#camp john hay

[inzertbackups]

Szerintem megtaláltam életem egyik legszebb példáját a greenwashing-ra.

[hasminnn]

📍the manor at camp john hay, december 2023.

[convexly]

Baguio Family Vacation by Daniel Go

[twatkquirk]

Camp John Hay in Baguio City, two months ago. My first visit to the City of Pines was a life-changing moment, or so I thought.

[siyanalicious]

Baguio City Spots

Do you want to experience the so fresh and a cold most especially in winter season? Baguio city is the right place for you. Welcome to the city of Pine. Baguio city is a very nice place. It is the so called “the summer capital of the Philippines” or “city of Pines”. This is because of its mountainous and is full of trees.  Baguio city is located in Northern Luzon Region of the Philippines. The…

[shellwanders]

36 TOP BEST THINGS TO DO IN BAGUIO THAT YOU NEED TO ADD TO YOUR TRAVEL ITINERARY

36 TOP BEST THINGS TO DO IN BAGUIO THAT YOU NEED TO ADD TO YOUR TRAVEL ITINERARY

 Baguio is the  “Summer Capital of the Philippines” Baguio, on the Philippines’ Luzon island, is a mountain town of universities and resorts. Called the “City of Pines,” it’s particularly popular in summer due to unusually cooler weather. At its center is Burnham Park, with gardens and a lake. – Wikipedia Traveling to Baguio for the first time? This detailed and curated travel guide will make…

[postcard-from-the-past]

Hospital of the Camp John Hay, near Banguio, Philippines

American vintage postcard

[strvberrydoll]

Rosemary

Summary: Kidnapped in the middle of the night you’re dragged far away from camp by the ruthless Lemoyne Raiders. Your disappearance a painful wound for Arthur who has to, quite literally, fight for your love back.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort (finallyyy !!!) description of gun fight, kidnapping, heavy themes

wc: 5k

a/n: so we’ve finally come to the end of this silly little story. The comfort is finally here woohoo !! I’m actually kinda proud of this chapter because I tried a different approach to writing and idk,, i like it. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to every single one of you who liked Rosemary and filled my days with love, I’ll forever be grateful to all of you. A slightly better version of Rosemary will be posted on my ao3 account along with a new series im writing following John Marston and the reader. The plot for it will be revealed in a few days. As always let me know what you think of this chapter <33 (gif from pinterest)

Pain.

The very first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, throbbing agony spreading from the back of your head to the front. You winced as you tried to move your hands to support your head but your limbs felt heavy, almost as if you were trying to lift one of Pearson’s flour bags.

Everything was dark. A muffled piercing sound rang through your skull. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, but failing as the pitch darkness of the thick woods clouded your vision. Trying your hardest to get out of your dream-like state you decided to focus your mind on what exactly was happening, the last thing you remembered was your fight with Arthur and taking a walk into the woods outside camp. And then the pain. Oh, the pain was killing you.

You had to go back to camp and ask Reverend Swanson for some medicine.

You once again tried to raise your hands to your head to check for blood but your action, unfortunately, was unsuccessful. And then you felt it. The rough, scratching sensation of rope digging into your wrists. Your arms were bound tightly behind your back, the coarse braided fibers of the rope biting into your skin with every slight movement. Panic flooded your mind, its freezing tide rushing down on you as you realized that you were tied up.

“She’s comin’ to. We better hurry up before she starts and give us trouble,” A low, hoarse voice cut through your panic haze.

From your lying position, what seemed like the figure of a large man could be made out approaching you in the darkness. You felt yourself being hoisted roughly into the air, before you were slung harshly like a sack of potatoes, across something hard. A horse, you judged by the pungent smell of hay that invaded your nostrils. The saddle dug painfully into your side as the animal began to move forward under the command of its rider. The sudden movement made you almost throw up, your head pounding rhythmically with each rapid beat of hooves on the woods ground. You wanted to scream but no sound escaped your throat, the pain in your body too intense. As the horse rode further and further into the woods you could feel your consciousness slowly slip away,

‘Arthur,’ you managed to utter before darkness took over you.

The second time you awoke, it was due to the biting cold of dawn. The sky above was just starting to lighten, the first rays of sunrise penetrating through the dense treetops, coloring everything in pale hues. You were lying on the ground again, your body stiff and muscles aching. You shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering together, your dress doing a poor job at keeping you warm, as you tried your best to gather your scattered thoughts. The men were still nearby, the sound of their hushed voices mixing with the rustling of leaves blowing in the wind. Despite the overwhelming pain and tiredness you felt washing all over your body you forced yourself to stay awake.

You rolled to the side as best as you could, mud staining the soft colored fabric of your dress and cheeks, trying to find out where they had taken you. You knew you had to think clearly, to find a way out of this nightmare. Your eyes, although blurred, scanned the area in front of you. You were in the Bayou area, the shadow of tall trees and surrounding swamp a dead giveaway of the location and judging by the various bottles of moonshine all over the place, your kidnappers probably took you to an old moonshine distillery camp.

“You sure she’s worth all this trouble?” a high pitched voice asked.

“What, a beauty like her ? Absolutely partner,” another man responded, his tone cruel. “Just keep her quiet until the boss comes back, then we’ll have ourselves a real party,” he added laughing.

Fear gripped your chest like a vise—you could hear footsteps approaching, quick and heavy. Rough hands grabbed you by the shoulders, flipping you over onto your back, your eyes focusing just enough to see the blurred outline of a man’s face looming above you, the bitter smell of liquor and tobacco taking over your senses, the end of his yellow scarf tied around his neck dangling down in front of you. Lemoyne raiders.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he smiled down at you. He took out a small pocket knife from his satchel leaning in closer. The blade flashed in front of your eyes as he lowered it down to your cheek, slowly moving it down towards your neck without breaching your skin.

Your breath caught up in your throat, your chest rising and falling rapidly making you lightheaded as the blade touched the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart pounded so violently in your chest that it made you physically sick. A strained whimper left your lips as tears welled up in your eyes blurring your vision. You were completely frozen in place, terrified under the man’s knife. The man menacingly laughed at the sound you let out, flashing his yellow teeth at you, satisfaction evident in his cold eyes.

He roughly manhandled you up by your arm, his tight grip leaving dark bruises on your skin as your feet dragged in the mud. The man pushed you inside a decaying wooden cabin, its interior surprisingly worse than the exterior, you noted as you were sat down on a small chair positioned in the corner of the entrance room, far away from the door.

Another man, much smaller than the previous one, grabbed you by your hair lifting your face towards his making you wince.

“You’re gonna stay nice ‘nd quiet Miss,” he said before stuffing your mouth with a dirty piece of cloth, the bitter taste of dirt making you gag.

The two men spared you one last glance, a satisfied expression painting their faces, before leaving the cabin to join their other men outside, locking you in.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The usual cheerful chirping of birds coming from the trees surrounding Clemens Point camp acted as a morning alarm for Arthur. The chill morning air biting at his exposed ankles, his blanket messily tangled up his torso as a result of the restless night he spent tossing and turning, waiting for you to come back. He knew that following you was the wrong choice. You wanted some space from him and he respected that, but his heart couldn’t help but ache at the missing warmth of your body in his bed. He waited and waited for you, his eyes growing heavy as he rehearsed in his mind all the ways he could make it up to you, until his body succumbed to its tiredness and fell asleep.

Putting on his hat he lazily walked towards the coffee brewer on the campfire near the ladies’ tents, his mind replaying the events of the night. The way you looked at him as if he had just shoved a knife into your chest, your pretty eyes bloodshot and puffy from the constant crying. Your trembling form making its way out of your shared tent hunting his mind like a vengeful ghost. He loathed himself for that. It was his damn fault. He had to make it right and he’d do anything to take all the pain he caused away.

Sure you had slept with the girls since you never made it back to your tent last night, he expected to find you chatting away with Tilly as the both of you usually prefered to start early on your morning chores, his steps carrying him with a determined aura, but once he made it in front of the ladies’ tents you were not there. His face scrunched up in confusion as a small glimmer of concern planted its root in his head. That same glimmer grew rapidly as he darted his eyes around camp seeing no signs of your presence.

“Arthur,” the gentle sound of Abigail’s voice snapped him out of his turmoil.

“Abigail, hi.” he answered absently, eyes still scanning the camp’s grounds in hope of catching a glimpse of you.

“Look, I don’t want to be nosy but is everything alrigh’ between you two ? I heard you two yelling last night, she was pretty shaken up before you arrived”

“Yes, no—I don’t know. We had an argument, and she didn’t sleep in our bed last night. Can't blame her really, but I can’t seem to find her,” he explained, concern radiating out of every fiber in his body “Have you seen her ?”

“No, not since last night. Maybe she just needs some time alone” she reassured, placing her hand on his shoulder. The gesture soothing his worried thoughts.

“Yeah maybe you’re righ—“ Arthur didn’t get to finish his sentence as the cutting voice of Leopold Strauss interrupted him.

“Herr Morgan, Herr Morgan. Busy, my friend ?” The Austrian man approached him, a folded piece of paper in hand.

Arthur's shoulders dropped. He dreaded working for Strauss, but the older man was persistent, always ready with another fella to squeeze dry for some cash. Sure, the money helped keep the gang afloat, put food on the table, and clothes on the backs of the women and children, but the work, well, the work was dirty. It was the kind of work that gnawed at a man’s conscience.

“What is it now,” Arthur turned to face him, Abigail excusing herself, patting his back before leaving to wake Jack up. Strauss handed him the piece of paper, fortunately for Arthur only one name was scribbled down. ‘Gwyn Hughes’

“He’s an undertaker in Rhodes, he shouldn’t be giving you any trouble but he’s a slippery fellow. Just scare him and collect the debt” he explained. Arthur sighed accepting the job, wondering when all this loan sharking business would come to an end. You always hated when he’d go out dealing with Strauss’ business, saying how the gang should steal from the rich to help the poor and not steal from the poor to help the poor. He knew deep down inside of him you were right, but unfortunately money is money and with the gang’s situation looking far from good, every single cent counted.

He put the paper in his satchel before walking towards the hitching post, his gaze falling on your Tennessee Walker before mounting his horse.

“Oi english!” Sean called out from his lookout post “you look like shit this mornin’”

“Yeah well, don’t I always,” Arthur groaned before signaling his horse to move forward.

The collection of the debt turned out stranger than Arthur ever imagined. As it turned out Gwyn Hughes, the debtor, planned to pay back his debt by robbing a woman’s grave and as if that wasn’t enough he tasked Arthur to clear the cemetery and eventually stop the people from coming in. By noon, Arthur left Rhodes with a diamond brooch, a few bruises on his face and a confused conscience.

He returned to camp exhausted, his body and mind heavy, the dirty work weighed heavily on him as he hitched his horse near camp. All he wanted now was to see you, hear the sweet sound of your voice, even if you’d yell at him. He just wanted to see you. But as he ventured inside the camp, the usual hum of chatter was gone, the atmosphere heavy. Something was off. Abigail and Sadie were the first to come up to him, Abigail face pale while Sadie scanned around camp anxiously.

“Arthur,” the brunette called out, her voice rising with an edge of worry as they hurried towards him. “She ain’t been back”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat “Wha—What do you mean she ain’t been back ? Nobody’s seen her ?”

“Last time I saw her was last night, I was on lookout and saw her headin’ out towards the woods, thought she was goin’ for a walk” Sadie explained, her expression filled with worry. “I asked ‘round camp and no one has seen her today”

His stomach dropped as numerous possibilities of what could’ve happened to you flashed through his mind. Without muttering a word to the two women, Arthur stormed over to Dutch’s tent, the latter standing outside talking to Hosea about the recent developments on the Gray-Braithwaite situation. The moment they saw Arthur approaching their conversation dissolved, the look on his face signaling them that something was off.

“What’s the matter Arthur ?” Dutch asked, concern dancing in his eyes.

“It’s about her, she went out last night and no one has seen her since” he explained, his voice strained. Dutch expression hardened

“You think something happened to her ?”

“I do, yeah”

“Alright then better move quickly, Charles! Bill !” Dutch called, his voice reverberating across the camp calling out the two men. “Arthur’s Miss is missing. I want you two to go out with him, see if you can track her down. The others, I want all eyes on the perimeters of camp, if she comes back you holler. Nobody moves from camp.”

Charles, who had been crafting some poisonous arrows near by the campfire, quickly dropped his task as he listened to what happened. He quickly gathered all his gear and began to move towards the horses, Bill just a few paces behind him.

“We’ll find her, Arthur. She’s gonna be okay” Hosea consoled him, but the older man's words did little to calm Arthur’s racing heart.

Within minutes, the three men were mounted on their horses and heading into the woods where Sadie had last seen you. Arthur’s mind was racing, a dangerous storm of fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not after everything that happened.

The woods were dense, the tall trees casting deep shadows that made it difficult to see much of anything, but luckily Charles was an expert tracker, the hunter’s keen eyes scanning every inch of the ground for any sign of you.

After what felt like an eternity for Arthur, Charles held up his hand, signaling the other two men to stop. He dismounted Taima and crouched down, examining something on the ground. Arthur quickly joined him, his breath catching in his throat as he saw what his friend had found.

It was her bracelet, the golden one he had gifted you for your first anniversary. The small wristlet laid in the dirt, the delicate chain now broken. Arthur felt the whole world crashing down on him as he picked it up, his hands shaking in a mix of anger and fear.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

As the hours dragged on, you struggled to stay alert. The pain in your head had dulled to a persistent ache, but every muscle in your body screamed in protest with every small movement. Your wrist burned, blood dripping down your hands as you tried to wriggle them out of your ropes, the process slow and agonizing, but you could feel the ropes loosening further and further. You just needed to grit your teeth through the pain. The men had become less concerned about you, talking and drunkenly laughing amongst themselves, making you nauseous at their inhumanity.

Then a man entered the cabin, followed by two others behind him. He was tall and well built, his hairline receding leaving his hair to hang awkwardly on the sides. By the way he dragged himself around you deduced he was their leader. He crouched down beside you, his face dangerously close to yours, his breath fanning in your face making you scrunch your nose at the rancid smell of his breath. He reached out to check your ropes, tightening them furthermore, the action causing bolts of pain to shoot through your body.

“What was a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone in the woods mh?” He took out the now drenched piece of cloth out of your mouth. You swallowed, feeling your dry throat burning at the action.

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond. Your head lolled to the side as the man stepped back, a sinister grin plastered on his face. Then a harsh, stinging sensation hit your cheek.

“I said what were you doing all alone in the woods, slut” Tears welled in your eyes, both from the pain and the hopelessness of your situation. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur. You had to hold on, had to find a way to escape, if not for yourself, then for him. He would come for you—you knew it deep down in your heart, but you needed to survive until then.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

Arthur’s eyes burned with anger and fear. He clenched his fists around the bracelet, his mind racing. “She was here,” Charles said quietly, his voice grim. “And she wasn’t alone. Look at these tracks, it seems like there was a struggle. She was taken.”

“By who?” asked Bill.

Charles pointed his finger to the ground, where the faint outline of various boot prints led away from their spot. “Judging by the tracks, it looks like a group of men. Three, maybe four. Could be Lemoyne Raiders. They must’ve grabbed her and taken her somewhere nearby. At this point the only place near is the old moonshine distillery.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold at the thought of you in the hands of the Raiders. The Lemoyne Raiders were known for their brutality, his encounter a few weeks prior with Sadie confirmed their reputation. The thought of what they could be doing to you filled him with a rage so intense it nearly consumed him.

“We find their hideout, and we get her out,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, already mounting up on his horse “I’m gonna kill all them goddamned bastards. I don’t care what it takes.”

Mounting their horses they followed the tracks, the three men riding fast through the woods. Thankfully it hadn’t rained so the trail was still clearly visible. It led them deeper into the Bayou region, the trees growing thicker and the air heavier with humidity and tension.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they spotted the moonshine distillery through the trees. It was a crumbling mess of buildings, half-hidden by the vegetation in the shadows, but there was no mistaking it. A few horses were tethered outside, and faint light flickered from the windows of an old cabin.

Arthur’s heart pounded as he dismounted. Charles and Bill followed him as they hid behind a crumbled stone wall, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. Their eyes scanned the area, there was a man guarding the horses while a group of five others were sitting near by the campfire, drinking and laughing with each other. He exchanged a quick glance with Bill and Charles. This was it. They’d kill those bastards outside, storm the cabin, take out anyone who stood in their way, and get you out of there.

“Let’s go, I’ll take that guard near the horses out” Bill whispered, his voice steady with resolve. He made quick work of killing the guard, his knife glimmering just a second in the light before settling into the man’s neck. Charles and Arthur joined Bill in action. Arthur was the first to shoot his gun, the bullet piercing clean through one of the men’s chest. Then all hell broke loose.

Bullets went flying as the Lemoyne Raiders spotted them, the air filled with smoke and gunpowder as both sides fought violently. Their position didn’t offer too much cover, the Lemoyne Raiders, although drunk, fought hard, their guns never stopping. A stray bullet scraped Arthur’s arm but that didn’t stop him as he barely registered it. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—getting to you before it was too late. And in just a few minutes Arthur, Charles and Bill managed to take down all five men outside. Moving quickly out of their cover they reached the front of the cabin, and with a nod from Arthur, they burst through the door.

Chaos erupted as they stormed inside. The few Lemoyne Raiders inside the cabin barely had time to react before Bill and Charles opened fire, cutting them down where they stood. Arthur moved with deadly precision, his eyes scanning the room for any sign ofyou. And then he saw you, tied to a chair in the corner of the room, your face bruised, wrist bloody but alive. You were alive

The last of the Raiders fell as Arthur rushed to your side, his hands quickly working to untie the ropes that bound you so tightly. Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, you thought this was just your mind playing tricks but tears welled up in your eyes falling rapidly down your face when you realized it wasn’t your mind playing tricks, it was really him. Arthur had found you.

“Arthur,” you barely whispered, your voice hoarse and weak.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured, his voice shaking as he finally freed you from the chair. He quickly checked you for more injuries before pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go. “I’ve got you sweetheart. You’re safe now.” You were still in shock from the whole ordeal, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—fear from the attack, but also a deep, undeniable relief that Arthur was there with you. In this moment you both forgot your fight, your mixed feelings and both held each other, the intensity of the moment washing over you. You held each other for a few seconds longer before separating. A strange turmoil of emotion took over you as you looked around the room seeing the body of your kidnappers unmoving on the ground. Unable to look at them a second more you diverted your attention back to the group of outlaws in front of you.

The first who broke the silence that fell around you was Bill, awkwardly clearing his throat before adding “We need to get movin’ all this gunfight definitely caught someone’s attention”

Arthur offered his hand to you and you took it, using it as leverage to get yourself up to your feet. Your vision spotting for a second before coming back. You didn’t find in your heart to let go of his hand, his warm skin offering you peace. They escorted you out towards the horses. Arthur helping you up on his before sitting behind you, his strong arms holding you tightly to his chest giving you support. The last thing you felt was Arthur chaste kiss on your temple before you let yourself fall asleep.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the camp as the day slowly faded into night. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding your tent. Inside the tent, the air was still, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

You were finally out of the cot after three days of recovery. The girls had come to check up on you in the morning, bringing you a mug of coffee and a pack of chocolate biscuits Mary Beth had managed to steal from the general store. The pain had dulled, your wounds were slowly healing, but the ache in your heart was still fresh, raw from everything that had happened. Arthur had barely left your side the entire time, his presence a constant, quiet comfort, but the words exchanged between you could count on your fingers. The silence between you two was loaded, filled with everything unsaid, with everything that had been tearing at you long before the kidnapping.

The both of you were now in your shared tent, you sat on the edge of the bed absently tracing the edge of an empty tin cup of peaches with your fingers. The room felt suffocating, but you knew you couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation any longer. The memory of those letters, the sight of Arthur and Mary together in Rhodes, his lies. it all still stung, a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

Arthur was seated on the small chair at the foot of the bed, his head hung low, hands toying with the rope that wrapped around his worn hat, face brim as if bracing himself for what was to come. He had watched over you, cared for you, over the past three days but there was a palpable distance between you two now that neither of you could ignore. You could see the lines of worry etched into his face, the guilt that had been gnawing at him for days.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice barely above a whisper “Arthur, we need to talk.”

He looked up at you, his aqua eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something else, something that made your heart ache more at his sight. “I know,” he replied quietly, his voice rough and tired from the last couple sleepless nights. “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened, before all this mess.”

You took a deep breath, gathering the strength you needed to confront him, to confront the hurt that had been tearing at your heart. “You lied to me, Arthur. About the letters, about Mary. About everything.”

He winced at your words, the truth of them hitting him hard. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought—I thought if I didn’t tell you, it would hurt less. That it wouldn’t matter, ‘cause it was supposed to be nothin’. But it was a mistake. I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the pain of those memories sharp like the ghost of the tip of the Lemoyne Raider’s knife on your neck. “I saw you two together, Arthur. In Rhodes. You both looked so happy. It felt like, like my worst fears were coming true. Like I was losing you.”

Arthur stood up slowly, taking a tentative step in front of you. His hand reached out, but he stopped mid air, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “Mary, she just needed help after the passing of her husband. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t have the guts to shut her down. So I helped her. I didn’t want to drag you into it ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for the truth. “But you lied, Arthur. And that hurt more than anything.”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to make things worse between us. But I can see now that I did that anyway by not bein’ honest.” A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, trying to keep your composure. “I love you, Arthur. But I can’t live like this, I can’t live wondering if there’s something you’re not telling me, if there’s a part of you that’s still with her.”

Arthur’s face scrunched with regret. “There ain’t. I swear to you, there ain’t. She’s from another life, a life I walked away from a long time ago. Jt’s you I love darlin’. It’s always been you.”

You looked down at the tin cup in your hands the juice residue sloshing as you toyed with the cup, your fingers trembling with the heavy weight of your next decision. “I don’t know if I can just forget what happened Arthur, it hurt too much.”

He stepped closer, this time his hand gently cupped your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to forget. All I’m askin’ you is to try. Try give us another chance. I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll be honest with you, about everything. No more secrets.”

His touch was warm as his thumb stroked your cheek, comforting you and despite the hurt, you couldn’t deny that bright flame of love that still burned inside of you for him. You met his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the sheer desperation in them. He made a stupid mistake of thinking for you, but he was now acknowledging his mistake, he was willing to try and be a better man for you, a man you could see your future into.

You let your tears fall freely now as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, Arthur. I want to believe in you, in us again.”

He kneeled down to your height and held you into his arms, holding you close as you cried against his chest, the tension of the past days finally breaking down. His hand gently stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort in your ear.

“We’ll make it work, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

[bellarkeselection]

When Dutton's Marry, They Go Big

Request from wattpad mackleann - Kayce and the reader come back from their honeymoon and the bunkhouse crew talk about how amazing the wedding was ( huge wedding 😏 )

"There's nothing that says we have to go back today. We could just stay out here." Kayce had his arms wrapped around me from behind while I was trying to put my shirt on.

Kayce and I had recently got married a few weeks ago. And we had been spending our honeymoon here at the Dutton Summer Camp. I giggled trying to not cave into his embrace when he kissed my neck. “Kayce, we have to go back to work.”

“Your mother doesn’t need you for another week right?” He mumbled into my neck until I spun around in his arms.

My mother Lynelle Perry was going to be stepping down and leaving Montana in the coming weeks since she got a higher job in government. Kayce’s father John was taking over her position as governor of the state. “No, she's busy helping your father. But I want to spend time with her before she leaves.”

“One more day won’t hurt anybody, darling.” Kayce leaned down, capturing my lips deeply.

I squealed when he got the chance to pick me up by my thighs and I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Kayce!” He carried me over to the edge of the bed sitting me down on it where we both fell backwards on the mattress.

“By the way you're looking at me right now I can tell that you’re not complaining too much.” Kayce smirked down at me only wearing some blue jeans and his boots that he kicked off.

Running my hands up his chest I wrapped my hands down his neck drawing him in for another long round of the morning. “Who I am kidding you’re hard to resist, Dutton.”

“So are you Mrs. Dutton.” He mumbled in between kisses and we laid in the bedsheets together till the next morning when we had to get back to the ranch.

Kayce drove the truck up underneath the Yellowstone Dutton ranch sign. We parked outside the main house where I turned in my seat facing him. “You know we could always hide out in the bunkhouse till the cowboys are done with work for the day.” A smirk was playing off my lips.

“I like the way you think, baby.” He smiled hoping out of his seat and I scrambled to get my door open. Kayce scopped me up before my feet could even hit the ground, carrying me to the bunkhouse door.

I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck and he kicked the door opened. He sat me down on the nearest bed beginning to remove my shirt until someone else's voice entered the building. “You two look just like you did the day you got married.”

“Ryan! What the hell are you doing here?” Kayce broke the kiss, breaking the kiss that we was sharing seeing the cowboy standing at the edge of the bed.

Ryan raised a brow. “I should be asking, are you going to sleep on my bed right now?”

“Oh god! We didn’t mean for that to happen.” Covering my face with my hands I groaned feeling somewhat embarrassed at the very thought of what we we’re about to do before he walked in. “Wait what did you mean we are just like how we were on our wedding day?”

Ryan chuckled with a smile. “Your wedding was huge and I don’t mean it’s just because of who your mother is. But I also mean weddings and other big events don’t really happen here.”

“Ryan, Rip says we have to move more cattle across the ranch before Gator starts dinner. What….what are you talking to these two about?” Colby enters the barn seeing the three of us talking.

Ryan turns toward his fellow cowboy working. “I was talking about their wedding.”

“Ah yeah. I remember that day. That was the biggest amount of people I had ever seen here before. And the food spread was insane.” Colby throws his head back, running his fingers through his black curly locks.

Thinking back on my wedding day I smiled at the memory. Kayce had been dressed in a light white dress shirt, black tie and his only pair of not dirty blue jeans and some boots. I was wearing my dress obviously that had lace all over the train. I had put some of my hair up with a flower crown braid leaving the rest of it down going down my back. Paring it with my light tan cowgirl boots instead of heels. “I didn’t think you guys were so focused on our wedding. We weren’t even that focused on the details after we got to the ceremony and said the words "I Do.”

“Okay we’ll y’all should get out of here before Rip comes and kick your asses or better yet I’ll kick your asses if you tell anyone else we are back yet.” Kayce threatened sitting down on the bed beside me glaring at the two cowboys who were still standing in the bunkhouse doorway.

Ryan raised his hand up in the air. “Chill out man. We’re going.”

“Who knew married Dutton’s could be more demanding than they already were before.” Colby mumbled exiting the bunkhouse with his fellow cowboy.

Kayce ran a hand through his hair looking back at me. “Are you reconsidering coming back home early like I knew I would?”

“Possibly….do ya think we could sneak back to the truck without them noticing?” I asked him, grabbing his discarded cowboy hat up from the dirty floor putting it on my head after dusting it off.

Kayce smirked the same expression as me. He moved forward, capturing his lips with mine. “You are a genius. But we could just drive back to the Summer Camp for a few more days.”

“Fine Mr. Dutton you win.” I caved knowing he wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed. We grabbed our jackets and ran as fast as possible to his truck in the driveway. I knew the day I said yes I was in for one hell of a ride changing my last name to Dutton and I wouldn't change one thing.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[lewmagoo]

Waking up to find your cowboy not in bed with you. His boots aren't by the door but you can see footprints in the freshly fallen snow outside. You follow them to the barn to see Rhett, asleep on a haybale wearing just his jacket. His flannel is now a nest for the barn cat's new kittens with another fleecy blanket added in for extra warmth.

rhett’s a tender soul. always has been. despite the fact that his father tried to quash that part of him, in an effort to “toughen him up”. rhett always kept that tender part of himself when it came to animals. he’s always had a special connection with them. with his mare, june, despite her stubborn tendencies. with the mysterious crow (affectionately named john) that follows him around every time he’s outside. with the cranky barn cat that tolerates only him. he’s the cowboy snow white, as you’ve lovingly dubbed him. there are always animals in his vicinity. he’s always been good about helping animals when they’re in distress. one time, he stayed up all night with june when she developed a sickness that required round the clock care. he nursed john the crow back to health when he injured his wing. he’s been known to raise orphaned baby squirrels and rabbits.

and then there’s the time that misty the cranky barn cat becomes pregnant. rhett watches over her carefully. it’s really a sight to behold. you’ve always loved watching him interact with animals. when you’re working in the stable or going on trail rides you’ll hear the way he talks to june, a low comforting rumble, communicating with her as if she understands every word he’s saying. you suspect she does. and of course there’s the way he’s so loving toward misty. she’ll always linger around his feet when he’s in the stable, and sometimes she’ll even climb up to sit on his shoulder. that happens less and less the more heavily pregnant she becomes. and then there comes the time when she’s going to give birth.

the closer the time gets, the more rhett checks on her throughout the day. and then, one morning, he slips out of bed early, leaving a lingering kiss to your forehead as you sleep peacefully, before he shoves his boots and jacket on and trudges out through the freshly fallen snow. that’s where he finds misty huddled in a corner of the stable, in the beginning stages of labor. he knows he can’t move her into the house, it would put her into distress. so he sets up camp in the barn. all he has is his flannel, so he shrugs out of it and allows misty to lay upon it. he’s a loving and gentle coach as she births her tiny little kittens, and once they come safely into the world, he tucks an extra blanket that he found in the tack room around the litter to keep them all warm as their mama gets settled around them. not wanting to leave her alone, he leans back against some stacked hay bales, but inevitably ends up falling asleep.

that’s where you find him an hour later. after waking up to an empty bed you head out to the stable to find him fast asleep, and there is misty the barn cat on the floor beside his feet, curled up with her new babies. it’s a precious sight, especially when you see he’s given up his shirt in order for misty to have a soft place to lay. you sit beside him on a hay bale and gently coax him awake. “rise and shine, cowboy,” you murmur. he stirs awake, and as he catches you looking at him, he smiles sleepily. “had t’ come help misty give birth,” he mumbles. “i see that,” you reply. “you make a great cat midwife.” he smirks at that. “thank y’. been practicin’ my whole life for this moment.” which is partly true. he’s been involved in plenty of animal births. “well, now that you’ve helped bring kittens into the world, how about some pancakes and coffee for breakfast? i’m sure midwifing made you work up an appetite.”

the promise of pancakes and coffee gets him up and out of his bed of hay, food motivated as he is. “don’t mind if i do,” he says as he pecks your lips. he still checks on misty throughout the day, and if the temperatures drop too low during the night, he will bring her and her babies inside to keep them warm. soon, your house is full of kittens. rhett is attached to each of them, even though he knows you can’t keep them all. before you find homes for each one, this is what he constantly looks like:

he gives one to amy. he keeps the rest, insisting that this is their home and he doesn’t want to uproot them from it. that’s how you end up having four barn cats. at least you can say you won’t ever have a mouse problem with them around 🤷‍♀️

(thank you @laracrofted for bringing up rhett covered in kittens because it’s awakened something i think)

[hasminnn]

📍the manor at camp john hay, december 2023.

[smushystrawbabies]

✨ art under ramble ✨

It’s my dream that when (NOT IF, WHEN) Red Dead Redemption 3 releases it’ll be a prequel to the second game. I’d love if you’d play as a new character who is part of Dutch’s gang in the early days and you are part of the VDL gang vs O’ Driscoll feud, witnessing the death of Colm’s brother and Annabelle and all other crazy moments mentioned in passing in RDR2. But mainly what I want to see is Dutch, Hosea, Arthur and John in the early days. I want to see the curious couple and their unruly sons in their purest form! I want to see Dutch and Hosea hold hands again, sweet Bessie doing sweet things and John’s horrendous reading lessons, Miss Grimshaw whacking everyone into shape AND ARTHUR WITH COPPER AND BOADICEA!!!

ANYWAYS

I had these really stupid ideas about how camp would work with so many characters, camp interactions and chores and tents. Maybe one day you are awoken by Miss Grimshaw shoving hungover Arthur’s head in a troth of cold water after a long night out and Hosea and Bessie chuckling by the fire. And by night you'll find new recruit Bill Williamson arguing with anyone he can find and Dutch teaching John slights of hands at the poker table. And what about all the new characters!!!!!?????

I get the impression that all the camp chores and tasks were dumped on baby John. You’ll find him dragging hay bales across camp, washing shirts, chasing chickens and half-ass-ly doing whatever jobs Arthur has convinced him to do by giving him an old penny after telling him it’s an ancient Roman coin that is worth a thousand dollars (lots of stuff like this happened you cannot convince he otherwise). While John peels potatoes in camp he dreams of getting his own gun, riding into town and robbing a bank just like a real outlaw! Then everyone would finally appreciate him as the awesomest and bestest gunslinger in all of history! Everyone knows that if John got his greasy hands on a pistol all hell would break loose. So he is cursed to camp indefinitely, at the expense of everyone around him. This absolutely led to him being a crazy teenager. Dutch's parenting is shit, we all know it.

Branching off the chore idea; if you called your horse in game, a little rat boy John would lead your horse to you. Come on just IMAGINE calling for your horse in camp and hearing faint steps approach you and when you look down you see a flea infested child holding your horse by a lead and spitting bizarre threats at you in an attempt to escape camp and rob some people.

sorry for the john posting :3c

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Chapter 2

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.9 K

Minors DNI - medieval fantasy au, ladyhawke inspired au, animal shifting (of a sort), angst and romance, YEARNING, Gaz POV for this chapter

A self-indulgent Ladyhawke AU for my ship of John Price/Rory Sinclair (oc) and told from Price and Gaz's swapping POVs.

Summary: While at camp a stranger appears, as does a threat

[Can also be read on AO3]

The camp is quiet when Garrick returns from collecting firewood. Nikolai brays in the corner, stomping his legs, but otherwise nothing seems out of place. The cooking pot has been set out by an old fire pit beside the sack of goods the Captain had bought in the village. He huffs, realizing that he’s been left with cooking duty. It’s only fair, he surmises, considering he’s invited himself to join this crusade, he has no right to complain about duties appointed to him – even if he did spare the man’s life. He starts the fire without delay, wood popping and crackling as flames burst to life with the same warm orange radiance as the sky as it slips into the embrace of night. Placing the pot on the fire pit, he adds water from the nearby well and begins to slice up the onions, potatoes and carrots to start a stew. It’s no feast for a king, but for a night on an old, derelict farm it will do. 

It’s been years since Garrick had been out camping under the stars – something he hasn’t done since boyhood – and he finds himself enjoying the prospect of the freedom it allows. It's more than he’s tasted in five years. Filling his lungs with the comforting perfume of woodsmoke, homey and inviting, he doesn’t feel quite so lonely out here in the woods in the company of a man who is still practically a stranger. Time passes, the darkness comes in slow, a specter creeping as the sun sinks down below the horizon. Hues of indigo and lavender paint the night sky above, dotted with stars born from the dying of the light. While below, the stream that runs by the camp comes to life with the croaking of frogs and the glow of hovering fireflies. The wind shakes the limbs of the trees causing the leaves to dance, and an eerie whistle blows through them. There is a haunting beauty to the night, and under the lucency of the moon, magic seems possible.

The bubbling of the cast iron pot left to stew fills the campsite with pleasant aromatics and Garrick realizes it’s been some time since he’s seen Price. He stretches his long legs, lifting himself up off his seat on the ground, and heads towards the barn. The door left open, its hinges creak in the cool breeze as it swings to and fro. Wood clattering against itself causing the whole structure to tremble with each knock. There is only a void of darkness inside, subtle movements barely visible, but it’s proof he is not alone at camp.

“Sir?” He calls out, expecting the grumble that seemed to be his companion's usual response and met with only silence instead. “Sir,” he repeats once more, his head ducking inside to check on the state of his party member. 

His brow furrows when he doesn’t find the Captain as expected and is instead met by a cloaked figure standing in his stead inside the old barn. The lamb nowhere in sight. Garrick gets an odd feeling in the pit of his gut that all is not as it seems. A twisting that settles low and sends shivers up his spine, causing the hair on his arms to rise. His nose wrinkles in a grimace as he looks the hooded form before him over, knowing all too well that this isn’t the Captain – despite wearing his clothes. He brandishes his sword in defense, pointing it in the direction of the stranger in his midst. “Who goes there?”

The figure turns to face him, feet susurrating in the hay, their features darkened by the black hood that swallows and cuts deep shadows across their face. A glimpse of luminescence slices through the broken shingles in the roof, bathing the shadowy form in moonglow, and from under the hood, he is met by two of the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. A gaze as warm as the morning sun, surrounded by long, dark lashes, like that of a fawn. 

Mesmerized, he finds himself lost, simply staring. His weapon lowers against his will, becoming all too heavy in his grasp. She’s beautiful. He can think of no other words to describe her, his mind cleared of all thought as she stares back at him, rolling up the sleeves of the tunic that fits her more like a dress. 

Big, brown puppy dog eyes grow wide, still wet with the smoke from the fire. His mouth falling agape, throat running dry. “Dear Lord…” he whispers under his breath. 

Taking a moment to settle himself, to regain his cognitive processes, he clears his throat and straightens himself up to look like a proper member of the guard. “M’lady, what are you –”

But before he can ask any pertinent questions, a commotion starts outside. The sounds of branches cracking and smashing thunderously upon the ground travel from the nearby woods. The Lord’s guards or something more feral? He can’t be certain, and Garrick finds himself trapped between a rock and a hard place when it comes to deciding which is of greater importance – the mysterious woman or the noises outside. 

“Pardon me, m’lady.” He pushes past her to exit the barn, never failing to still provide the expected chivalrous response. 

Heading back out to the center of camp in a rush, he draws his sword and watches as the foliage at the woods’ edge bend and bow at the whim of the massive, muscular form of a great grizzly. The fatty hump on its back protrudes over the tops of the bushes as its dark eyes reflect the golden light of the blaze in the make-shift hearth. Stomping towards the smell of food, snuffling and sniffing at the ground, it grunts and chuffs as its sturdy body moves about, its claws digging at the earth. 

Sword in hand, Garrick makes his way over to the bear with carefully plotted steps. Maintaining quiet movements as he creeps closer, slowly readying himself for a fight. He steels himself with a sharp inhale, the fingers of his other hand curling into a fist before meeting the other on the hilt. His weapon raised, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

The silver light of the crescent moon sparks off the edge of his blade and the air whips past him, followed by a streak of black. Caught off guard, he freezes at the sight of the woman from the barn standing in front of the bear. Her arms outstretched, holding firm as its shield. The hood having fallen away, her hair undulates in the wind, strands billowing free as her jaw sits clenched tight, brow furrowed, those captivating eyes of hers narrowed in his direction – even angry she could turn heads. Garrick would be smitten all over again if he wasn’t blatantly aware of the fantastical situation he was trapped in the middle of. 

This woman doesn’t back down, a beast at her back and a longsword aimed to strike true at her chest. She stands as bravely as any member of the old guard would have. No fear in her eyes, free of any intimidation.

“Bloody hell, are you mad?” 

“I wish I was,” she states calmly. Voice smooth and rich, evoking that of nobility. Carrying the pride of one of the upper caste all the same as she openly commands him, “Put down your sword, soldier.”

The brutish creature behind her rears up to its hind legs, towering over her, its full height easily beyond nine feet tall. With a terrifying roar, it exposes its massive, jagged teeth in a territorial display. The bear’s bellow – powerful and low – echoes over the treetops, amplified as strings of saliva drip from its razor sharp jaws, its growl reverberating from deep within its barrel chest.  

Yet she doesn’t move at all. Completely unflinching. Continuing to take up her place guarding the bear as if she’s sworn some sacred oath to it. “I beg of you, please, put the weapon down.” She speaks with conviction, enough to move mountains. “He means you no harm. He’s merely defending himself, and me.”

Slipping his sword warily back into his scabbard, Garrick can’t help but regard the woman as if she’s lost her mind. Shocked to find he’s even willing to follow such an order from a strange woman in the woods. But upon doing so, the bear settles back down onto its forepaws, gruffing with the displeasure of the brawl ending. Rounding her, the large creature presses his head to the woman’s chest, nuzzling against her. Nudging her back with its snout as her hands drift through its thick brown fur, groaning as her nails massage at the flesh below.

The Sergeant stands there, motionless, a statue fused to the spot where his feet are planted. Perplexed by the sight before him, the likes of which he – and likely no one else – has ever seen. His hand remains on the hilt of his sword, fingertips tapping against the grip, noting the way the bear eyes him suspiciously.

“Are you some sort of witch?” he asks with genuine curiosity. “A druid?”

Her laugh is soft and sweet, dancing on the wind as much as the fireflies do. “No.” She shakes her head, but the friendly smile doesn’t waver – though her attention is firmly set on the bear she continues to lovingly stroke with care. 

“Then who are you?”

The joy on her face fades, a pained expression tugging her lips downward as she gazes at the bear in her company. “Just a traveler.”

He looks her over once more, dressed in the garb of the Captain he’s taken to riding with, and she is at ease even with the sadness that looms over her. Her head presses to the spot between the grizzly’s ears, her delicate hand roaming over the length of the animal’s throat. “How does he remain so calm in your presence?” He keeps his distance, unsure of just how much of a hold she has over this creature. “Did you train him?” “No,” she says quietly, her hand coming to rest under the bear’s jaw, their eyelines meeting. “Well… perhaps a little,” she teased with a small smirk. “But he’d never believe it. Stubborn bastard that he is,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to the animal’s brow. 

Looking over at the fire and the vessel of stew starting to boil over, Garrick pulls his attention away from the mystery he’s been thrown into and moves to take that night’s dinner off the flame. Lifting the pot, he looks back at her over his shoulder. “You must be starving, a fellow traveler on the road, perhaps you’d like to stay and eat?” His head tilts to the side, meeting her with his own cordial smile. “It’s not much, but it’s sure to fill your stomach at the very least.”

She nods and takes a seat by the fire. “I’d appreciate that, yes.” Taking the lid off, steam rises, carrying the aroma of herbs and hearty meat and vegetables. His mouth near watering as he starts to ladle out a bowlful for her, sliding a spoon in and passing it to her carefully so as not to burn her or himself. “Be careful now, m’lady, it’s bloody hot.”

“Thank you,” she says, taking the bowl from his hands and resting it in her lap. “I hate to intrude, but what are you doing camping out here? Are you not city guard?” “I am.” He shrugs and drags the spoon back and forth through his bowl. “But I’m on a bit of an adventure, you could say.”

“An adventure?” her gaze flits up from the contents on her spoon to eye the younger man from under her lifted brow. “Yes, m’lady. I’m riding with a captain.” Her smile grows, lighting up her eyes. “Ah, a captain. You’d do well to be on your best behavior, I hear they can be quite gruff.” Huffing out a laugh, he blows the steam away from the stew on his spoon. “I’m aware.” “And would this captain you’re riding with by any chance have a name?” 

“Price.” With one name alone given, Garrick watches as dimples in her cheeks grow more prominent, a rosy hue climbing up to sweep across the apples of them. In the firelight her hazel depths sparkle and dance, the amber in her irises flaring with the heat of the flame. “And yours, m’lady?”

“Rory.”

A grin sweeps across his face, pulling at the faint scar on his cheek. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of a woman by that name before.” That soft laugh rises out of her once more as she replies, “My mother was a rare breed, enjoyed unique names.”

“Well, it’s lovely all the same.” He bows his head politely, keeping his dark stare set on her. “Sgt. Garrick, at your service.” “Nice to meet you, Sergeant.” “Speaking of Price, he’s gone missing –”

“I’m sure he’ll be back by the ‘morrow,” she interrupts, her words spoken in a rush as if trying to divert him.

He scratches at the back of his neck and looks around, he doubts that Price would much appreciate having strangers stay at their camp and eat their food but he can’t help but feel the need to care for this woman who seemingly appeared from thin air. “Perhaps you’d like a place to stay for the night? You could camp here and then head out with your, uh, mate there,” he says, nodding in the direction of the bear still sniffing around her, “After some rest.”

“Much obliged.” She looks over her shoulder back at the barn. “Perhaps the barn, where you found me?” “Ah, yeah… shouldn’t be a problem.” Hopefully Price doesn’t stumble in and wake the bloody bear, he thinks to himself. 

Pausing, he takes a moment to observe Rory. The way the light hit and created an aura around her, an effulgent halo encompassing the shape the maker had sculpted. Enraptured with her. A dreamy-eyed gaze roaming over her features before once more settling on the oversized tunic, cinched tight around her waist with a leather belt.

“M’lady… I noticed you’re wearing the Captain’s clothes…”

Her eyes lift to stare back at him, trapping him once more. “Am I?”

“Well, that’s certainly his cloak you have on,” he said with a smirk. “If he’d like it back, he need only ask. You can direct him towards me, when needed, I’m sure.”

His brow knots together faintly, his jaw working as he muses, “You’re a bit of an oddity, Rory.”

Giving him a knowing smile, she hums, “Indeed I am.”

When their dishes were cleared, Garrick took them over to the stream and rinsed them in the cool running water. The fireflies sparkling like pixies as they hovered atop the ripples. Peering back over his shoulder, he watched as the bear came to settle by her side, lumbering to rest its head in her lap like a family dog. 

Strange, very strange. He sets the dishes by the fire and stretches his back with a yawn. “Perhaps we should think about turning in. The morning comes early.” “Tis true,” Rory agrees and stands up, gently lifting the bear’s head with her lap. Its stare never leaves her, as constant as its proximity to her. “To bed. Goodnight, Sergeant.” “Goodnight, m’lady. I’ll see you at the sunrise.”

She smiles and nods, but doesn’t truly confirm as she leads the bear away from the fire pit and towards the teetering barn, closing the door behind her and the grizzly who refuses to part from her side. Garrick moves to the old stables, lying down in the straw, wrapping his cloak around himself to stave off the chill of night. He tries to close his eyes and rest but curiosity gets the better of him. Sleep won’t come until he’s the wiser. 

Stealthily, he makes his way to the barn, moving with the steady patience of a thief. One foot in front of the other, careful with the route he takes so as not to displace a stone or step on a twig to alert anyone of his presence. He finds a hole worn through the wood of the old barn and peeps through, spying the rare beauty who fortune decided to deliver to him. Down on the hay, curled up beside the wild creature, she rests. Her long fingers stroke the animal tenderly, whispering to it in words he can’t make out. This gentle woman somehow manages to calm the heart of the beast in her presence, its chest slowly rising and falling in time with hers in low growls. Her eyes closing with a flutter of lashes, her figure nestled up against dark fur, inches away from a jaw that could crush her in a moment, claws that could tear her asunder, and yet she is entirely at peace – they both are, falling into slumber. 

He can't understand it. It's foreign, inconceivable. Something out of myth or legend – the beauty stilling the untamed beast – and here it is laid out before him in tableau, evidence unable to be denied.  Garrick slowly backs away, leaving the pair to their rest before returning to his own bedding for the night. Confusion remains settled over him like a blanket, wrapping him tight in questions that circulate his mind. The night wind whispering answers to him that he cannot translate. His gut echoes the initial instinct of something not being right, things out of place, but he cannot determine the why or the how. He only knows he has stumbled upon something far larger than himself. He was on more of an adventure than he had first believed possible.

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@theelderhazelnut

[scotianostra]

On June 19th 1306 the army of Robert the Bruce suffers a defeat at the hands of the English at the Battle of Methven, west of Perth.

In late February 1306 word had reached King Edward I in London, that the Bruce had murdered John Comyn, the English King was ill at the time so he dispatched his cousin Aymer de Valence North with instructions to "burn, slay and raise dragon". Valence, was also brother-in-law of the murdered John Comyn, so had a score to settle and headed north leading the vanguard of an English army.

By early June the English had seized Perth their armies numbers were swelled by supporters of the murdered Comyn. Edward was left in London and began assembling an invasion force to follow Valance when he was well enough to lead it.

The capture of Perth left Bruce with a dilemma. On the one hand he needed to take action to show he was an effective commander and it made sense to deal with the English vanguard before the entire might of the army arrived under Edward I. However, Bruce only had limited forces with which to deal with a well equipped English host. On balance he decided to fight and marched to Perth arriving outside the walls of the town on 18th June 1306.

Valence, was an experienced soldier who had fought with Edward I in his continental campaigns and in Scotland. The size of the army at his disposal is disputed with the various sources contradicting each other as to whether it was larger or smaller than the Scottish force. The configuration of the English army is also unknown although it seems likely it consisted on a significant number of mounted troops.

The Scottish forces were under the direct command of Robert the Bruce and are generally said to have numbered around 4,500 strong although this figure is probably over-inflated. Bruce's deputy at Methven was Christopher Seton with other notable commanders including Gilbert Hay and James Douglas, so his army would have had good chance if they had met in open combat.

Late afternoon on 18 June 1306 Bruce's force approached Perth. Envoys were sent forward to request the English march out of the town and fight a pitched battle. Valence refused to accept the challenge on the grounds it was too late in the day for a battle to be begin. The size of the two forces may also have been a factor in his decision, leading me to think the Scots might have outnumbered the English.

Either way Bruce believed that no battle would be fought that day and withdrew his forces five miles west towards Methven. That site was chosen due the proximity of a small brook and a woodland enabling the Scots to forage for supplies. They then settled down for the night pitching their billets across the area. There seems to have been little thought given to deploying sentries or sending scouts forward to keep an eye on the English.

Valence had no intention of agreeing to an orderly pitched battle. As far as he was concerned, he was not only dealing with rebels but ones that had murdered a relative on holy ground. Before dawn in the wee sma' hours he led his men out of Perth and proceeded west along the road to Crieff. Little is known about the sequence of the battle but, whenever the Scots became aware of the English advance, it was too late. The English assault would have been spearheaded by the heavily armoured, mounted Knights that stormed into the unprepared Scottish camp. With no time to muster a defensive formation, the dispersed Scottish infantry had no chance and were cut to pieces.

The Scottish forces fled the battlefield but were cut down and casualties may have numbered in the thousands. Some form of rearguard action must have been fought because Bruce and his key supporters, along with 500 troops, managed to disengage and retreat west towards Crieff.

Bruce fled the battlefield and in the days that followed at Dalrigh was ambushed by about a thousand men led by John MacDougall of Lorne, kinsmen of the murdered Red Comyn. I will pick up the story then, but, as we know now The Bruce escaped.

A simple stone marks the site of the Battle of Methven.

[megbimbo]

john marston; stitch me up, buttercup

a/n; mfw i go into a coma after every post, anyways this has been collecting dust for ages and i don't know why i didn't post it? figs def helped me write it tho. props. I FORGOT TO MENTION ty for also being an awesome photographer @thisfanisgonesorry hugs!!

cw; john takes care of you after a cougar attack, he's a bit of a grumpy pants. fluff.

wc; 1730

You rested your head on Arthur’s back as your arms stayed wrapped tight around his waist, trying to not wince or groan as he rode you into camp, Charles close behind. Blood was coating your entire lower half, a good portion of your pant legs being ripped away from your body. Camp was getting closer, you could tell, the familiar scenery that surrounded your temporary home becoming visible to you.

Shifting slightly, you lifted your head off of Arthur, who had been silent the entire ride back besides the occasional panic, bickering, and checking if you were alright. You groaned at the movement.

“We nearly there?” You mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear you. The sunlight peeked through the trees, almost blinding you entirely.

Arthur exhaled. “Almost, you alright?”

“I think so.” He nodded, Charles coming closer to the two of you to speak.

His smile was sincere, trying to cover the obvious concern on his face. “How’re you feeling, y/n?”

“Like hell, but I’ll be ‘right.”

“John won’t like hearing about this,” he said, raising his brows and looking over to Arthur.

In response, Arthur chuckled, the vibrations sending shivers as you rested your head on his back once again. “He ain’t gotta find out.”

Raising a brow, you took a mental note of the severe pain you were in, extremely doubting Arthur’s words. “Not find out that I’m covered in blood? Really? Camp ain’t blind.”

He nodded, fully aware, though he didn’t say anything. Probably exchanged a glance or two with Charles.

You closed your eyes, the ambience of camp coming into earshot. Probably the usual bickering and people crowding around the campfire, like usual. Made you wonder how they’d feel when they saw you. “I don’t want no trouble,” you said. “Just wanna get some rest.”

Arthur mumbled something in agreement, as Charles moved in front, probably to shield whoever was around. You lifted your head, acknowledging your surroundings. Everyone was either at the campfire, playing poker, or doing chores. It was then that you noticed John tending to the horses, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to hide your quite obvious injury.

It seemed neither Charles or Arthur could, either. The minute they both went to go hitch their horses, he immediately noticed, stopping the two of them, which included you on the back, dead in their tracks. Whether he noticed the blood or you first, who knows, but he didn’t look pleased. The hay bale he was holding hit the ground with a ‘thump’ as he dropped it, storming over. Tears began to form in your waterline as you turned your head away, knowing you wouldn’t be able to bear his reaction.

Charles tried to make conversation with him, meanwhile you sobbed quietly as Arthur poorly tried to comfort you. “Shh, we can’t have him knowin’ ‘bout this.” He knew there wasn’t a lot he could do, but he was trying his damn best.

Eventually, he sighed, as John approached the two of you. You turned your head back to face him, the tears streaming down your face as you were drenched in your own blood. He looked pained to see you.

“Y/n? Who did this?” he snapped, his raspy voice making it all the more intimidating, as he stared holes through his metaphorical brother.

“We went on a hunt, as you know, and, well.. it didn’t go all too well.” He wasn’t wrong. There was a cougar worth good quality that the three of you were set on killing before anyone else could. You each split up your own ways, your dumbass going the way towards the predator. Before you could even defend yourself, it attacked you, leaving you practically near death as the two men tried to shoot it, but it simply left. “Cougar, it was. The one we wanted.”

John immediately reached for you, helping you to dismount Arthur’s horse, as he wrapped his arm around you, supporting your weight because he knew damn well you wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere alone. “Did you kill it?” he asked, glancing around to notice no one else was nearby, taking a few steps away as he glanced at you, frowning.

“Well.. No.”

His eyes widened as his brows raised, looking absolutely gobsmacked. “You’re fucking kidding me? Y/n nearly DIED and you didn’t KILL THE FUCKING THING?!”

“John-”

“No, no! That’s the most bullshit I ever heard outta you!” he said, raising his voice and throwing his free hand up. “Someone nearly got killed, and you’re just gonna let the fucker live? You’re outta your GODDAMN MIND!” 

Hearing the commotion, some of the camp rushed over, including Dutch. “What the hell’s going on?” 

“Three of ‘em went hunting’, not only did Y/n nearly get killed but they didn’t even kill anything! Dumb bastards can nearly get a girl killed but not bring any game!” John yelled, the music from Dutch’s monograph in the faint background.

“Sort it out, will you? I shouldn’t have to parent grown men,” Dutch plainly said, not paying you any mind, and walked off, the rest of camp lingering to see what happens next. Hosea walked after him, most likely to have a talk about the interaction that just happened.

Now that he was gone, John took the opportunity to get closer to Arthur’s face, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t care if you nearly die doin’ it, but you’re both goin’ back out there and you’re not coming back till it’s fuckin’ dead.” To which he simply nodded, said something to Charles about ‘leaving these two be,’ and they both turned, riding out of camp and back into the wilderness they just returned from. You could hear Charles mock Arthur, saying ‘John ain’t gotta find out,’ as they did so.

He turned you towards his tent, slowly walking the two of you there, enjoying the silence, but most of all, your presence. Whether he’d like to admit it or not, he knows you could’ve died out there, and he’s grateful to have you. When people would approach, asking what was wrong, he’d hush them and say he had it covered. As the two of you approached his tent, he opened it, sitting you down on his cot, taking the moment to really take in your state.

“John, he was hurt too. You didn’t have to do that,” you said, weakly putting a hand out to grab his wrist.

He took note, sitting down on the bed next to you, staring into your eyes as he wiped the tears and blood off of your face. “He’ll manage, love. I’m worried about you. I mean, look ‘atchu. Still pretty, of course, but beyond fucked up.” Reaching to grab a box, he gave you a peck on the lips, opening it and grabbing out a few items, setting them down on his lap. “I’m gonna have to stitch you up, that alright?” You nodded, as he grabbed a cloth, dunking it in a bucket of water, as he cleaned the blood off of you in a nearly tender way. “You’re gonna be alright, I promise.” John’s voice that was yelling a few minutes ago had quietened down to soothe you, occasionally kissing you.

Afterwards, he picked up a different rag, dousing it in whiskey before using it to disinfect your wound. When you’d clench your teeth, or ball your hand into a fist, he’d notice, mumbling quiet words of praise

You smiled softly, looking down at the deep wounds. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“‘Course I do,” he grinned, in an almost joking way, as he reached for a needle and a thin string. “Had to do this to myself, you’re lucky I’m a professional now.”

“You should be a doctor.”

“Hell no,” John responded, laughing for a moment, starting to stitch your wounds up. Occasionally, you’d make a squeamish face or grit your teeth together, to which he spoke in an attempt to comfort but also lighten the mood. “Got mauled by wolves ages ago. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” “You don’t say,” you commented in response. You remembered hearing briefly about this, but most of the camp agreed to not bring it up. He chuckled quietly, but didn’t comment.

John’s dark eyes softened as he continued to take care of you, humming to himself as he cleaned your wounds and stitched them. The warm lighting from the lantern shining on him in just the right way, and when he finally finished, he sighed.

“How’s that?” he smiled, putting everything back in the box and setting it aside once again.

“Still feel like hell, but better.”

He nodded, muttering a ‘good, good’ as he got up, grabbing a pair of his pants from his wardrobe, setting them down on the bed. “Wear those instead.”

Instead of trying to argue, you did just that, casually changing in front of your lover, even though he promised to not look, standing in a corner with his back to you. When you gave him the clear, he got back on the cot, laying down and tapping next to him. “You should rest.”

“In your tent?”

“Yes, in my tent. I don’t bite.”

“Bet those wolves did.”

He seemed taken aback by your joke, but laughed anyway. “I’m being serious. You need sleep.” You gave in at the promising offer of cuddling up next to John, as you laid in his arms, his hands running through your hair. 

“John?”

“Hm?” he said, looking down at you.

“Know I’ve said it a hundred times, but you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

In the moment, he brought a finger to your lips. “Shh, let me feel proud, buttercup.” To which you nodded, and the two of you cuddled in peace.

Suddenly, he spoke up, breaking the silence.“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

“Really?” You whispered, looking up at him, as he looked head over heels for you.

“Yeah. Even when you’re all bloodied up, ya still look perfect.” He mumbled, pausing briefly, before continuing his love drunken ramble. “Just glad to have you, that’s all. Happy nothing worse happened.” You snuggled into his touch at his sweet words, as you dozed off in his arms, knowing that even if you didn’t get the cougar, you instead had John Marston all to yourself.