far different from the welcome the crowned prince received as he rode onto the list adorned in full Targaryen armor. Black metal shone with the sunlight beating down upon his shoulders. Red accented steel whipped around the track as he prompted the crowd to continue with their cheers. Cersei grabbed at (Y/n)’s hand, holding it tightly as she watched adoringly. Exemplified screams came from each corner of Lannisport, all loudly rolling over the fields for miles around. It only got louder as he removed his pointed helmet and gave a haughty bow to his father who merely stared back with an emptied haze hovering over his head.

“You seem rather taken by my brother.” The princess lent over to whisper in the ear of Tywin’s daughter. Though she attempted to remain quiet, her words carried over the crowd to the ear of Melara who sat at Cersei’s other side. Dressed elegantly in a gown of muted yellow resembling that of aged gold, Melara was a thin young girl. She styled her hair simply on either side of her shoulders, allowing the cascading brunette locks to fall to her waist.

“He is quite handsome.” Melara earned herself a harsh glare from the side of Cersei’s eye. “He has not taken a wife yet, and…” she feigned shyness by the curtain of her lashes, “excuse my ignorance, but is it not tradition to marry siblings in the Targaryen house?”

She was bold, clearly bolder than Jeyne who shrunk into herself, and it could even be said that she was bolder than Cersei. “That is the tradition.” The princess folded her hands in her lap, covering the lion figurine, watching as Tygett Lannister came trotting out onto the list mounted on a pure white horse. “I do not know my father’s plans.”

Unbeknownst to her, Tygett was another potential suitor for the princess. In fact, Tygett and Gerion had both been considered at a time, but were dismissed as quickly as they were presented. The only one that the king had let weigh on the table was the proposition of Jaime Lannister, and eventually he too was denied. He rode out to the roar of the people.

“I think there are many men who vye for your hand in marriage, your grace.” Melara said loudly, catching Tywin’s ear. “You will be a beautiful bride.”

A breathy laughing exhale was pushed from the princess’s lungs as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear and relished in the newfound attention of a highborn lady. “You are most kind, lady Melara.”

At the sound of a horn, the riders were ready to start. Both men took a side of the list and prepared their lances beneath their arms. Each member of the audience lent forward in their seats as their steeds tore through the dirt with their furious hooves. In the matter of seconds, Rhaegar had defeated Tygett. Left with a broken lance and lowered enthusiasm for the sport, Tygett made his round, congratulated the prince, and left the list on horseback. Soonthereafter, he found himself joining the rest of the Lannister family beneath the covered tent.

Rhaegar defeated many others that day. Westerland knights fell in various fashions, some breaking lances and others simply being thrust from their saddles. Gerion followed in his younger brother’s footsteps after his match, sitting in the stands nearest to Tywin. Ser Barristan had the princess smiling as he made his round, throwing a wave high in the air. Though his spirits were high, his chances of winning when Rhaegar was on a roll were not. He, too, fell to the crowned prince.

It wasn’t until Ser Arthur rode out onto the list that Rhaegar’s streak was broken. Falling to Ser Arthur’s lance, Rhaegar found himself unhorsed and at a loss for the winning title he had been fighting for all day. The crowd cheered as Rhaegar stood and motioned to the winner, giving him an animated clap.

Excusing herself from Cersei and her friend’s company, the princess slipped from the tent before anyone else could notice. She had hoped to avoid her father’s audience, pleading and begging with the gods to allow her to slide by without notice. With a soft push of the curtain, she made her exit whilst her father engaged in conversation with Tywin.

Traipsing through the crowds of highborns, she traversed the mass audience of curious eyes. For most, this had been their first encounter with the princess. Many moved from her path, allowing her by. Others actively blocked her way, hoping to catch her for a conversation. Some were bold enough to propose betrothals with their sons, and others followed her as she went.

“Your grace!” One woman yelled from an unknown direction as the people grew dense. “Princess (Y/n)!” Another tried to get her attention. Bunching her skirts in her hands, she continued forward toward the tents where the knights had prepared earlier in the morning. “My lady!” A man, around her age, pushed through the crowd. Unruly hands pushed at her back as the composed lords lost their manners and began forcing their way through one another to get closer. Stumbling on the uneven surface, she would have lost her balance if not for the sturdy arms she fell upon.

The sunlight was eclipsed by a charming smile and soft eyes. “This is not how I envisioned our first meeting, your grace.” Copper hair hung to his shoulders and draped against the stiff shoulder pads of his gray tunic. “We have not been afforded an audience with one another.” Steadying her on her feet, he bowed deeply and took her hand gently in his. His lips pressed a chaste kiss to her flushing skin. “Addam Marbrand.”

“Of Ashemark.” She finished, retracting her hand politely and holding it in front of her body. “Tales of your gallantry are often told in Kings Landing.”

“I am honored to hear that my name has fallen on the ears of the most beautiful woman in the realm.” Blushing, the princess fidgeted with her fingers. Noticeably her figurine was missing. His kind eyes bore into her subdued features, taking in his first sight of the hidden princess. Upon catching her searching the ground, he followed suit, quickly finding the imperfect lion. “Charming.” He flipped it over in his hand before offering it back to her.

“A boy in the market was selling them.”

“And a supporter of the local economy, princess. The west is forever grateful.”

Flushing again, she timidly took the carving back. “Have you the chance to visit the capitol, Lord Addam?”

“I have,” he confirmed, finding his focus drawn to her rear where an approaching figure neared. “...many times. It seems that each visit I find myself leaving without having met you.” An airy chuckle outlined his next words. “I must say, I believe it was worth the wait. Your beauty is far beyond what my imagination could craft.”

Shyly looking elsewhere, she continued to grow redder by the second. “You flatter me. I-”

Feeling the presence of another, she turned her head to the side to find Tywin with his arms connected at the small of his back. “Princess.” His hand moved to press against her side. “Prince Rhaegar requests an audience in his tent.” Sliding from her waist to her shoulder, Tywin’s hand landed protectively over the loose-fitting fabric that covered her arm.

“I was on my way to see him when the crowd grew too dense.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Lord Addam saved me from a rather embarrassing fall to the dirt.”

Cutting back into the conversation, Addam spoke. “I would be most pleased to escort the princess, my lord.”

“That will not be necessary.” Tywin nonchalantly looked over his shoulder back toward the list. “Addam, your father was searching for you. You should see to it.”

Straightening his back, his shoulders set widely to display the strength in his upper body. “Of course.” Addam’s eyes met the princess’s. “I hope that we can meet again, my lady.” Then, without another word, he disappeared into the wall of people.

“What did Rhaegar want with me?” She wondered aloud as Tywin’s guiding hand maneuvered her through the maze of bumping shoulders.

Nearing the edge of the sea that seemed to swallow all those who entered, the faint whisper of green grass could be seen swimming amongst the pool of vibrant fabrics. Beyond that were stable boys guiding armored horses, waving flags atop high tents, and the low hum of conversations mixing into a concoction of a tourney’s delight.

Pacing their way toward Rhaegar’s quarters, she stalled as she considered Tywin’s silence as a very telling answer to her question. “Rhaegar did not summon me.” She concluded, finding a smug grin on her rose lips. “You simply did not enjoy watching me converse with Lord Marbrand.” Sliding past a group of competing knights, the two separated slightly.

“He is a fine young man.” Tywin defended. “Well respected in Ashemark and the west. He would make a fine suitor should your father deem him so.” Though the words fell from his lips, Tywin knew it not to be. Aerys already had plans in motion for his daughter.

“Fear not, my lord. Only one man has captured my eye.”

Fluttering playfully by, she attracted the focus of each man and boy. There was something intensely alluring about the Targaryens that no other house had. It was not in their Valyrian features. They shared the same colorless hair and lilac eyes with the Velaryons. The pull of their gravitational hold on others came from their resolve. Many Targaryen’s who achieved the famed “greatness” all shared traits that blended into a cocktail of pursuance in their climb for grandeur.

She, the princess, was a particularly notable royal. For she was more or less a blank slate. No glory came from tournaments like it did for Rhaegar. Madness nor prosperity had been bestowed upon her from her father. Her future was yet to be told, and something about that intrigued those who watched and waited to hear of what she planned to do with her canvas.

Tywin watched as she skirted past more men blissfully ignoring their gawking mouths and wandering eyes. Only when she disappeared through the drapes of Rhaegar’s tent did he adjust his shoulders back and return to his duties.

“Myles, a pleasure as always.” The princess walked through the curtained entrance of the tent where Rhaegar dressed. The room was spacious for its temporary structure; holding a stand for his armor, a desk with two tables, a chaise lounge covered in burgundy velvet, and a small closet for his normal attire.

Myles Mooton wandered about the room, focused on nothing in particular as he set about tidying and preparing Rhaegar’s clothing. As a younger man, he served as Rhaegar’s squire. Bold and brass, he had earned himself a positive place in the prince’s circle of friends. “Princess.” He regarded her with an over-the-top bow and sauntered out.

“The people really love you, brother.” Her skirts hooped as she swung around to face Rhaegar. Sitting on a padded bench, he forced his feet into his boots and tucked the excess cloth into the sides.“Is father as angered with my presence here as I assume him to be?”

His cotton undershirt matched the black tunic he often wore. “I avoided his eye.” Pressing his hands against his cheeks, he refocused himself. Fingers combed through his colorless hair, sweeping it backward to fall over his shoulders. Buttoning his dragon-embroidered outer coat, he patted the clasps and let out a sigh.

There was a clear tension in his build. Shoulders that often laid slack and relaxed were tight in an almost cringing fashion. A crinkle in his nose creased his skin like a page in a book. Something was on his mind, and it only weighed him down further with his sister standing in close proximity.

“We will talk later.”

Before she could say anything else, Rhaegar disappeared past the brush of the tapestry leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of sweat clinging to his armor.

~~~*~~~

“Lord Tyrion.”

Casterly Rock was a fairly difficult place to roam. Easily finding oneself at a crossroads with one direction leading upward and another to the sea, without a map the princess was lost. Ser Barristan had accompanied her, but found himself as lost as she as they humorously wandered aimlessly hoping to find a familiar area. Pushing past two great doors lined with jagged rock, they were surprised to have found a library.

Leather-bound books lined the walls. Some held notable titles easily recognizable to the princess and others were extremely foreign. Lit lanterns were ablaze, keeping the entirety of the room lit despite it having no exposed areas to the outside. Alone below a table sat the missing Lannister of whom she had not seen since her initial arrival at Casterly Rock: Tyrion Lannister.

Born five years after the twins, Tyrion’s entrance to the world was his mother’s exit. He was a notably lonely child, having spent much of his childhood thus far alone with no company from his immediate family. Aunts and uncles who ran Casterly Rock in Tywin’s absence did their best to entertain his whimsical thoughts and ideas, but nothing could fill the yearn for a comforting soul in his abysmal existence. Tales of Tyrion fastly spread upon his birth with some calling him a monster. Others feared that he was an omen of what was to come. Even the king disparaged the child by considering him to be a punishment for Tywin’s arrogance.

Though sitting on the floor surrounded by books and a burning candle, Tyrion looked no different than any other child.

“Princess.” Tyrion made to stand, but resituated himself as soon as she held a halting hand out to him.

“There is no need to rise.” The bounding skirts of her dress pooled around her as she lowered herself onto the frigid stone floor. “I am the one disturbing you, afterall.” Thumbing across his mountain of literature, she found many pertaining to Targaryens, and more concerning dragons. “Black Wings, Swift Words.” She tilted her head to read its title. “I quite like this one. Interesting notion, wasn’t it? Replacing ravens with doves. The skies would surely be more beautiful, but how would we be notified that winter is coming?” Leaning her elbows against her knees, she hovered just below the table’s top. “Maester Pycelle always made sure to show me the white raven sent from the Citadel to declare summer’s end. Do you enjoy reading?”

Tyrion was ambivalent about answering the princess. He had seen her with his father and his sister on multiple occasions in her short time visiting, but his thirst for knowledge and interest in the Targaryen’s eventually outweighed any skepticism. “I’m reading this one now.” Pushing the opened book toward the princess, he sat higher as she looked over the writing.

“The Rogue Prince. He lived quite the life, a true warrior of his time.”

“He wielded Dark Sister.” Tyrion adjusted the edges of the book to face him once more. “His dragon, Caraxes, was red.” His eyes twinkled with delight as he displayed his knowledge. “I’m not far yet, only to his second marriage. He lived in Pentos with Laena Velaryon and Vhagar.”

“That is very true.” She was gladdened by his enthusiasm. “You know so much about the Targaryens, I think you should have taught me lessons instead of my septa.”

“I want to write a book someday.” The remnants of a smile formed at his lips. “About the Targaryens… an entire history from Valyria to now.”

“I would love to read it… a great mind such as yours should not go to waste.” She pushed her hands against the floor to push herself to her knees. “I will be the first to request a copy in King’s Landing when it is completed.”

She and Ser Barristan continued to wander the halls, blissfully lost as they experienced Casterly Rock as it should be. Initially he had questioned why she didn’t ask Tyrion’s help, but as they turned corners and the twinkle in her eye burned brightly he understood.

Freedom was fleeting as her return to King’s Landing fastly approached.

She was simply enjoying herself.

Writers note: Happy New Year 🎆

Tag list:

@issybee0611 @yellowbadgermole @ladysindar @usernameosv @thanyatargaryen @kishie8

#tywin lannister x reader #tywin x reader #tywin lannister #got x reader #game of thrones fanfic

177 notes · View notes

xyziiix · 11 months

Text

•𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽• - VII

•Pairing: Mid-honour!Arthur Morgan X Female!Reader•

•Summary: Finally moving from the frigid and isolated town of Colter, Arthur and Hosea recollect the past before the gang arrives at Horseshoe Overlook•

•warnings: language mostly, Hosea being a lil cutie•

!most of this chapter is in Arthur’s perspective!

!not proof read!

series Masterlist <<previous chapter

The snow melted into green and brown - into the beauty of an unfrozen environment, the sun gradually radiating warmth onto everyone as the gang descended the mountain that held the glacier. Horses whinnying as they pulled the carts full of personal belongings along the path which was finally not blanketed in white and ice. The cool breeze actually became a relief instead of a shiver now that the sunshine was actually blazing and not just seemingly there for the light of day. The scenery was much more welcomed than the previous winter wonderland - more full of life and vibrancy. The horses hauling Arthur and Hosea’s wagon huffed as their legs were submerged in the refreshing water of the shallow stream, but the wheels of the cart groaned in protest.

“Get us out the stream.” Hosea instructed Arthur, whom cracked the reins to urge the horses to move more efficiently - which became quite challenging as the current of the water pushed against the wagon, “you gotta keep us moving, but calm.”

As they finally got back onto the dirt and gravel, the small victory was discarded as the left side of the wagon dipped abruptly - the wheel having disconnected and toppling to the side. And the sounds of barrels and boxes falling out of the rear end didnt sooth Arthur’s frustration.

“Ah, shit!”

You were about three carts in front, unbeknownst of of the halt of their movement as the others continued down the path, leaving Arthur, Hosea, Bill, Charles, Javier and uncle behind to assess the problem.

“You alright back there?” Bill asked as he pulled the two mares to a stop.

“Does everything look alright?” Arthur bit sarcastically, throwing the reins off of his lap to jump down from the front of the wagon and stomp walk to the back.

“Well, what’s going on?” Javier asked, sat atop his horse.

Arthur let out a ‘gah’ of annoyance, throwing his hand up in the air as he properly took in the state of the cart. “I broke the goddamn wheel!”

“Alright! Let’s get it fixed.” Hosea urged as he also climbed off the wagon. Charles joined Hosea to haul the end of the wagon bed - dismissing Javier when he offered his help - Arthur lifted the heavy wood of the wheel. “Alright Charles, you and me hold the thing up, while you try and put the wheel back on, Arthur.”

“You still strong enough to hold up a wagon?” Arthur quipped as he trundled the wheel back over to the wagon.

“Shut up.” Hosea responded as he strained his knees to lift the wood up.

“M’just sayin’.” Arthur prompted, grunting as he lifted the wood up to join back onto the axle.

“Well, say less.”

Arthur panted as he crouched next to the wheel, giving the wood a few bashes with his broad shoulder to push the wheel back into place, when it looked secure enough to his satisfaction, he appeared at Charles and Hosea’s side. “You ain’t so useless after all.” He said to Hosea, his tone teasing.

The older man just let out an amused and prolonged laugh as he and Charles began retrieving all of the fallen supplies, “not quite.”

As Arthur made work of tightening the screws with a wrench - Hosea and Charles reloading the wagon - they became aware of watchful eyes. At the top of the cliffs edge, three men on horseback stood idly - observing them. Hosea’s - still - gloved hand wipes at his face as he analysed their positions, Charles and Arthur becoming slightly anxious.

“What do you think?” Arthur asked lowly as he placed the metal tool back onto the wagon bed.

“If they wanted trouble..” Charles began, staring up at the strangers, “we wouldn’t have seen them.” Hosea stiffly raised his arm, giving the three men a frigid wave - in an attempt of reassurance that they wouldn’t cause any problems.

“Poor bastards…” Hosea rasped, lowering his arm as neither of the watchers made any move, “we really screwed them over down here.” He then turned to look at his comrades. “Come on. Let’s not push our luck.

They finished loading the wagon, Bill and Javier had already gone to follow you and the others.

“What happened?” Asked asked as he lifted a large pot, hauling it onto the back.

“Well, get in.. and I’ll tell ya.”

The wagon you were in jostled and rutted over the stones, the path being less smoother than it were when it was covered in much softer snow rather than the uneven gravel, you were sat on the buckboard with Dutch, listening to him talk about anything and everything - that was the good thing about Dutch, he could talk for America and render you free of boredom - though, it could get a little tiring listening to him rant for seemingly hours on end. You peered over your shoulder, and when you noticed Bill was much further behind than the others and Arthur and Hosea were completely out of sight, you grew concerned.

“Hey, where’s Hosea and Arthur?” You glanced to Dutch. He didn’t even look behind him as he paused from what he was previously talking about, waving his hand dismissively.

“They’ll catch up, probably just stopped for a piss or somethin’.” He said, you just sighed as you turned to look at the path ahead. “Now what was i sayin?”

“Talkin’ bout the feller in Tumbleweed.” You replied, despite not really wanting to hear this story again.

“Right.” Dutch chuckled, laughing at the own recollection of the memory, some drunk tried to steal The Count - a story he’d told half a million times already.

Hosea had just finished telling Arthur and Charles the story of the Indians, how they lost all of the heartlands - and were either killed or herded to reservations by the government and army. Arthur then began to ask Charles of his tribe in the past, only to discover he was unsure whether he had one - but that his mother was captured by soldiers years after him and his parents fled from the tribe he was with, and he never saw her again.

“-Around thirteen, I just took off on my own.” Charles finished explaining.

“That was about the age we found young Arthur here,” Hosea chimed in before adding “-maybe a little older. John and Y/N were a little younger than that… but Arthur-“ he let out a quick laugh, “-A wilder delinquent you never did see. But he learned fast.”

“Not as fast as Marston, apparently.” Arthur added, sarcastic as ever.

“Wait, i don’t understand.” Charles began, “what’s the problem between you two?”

“Arthur?” Hosea joshed.

“It’s a long story…” Arthur grumbled.

“Well what about you and Y/N, how did you two properly get together.”

Arthur was a little taken aback by the question, it wasn’t often he was asked that considering most of the gang new the events that led to the two of you finally growing a pair and telling each other how you felt - though, Charles obviously didn’t know much of it. Hosea let out a delighted hum, probably readying himself to expose all of the embarrassing moments of the two of you as awkward teenagers/young adults. And just as he expected, Hosea beat Arthur to it.

“They was dancin’ around each other for years, it was as cute as a bugs ear.” Hosea amusedly responded, which actually drew a quick laugh from Charles. “I even remember talkin’ with Y/N about it when she was younger, tellin’ her she had more guts than Arthur here, and that she should just tell him she was sweet on him… but she didn’t, of course.”

While Arthur was grumbled at Hosea sharing the personal information, Charles was intrigued - he just… couldn’t imagine a big outlaw like Arthur being so smitten and timid as Hosea was making him out to be.

*ೃ�� *ೃ༄ *ೃ༄ *ೃ༄ *ೃ༄[next part written as if it were in the present - in your perspective]

You were sat at the table, your elbows resting on the old wood and holding your chin in your hands. You were completely lost in thought - with a far-away look in your eye. You were dwelling over the events of the day, where you and the others had been in town when you saw Arthur. But, before you could go to greet him, out came an unfortunately familiar woman to join him, Mary Gillis. You knew of Arthur’s relationship with her, despite him not sharing much with all of you - he’d mentioned her to you a few times, seeking advice while you both sat by the campfire late in the evening, and with you just clenching your jaw with a feigned smile plastered on your face while he told you about the woman he was in love with.

Your thoughts were cut off when Hosea’s face appeared in front of you, making you jump a little as he seemingly came out of no where to take the seat opposite you.

“Here we are.” He sighed with a proud smile on his face as he placed a very thick book in front of you. You stared at the book for a moment, the idea of reading so many words already straining your eyes and stabbing your brain.

“I can’t read all this, Hosea. Y’know my readings as good as horse shit.”

“That’s why you gotta keep practicing.” He tapped his finger on the leather-bound cover at each syllable for extra measure, before he added, “besides, it’d do you better to practice reading than sitting here being pensive about Arthur all day.” His abrupt statement caused your heart to drop.

“What?”

He looked at you half-amusedly as you straightened up, quickly becoming awkward at his words - as they were true.

“You really think I don’t know about how you two act around each other?” He tipped his chin, giving you a pointed look.

“So this book, what it about?” You attempted to change the subject, not wanted the current topic of conversation to continue any further.

“Y/N.”

“What do you want me to say, Hosea?” Your brows furrowed as you began to grow irritated, the feeling of having this conversation out loud felt akin to being backed in a corner - suffocating. “You want me to say I’m sweet on Arthur? Cause I ain’t.”

“I practically raised you for the last twelve years, girl. I can tell when you’re lying to me.” He responded, eyes squinting momentarily at your visible defensiveness. A beat of silence washed over as you opted to look into the distance, unsure of what to say. “Arthur’s sweet on you, I can tell ya that.”

Your gaze snapped back to him before you scoffed, “no he ain’t, he’s with another woman.”

“I’m aware.”

“You think he’d be with another woman if he were sweet on me?”

“I think he’s trying to convince himself he’s not, though I ain’t gonna condone him bringing an innocent woman’s feelings into play if he doesn’t feel that way about her.” He replied nonchalantly, leaning back in the rickety chair, lacing his hands together over his chest.

“That’s a big ‘if’, Hosea.”

He shrugged, “I don’t think it’s a big ‘if’.”

“What actually makes you think that?” You urged, leaning forward, while you were putting a front about being annoyed - you couldn’t deny that you were intrigued, and that his words ignited a little bit of hope inside of you.

“I see the way he looks at you. And I know that because it’s how I used to look at Bessie.” He nodded. You fell silent at the mention of her, the woman who’d been one of your parental figures - the one reminding you the most of your own mother with her kind nature. Your face softened, not really knowing what to say.

“Hosea”-

“Arthur’s brooding, even with us he’s always been guarded…” he continued, lifting to scratch at his chin briefly before meeting your gaze with a serious expression, “-except when it comes to you. He cares about you, can’t you see?”

*ೃ༄ *ೃ༄ *ೃ༄ *ೃ༄ *ೃ༄

“Alright, s’enough of that. We still headin’ the right way?” Arthur cut Hosea off, succeeding in changing the subject.

“That depends, are we still heading west in search fortune and repose in virgin forest as we planned?” Hosea asked rhetorically. “No. Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law eastwards down the mountains? Yes, i believe so.”

“You know this area?” Charles questioned.

“A little, I’ve been through a couple of times.” He answered, turning to scan the scenery momentarily, “there’s a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine. Cowboys, outlaws, working girls. Our kind of place.”

“O’Driscolls?” Arthur added,

“Probably them too.”

“Pinkertons?” He drawled out, voice underlined with a hint of dread.

“Let’s hope not.”

“And this place we’re going… wait, what’s it called again?”

“Horseshoe overlook.” Hosea breathed out.

“It’s a good place to lie low?” Arthur asked again.

“It’ll do for now. And how low do you think Dutch is really going to lie?” Hosea quipped, “it’s just.. you know, maybe it’s me who’s changed, not him, but, we kept telling him that ferry job didn’t feel right. You and me had a real lead in Blackwater that could’ve worked out.” He shook his head slightly.

“Maybe.” Arthur replied.

“It just… isn’t like Dutch to lose his head like that.”

“Thinks go wrong sometimes. People die.” Arthur reminded, an attempt to reassure the older man. “It’s the way it is, always has been. Me, you, Dutch. We’ve all been in this line a’work a long time - and we’re still here, so… I figure we must’ve got it right a hell a’lot more than we got it wrong.”

You’d finally got yours and Arthur’s tent set up, trying your best to make it as homey as possible - considering half of your favourite belongings had been left in Blackwater - you’d even set up Arthur’s pictures on the side of the wagon - the ones with him, Dutch and Hosea, the one of Copper and even the picture of his father. You wiped at the sweat pooling on your skin, you’d already removed all of your winter clothing and changed it for something much more light to withstand the contrasting heat from Colter.

You were still worried on Arthur and Hosea’s whereabouts, yourself and the others having arrived at horseshoe overlook about an hour ago - but, you didn’t want to go making a big fuss about it just yet. After all, you knew Arthur was more than capable of taking care of himself.

You were currently placing trinkets onto the side table, busying yourself with making the tent look more aesthetically pleasing. When you heard the sound of horse trots and wheels dragging in the dirt, you immediately perked up and looked over to see the final wagon rolling in, with Hosea, Arthur, Charles and Javier climbing off of the wagon.

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea. This place is perfect!” Dutch called out, walking over to them.

“I hope so.” Hosea responded as he carefully manoeuvred himself to plant his feet back on the ground.

“Gentlemen…” Dutch started, undoubtedly leading to one of his big speeches, “we have survived.” You came to stand at the entrance of your tent, leaning against the side of the wagon as you watched Dutch wave Uncle out of his seat at the table in the middle of your newfound camp.

“For now.” Hosea added.

“Now, it is time to prosper.” He announced, you planned on joining them, but out of your peripheral you saw Miss Grimshaw wave you over, and you begrudgingly moved to join her and the girls as she quietly - not wanting to interrupt the men - but sternly instructed you all with unloaded the rest of the supplies.

“Arthur and I were about to prosper in Blackwater.” Hosea stated as the two came to join Dutch, “then, Micah got you all excited about that ferry and here we are.” He threw his arms up, completely unimpressed. Arthur perched himself on the edge of the table, peering over his shoulder at his father-figures.

“We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea…” Dutch defended, standing up to be level with his friend, “every last one of us.” Arthur drowned them out slightly, looking over to where you and Tilly were working together to pull a large rolled fur out of the back of the wagon, he grew uncomfortable as heat covered his body - still wearing his winter coat. “But I kept us together.” Dutch argued, jabbing his hand - sporting a cigar - at Hosea, “kept us alive. Kept the nooses off our neck.” He added before moving to walk away from him.

“I guess I’m just worried.” Hosea prompted, his voice wavering with worry as he caught up with Dutch, placing a hand on his shoulder to grab his full attention, “I ain’t got that long, Dutch. I want folks safe before I go.” He said with desperation.

“Me too.” Dutch defended.

“And now we are stuck. East of the Grizzlies and out of money… and a long way from our dream of virgin land in the west.”

“I know, my brother, but we are safe.” Dutch said slowly, as if trying to drill the words into his worried friends mind. “We make a bit of money here, then we move again… head out around them, be west of Uncle Sam… in a few months buy some land.” He used his hands as he spoke.

“I hope so.” Hosea responded. Dutch then backed away slightly, his arms held up in a presenting motion.

“Would you just look around you.” He spun around to walk face the horizon, “this world has its consolations.”

You looked over to where the three were stood, watching Herr Strauss approach them with his leather case, you sighed as you placed the final box near where Javier was already making work of building a fire. You also looked over your shoulder, noticing Molly O’Shea sat in Dutch’s tent, evident that she’d done no labour what so ever, your brows furrowing in annoyance at her arrogance - clearly thinking that because she was Dutch’s little plaything that she didn’t have to pull her weight like the rest of you - it wasn’t that you didn’t necessarily like Miss O’Shea, she was actually very nice to talk to if you ignored the way she clearly looked down on you and everyone else.

“Now, everyone! Put your tools down for a moment.” Dutch called out, and you sighed as you stood fully again, your knees feeling weak and your eyes feeling heavy - after all, you hadn’t slept a wink in the last day, you and Arthur having spent the whole night riding back to Colter just to be on the move again to get here to Horseshoe. “Come on, gather round, quickly now.” You joined the circle being created, standing beside Karen as you looked to Arthur momentarily before switching back to Dutch. “I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now, and we are far too poor.” He lifted his hand as he continued. “So it is time for everyone to get to work.”

“I wonder if that means Miss O’Shea as well.” Karen joked in a whisper to you, prompting you to bob your head down to suppress the smirk pulling your lips, when you glanced up, your eyes met Arthur and he raised his brow at you - curious as to what you and Karen were so amused at - you bit your lip to hide your smile and continued listening in.

“Get to work, but stay out of trouble.” Hosea reminded, “remember, we are itinerant workers.”

-“Laid off when they shut down our factory to the north.” He added, you all already knew this of course, as you’d already used this fake backstory before. “Now, get out there, and see what you can find.” Dutch instructed before turning to a specific pair, “Uncle, Reverend Swanson… no more passengers.” He said, which pulled a small chorus of chuckling from the lot of you as you observed the two men’s dumbfounded states. “It is time for everyone to earn their keep.”

“There is a town a little way down the track, name of Valentine… live stock town. All mud and morons if I remember right.” Hosea explained. “That seems a decent place to start.”

“-And… we need food… real food. That means every day, one of you.” Mr Pearson chimed in.

“And remember-“ Dutch started again, briefly stepping into his tent to grab a familiar reddish-brown box in his hands, “- whatever it is that you find,” he slammed the box onto the barrel outside his tent. “The camp gets its slice.” He said pointedly, “now, be sensible out there.” And with that, you all began to scatter off to whatever it is you were previously doing, you glanced over your shoulder to see Miss Grimshaw talking to Arthur.

“Now, Y/N’s had your tent ready, Mr. Morgan, come with me.” She instructed, he nodded before following after her. “We put you over here.” She explained as she gestured towards the wagon.

“I’m sure everythin’ will be fine, Miss Grimshaw.” Arthur said dismissively, wanting nothing more than to get out of his extra layers and get some sleep - preferably with you with him doing the same.

“It should be, most of your stuff from Blackwater got saved.” She said, speed walking over to the tent - even Arthur struggling to keep up with her quick pace.

“Everythin’ apart from my money.” He added sarcastically.

“Oh, don’t remind me.” She shook him off with a sour expression.

“Well, we can always make more money.” He shrugged, moving to sit at the edge of the cot, already looking at the little additions you’d added to the Wagon.

“We’re gonna have to.” She agreed before turning to walk away, and Arthur visibly winced at her voice cutting through the air in a shout, “Miss Jackson! I’ve seen shit with more common sense than you. Do it properly.” Arthur sighed as he pulled his coat off of his shoulders, placing his satchel on the table after fishing a cigarette and match out. He looked up while striking the match on the sole of his boots to see you quickly walking over to the tent, wearily glancing to where Miss Grimshaw was hollering at the girls - not wanting her to catch you unoccupied.

“You okay?” He asked with a smirk, amused at your hurriedness, you gave him a wide, cheeky grin as you quickly untied the flaps from the metal poles holding the canopy up. And a minute later, the security of the flaps granted you a sense of privacy from the outside, the light in the tent a warm shade of orange from the setting sun. You moved next to him, dramatically flopping down onto your back with an exaggerated sigh while he just chuckled at you, the smell of tobacco filling the air as he blew a cloud of smoke out.

“I can‘t feel my legs.” You complained, your eyes shut. Arthur tutted at you before leaning over you to flick the cigarette out of the small gap between the canopy flaps and the wagon. Afterwards, he groaned as he laid down next to you - the cot being a tighter squeeze than the bed in Colter, not that either of you minded - he crossed his arms behind his head, inviting you to curl into his side and rest your head on his chest. After a beat, you lifted your head to look at him. “Arthur, you stink.” You said pointedly, raising your eyebrows at him - it was true, he’d been sweating in winter clothes for the last couple hours under the blazing sun.

He barked a laugh, and took you by surprise by reaching for the back of your head and pushing your head into the space between his chest and underarm, laughing boyishly as you let out a muffled scream. He finally let you go, his ribs aching from laughing as you sat up with a flabbergasted look on your face, you brought your hand to smack his chest even though you couldn’t suppress the grin on your face. “You’re disgusting.” You half-heartedly scolded.

“And when was the last time you were in a bath, Miss L/N?” Arthur asked, scrunching his face at you in feigned disgust, he lazily watched as you sat up to unlace your boots.

“I’ll have you know, Morgan, that as soon as I get to that town… Valentine, the first thing I’ll be doin’ is stayin’ in a hotel and having the most luxurious bath in the world.” You said matter-of-factly. After you had successfully tugged your boots off you looked over your shoulder to see Arthur’s boots - caked in mud - still on his feet and resting right on your clean cot.

“‘Most luxurious bath in the world’ huh?” He mimicked you while staring up at the canopy, feeling you tugging off his boots - grumbling about the rule of ‘having your boots on the damn bed’ - “think there’ll be room for me in your ‘luxurious bath’?” He asked.

“Not if you get dirt all over this cot.” You answered, he let out a chuckle, he heard the sound of his boots being dropped onto the floor before you settled next to him again, already closing your eyes as exhaustion looked over you.

“What do you think of this place then?” He asked you.

“I think it’s good, it ain’t the west. But, it’s better than bein’ up in those mountains.” You hummed.

“Better than freezin’ my ass off.” He agreed, you let out another hum as your eyes refused to open. He glanced down at you, noticing your responses becoming less aware. “You get some sleep, darlin’.”

“You too, Morgan.”

Sorry it’s been so long guys, and I’m sorry that the first chapter you get after such a long time is mid asf

Anyways, I’m at SO glad to finally get them away from colter - this is where the real fun starts 😉

-also, I AINT A MOLLY HATER! My girl deserved better - just needed to clarify that after the comment Karen and reader were laughing at abt her

Also I love Hosea 🥹 he’s a little cutie patootie

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #dutch van der linde

70 notes · View notes

wanderlustmagician · 4 months

Text

Some rambling about my LU Modern AU that I’m committing to working on:

Modern Weaponry like we know it doesn’t exist. So no guns, no tanks, etc. What they do have is the standard medieval weapons of swords, bows, cannons, etc. Except it isn’t socially acceptable to just walk around with that shit, so they’re magically enchanted to take other forms (yes I’m pulling inspiration from Percy Jackson, leaf me alone) swords are pens, quivers are backpacks/bows are keychains, etc

Cars and motorcycles do exist in this, but it isn’t unusual to see people using horses or horse drawn carts/carriages in more rural areas. Trains also exist! They’re a little more rare though.

Modern Hyrule is split into two different maps, similarly to TOTK just omit the depths, and its Hyrule (Surface) and Hyrule (Sky Islands) on maps. Castletown is the Capital of the Surface while Skyloft is the Capital of the Sky Islands. Both report to the castle. There are still the three regions with their respective peoples (Rito - Hebra, Gerudo - Desert, Zora - the domain) and the Sheikah do inhabit the fourth region as their ancestral “capital” Kakariko. Yes I am using BOTW/TOTK map for the basis of this map.

There is a Queen. She does have a consort, but confirms nothing about them to anyone. People are unsure if it’s true or not. She is rarely seen, unless you’ve been summoned, and she is rarely seen together with her consort. She is treated like a goddess, a queen, or with derision by the populace. She is Queen Hylia Zelda Leclair.

She technically is a Priestess and has Visions of the Princesses when they’re born. She summons them roughly a year or so before their Hero will be needed.

Princess and Hero are titles and only given to those Called by the Goddesses via Hylia.

Princesses are Called a year or so before they and their Hero will be needed and they undergo Princess training - Goddess magic training, General Knowledge classes, how to use meditation for having Visions, basic first aid, hand to hand combat, weapons training, horseback riding, etc etc. These girls can handle themselves pretty well after all that.

Princesses do not hold a Government Position. That’s not what it is. It’s more like they’re Queen Hylia’s Ambassadors to the populace, no politics attached. They’ll do a lot of outreach work, along with whatever they do for their regular lives outside of their Princess Work.

Heroes fly under the radar. They’re rarely known, by Hylia or their Princess, until It Is Time. They’re usually not Called like the Princesses by Hylia. It’s more like they’re just there when the trouble starts, along with their Princess, like a big not so happy accident.

The history of Hyrule details out the various Heroes who’ve come to the country’s aid and have dedicated Constellations to them. Some of the accounts of the heroes of the past have been lost to time, but there are Ten Known Heroes of the Past. Nine of them have dedicated Constellations, the tenth constellation is dedicated to both the first hero and all those lost to time.

The Hero Constellations are The Feather, The Minish, The Ocarina, The Bunny, The Wolf, The Seagull, The Fairy, the Scarf, and The Silent Princess. The final is The Sword of Legend.

Most Hylians believe that being born in the times of the year when these constellations are brightest means that you have the traits of that hero. Kind of like Zodiac signs, except a little more extra.

Other notable things about the night sky, there’s a red star - it’s called the Star of Demise. Blood moons happen once every 100 days, some people get sick during this event. There is a grouping of four constellations that appear with The Silent Princess called The Champions, as a group, and individually are a Camel, a Bird, a Lizard, and an Elephant.

Ordon is located just outside of Faron, semi close to the mountains. It’s one of the more remote towns and is a very successful farming community known for their goats.

And that’s all I’ve got that’s not getting into more specifics for the boys and such. If anyone is interested in that, I’d be more than happy to chat about it :)

#wandering pen #lu modern au #linked universe #Hylia and the goddesses won’t really be in this #nor referenced a lot #in a world building sense #Hylia is important but only cause she’s the queen #and like the head priestess #whereas in the actual story it’s the princesses who take charge #and the boys who are driving the story

22 notes · View notes

piizunn · 1 year

Text

“Knowing You Has Made Me a Better Settler Person”: Tokenizing the Métis Identity

View my work: A Spectacle of Me for You

By riel

My name is riel, I am a Red River Métis artist descending maternally from the historic Métis families by the names of Berthelet, Caron, St. Germaine, Dubois, Dazé, and Larivière, who come from the communities of Pointe à Grouette, now St. Agathe, St. Norbert, and St. Vital, now modern-day Winnipeg, and the historic Batoche, Saskatchewan. My Berthelet ancestors, notably my third great grandfather Joseph Berthelet Sr. was a community leader of Pointe à Grouette, and my fifth-great uncle Jean Caron Sr fought at fifty-two years old in the battle of Duck Lake, Saskatchewan of the North-West Resistance of 1885. His house is now a historic site in Batoche. My mother is a Métis academic with a background in education and my father is a settler of British ancestry, and an archaeologist-turned-locksmith. I introduce myself in this way, in the traditional way of Métis authors, such as Chantal Fiola and Jean Teillet, to contextualize my knowledge and experiences, as well as my connection to this land.

Earlier this year, 2022, as the winter semester wrapped up, and spring was beginning to rear its big green head, I finished building a Red River cart. It was four months of research and physical labour. I taught myself methods of wood joinery that my ancestors would have used, the hand tools they had access to pre-industrial revolution, as well as the power tools we as modern Métis have access to now. After the cart’s completion I installed it in the Ivan Gallery at school. That is when and where it happened. A classmate of settler colonial ancestry approached me. We had spent two semesters at odds. Her work focused on the climate crisis but came from a place of doomism and borderline eco-fascism. She regurgitated colonial narratives regarding our “doomed world” and the inherent violence of humans, and when she was corrected and shown the harm in her words she doubled down.

She said to me “knowing you, has made me a better person.” I do not know this woman and she does not know me, but I believe I knew her in that moment. To her, I am an encyclopedia, a fountain of knowledge for her to drink from whenever she wants to feel a little less guilty. I realized what she meant.

“Knowing you has made me a better settler person”

What does it take to know a person? Who defines knowing? In that moment, I knew my classmate, but she could not have known me less. To her, and many others I have met in my life, my culture and I represented an outlet for settler guilt. I was the “real Indian” she took a photo with to prove her proximity and understanding of Indigeneity (James Luna). Because in settler minds, every Indian is every Indian, and every Indian is an encyclopedia to test knowledge against. I am a measuring stick for settlers to compare their thoughts and actions to.

I began to really consider how settlers were tokenizing me; sexually, intellectually, culturally, spiritually, to settlers I am a fantasy Métis academic. I am an all knowing all sensing wise Indian who can track a man through all terrains, who can tell you your spirit name by just looking at you, who will save your life when you are caught unprepared on my land, and who will scalp an enemy with no mercy. That is what people want from me, not the stories of the Métis resistance leaders who tried to overtake your settler ancestors in the Northwest Resistance, who could spit bullets and toss gunpower directly into their guns all while on horseback. They do not want to hear about The Old Wolves who fought in the Northwest Resistance and years later met in St. Vital to lovingly and meticulously document our young nation’s history, who hated the word “rebellion” (Jean Teillet).

A Spectacle of Me for You is an installation containing a series of sculptures, photographs, prints, and found objects arranged in a “spectacle” of the Métis identity. The work is the result of experimentation with materials and engagement with Métis theory on self-governance and our history. Being named after Louis Riel often feels like an invitation for settlers to give me their unsolicited opinion on whether my ethnic group should have rights, and if Louis Riel was a madman or not, with most of the conversations quickly becoming anti-Indigenous and/or ableist. To my people, however, it is an honour to be named after Riel, the man who, with Gabriel Dumont successfully won the Red River Resistance of 1869, and commanded my ancestors in the Northwest Resistance of 1885. In this work I employ Indigenous humour- our ability to make fun of ourselves, remaining in control of the joke in order to remove that power from settlers, who are suddenly uncomfortably aware of their perception of Indigenous peoples. I have been heavily influenced by artists like Jesse Ray Short who dressed as Louis Riel in a drag-esque performance, and James Luna’s performance Take A Picture with a Real Indian (2001) and Artifact Piece (1987), Dayna Danger’s Big ‘Uns series, specifically for their reclamation of explicit Indigenous sexuality, and their ways of incorporating Indigenous, specifically Métis and Salteaux material culture into representations of Indigenous sexuality. Finally, I also would like to reference Rebecca Belmore’s piece Artifact #671B from 1988, where Belmore implicates her own body as an artifact in similar ways that James Luna has.

The viewer enters the room to find a table at the back of the room, seemingly an in-use workspace, with a sewing mannequin dressed in brown pants, a red and black flannel, a Louis Riel shirt, and a beaded leather strap on placed over the pants. There is also a half-deflated mask of Louis Riel placed on the table. On the table there are postcards- free for the viewer to take with two different designs to choose from. On one side of the room a log has been placed on the ground and another rests a few feet away, seemingly more haphazardly than the carefully placed log.

A Spectacle of Me for You is a staged representation of what a beader’s workspace might look like. A series of props that vaguely reference the Métis but does not actually represent the workspace of the artist. It is a highly curated idea of the Métis identity, playing on well-known stereotypes. Among the workspace set-up there are two stacks of postcards, one with a shot of the artist posing with two logs they personally harvested in January of 2022, left over from building a Red River cart, one of the logs positioned suggestively between the legs of the artist. They are dressed in stereotypical lumberjack clothes as well as a t-shirt with Louis Riel’s face and a slogan that reads “keepin’ it Riel”. The artist also wears a latex mask of Louis Riel, tying the fantasy together.

Otipemisiwak Voyageur Fantasy Husband is a series of postcards as well as a costume worn by the artist to comment on different aspects of tokenization. The leather strap on harness worn over their clothes is an overt reference to the fetishization of Indigenous people, specifically Indigiqueer and Two Spirit community members, and a comparison of Indigenous and settler masculinity. The harness is paired with a lumberjack style flannel and a shirt with an image of Louis Riel that reads “keepin it real”, and a latex mask of Riel, worn on the artist’s head, obscuring their face. The postcards and the mask are a reference to modern Métis material culture and our infatuation with objects with Louis Riel’s face. The mass-production of these items has both caused a massive inflation of Louis Riel-kitsch, but also a larger awareness of our presence as Métis people, and what Riel means to us. Akin to the presidents' masks used by the Ex-Presidents gang in the 1991 film Point Break, the artist uses their Riel mask to draw attention to the way real historical figures, particularly politicians become caricatures of their actual selves in the eyes of the public, allowing them to be immortalized in popular culture. On a smaller scale, something similar has happened to Louis Riel where many settlers deem him a violent mad-man, and reduce him to a caricature of himself, while the Métis have reclaimed this treatment, and have found ways to honour him in our material culture.

References/Works Cited

BELMORE, REBECCA. ARTIFACT #671B, 1988.

BIGELOW, KATHRYN. POINT BREAK. TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX, 1991.

BURNS, CLARISSA. VOYAGEUR GAMES DEMONSTRATION. https://metisgathering.ca/classroom-resources/classroom-voyageur-games/. MÉTIS GATHERING. 2022.

LUNA, JAMES. TAKE A PICTURE WITH A REAL INDIAN, 2000.

LUNA, JAMES. ARTEFACT PIECE, 1987.

RIEL, LOUIS. FINAL TRIAL STATEMENT. http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/riel/rieltrialstatement.html. JULY 31ST 1885.

SHORT, JESSIE RAY. WAKE UP!, 2015.

TEILLET, JEAN. THE NORTH-WEST IS OUR MOTHER : THE STORY OF LOUIS RIEL’S PEOPLE, THE METIS NATION. PATRICK CREAN EDITIONS, AN IMPRINT OF HARPERCOLLINS PUBLISHERS LTD., 2013.

#my writing #context for some of my work! but this could probably stand alone #linking the work at the top!#indigenous academic #indigenous #métis #métis writer #art writing #artist statement

135 notes · View notes