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cowboydisaster · 1 year

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The Fire In Your Eyes

part VI: horseshoe overlook ii

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 13.3k

summary: you, Arthur, and Hosea find some important horses on your trek to a hunt gone-wrong. Away from camp, Arthur opens up, letting you peek through his point of view to his heart-breaking past. Dutch asks for your help.

a/n: chapter six! Arthur and reader find their heart horses, there's a lot of hurt/comfort too which we love. Oh and I spoiled a plot point to Jane Eyre, so sorry if you were planning to read it, but also it was published 176 years ago so maybe get onto that. Also the tuberculosis in Jane Eyre was just a coincidence, so don't fret. I plan on keeping Arthur tb free. Lastly, there is some good ol' fashioned 'talking about our feelings' in this chapter. We are opening up and talking about trauma, yay! BTW, series hit 50k this chapter! Anyway! Enjoy

warnings: animal abuse (seeing a horse that has been abused), mentions of former child abuse, mentions of infertility, all are described briefly, nothing graphic.

SERIES MASTERPOST

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo10300 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup

Arthur’s supposed to be on watch, and you’re supposed to be doing laundry. But he’s tired of staring at trees and you’re sick of cleaning beer and stew out of Uncle’s long johns, so here you are.

Technically, Arthur hasn’t completely abandoned his task like you have. You’re both sitting on a decent sized boulder, the one he always sits on during his guard shift, just off the trail into Horseshoe. But his eyes are not focused on the trees, instead they fixate on his journal, where he is sketching something on the ivory pages. You’re all too curious, again, about what he’s drawing, but he's positioned in a manner so the contents remain hidden from your nosey gaze. He hasn’t missed the way you subtly lean every once in a while, peering down your nose to try and see the pages. Each time he notices, a small smile tugs on his lip, and he pulls the journal a little tighter towards himself. Arthur’s carbine rests between you two on the rock, next to a little bag of candies that he had picked up when you were in town a few days ago. Currently, your nose is in a book, but you haven’t been reading it for a few moments, instead peeking over the pages at Arthur. It’s nice to get away from camp for a bit. The past few days you’ve spent doing house chores for Grimshaw. She was less than happy when you “Went to the saloon all day with the men” as she put it, those couple days ago. She made sure that you made up for the lost time, and you were stuck peeling potatoes for so long that your hands went numb.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shines brightly, and a warm breeze passes through the camp. Birds chirp, singing their tunes as they build nests in the trees above your head. A few rabbits have passed by, even a fox, filling up on food before the storm hits, another reason you’re avoiding your chores. Charles had warned everyone that by the look of the clouds, a big storm was coming, probably tomorrow. You’ll be damned if you spent the last nice day staring at Pearson’s apron or a laundry bin.

You watch as Arthur moves his eyes from the journal to the bag of sweets, and he reaches into it, pulling out a yellow candy. With an almost unnoticeable frown, he drops it back into the paper bag, and pulls out a red one. He seems satisfied enough with this choice, and he brings the little treat to his lips. It’s been so long since you’ve had the pleasure of candy, and you’ve gone and eaten nearly half the bag. You haven’t had money for pleasantries in a long while, not since your momma died anyway.

“You don’t like the lemon ones?” You ask, reaching into the bag and pulling out the one he had dropped back inside. You pop it into your mouth, eyes slipping shut in bliss from the sweet, tart flavor of the candy. Arthur looks up at you for a quick moment, scanning over your face with a chuckle before trailing back down to his journal.

“Nah, I like 'em well enough, but I noticed they’re your favorite. Didn’t wanna take all the good ones from ya.”

You smile, grabbing another yellow candy from the bag just as you feel the remnants of the last one finish dissolving. You missed hard candies. They weren’t exactly high on your list of priorities before joining the gang. You put your book down, a piece Marybeth had let you borrow. You’ve read it a few times, and you already know exactly what the pages entail. However, you don’t know what the pages of Arthur’s journal look like.

“Whatcha drawin’?” You ask, criss crossing your legs on the boulder. Arthur huffs a laugh, having expected this question.

“Nothin’ much, just somethin’ little.” Arthur whispers. You’re confused as he leans down towards the grass, plucking a dooryard violet from a little patch of the wildflowers. So many of Arthur’s actions throw you for a loop. He’s so… dynamic, constantly showing you new sides to him that you would never expect.

He unsheathes his hunting knife, quickly snipping the stem of the flower off. Now what really throws you off is when Arthur leans over, concentrated, and tucks the flower behind your ear. He adjusts your hair accordingly.

“There,” He whispers, settling back into his former position to admire you. “Purple looks good on you, well except when it's your cheek that's purple but-” Arthur jokes, nodding to your bruised cheek, and you laugh, shoving him a bit.

“I was just about to say that you’re goin’ soft, but now you’re makin’ fun of me. I guess things are back to normal.”

Arthur’s face turns to mock hurt, as he squints at you.

“I ain’t goin’ soft.” He chides.

You placate him, putting your hands up.

“Alright, whatever you say, Mister.”

With a smile, you pick your book back up. Arthur reaches into the bag of candy, pulling out a yellow one. Words need not be said as he mumbles to get your attention, and when you look up, he tosses the little yellow candy towards you. You catch it, tossing it into your mouth and thanking him. It’s quiet as both of you pick your books back up. It’s nice, with you both silently enjoying each other's company. You’re lost in the world of Jane Eyre, and Arthur lost in his journal. Every so often Arthur will peek up from his book, glancing at you for a moment before returning to his sketching.

You reach the bit of the novel where Helen is lying on her deathbed, finally succumbing to tuberculosis. This particular scene has been read and reread by you many times, but it still manages to choke you up. Helen is so brave in the face of death, so sure of the paradise that will await her. And poor Jane, another loss, another grief. You’re not sure what happens after death, but if there is an afterlife, you’re not so sure you’ll be on the pleasant side of it. Tears begin to prick the sides of your eyes as Helen speaks her last line to Jane, begging her not to grieve, beckoning her to find joy. Arthur eyes you curiously from the side of his eyes, wondering what about that little book has you so in your head. With a sigh, you finish the chapter and sniffle, placing the book down to take a breath. Arthur’s charcoal stills on the paper as he hesitates, a question on his lips.

“What's goin’ on in that head a yours? Tough read?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the little ruby colored book in your hands. You meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow, placing the book down on it’s opened pages to keep your spot.

“How about a compromise? I’ll tell ya…if you show me what you’re drawin.”

Arthur’s eyes turn dark with mock threat as he whispers, tone gravelly.

“Never.” He chuckles, and you sigh dramatically.

You both slip into a comfortable silence again, and you find yourself bored. You don’t feel like reading any more, and you’ve picked through most of the yellow candies, so in a futile attempt to distract yourself you toy with your spurs, flicking the rowel and watching as it spins. Arthur notices this, and he huffs. He’s noticed in the past few weeks that you’re always keeping your hands busy, always toying with something or other. He thinks back to when you were tracing constellations on his palm in the bath, and his head hangs low with some shame, and a pain.

“I uh- I been meanin’ to apologize…” Arthur mumbles, eyes fixated on his book.

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, what on earth does he have to apologize for?

“The other day in Valentine, in the bath house. I overstepped- or I misread the situation n’ Im sorry. Never meant to make you uncomfortable, Star.” Arthur all but whispers, a heavy feeling settling in his gut because he doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to push you away, and he is.

Immediately your heart sinks, you’ve been meaning to have this conversation, practicing your words when you lie awake at night, unable to sleep. But all the things you wanted to say slip from your mind.

“That wasn't… you didn't-" You mumble, at a loss for words. There's so much you could tell him right now, so much you could explain. But you don't. No, instead you shove it down, pulling that unbothered facade over your face that has been protecting you from heartache for years.

"We don't gotta talk about it, Arthur." You whisper, flicking the rowel of your spurs and avoiding his eye contact.

You can still see it though, as Arthur leans back, cocking his head with a downcast face. He wants to talk about it, but you can't.

With a sigh, you lay back against the rock, hands behind your head to look up at the clouds. As soon as your back hits the rock, Arthur sighs, humorously irritated.

"Dammit woman will you just- " Arthur chuckles, pulling you back up to a sitting position by grabbing your forearm.

"Just hold still for a minute, I'm tryin' to do somethin…" Arthur smiles because you're always moving, you can't sit still, and a moving model proves to be a difficult one.

You go back to your sitting position, and Arthur leans over towards you, adjusting the violet in your hair. Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion for a moment until you spot the little journal sitting in his lap, closed over his charcoal. Your eyes go wide, and your lips crack into a shocked smile.

Arthur leans back, picking the journal back up and opening it. For a few seconds his eyes run over the soft features of your face, and then he looks down to his paper.

"You're- You're drawin' me ?" You ask, perplexed, honored.

When Arthur glances up, seeing the look on your face, he gets nervous. He probably should have asked your permission first. He didn't mean anything strange by the drawing, and he doesn't want you to think that.

Arthur scratches the back of his neck, searching for words to explain, but falling short.

"Uh- yeah, I am. But I don't mean anything odd by it. I just like to draw things that I like or that I find- Well, I don't know, usually I draw things that I think are pretty. Like nature n' plants and uh…" Arthur rambles, terrified you're gonna think he's some type of pervert. A smile blossoms across your face, a full, genuine one. He's dug himself in with his words he realizes when you lean in toward him, voice quiet.

"...and me?" You ask, finishing his sentence. Arthur smiles crookedly, eyes on the paper as he responds.

"Yeah, like you."

You smile, content. Arthur continues sketching. The quiet scratching of charcoal on paper is the only reminder that he's still beside you as you slip your eyes shut, soaking up the last of the sun. You listen to his sketching, to his breathing, and the little sighs and chuckles he lets out when you move too much. He knows you can't sit still, it's just one of those little things about you.

After a while, the sketching stops, and you peek one eye open, glancing down at Arthurs hands. He sets the charcoal down, closes the book and then dusts his hands off of his jeans.

"You gonna let me see it?" You ask, turning towards him, adjusting the flower in your hair.

"I never really shown anyone this… My new one or my old." Arthur says, quietly.

"You don't gotta, it's okay." You reassure, sincerely. He's very closed off about the journal, and you respect that. Having one yourself, you understand the desire to keep it hidden away. Arthur thinks for a moment, looking down to the leather bound journal in his hands.

"Here," he whispers, opening it to the correct page and handing it towards you. You hesitate, not wanting to push him, but he nods for you to go on.

"It's just for fun, I'm not real good or anything." Arthur adds, always having a lesser opinion of his works.

You very gently take the pages from his hands, pulling the book towards you. You cover your gaping mouth in shock. Anytime Arthur has previously mentioned his drawings he downplayed them greatly. You should have expected this, as he always down plays his talents. But you had expected messy scribblings, doodles.

What Arthhr has created is beautiful. He intricately copied your face onto the paper, perfectly portraying you in his own style. His shading is perfect, contouring your face and the bright smile plastered onto it. He's drawn the violet, sticking out from behind your ear.

"Arthur…" You gasp, taken aback by his artistry. Next to the journal is a little note, accompanied by your name, spelled out in all caps, and a little drawing of the north star.

She joined me for my guard shift again. We was bored so I started drawing while she read something or other. She looked real pretty with that flower in her hair, oh and she likes YELLOW CANDIES.

Arthur blushes a bit, embarrassed that you've read his thoughts, but he knows you won't judge him for it. Make fun of him, however? Knowing you, you will. He chuckles, glancing up to your face.

A throat clears behind you both, and you jump, turning to see Hosea standing there. He curiously eyes Arthur's journal in your hands, eyes flickering between the two of you, knowing that you're the first person he's ever shown those pages to.

"How's your watch goin'?" Hosea asks, knowingly quirking a brow.

"Just fine, now whatchu need?" Arthur asks, gently taking the journal back and binding it up. Hosea is unshaken by Arthur's attitude, having dealt with it for nearly twenty years.

"Your horse. I'm heading to the stables to buy a new ride, but I need a way to get there." Hosea answers.

"Thought that was your horse there? Why don't you ride him down to the stables?" Arthur asks, gesturing up the slope towards the hitching posts to where a massive black shire horse resides. You don't recall seeing the beastly animal before, but then again you've been stuck with Miss Grimshaw.

"Yes, well I'm giftin' that bastard to you. He's a nasty son of a bitch, and I'm too old to be thrown. I nearly died a handful of times just getting him back here. I stole him from a fella on the road a few days back, now Karmas got me." Hosea says, angrily gesturing towards the stallion who is pinning his ears and pawing the ground impatiently.

"He can't be all bad. You know anything about him?" You say, eyebrows pulled together as you stand up, walking up the slopes to the posts. The two boys follow you.

"Well before I robbed him of his horse and his hunting map, me and this fella got to drinkin'. He was boasting about this damn thing, and said it was immortal. Apparently he was ridden by a bounty hunter before this, and got hit with more bullet shrapnel than you'd believe. Somehow he managed to stay alive. Fella was drunker than a skunk though, so I reckon you should take it with a grain of salt."

You stand back with Hosea as Arthur steps towards the uneasy animal. The horse stomps, ears pinned, and Arthur coos to him, hands up in surrender to the animal.

"That boys' always had a way with animals." Hosea remarks, watching as Arthur calms the shire enough to pet it. His hands meet the dark horse's neck as he shushes. After a few moments, the horse begins to calm. His tail stops swishing, his ears prick to the sides, listening to Arthur and his lip becomes loose.

"Real good, boy. Now don't go kickin me, I'm just gonna take a look, I ain't gonna hurt ya." Arthur coos, running his hand from the horse's front shoulder down to its hock and pastern. He whistles lightly, pulling his hand back up.

"Feller weren't lyin'. Legs are covered in old scars. It's a miracle he didn't die from infection or just get put down." Arthur says, patting the horse's croup before backing up, eyeing the horse from a few steps back.

"He got a name?" Arthur asks, and Hosea shakes his head.

"No, never given one." Hosea adds.

"Reckon I'll start callin you Balius, you're a strong one." Arthur says, moving back towards the horse and picking up his hoof, checking over the state of it.

"Balius…?" You ask, not sure why Arthur would have picked that name. It's beautiful, but foreign to you.

"Ah, Balius. An immortal horse, a gift from Poseidon." Hosea smiles, looking at Arthur and the horse.

"Arthur, he's a smart one. Too humble to show it often, I'm afraid." Hosea whispers to you.

You think back to Boadicea. Arthur must take some interest in history and mythology. You curiously watch him, seeing Arthur in a different light.

"Okay, I can take him off your hands. Go ahead and ride my Walker to the stables. Just board him there for now, I'll see how this big guy does." Arthur says, pulling an oatcake from his satchel and feeding it to a now calm Balius.

You glance to the unhitched horses, seeing your buckskin grazing with the other gang member's horses. He's a small thing, not much muscle on him and Colter certainly didn't help that fact. He's a good horse, but not what you need. You need something strong and quick, something younger.

"I'll join you, Hosea. I've been meaning to get a new ride for a while."

"I might as well go too, get him checked out by a stable hand. He's gonna need a different saddle. Boadicea's is still down in Blackwater and the saddle on the walker is a piece a' shit." Arthur pipes in. Hosea places a hand on each of your backs as he smiles, leading you towards the unhitched horses.

"I'm not sticking around, I'm afraid. Once I get this horse I'll be heading back up to ambarino for a hunt. I hear that there's a beast of a bear up there."

Arthur stops, hands on his belt as he raises an eyebrow.

"You want help with it? Y'aint so young no more, Hosea." Arthur asks, not wanting to overstep, but worried about Hosea's cough and age. Taking on a bear is hard for someone your age, let alone Hosea's. Hosea hesitates.

"Star's daddy was a gunsmith. Sure she knows her way around what we need and I can track better than you, let us go, as long as the lady wants to." Arthur adds, looking over to you quickly.

"Alright, suppose some company would do me some good up in the mountains." Hosea nods, glancing behind him at the horses.

"I reckon me and Arthur get these horses saddled up. I'll have Charles take the rest of your shift. Dear Star, why don't you go pack a bag, we may be away a few nights. Oh and check in with Dutch, he was asking for you. Tell him we're heading out for a day or two." Hosea orders around, and you nod, anxiety pooling in your gut.

"Dutch was askin for you?" Arthur asks, shooting a look at you and then Hosea. You nod, biting your lip.

"Yeah, said he wants to get to know me on a more personal level… Whatever that means." You mumble, and Arthur's face is drawn up in distaste. Without another word, you head towards your tent.

You wave at Jack on the way, noticing that Abigail and John are fighting again. You feel bad for the boy, caught up in this life. You ignore the hungry cries of the O'driscoll, tied to a tree on the other side of camp. Dutch is a fool for bringing him here. With a sigh, you part the canvas to your tent, drawing the flaps closed behind you. A little wooden box rests on your bedside table, a gift from Tilly after you'd done her a favor. You pick up the wooden box, hand resting in the lid, and yet you hesitate to open it. You know it's not gonna be good, maybe enough change for some canned goods, but not a horse, which you need.

Frustrated, you slam the box down harder than necessary. Your hand grabs an old saddle bag from under your cot, and you move to your wardrobe.

You don’t have a tent kit, but you do have a bedroll, so you grab it and stuff it into the bag alongside a few pairs of jeans and some underthings. Damningly, you forget to grab your coat, leaving it stuffed in the bottom of your wardrobe.

Once your bag is packed you can no longer ignore the wooden box that is haunting you. You sit down on your bed, picking it up and holding it in your lap. You pull the lid off, looking down to a measly five dollar bill. It's not chump change, but it won't help you with a horse. It's the last of the money you have from stealing in Tumbleweed. You hope that with the gang you'll never have to live like that again. You were barely making it, never knowing where you were gonna get a meal or sleep. Anytime you needed to purchase something you had to steal. And now here you are, thinking about how in the hell you're going to steal a horse.

You pluck the bill from the box, fold it over and stick it into your satchel.

"Can I come in?" A voice says from outside your tent. It's Arthur, and instinctually you smile.

"Sure c'mon."

Arthur steps through the flap, coming over to your bed. You scooch over and he sits down beside you on your cot.

"What's the matter?" Arthur asks, taking his hat off and placing it on the cot. You sigh, closing the box and putting it back on your table.

"I still feel like I'm just runnin." You whisper, noting the double meaning of your words.

"From what?" Arthur asks, no judgment in his eyes.

"Everything," You huff, "Myself mostly. My past, my feelings. Just robbing and killing and lying to survive. I'm stuck back in Tumbleweed, Arthur. I have no money, I have nothin' to my name. I need a damn horse before this one up and dies on me but I can't even afford the cheapest one. I'm gonna have to steal a damn horse." You sigh, running your hands through your hair, plucking out the violet and twirling it between your fingers. Arthur rests his hand on your knee, and you look up to his ocean eyes.

"Star, you got the whole gang now, okay? You don't gotta watch your back now, cause we all got it." You nod, knowing he's right and feeling better for it.

"I'll help ya get a horse, c'mon." Arthur says, patting your knee for good measure before standing up and placing his hat back on.

"I'm not lettin you buy me a horse." You bite.

"Marybeth caught word of a train job. You come rob with us, n' get your cut, you can pay me back." Arthur says. You know he would never actually ask you to pay him back, he's only offering this to make you feel better.

Arthur extends his hand out to you, and once you take it, he pulls you up to your feet. He grabs your packed bag from the cot, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Alright, go check in with Dutch, I'll get your horse loaded."

Arthur holds the tent flap open for you, and once you exit he files out behind you. You go your separate ways then. Dutch's large tent seems to rise over the others, intimidating you. But you strengthen your resolve, walking towards it with purpose.

Just as you reach to pull the canvas aside, Molly pushes through the flap, knocking into you and pushing you to the side.

"I'm not blind, Dutch! I know what you're doing! You won't even TOUCH me anymore because you’re thinkin about her!" Molly yells, and her voice pierces the ears of everyone in camp. She points her finger at him, seething with rage before grunting loudly.

"You're delusional. Again." Dutch says, rolling his eyes, frustrated.

Molly flips him the bird before stomping off. Dutch only watches her go with distaste.

"Sorry, I didn't intend to interru-"

"Nonsense. I'm sorry. Miss O'shea has been… difficult as of late." Dutch says, clicking his tongue against the room of his mouth. He comes beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and leading you into his tent.

"Would I be correct in assuming that you've been avoiding me?" Dutch asks, groaning as he rests down into his chair. Everything about the man is dominating. His stature, his stance, his words. He demands respect, and those who don't give it to him receive a bullet. Naturally, with you being you, you test his boundaries. Arthur trusts Dutch, but he gives you an odd feeling.

"Why would I avoid you?" You chuckle, watching as some of the charisma bleeds from his eyes. He gets off on being frightening, and you've just insulted his resolve.

"Hmm." Dutch squints at you, unsure if you're just ignorant or if you're intentionally pushing his buttons. He grabs a cigar from the pack on his desk, placing it between his lips.

"I only came by to tell you that Hosea, Arthur and I will be off on a job hunting for a few days. They asked me to let you know."

Dutch nods, holding a match to the candle on his table until it lights before bringing the lit match to his cigar. He makes you wait, lighting the cigar, slowly inhaling and then releasing the breath of air.

"Okay… I hope you haven't forgotten about our little chat. I've got plans for you. As soon as you return, come see me. We've got a lot to talk about."

You dip your head in understanding, and turn to exit.

"And miss?" Dutch calls after you, and you stop, turning on your heels.

"Hmm?"

"Do be careful on that hunt. Be a real shame if somethin' scratched up that pretty little face." Dutch says, and your stomach rolls as you exit.

You try to quell your anger, try to be the bigger person. Dutch is the one person who you cannot piss off. Your tongue gets you in trouble often but you won't let it leave you without a home. You move through camp, Dutch's remark playing through your head. The boys are waiting for you at the hitching posts, and they see your rage from a mile away.

"Miss Star, what is it?" Hosea asks, checking his girth to make sure it's tight before climbing onto Arthur's horse.

"It's that prick." You snap, finger directed at Dutch's tent.

"What's the fool gone and done now?" Hosea asks, grabbing the reins and adjusting in the saddle.

"Dutch? He botherin you?" Arthur asks, glancing between you and Hosea.

"Oh I can handle it just fine. Miss O'shea don't seem to be handlin' it so well though. Bastard makes her cry and then two seconds later starts tryin' to flirt with me." You growl, climbing into your saddle. You follow Hosea, cantering out of the Overlook.

"He tried to flirt with you?" Arthur growls.

"This isn't new for Dutch. He finds something shiny, new, and he wants it. Happened with him and Marybeth too, but I shut that down quick." Hosea yells back.

"He knows better. I'll have a word with him when we get back." Arthur hisses, disappointed.

"No. I've got it." You respond.

"Don't mind him, hard as it may be. Lately he's been nothing but greedy when it comes to women. He's downright disrespectful, demeaning… Annabelle would be ashamed." Hosea shakes his head.

"Annabelle?" You ask, never having heard the name before. You turn in your saddle to look at Arthur.

"She was Dutch's fiancé. Got killed by Colm O'driscoll." Arthur mutters, an old pain resurfacing.

"She was a sweet girl. She was good for him, too, and kept him in line. Along with young Arthur over here. He and John were a pair of fools when they were kids. She was always badgerin' them." Hosea chuckles at the memory.

"Nah, that was mostly Bessie. John used to steal my damn cigarettes all the time. Course that was my fault. God knows little Johnny Marston couldn't do no wrong." Arthur chastises.

"Oh be quiet, Arthur. We all knew you were sneakin them to him. Along with the booze."

Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion as the two bicker, and you laugh.

"Yeah well gettin' the kid drunk was the only way to shut him up." Arthur explains.

"Wait-" You laugh, "You all knew each other when you were kids?" You ask, trying to piece together the timeline, picturing them all younger.

"We brought Arthur in when he was only a boy, about fifteen if my memory hasn't lost me. Our first stray, our unruly son. For a long while it was just me, Dutch and Arthur. But then I found Bessie and Dutch, his Annabelle, and then eventually we took in John." Hosea explains, trotting over the railroad tracks into the auction yard.

You can't help but chuckle, the thought of their younger years is a sweet idea. They really are a family, you can see that now

"How did you end up with them? How did you end up doin' this?" You ask Arthur and then Hosea, spurring your horse.

"I was just a kid, livin' on the streets for a long while, stealin' to get by. The city weren't kind to me. After a few years I decided to get away, take my chances out in the woods. I needed a horse to get away from the city." Arthur explains as you slow your horses, riding towards the livery. Hosea chuckles, and you can't help but smile, wondering where this might be going.

"So one day I'm sittin' on the sidewalk beggin' for spare change. See these two horses hitched outside the gunsmith, real fine horses. Saw a white one, knew it'd be quick and strong, just what I needed."

You chuckle, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Get up close to it, no one's lookin' so I throw myself up into the saddle."

Hosea is smiling brilliantly at the memory, as if he's back in the same setting.

"That horse threw me faster than you could blink an eye. I'm layin' there on the street like a fool, feelin' sorry for myself when suddenly these angry lookin' outlaws peek over me, lookin' down at me in the mud."

"And that was where we found him." Hosea laughs.

You make a note to ask why Arthur was alone at such a young age. Your heart breaks at the idea of him, just a kid, begging for money in the streets. You've heard amongst the laughter of the gang that The Count won't take anyone but Dutch, and Arthur appears to have been the first to test that theory. You trot past the butcher's, making your way towards the stables. Once again, you pass the peculiar one armed man posing as a veteran. You nod to him lightly as you pass, and he smiles in return.

"We can fill you in on old stories during our trek up the hills. There's a lot of goodones, especially about Arthur here." Hosea chimes, dismounting from Arthur's walker in front of the livery.

"Great." Arthur says, sarcastically elongating the word.

You slide down from the buckskin, forgoing your eyebrows as you hear commotion on the other side of the closed stable doors. A horse shrieks, whinnying with fear as thumps sound out against the door.

"Just grab her halter!" A man yells, and the stable doors shake from an apparently hard kick to them.

"I can't! She won't settle, goddamnit she's goin' through!" Another man screams, and suddenly the door cracks and is pushed open.

A beautiful Palomino mare pushes through the door, terrified and angry. You jump back out of the way with a gasp, almost getting trampled by her.

"Star, get back!" Arthur yells as the horse rears up, crying out with an ear piercing whinny.

"I got her!" One of the stable boys yells, swinging a lariat over his head. He releases a coil as the rope flies through the air, landing around the mare's neck.

The rope only seems to terrify her more, and she drags the poor stable hand who's heels drag in the dirt, trying to pull her in by force.

You know that there's no way he could possibly force this horse to do anything. She's tall, lean and strong. Her piercing blue eyes are a symbol of her ancestors' spirit. She's a force to be reckoned with, an open flame, you can tell from just a glance.

"Stop! Stop- you're scarin' her!" You call to the boy with the rope, handing your buckskin's reins to Hosea. You walk towards the spooked mare as she rears, hands placed up to placate her.

"Be careful, miss, please. She's dangerous. Wasn't taken care of properly by her last owner n' now she don't trust men. Maybe she'll take to you." The man calls.

You look to her sides, to the scarred over wounds on either side of her stomach where spurs have dug in harshly, and to the sores on her mouth from where a torturous bit has been yanked far too often.

"Oh you poor girl." You coo, taking a step towards her.

Arthur shifts behind you, wanting to just grab you and pull you backwards. But he knows by now not to question you. You can handle your own. Still, it doesn't help his anxiety as he glances at Hosea.

The horse is locked onto you. She has stopped rearing, but she snorts and huffs, prancing and snorting nervously.

"Drop the rope." You order the boy, but he hesitates, stuttering.

"I- I can't, I shouldn't. She'll run off again, and my boss-"

"The lady wasn't askin', now drop the damn rope." Arthur orders from behind you, and your lips crack into a small smile, grateful that he has your back, that he trusts your sometimes insane decisions.

The kid obliges, immediately dropping it to the ground. Your fingers are crossed, and much to your relief, the mare stays put.

Her crystal blue eyes are locked onto you, separated only by the thick, long white forelock that covers part of her face. Her golden coat is broken up by a thick white blaze, and she has four tall white stockings.

"Easy there girl, I'm not gonna hurt ya." You whisper, inching towards her. She stomps her right hoof, ears pinned back. You stand still, waiting for them to pop back up before you continue.

She has a presence about her, something deeply human about those eyes. There's a sense of understanding in them, a clarity that you find only in the rarest of beasts.

"She's got that affinity for animals too, huh?" Hosea whispers to Arthur, looking between you and him.

Hosea notices that Arthur doesn't turn his head, doesn't acknowledge the older man because his eyes are locked onto your back, watching as you approach the mare. Arthur is looking after you with a small smile, a glint in his eyes that Hosea hasn't seen in so long. He doesn't remember the last time he's seen Arthur with so much… life in his eyes.

"She's incredible ain't she?" Arthur whispers back, eyes glued onto you as he speaks. Hosea brings his hand up to Arthur's shoulder, offering it a light squeeze.

"She sure is, son."

Oblivious to their conversation, you shush to the horse, calming her down some. No one moves save for you, not wanting to interrupt this moment, lest the mare run off again.

"That's a good girl, see I'm friendly I swear it." You whisper, smiling as the horse stands steady on her feet, ears coming forward curiously towards you. Holding your breath, your fingertips reach out, inches away from her pale nose. She snorts, sniffing at you, gauging your intentions.

At the same time, you move towards each other, and your fingers brush against her soft coat. At first the mare hesitates, but after a second she leans into your touch. You laugh, petting under her forelock. When you turn around to show Arthur what you've done, you find him sweetly looking over you, eyes bright, proud.

You gently reach and grab the rope from her neck, using it to lead her back towards the stables.

"I ain't never seen nothing like it miss! She just- she just calmed right down for ya!" The stableboy says excitedly as you lead the mare back inside, followed by Hosea and Arthur with the other horses.

Hosea and Arthut deal with their horses, selling, buying and stabling while you chat with the stable hand.

"Can I help you with anything? Seein as you helped me out." The young worker asks you as the older one helps Hosea pick out a ride.

You hold the mare's rope in your hand, scanning down over the other stalls. There's a dappled standardbred, a silver turkoman, a roan nokota, a morgan… nothing that catches your eye.

You turn back towards the mare at your side, then to the stable boy.

"I want her." You say, no chance of compromise in your voice. The stablehand looks at you oddly.

"You- you want her? Miss I don't think that's such a good idea, she ain't right in the head!" He explains, but you've found your resolve, and you are going home with this mare, one way or another.

"You turnin' down a customer?" You bite, raising an eyebrow at the boy and purposely drawing his attention to his boss. Surely the owner won't appreciate his hand turning away a paying customer.

"No! No of course not, ma'am!"

"That's what I thought. She have papers?" You ask him, and he turns around with a sigh.

“Yeah she got papers.”

You nod, satisfied with the response.

“She’ll be nine hundred n’ fifty, miss.” The boy says, handing you your papers and your gut sinks. $950? Quickly coming up with an idea, you smooth your face over with a small smile.

“I'll take her for fifty.”

The boy laughs, snorting at your attempt at a bargain.

“We already lost enough money on this horse. You can have her for nine hundred.”

You squint, eyeing the man up and down.

“Seventy five.” You bite.

“I'm sorry lady, that just ain’t happenin’. This is one of the nicest horses we’ve had, and I can’t just hand her to you for nothin.” He says, chuckling as if you’re crazy.

“You sure about that? This horse nearly killed you.” You lean back on your heels, eyebrows raised, “You said she don’t like men, right? If I walk away now are you even gonna be able to lead her to a stall?”

The boy glances between the horse and you, and the mare pins her ears at him, biting out as if she wants to rip him apart. He sighs loudly, running a hand over his face before looking back to you.

“Four hundred.” He offers you, and you squint, releasing a little of the mare’s lead so her bites and kicks towards the man land a little closer to his face.

“Two hundred.” You bite, and the man rolls his eyes.

“Listen, lady, my pa will kill me-” He starts but you interrupt him. Hosea and Arthur have already checked out and boarded their horses, and they watch you with amused chuckles.

“You’re startin’ to piss me off mister! Would you rather your pa kill you, or this horse? Cause the more you continue to irritate me, the looser this rope gets, and, the lower my offers get. Now, let's try that again. I’ll take her for one hundred.” You bite, leaving go of some more rope and the man has to back up to avoid the mare’s pinned ears and kicks.

“Jesus! Fine, a hundred works. Just, get her away from me.” The boy yells, and you pull her rope back in towards you, calming her down with a very satisfied smirk on your lips.

Arthur pays the man the hundred dollars, and you switch saddles from your buckskin before stabling the horse. Arthur picks out some carrots for everyone’s new horse’s and before long the three of you are walking out satisfied, with three new rides. You stop outside of the stables as everyone mounts up. Hosea had purchased the turkoman, and now he swings a leg over it with a very satisfied grin.

“So we all got new rides, eh?” Hosea chuckles, waiting for you and Arthur to mount up.

“It seems so.” Arthur chuckles, watching as you comfort your palomino before getting up into the saddle. She feels nice to ride, got solid feet, and she doesn’t buck or fret. You pat her neck once you’re in the saddle, and then signal to the boys that you’re ready to head out.

“This one should do me good. Got nice bloodlines, a good age.” Hosea says, waiting for Arthur to mount up.

“What about her? You pick out a name yet?” Arthur asks, pointing lightly towards your horse for a moment. You frown slightly.

“No. I ain't much good with pickin’ names out truthfully, maybe somethin’ will come to me eventually.” You mumble

“Awe, well ya gotta pick somethin’ out. Horse as fine as that needs a proper name… She’s a spitfire for sure. You gotta find a name that fits her spirit too.” Arthur explains, placing a foot into the saddle and swinging a leg over. You hum, thinking.

“Well what would you name her, Arthur?” Hosea asks, turning his horse around to butt in a little.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was just thinkin-”

“C’mon, what would you pick? Tell me.”You interrupt his ramblings and Arthur looks down at his saddle horn.

“I guess I’d call her Athena. War, wisdom, beauty, sure seems to fit her description.” Arthur says, looking the mare over. Hosea smiles a bit, as do you because you can’t believe he’s hidden this apparent interest in mythology from you. First Balius, now Athena? He’s so complex, you smile.

“Athena” You test out the name, liking the way it rolls off your tongue, and even the mare’s ears prick up when you say it.

“Athena it is…” You whisper, smiling as you lean to pet the mare's neck. Arthur chuckles, watching the two of you.

“We best be on our way then, by the time we get up there it’ll be good huntin’ hours.” Hosea calls out, trotting up the road. You and Arthur follow after him, making a triangle formation up the main road. You all pass the building that's half built, and you notice they’ve made some more progress, as wooden beams stick up, framing the roof. There's a ‘coming soon!’ sign plastered out front.

“Say what are they building there, anyway?” You ask, watching as the workers carry cut beams and tools.

“A blacksmith I hear, some real peculiar feller. They say he's real… imaginative. Sounds to me like he’d be better off in a city, but he liked the ‘quaintness’ of Valentine.” Hosea pipes up from ahead.

“He’s… imaginative?” You ask, unsure of the creative limits to Blacksmithing of all things.

“They say he makes decorations, jewelry, all kinds of peculiar trinkets and the like. Alongside regular stuff, of course. He makes tools, and the odd bits are more of a side gig.” Hosea explains, trotting around the bend past the sheriff’s office.

“Strange…” You mumble, glancing back at the building one last time before it disappears behind the sheriff's office.

“Where exactly we headin’?” Arthur asks, spurring Balius into a canter now that you’re all out of town.

“A little stead, called O'Creagh’s run. Beautiful hunting up there, but it’s a bit far.”

“Let’s ride, then.” Arthur responds, and you all push your horses into a gallop. You use vocal cues, not wanting to touch Athena’s sides with your spurs. She responds well, and within no time you’re all galloping back up north.

— — — —

A few long hours later you finally arrive. O’Creagh’s run is a beautiful little place, with wildflowers, grassy hills and a glass-clear pond with massive fish swimming through it. As you ride past, you see a man in a boat, fishing over the waters.

“Just a bit further, we can leave the horses up ahead off the road.” Hosea says, veering from the road and trotting up a small hill. Big boulders stick out of the ground in places, and you maneuver Athena around them.

Hosea leads you to a little opening, and he slides down from his horse.

“Why don’t you grab that gun? And whatever bullets you see fit. We’ll let dear Arthur here shoot the bastard.” Hosea chuckles, pulling out a map and looking it over for a few moments before nodding.

“Alright this is the place to start lookin.” Hosea says as you pull the springfield rifle from your saddle, loading it with express bullets.

“And what exactly are we lookin’ for?” You ask, never having hunted before.

“Bear shit, tracks, fur, blood, anythin’ really.” Arthur answers, patting Balius before coming towards you.

You nod, falling into step with Arthur as you both follow Hosea. The three of you walk around for a long while, scanning the ground, slowly inching around. You see nothing but rocks, grass, leaves, and sticks. Arthur has noticed that you sigh loudly every few minutes, kicking a rock or a stick out of your way as you grumpily walk around in search of anything.

“Arthur, this is boring as hell.” You whisper out of earshot from Hosea. Arthur chuckles lightly, rubbing at his stubble.

“You won’t be sayin’ that when there's a half ton beast comin’ at you.”

“If we ever find it that is.” You huff, crossing your arms as you follow the men. After a few minutes, Hosea stops, waving you both to come over.

“Bear dung here, fresh.” Hosea explains, looking over the pile.

“Never thought I’d be glad to hear it…” You mumble under your breath.

“How close you think, Arthur?” Hosea asks, looking up to the younger man.

“I reckon he ain’t far. See a few tracks here,” Arthur points in the direction of the disturbed trail. “They disappear up here, it splits off into two trails.”

You look at the two trails. One wraps around the side of the hill, and the other continues through a valley. You’re tired of standing around, walking slow and looking at bear shit, so you nod, walking through the valley.

“Where you goin?” Arthur asks, gesturing to you with furrowed brows. You turn around, slowly walking backwards to yell at him.

“Goin’ to find this thing!” You holler back, and Arthur sighs, telling Hosea to go with you while he searches the other trail.

You wait for Hosea to catch up to you, chuckling as Arthur stomps up the hill in the other direction.

“I don't mean to question your thought process, but what's your plan if we do come across this bear?” Hosea asks as you pull your rifle around into your hands.

“Well I guess I’ll shoot it. N’ if that don’t work, you go get Arthur, or we run, I don’t know.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders lightly, “Wasn’t this your idea?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah but now that we’re actually here, I’m wondering if this was a bad idea.” Hosea huffs, and you crack a smile.

You walk the trail for a while, not really seeing much for about ten minutes. Just as you're about to turn around you see something on the grass up ahead. You jog up to it, crouching to the ground.

"Hosea, I found a fish! He's eaten most of it, he can't be far now." You chime, looking at the fresh blood and teeth marks.

"Uh, Star?" Hosea calls your attention, barely over a whisper. Slowly, you turn around.

Hosea is standing facing away from you, frozen in a statue-like stance. About forty feet down the trail stands the largest bear you've ever seen in your life. Its face is scarred, an eye is missing. On all fours this bear is as tall as you, and your breath hitches in your throat.

"Don't move." Hosea whispers, as the bear inches forward. You can't help it, fear taking over as you stand up from your crouch.

You take a step backwards, and your boot squishes right down onto the fish. The slip surprises you. Instinctually, you gasp, pulling your foot back away quickly with a yelp.

The bear's ears prick forward at your noise and motion, and he roars, spit flying from his mouth as he charges.

"Oh SHIT!" You scream as the bear charges straight forward. Quickly, you pull your rifle around and fire. You hit the bear in the leg, and then in the shoulder, and you curse your shaking hands. The bear charges for Hosea, but as you continue trying to shoot it, it switches direction, coming straight for you. You gasp, pumping bullets into it, missing some, hitting random areas and grazing it in others. It will not go down.

You cry out as the bear gets closer, firing once again before it runs into you, a paw against your chest as it knocks you to the ground. Your rifle is knocked away from your hands, and lies uselessly far away in the dirt. Your heart pumps rapidly as the bear roars in your face, ready to tear you to pieces.

You quickly reach down, unsheathing your knife as the bear's claws against your chest push down painstakingly. Your ribs ache from the impact of hitting the ground so hard, but you can do nothing about it as you plunge your knife into the bear's chest. It yelps, snarling and growling as you pull the knife out, sinking it back in until the bear falls to the ground at your side with a yelp.

You pant, chest rising and falling rapidly as you lay on the ground. Your eyes slip closed as you drop the knife to the ground.

"Am I dead?" You whisper, peaking an eye open, relieved to see the setting sun.

"Oh my God, Star, are you alright?" Hosea calls out from his position backed against a tree on the ground. You ask yourself the same question, noticing that it hurts when you breathe, your ribs ache and there are some scratches against your collarbone where the bear had dug his claws in, but other than that you're okay.

"Think so." You hum, just as Arthur approaches, sprinting down the grassy patch.

"What in the hell happened?" Arthur yells, glancing between you and Hosea and the bear, dead at your side.

"We found the bear." You whisper, placing a hand over your ribcage and hissing.

"The bear found us." Hosea corrects, standing up from the ground with a sigh.

"I'm sorry dear girl. I wouldn't have brought you up here if I would have known." Hosea says, feeling guilty.

Arthur comes over to the grass where you are lying, and he sits down beside you.

"You alright?" He asks, seeing where a deep patch of blood soaks through your shirt. It's not yours, but he's sure you're hurting somewhere.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just let me lay here for a minute n' feel sorry for myself." You whisper, breath coming down from its heightened pace as you slip your eyes closed.

"I'm afraid my age seemed to have slipped me. I ain't as young as I used to be and it shows. I'm shaken up beyond repair, think I'll return to camp to lick my wounds." Hosea chuckles, "You folks comin' with?" He asks.

Arthur glances down at you, noticing the way you cling to your ribs. You shouldn't be riding, it's probably best that you rest for the night.

"We'll set up camp here, be back in the mornin'. She should just rest for now." Arthur responds, and you're relieved for it. A few hours' ride home does not sound fun, and besides, you packed a bag in case.

"Okay." Hosea smiles, "I'll see you kids then, be safe."

Then Hosea directs his attention to Arthur.

"Take care of her, son."

With that, Hosea leaves, whistling for his new horse and trotting off into the night with it. Once he's out of the trees, Arthur looks to you.

"C'mon, I'll set us up a camp. Looks like that storms finally comin' in."

You think back to what Charles had said about the rain, and peek up to the evening sky, colored with black clouds.

Arthur pulls you to your feet and you groan, before he whistles for the horses.

"I'll get you settled then get that bear." Arthur hums and you nod.

Arthur starts a little fire a ways away, getting it set up with his percolator and an iron cooker. Once it's set up nicely, he goes back to skin the bear. You grab your bag from Athena, rolling out your little bedroll on the grass before sitting down on it criss-crossed. The night is cold, and you dig through your bag searching for your coat.

You groan, realizing that you must have forgotten it at home. Rain starts to drip down quietly, just a sprinkle, but it's enough to chill you to the bones as you bring your knees up to your chin.

"Why ain't you got a coat on? You're shiverin'." Arthur points out, walking back toward you with a pelt and a bundle of bagged meat in his hands. His eyebrows are drawn together as he comes forward.

"I forgot it."

Arthur chuckles, setting his things on the ground beside the fire before going towards Balius.

"Course ya did." He chuckles pulling something from his saddlebag before coming up behind you. You crane your neck up to look at him as he drapes a coat over your shoulders. It's tan with a warm wool interior, it's warm, and you wrap it around your body as tight as you can, shivering.

The coat is so big on you, it swallows you up, and you relish in the warmth. But the most intriguing aspect of it is the scent. The coat smells just like Arthur, like gunsmoke and tobacco and something else so indescribably him that you dig your frozen nose into the fabric.

"Don't you got a tent…?" Arthur asks kindly, worried over you. He places a few cuts of bear meat over the cooker on the fire, eying you as he does.

"Hm hm" You mumble, shaking your head no.

"Why didn't you say somethin'? Here let me put mine up, you can sleep in there for the night." Arthur says, checking to make sure the bear meat won't burn before he starts gathering the materials to build your tent.

"Why don't you change into a fresh pair of clothes. Your shirts covered in blood, that can't be helpin' your chill. N' you can check for any cuts that need bandaged up." Arthur suggests, down on one knee across the fire, stabbing the beam supports into the wet soil.

"I ain't just gonna strip down right here. Especially not with you right here." You point out. Arthur stands up, tying together the posts.

"Get changed. You're freezin' to death n' you're worried about a gaze when we're in the middle of nowhere." Arthur chuckles, shaking his head at your stubbornness. You look down at your ruined clothes, blood spattered across your torso from stabbing the bear in the heart whilst he was right over you.

"Fine but you better not peek." You say, standing up and walking over towards Athena.

"Star-" Arthur sighs, laughing, "I ain't gonna peek."

"Good. Cause if you do peek I'll have to kill ya," You smile. "No man's ever laid eyes on me indecent before, and that sure as hell ain't changin' now." You mumble, not even thinking about your words. Arthur however, stiffens, hands stilling where they were pulling the canvas over his tent. His shoulders tighten and he swallows thickly. No man…? Ever…?

He coughs, awkwardly.

"Alright well, uh. Hurry up." He mumbles, putting all of his focus onto the tent and forcing himself not to turn around.

You take his coat off, letting it fall to the grass. Arthur counts the pieces of clothing as they fall, flinching each time a new piece hits the ground. It seems to be forever until you're undressed, but eventually you stand naked in the night. You're facing away from eachother. And if he did turn around, he would be met with your exposed backside… but he won't. He's a gentleman and he's made a promise that he intends to keep.

You stand bare facing Athena, digging through your saddlebag as a slight panic starts to creep up your neck. The rain has picked up, coating you in a cold, yet glistening wet. You dig through the bag, realizing that you hadn't brought a shirt. You were so worried about Dutch and money that you didn't bring the most basic of necessities. You shiver, covering your breasts with your hands.

"Arthur…?" You ask, sounding so coy and small, it's foreign to your ears.

"Everything okay? You decent?" Arthur asks, swallowing thickly.

"No! No, I didn't… I didn't bring a shirt." You say, quietly.

"Oh… Go ahead n' take one from my bag. It'll swallow you up, but be better than nothing." Arthur answers, finishing the tent as the rain picks up. He makes an obvious attempt not to look at you as he turns around, grabbing the meat from the fire and taking it into the tent.

"Just come in here when you're ready." He hollers from inside.

You go over to Balius, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach into the shire's bag. Your fingers brush against a soft cloth, and you pull out a neatly folded jade green shirt. It's long sleeved, it'll be warm and it smells like him. You smile, pulling it over your bare body. The shirt comes down to your mid thighs, and the top buttons are undone three holes down, leaving a little of your chest exposed, including three scratches from the bear along your collarbone. You frown at it, pulling his coat back on before reaching for your undergarments and sliding them up your legs.

Your jeans are destroyed, muddied and caked in fur and blood. You don't bother to put them on, knowing they're garbage. Instead you opt to just wear the shirt. It covers you enough, and you prefer sleeping without pants anyways.

You grab your saddlebag, running through the rain until you break through the tent flap, finally escaping the cold water.

"Jesus, cold huh?" Arthur laughs at the way you've barreled into the place. He has turned the whole floor into a bed, as there's not much room. The two bedrolls beside each other take up the whole floor. Arthur sits up, two plates in his hand, and he holds one out to you.

"Frozen." You whisper, sitting on your knees and wrapping Arthur's coat further around you before taking the plate from him. He's cooked up the bear, seasoning it with some oregano and thyme, and you smile for it.

"Maybe if you were wearing pants, ya wouldn't be so cold." Arthur chuckles, forcing his eyes away from the glistening rain on your thighs.

"Yeah well I don't want to." You bite, getting an idea, "Oh! Arthur, I brought rolls!" You chime, digging through your saddlebag until you find the little dinner rolls. You hand him one, and he lifts it up in a little toast.

"Thanks, look, we're havin' a proper dinner." Arthur chuckles.

"Yeah for once."

You eat and chat, enjoying each other's company for a long while. The rain on the tent roof is comforting, and the thunder that usually frightens you doesn't seem so bad now that you're with him. After you've both had your fill, he puts the plates away. You're still shivering, and Arthur's too big shirt slips down over your shoulder.

His eyes flicker to your exposed shoulder, and you go to pull the cloth back up but he knocks your hand away.

"You didn't tell me he scratched you." Arthur mumbles, eyes flickering up to your own as you shrug your shoulder away from his touch, covering it again.

"Just a scratch." You whisper, looking down to the sore wound.

Arthur slides forward, chest towards yours, so close that your knees touch.

"Let me salve it." He whispers, and you look up to his crystal blue-green eyes.

"It aint a big deal, Ar-"

"Please." He urges, eyes locked onto yours as you nod your head lightly.

He reaches into his bag, pulling out the same little tin of poultice that he'd used on your thigh in Colter.

"I use this on you far too much. You oughta be more careful." Arthur whispers, and his breath floats down to your skin, warming you and causing a chill to run over you at the same time.

He gently takes the collar of your shirt, well his shirt, and pulls it down to expose more of your chest and collarbone. You shiver, not from the cold, as he runs his finger alongside the scratch with feather-like lightness.

"Steady." Arthur chuckles, a sound you're familiar with and he applies some salve to your cut. It's so intimate, another thing that's becoming familiar with Arthur, which terrifies you.

To calm your anxieties, you instinctually trace your fingers over the scar on your right thigh. Arthur notices, and he brushes your fingers away from your leg gently.

"Still botherin' you?" He whispers against your skin. You shake your head, ignoring the way his fingers rest on your thigh.

"N-no, just a habit I guess." You stutter, rendered speechless. Artgur focuses his attention back to your collarbone, neatly covering it with the poultice.

His lip quirks halfway up in a smile before he continues.

"Didn't know if you was gonna make it down here after Colter. Thought that fever was gonna do you in." He mumbles, thinking about all that you’ve overcome. Your eyes are downcast, watching as his hand applies the salve to your scrapes. He finishes with your collarbone, and closes the tin up.

“I didn’t know if any of us were makin’ it down from Colter.” You admit, watching as Arthur pulls the shirt back up over your shoulder.

“I'm worried about Lenny,” Arthur sighs, “wherever he and Micah ended up. And I hope Sean is safe for now till we can get to him.”

You nod, thinking about Sean stuck down in Blackwater.

“Yeah, me too. Javiers’ down there with Josiah now. Charles should be heading down in a day or two to help him scope out the town.” You whisper, sighing before tying your hair up and lying down on your bedroll. Arthur hums, watching as you turn towards him on your side, curled up in a ball inside his coat. He chuckles, lying down on his own bedroll beside yours. He lies on his back, hands on his chest, thinking. You’re shivering still, even with his coat. Arthur takes his hat off, fully laying back while keeping an eye on you. He notices that your eyes are far away, your breathing slow and concentrated.

“Caught up in that head again. Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” Arthur asks, crossing his ankles as he intertwines his fingers over his stomach. You hum with a sad smile, drawn out of your stupor by his words.

“My parents… My past.” You admit, pressing one hand against the ground and propping your head up with the other.

“After I shot that creditor I thought I’d never stop runnin from the law. There was so much blood on me, I thought I’d never wash it off.” You whisper, sighing and biting your lip to stop it from trembling. Arthur turns onto his side, mirroring you by propping his head up so you can talk face to face.

“I guess I haven’t yet. I still got blood on my hands.” You frown. Arthur nods, looking down at the space between the two of you.

“Was he the only man you killed before joinin’ us?” Arthur asks, and your lip trembles.

“No… After I left, I was nothing. Just a shell of a person, cared for nothin’, for no one. I was so damn angry. I killed bounty hunters, lawmen. I killed-” You choke on a sob, shoving it back, “I killed people that hurt me, n’ people who tried to hurt me.”

Arthur doesn’t speak, listening to your story. He wants to know how you’ve become so hurt, so afraid of feeling.

“God, my parents would be disappointed if they could see me now.” You chuckle, humorlessly. Arthur’s eyes slip shut with some pain, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your eye with his thumb.

“Now Star, that ain’t true.” Arthur coos, heart breaking at your tears.

“Oh, it is. My daddy was anyway, when he was alive. You’d never come across a stricter man, in his later years anyway. Didn’t let me get away with or try nothin.” You huff, “Didn’t stop me from tryin’ though.”

The wind howls outside, and you shove yourself tighter into your coat.

“Tell me about em.” Arthur asks, and you’re surprised by his curiosity, furrowing your brow, but continuing nonetheless.

“They were in love, truest love you’d ever see.” You smile, and Arthur sees the sparkle in your eyes while recounting your childhood. “I was their only kid, their little miracle.”

Arthur’s eyebrows pull together, and you rush to explain.

“You see, the doctor said momma couldn’t have children n’ that's why she started callin’ me Star. She wished on em’ every night for a baby… Here I am.” You say, smiling sweetly and toying with the blanket of the bedroll. Arthur concludes that you’re right. You are a miracle. You had to have been made from some divine intervention, you're too perfect to be otherwise.

“She was feistier than me, even. I know where I got it from. N’ daddy was grounded, level headed and smart. They kept each other balanced. It was all near perfect… till momma got sick that is.” You mumble, looking up to Arthur. He’s smiling down at you, a warmth in his eyes that is piecing together the background of who you are. You blush, realizing that you’ve explained everything about yourself, and asked him nothing.

“What about you?” You ask, “What was your childhood like?”

Immediately Arthur’s smile falters, and he lies back on his back, sighing. You’re afraid that you’ve overstepped, or upset him, but after a moment he opens up.

“Nothin’ good.” He mumbles, a dark edge to his words. You leave yourself as an open ear, ready to offer him the same comfort that he’s provided you. You want to know about his parents, his life. Hell, you want to know everything about him, as long as he’s comfortable telling you. He has so many layers, so many contradictions. You’re curious as to where they’ve all derived from.

“Momma died when I was just a kid, smallpox. After she passed it was just me and daddy. He was a cruel bastard, the type who enjoyed the pain he caused. See, I was more of his punchin’ bag than his kid. He made me steal for him, made me kill for him. I knew what would happen if I didn’t listen to him. Not that it mattered, nothin’ pleased him.” Arthur sighs, running his hand over his face.

“Don’t talk about him much…” He whispers, afraid by how much he’s just opened up to you, afraid you’ll push him away.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” You whisper, hand resting on his forearm. You want to say more but what else can you say?

“Daddy was never kind, never good. He hurt my momma too, even when she was sick. My momma was good. She deserved so much better than that piece of shit. I wanted to protect her so badly. Was just a kid, n’ I wanted to kill him, Star. I saw what he did to her and…” Arthur’s fist clenches involuntarily, “I wanted to kill him.”

You’re at a loss for words, shocked and aching for the trauma he must have gone through. And just being a kid, he never felt sorry for himself. He just wanted to protect her. It speaks volumes about his personality, and you see pieces of that hurting little boy in Arthur today.

“I ran away once, few months after she passed.” Arthur admits, looking up at the ceiling of the tent.

“Just a boy, only eight or so. I didn’t get real far. He found me, made sure I never ran away again. He knocked some teeth out, just baby ones.” Arthur adds, as if that somehow makes it better, “even broke one of my goddamn ribs.”

“Arthur–” You interject, tears pooling in your eyes. He offers you a little smile, letting you know that he’s okay to continue.

“I never ran away again, not till I saw him swing. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw me standin’ at the gallows, knowin’ I wasn’t gonna do anythin’ to stop it.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, and you want to hug him, to hold him, to do anything to take this pain away from him.

“I walked up to the gallows when it was over, picked his hat up from the mud. I wear it to remind myself who not to be… I know it's in me, I got his blood, his rage.”

You glance to Arthur's hat on the ground, seeing the meaning behind it. For the first time since he’s started talking, Arthur looks at you. There are unshed tears in his eyes, ones that you wish you could wipe away.

“How can you look at your wife, your boy, and wanna hurt them?” He asks, searching your eyes for some answer that you cannot provide. He inhales, forcing those tears back.

“He was a sick man,” Arthur growls, an anger coming over him, “I never would have hurt my son, Star. Not ever.” He hisses, and you sit up on your bedroll, eyebrows pulled together.

“...Your son?” You ask, and Arthur curses, head in his hands.

You cross your legs, looking to him with no judgment, only worry.

“Yeah, I had a boy… Isaac was his name.” Arthur starts, eyes slipping shut. He wants to tell you, wants to explain everything, but it's too much.

“Can we-” Arthur sighs, looking up to you with so much pain in his eyes that your heart shatters.

“Can we just lay here for a bit? I wanna tell you everything, I do, but it's a lot, all at-” Arthur rambles, voice quiet. He stops when your hand finds its place on top of his own.

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You say, sincerely. And you take his hands, pulling him up to a sitting position. To his surprise, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his head to rest on your good shoulder in a hug.

“S’okay.” You whisper against his hair as Arthur snakes his hands around your waist.

“I'm so sorry, Arthur. You didn’t deserve any of that pain.” You reassure him, but he brushes it off.

“I was alright. All over now-”

“Don’t. Don’t downplay your pain, it doesn’t work. I should know.” You whisper.

You both stay like that for a while, neither onr of you wanting to pull away. Arthur is feeling more vulnerable than ever, but he trusts you more than anyone. He knows you’ll keep this between the two of you.

"You're nothin' like him, Arthur. Nothing." You whisper, and Arthut nods, finally hearing the words that he's needed to hear for so long.

After a few more minutes, Arthur pulls away, resting down on the bedrolls and patting the space beside him. He's just a little closer to your side than he was before. He wants to thank you, to explain that you've helped him in so many ways, saved his soul time and again, broken down the walls around his heart, but he's not sure how.

You smile as you lie down next to him, soothed by the rain. Your hands are in between each other, resting on the blankets. After a while your heart beats faster, feeling his fingers brush against your own. Slowly, as if testing the waters, his hand moves closer to yours, until you both mutually intertwine your fingers. You smile as he runs this thumb over your knuckles. You’re the first to fall asleep, but even then, Arthur doesn’t pull away. The two of you are wholly comforted by each other's presence, just not quite sure how to show it.

— — — —

The next day, you arrive back at camp feeling better. There's a weight off of your shoulders, having cracked away another one of your layers before Arthur. He feels relieved and more afraid all the same. He had told you more in one night than he’s told anyone. Even Hosea. Still, he doesn’t regret it. He’s glad to know that some of the dark conversation is over, and he can breathe a little easier now that it’s no longer weighing on him. As you dismount, hitching Athena, Arthur moves past you, tapping your arm with a little nod. You smile, just taking the mare’s saddle off as a loud voice calls to you from the otherside of camp.

“You’re back!” Dutch hollers, arms outstretched as wide as the smile on his face. You turn to him, still wearing Arthur’s shirt alongside your old jeans. Dutch doesn’t miss this, and his eyes glance from you to Arthur in his tent, wondering exactly what you and Arthur got up to on your getaway.

“I am.” You say with a sigh.

“Good, now come with me.” Dutch says, and you know there's no room for argument as he leads you through camp to his oversized, white tent.

“What's this about Dutch?” You ask, irritated, as he holds the canvas up for you to walk under his arm into his tent. He enters after you, sitting down in his chair, propping a leg up on a wooden crate.

“Everyone seems to be saying good things about you…” Dutch hums, looking over your body, sizing you up, to see where he can best play you like a damn chest piece.

“That’s… good?” You somewhat ask, completely unsure of where he’s going with this. He leans back, the front feet of his chair tipping up into the air as he squints at you.

“Why haven't you been on a job yet? A real one?” He asks, and you scoff.

“I was on a job, with Arthur and Hosea, but you kinda threw a hitch in that plan when you blew up a goddamn boat.” You bite, harsher than expected. His tongue darts out over his lips, dark eyes scanning you over.

“Marybeth got word of a train, sneaking through Lemoyne in the dead of the night- filled with rich passengers. It’ll be cruisin through virtually unprotected.” Dutch emphasizes the last word, a dangerous glint of power in his eyes as they flick up to you. He seems to have pieced together where he wants you, he's found a play for you to work for him.

“I want you there.” He says, pointing at you, at your brows pull together.

“Alright…”

“A lot of these boys- they’re good boys- they can shoot, and they can steal. But you? You’re a schemer, a player. I can see it in those eyes. You’re like me, like Hosea. We could use your head out there.” Dutch speaks as if his plan is coming together.

“And I’ll get a cut?” You ask, making sure this isn’t charity work.

“Of course.” Dutch responds. You nod, thinking it over.

“Alright, whens it comin’ by?” You ask, and Dutch smiles at your eager attitude.

“Few weeks. Talk with John and Arthur. Come up with a plan, do as you see fit.” He explains, and you nod, moving towards the exit.

“Oh and miss?” Dutch calls after you, and you turn around.

“Do make me proud. I'm not a man you want to cross.” Dutch warns, and you crack a smile, nodding at his attempt to frighten you.

“Sure thing, Dutch.” You respond, and he sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking over you.

“That attitude. I would say it's not ladylike, but I've always been attracted to women with spitfire like yours.” Dutch says, voice almost as low as the glint in his eyes. You bite your tongue for a moment, adjusting your weight to your other foot, and cock your head.

“Molly know you’re sayin’ things like that, Dutch?" You hiss, and Dutch’s smile falters. His stare becomes menacing.

“Molly and I are done-” He starts, and much to his growing rage, you interrupt him.

“Yeah I can see why.” You snap at him. His face turns red with anger as he stands up, and the chair scrapes loudly from how quickly he gets out of it. He comes straight up to you, towering over you, but you don’t back up.

“Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?” Dutch growls, and you only smile sweetly, looking up to him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dutch. I thought you liked women with ‘spitfire’ like mine.” You hum, watching as he steps back, shocked and insulted. You chuckle, parting the canvas of the tent.

Causing the gang leader to hate you is probably not a great idea, but you can’t help it. He needs to be humbled by someone. And it's funny. He sits on his high horse, in his castle-sized tent, ordering everyone around while reading, listening to music and smoking cigars. You laugh at the contradiction in his philosophy. He is exactly what he swears to destroy: an overseer, a power hungry fool. Satisfied with your little victory over Dutch, you settle in your tent, pulling out your journal.

It's been a busy few days. Got a new horse, Arthur calls her Athena. She is something special, by god. Beautiful Palomino, eyes blue as the sky. Took her up with Arthur and Hosea to catch a bear, but it nearly caught me first. Arthur and I stayed up there the night, it was real special. We talked a lot. He said things I'm sure he's never said before, and so did I. It was nice, having someone to talk to. I worry for him. There's so much pain in his heart, so much ache, old and deep. I hope that one day he can move on from it all, start anew. I guess I wish the same thing for me too…

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you

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serenequeenofeverything · 8 months

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Daily pull-a-card reading

Daily pull-a-card, is a daily tarot reading in which ill pull one card for every group.

Disclaimer: sometimes i might pull an extra card or two that i wont mention but will definitely take into consideration.

Lots of grammar mistakes ahead bc fuck english.

For September 8-9th 2023

Group i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi

The high priestess

U seem to be very connected and in touch with ur emotions, you are at ur peak intuition-wise but why do i see you doubting urself? Why are u so unsure? Almost ur not giving urself the benefit of the doubt, actually quite the opposite. You are not sure of urself whatsoever, but im here to tell what the universe (god, the angels or whatever u believe in) wants you to know : you are on the right path. U are exactly where u r meant to be. U are as connected to ur higher purpose as one can be. There is nothing to fear. You are on the right path. Your own path. Trust yourself a bit more.

A song recommendation (which i reallllllllly urge to listen to bc u cant imagine how strongly this came through, U MUST LISTEN TO IT) :

Ten of wands (r)

Let go of it. The burden you are carrying is not worth it, i don't exactly know what it is, it might or might not be important but here's the thing love, you are more important. U r really precious, u truly don't deserve to carry this baggage, it is just weighing you down. So free yourself, love. I know u can do it, you too know too. My bird of paradise, fly.

A song recommendation that i really wish u to listen to:

iii

The world

My god, you are the girl. Darling you ARE THE GIRL. honestly i dont even need to advice u, all im gonna say, you are the girl. you are the one, i truly truly love your energy. Baddest bitch in the game lmaoo.

I said im not gonna advice you, but i cant stop me, so here it goes, STOP LOOKING INTO THE PAST. What's past is past. Fuck him, fuck them, they didnt deserve you. Look ahead so much is waiting for you, somewhere is waiting for you. And this time, they will deserve you. U will watch it begin again, only better.

A song recommendation that i NEED you to listen to (make sure u listen to taylor's version only tho 🔪🔪)

9 of swords

Hey love, listen to me very carefully, YOU CANT BALANCE IT ALL. whatever you are trying to balance, is taking a toll on you. It's too much work and it's fucking you up mentally. It's too much and read to this even more carefully YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME. Ur only human. Either give one of it up, or just free yourself from both( i suggest this). Life is much more than this situation that you are in. And there's better days to come. But you take this decision. U need to take this decision.

A song recommendation that im certain you already know but i think would a good awakening for u :

Knight of cups

He is very close. Nearly here. And my god, ur night in his shinning armor is one hell of a night ( THE BEST INTENTIONS LITERALLY ) . Idk girl what u have been manifesting, but that shit is CLOSE, very freaking close. My advice? Just keep doing whatever ur doing. U r doing good, and u will do even better.

Song recommendation(huh... interesting, idk i got this song, but it came very strongly, so listen u never know what's in it for u) / interestedly three things came on strong 1. "Combat" 2. " they see right through me, can you see right through me" 3. "Cause all my enemies started off as friends"

Page of wands

Oh my god, this was like the messiest group everrr! Here's the thing lmao u got many cards, but it just kept going back and forth but one thing im certain about is the page of wands energy all over you. So this group are just very young compared to the rest, or just not in control of their life whatsoever.

For some i see patents getting divorced, families arguing, not very good home environment. And then there's u, amidst all this mess, the shinning one. U have many goals, you are a seeker and a dreamer, u want more. Im hearing " an art deco, Shining like gun metal" and u want more. U want more for you, u want the light, the fame and everything else too. A hungry soul.

" i want my cake and i wanna eat it too"

My advice? It dont matter. U will do as u wish, no one can stop u nor change you. U remind me too much of myself, i know ur ache.

Your song recommendation? Art deco. That song describes you perfectly.

Anyways now that's over, y'all better follow me, i mean who will do u better than i?

Alsooo u can always submit what u want me to do a reading on next by simply commenting ur subject of interest ( no private readings bro i aint got no time for that)

Anyways peace out, bye.

#occult #pac reading #tarot #tarotdaily #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card reading #pick a photo #free tarot #daily tarot #tarot reading #free tarot reading #song recs #red taylor’s version #lana is god #lana del ray lyrics #lust for life #Spotify

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rewildling · 11 months

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LADYHAWKE: The 80s Fantasy Movie that Inspired SanSan?

Could this movie have partially inspired GRRM’s Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane as a romantic pairing in ASOIAF? And could it contain clues for their TWOW arcs? Let’s investigate.

Isabeau of Anjou and Etienne of Navarre from Ladyhawke (1985)

Ladyhawke (1985) is apparently one of GRRM’s favorite films. According to him, it’s “romantic fantasy done right,” so it’s definitely possible that it influenced the romantic plot lines in his own fantasy series.

The movie tells the story of cursed lovers Etienne of Navarre and Isabeau of Anjou. They are always together, yet eternally apart. By day, Isabeau takes the form of a bird, turning back into a woman at night.

“You’re like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren’t you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite.” Sandor Clegane, Sansa II, AGOT

By night, Navarre takes the form of a large black wolf, turning back into a man during the day.

The Hound ripped the sword free and threw away the scabbard. The Mad Huntsman gave him his oaken shield, all studded with iron and painted yellow, the three black dogs of Clegane emblazoned upon it. Arya VI, ASOS

Navarre is the former Captain of the Guard of Aquila, a formidable fighter and deadly with a sword.

The White Book was well behind. The deaths of Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield needed to be entered, and the brief bloody Kingsguard service of Sandor Clegane as well. Jaime XIII, ASOS

The Hound was deadly with a sword, everyone knew that. Arya VI, ASOS

Like Sandor, Navarre is a generally cynical person and is pessimistic about the possibility of ever breaking the curse. He also rides a temperamental black stallion named Goliath.

Arya had tried to steal him once, when Clegane was taking a piss against a tree, thinking she could ride off before he could catch her. Stranger had almost bitten her face off. He was gentle as an old gelding with his master, but otherwise he had a temper as black as he was. She had never known a horse so quick to bite or kick. Arya XI, ASOS

At one point in the film, Navarre asks Matthew Broderick’s character, Phillipe, to tell him everything Isabeau said about him the night before:

“Every moment you spend with her… I envy you. But you can tell me. Tell me everything that she said. And I warn you, I will know if the words are hers. Etienne of Navarre, Ladyhawke

“A dog can smell a lie, you know.” Sandor Clegane, Sansa II, ACOK

Like Sansa, Isabeau is described by others as being exceptionally beautiful, with porcelain skin, blue eyes, and a lovely voice.

“Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that.” Catelyn VII, ACOK

She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Tyrion VIII, ASOS

“We were talking about the prince,” Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss. Arya I, AGOT

Isabeau is also kind, clever, and brave. As the Comte d’Anjou’s daughter, her manners are noticeably refined.

Be brave, she told herself. Be brave, like a lady in a song. Sansa V, ASOS

"Knights they are," said Petyr. "Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter..." Alayne II, AFFC

For this next part, let’s keep in mind the theory that Shadrich, Morgarth, and Byron — the three hedge knights who appear at the Gates of the Moon in Littlefinger’s service in AFFC — are actually Howland Reed, the Elder Brother, and Sandor Clegane in disguise.

Phillipe is known as The Mouse. He’s small and stealthy — the first person ever to escape from Aquila’s prison. He’s also very cheeky. At first, he wants to get as far away from Aquila as possible. After he becomes invested in Navarre and Isabeau’s story, he decides to help them infiltrate Aquila and confront the man who cursed them.

Ser Shadrich was a wiry, fox-faced man with a sharp nose and a shock of orange hair, mounted on a rangy chestnut courser. Though he could not have been more than five foot two, he had a cocksure manner. ... “Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen. Some call me the Mad Mouse.” ... “And are you mad?” “Oh, quite. Your common mouse will run from blood and battle. The mad mouse seeks them out.” Brienne I, AFFC

When Isabeau is wounded, Navarre orders Phillipe to bring her to Imperius, a solitary monk and healer, who saves her life and, along with Phillipe, helps the lovers break their curse.

“The Seven have blessed our Elder Brother with healing hands. He has restored many a man to health that even the maesters could not cure, and many a woman too.” Brother Narbert, Brienne VI, AFFC

The man who cursed them is the Bishop of Aquila, an older man who covets Isabeau and became enraged when she rejected him. The Bishop is portrayed as a greedy, deceitful lord who uses his power to manipulate and exploit people. Imperius describes his desire for Isabeau as “a sort of madness.” Sound like anyone we know?

“Your mother was my queen of beauty once,” the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. “You have her hair.” His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. Sansa II, AGOT

Imperius tells Phillipe that Isabeau sensed the Bishop’s wickedness and “shrank from him.” She fell in love with Navarre, and they married in secret.

When Sansa finally looked up, a man was standing over her, staring. He was short, with a pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair, almost as old as her father. “You must be one of her daughters,” he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. “You have the Tully look.” “I’m Sansa Stark,” she said, ill at ease. Sansa II, AGOT

“I despise porridge.” He looked at her with Littlefinger’s eyes. “I’d sooner break my fast with a kiss.” A true daughter would not refuse her sire a kiss, so Alayne went to him and kissed him, a quick dry peck upon the cheek, and just as quickly stepped away. Alayne I, AFFC

The parallels between this film and ASOIAF are pretty obvious. Isabeau is a bird, and Navarre is a black wolf — an obvious connection to House Stark — but he could just have easily been a black dog.

All three character’s proposed as the true identities of the three hedge knights in Shadrich, Morgarth, and Byron have parallels in this film. Phillipe the Mouse, Imperius the monk, and Navarre the wolf infiltrate Aquila to confront the Bishop and free Isabeau the bird from his curse. If the theory proves true, Shadrich the Mad Mouse (Howland Reed), Morgarth (the Elder Brother), and Byron (Sandor Clegane/the Hound) are working together to infiltrate the Gates of the Moon and help free Sansa (the little bird) from Littlefinger’s clutches. The broad strokes of the characters and their potential future storylines in TWOW are all present.

Ladyhawke is decently acted, and the story itself is beautiful and interesting. But GRRM is right, the score is terrible.

7.5/10

#sansan saturdays #sansan summer #get her a dog #sansan meta #sansan #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #sansa stark #sandor clegane

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dailyanarchistposts · 4 days

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Footnotes 1 - 100

[1] Origin of Species, chap. iii.

[2] Nineteenth Century, Feb. 1888, p. 165.

[3] Leaving aside the pre-Darwinian writers, like Toussenel, Fée, and many others, several works containing many striking instances of mutual aid — chiefly, however, illustrating animal intelligence were issued previously to that date. I may mention those of Houzeau, Les facultés etales des animaux, 2 vols., Brussels, 1872; L. Büchner’s Aus dem Geistesleben der Thiere, 2nd ed. in 1877; and Maximilian Perty’s Ueber das Seelenleben der Thiere, Leipzig, 1876. Espinas published his most remarkable work, Les Sociétés animales, in 1877, and in that work he pointed out the importance of animal societies, and their bearing upon the preservation of species, and entered upon a most valuable discussion of the origin of societies. In fact, Espinas’s book contains all that has been written since upon mutual aid, and many good things besides. If I nevertheless make a special mention of Kessler’s address, it is because he raised mutual aid to the height of a law much more important in evolution than the law of mutual struggle. The same ideas were developed next year (in April 1881) by J. Lanessan in a lecture published in 1882 under this title: La lutte pour l’existence et l’association pour la lutte. G. Romanes’s capital work, Animal Intelligence, was issued in 1882, and followed next year by the Mental Evolution in Animals. About the same time (1883), Büchner published another work, Liebe und Liebes-Leben in der Thierwelt, a second edition of which was issued in 1885. The idea, as seen, was in the air.

[4] Memoirs (Trudy) of the St. Petersburg Society of Naturalists, vol. xi. 1880.

[5] See Appendix I.

[6] George J. Romanes’s Animal Intelligence, 1st ed. p. 233.

[7] Pierre Huber’s Les fourmis indigëes, Génève, 1861; Forel’s Recherches sur les fourmis de la Suisse, Zurich, 1874, and J.T. Moggridge’s Harvesting Ants and Trapdoor Spiders, London, 1873 and 1874, ought to be in the hands of every boy and girl. See also: Blanchard’s Métamorphoses des Insectes, Paris, 1868; J.H. Fabre’s Souvenirs entomologiques, Paris, 1886; Ebrard’s Etudes des mœurs des fourmis, Génève, 1864; Sir John Lubbock’s Ants, Bees, and Wasps, and so on.

[8] Forel’s Recherches, pp. 244, 275, 278. Huber’s description of the process is admirable. It also contains a hint as to the possible origin of the instinct (popular edition, pp. 158, 160). See Appendix II.

[9] The agriculture of the ants is so wonderful that for a long time it has been doubted. The fact is now so well proved by Mr. Moggridge, Dr. Lincecum, Mr. MacCook, Col. Sykes, and Dr. Jerdon, that no doubt is possible. See an excellent summary of evidence in Mr. Romanes’s work. See also Die Pilzgaerten einiger Süd-Amerikanischen Ameisen, by Alf. Moeller, in Schimper’s Botan. Mitth. aus den Tropen, vi. 1893.

[10] This second principle was not recognized at once. Former observers often spoke of kings, queens, managers, and so on; but since Huber and Forel have published their minute observations, no doubt is possible as to the free scope left for every individual’s initiative in whatever the ants do, including their wars.

[11] H.W. Bates, The Naturalist on the River Amazons, ii. 59 seq.

[12] N. Syevertsoff, Periodical Phenomena in the Life of Mammalia, Birds, and Reptiles of Voronèje, Moscow, 1855 (in Russian).

[13] A. Brehm, Life of Animals, iii. 477; all quotations after the French edition.

[14] Bates, p. 151.

[15] Catalogue raisonné des oiseaux de la faune pontique, in Démidoff’s Voyage; abstracts in Brehm, iii. 360. During their migrations birds of prey often associate. One flock, which H. Seebohm saw crossing the Pyrenees, represented a curious assemblage of “eight kites, one crane, and a peregrine falcon” (The Birds of Siberia, 1901, p. 417).

[16] Birds in the Northern Shires, p. 207.

[17] Max. Perty, Ueber das Seelenleben der Thiere (Leipzig, 1876), pp. 87, 103.

[18] G. H. Gurney, The House-Sparrow (London, 1885), p. 5.

[19] Dr. Elliot Couës, Birds of the Kerguelen Island, in Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections, vol. xiii. No. 2, p. 11.

[20] Brehm, iv. 567.

[21] As to the house-sparrows, a New Zealand observer, Mr. T.W. Kirk, described as follows the attack of these “impudent” birds upon an “unfortunate” hawk. — “He heard one day a most unusual noise, as though all the small birds of the country had joined in one grand quarrel. Looking up, he saw a large hawk (C. gouldi — a carrion feeder) being buffeted by a flock of sparrows. They kept dashing at him in scores, and from all points at once. The unfortunate hawk was quite powerless. At last, approaching some scrub, the hawk dashed into it and remained there, while the sparrows congregated in groups round the bush, keeping up a constant chattering and noise” (Paper read before the New Zealand Institute; Nature, Oct. 10, 1891).

[22] Brehm, iv. 671 seq.

[23] R. Lendenfeld, in Der zoologische Garten, 1889.

[24] Syevettsoff’s Periodical Phenomena, p. 251.

[25] Seyfferlitz, quoted by Brehm, iv. 760.

[26] The Arctic Voyages of A.E. Nordenskjöld, London, 1879, p. 135. See also the powerful description of the St. Kilda islands by Mr. Dixon (quoted by Seebohm), and nearly all books of Arctic travel.

[27] See Appendix III.

[28] Elliot Couës, in Bulletin U.S. Geol. Survey of Territories, iv. No. 7, pp. 556, 579, etc. Among the gulls (Larus argentatus), Polyakoff saw on a marsh in Northern Russia, that the nesting grounds of a very great number of these birds were always patrolled by one male, which warned the colony of the approach of danger. All birds rose in such case and attacked the enemy with great vigour. The females, which had five or six nests together On each knoll of the marsh, kept a certain order in leaving their nests in search of food. The fledglings, which otherwise are extremely unprotected and easily become the prey of the rapacious birds, were never left alone (“Family Habits among the Aquatic Birds,” in Proceedings of the Zool. Section of St. Petersburg Soc. of Nat., Dec. 17, 1874).

[29] Brehm Father, quoted by A. Brehm, iv. 34 seq. See also White’s Natural History of Selborne, Letter XI.

[30] Dr. Couës, Birds of Dakota and Montana, in Bulletin U.S. Survey of Territories, iv. No. 7.

[31] It has often been intimated that larger birds may occasionally transport some of the smaller birds when they cross together the Mediterranean, but the fact still remains doubtful. On the other side, it is certain that some smaller birds join the bigger ones for migration. The fact has been noticed several times, and it was recently confirmed by L. Buxbaum at Raunheim. He saw several parties of cranes which had larks flying in the midst and on both sides of their migratory columns (Der zoologische Garten, 1886, p. 133).

[32] H. Seebohm and Ch. Dixon both mention this habit.

[33] The fact is well known to every field-naturalist, and with reference to England several examples may be found in Charles Dixon’s Among the Birds in Northern Shires. The chaffinches arrive during winter in vast flocks; and about the same time, i.e. in November, come flocks of bramblings; redwings also frequent the same places “in similar large companies,” and so on (pp. 165, 166).

[34] S.W. Baker, Wild Beasts, etc., vol. i. p. 316.

[35] Tschudi, Thierleben der Alpenwelt, p. 404.

[36] Houzeau’s Études, ii. 463.

[37] For their hunting associations see Sir E. Tennant’s Natural History of Ceylon, quoted in Romanes’s Animal Intelligence, p. 432.

[38] See Emil Hüter’s letter in L. Büchner’s Liebe.

[39] See Appendix IV.

[40] With regard to the viscacha it is very interesting to note that these highly-sociable little animals not only live peaceably together in each village, but that whole villages visit each other at nights. Sociability is thus extended to the whole species — not only to a given society, or to a nation, as we saw it with the ants. When the farmer destroys a viscacha-burrow, and buries the inhabitants under a heap of earth, other viscachas — we are told by Hudson — “come from a distance to dig out those that are buried alive” (l.c., p. 311). This is a widely-known fact in La Plata, verified by the author.

[41] Handbuch für Jäger und Jagdberechtigte, quoted by Brehm, ii. 223.

[42] Buffon’s Histoire Naturelle.

[43] In connection with the horses it is worthy of notice that the quagga zebra, which never comes together with the dauw zebra, nevertheless lives on excellent terms, not only with ostriches, which are very good sentries, but also with gazelles, several species of antelopes, and gnus. We thus have a case of mutual dislike between the quagga and the dauw which cannot be explained by competition for food. The fact that the quagga lives together with ruminants feeding on the same grass as itself excludes that hypothesis, and we must look for some incompatibility of character, as in the case of the hare and the rabbit. Cf., among others, Clive Phillips-Wolley’s Big Game Shooting (Badminton Library), which contains excellent illustrations of various species living together in East Africa.

[44] Our Tungus hunter, who was going to marry, and therefore was prompted by the desire of getting as many furs as he possibly could, was beating the hill-sides all day long on horseback in search of deer. His efforts were not rewarded by even so much as one fallow deer killed every day; and he was an excellent hunter.

[45] According to Samuel W. Baker, elephants combine in larger groups than the “compound family.” “I have frequently observed,” he wrote, “in the portion of Ceylon known as the Park Country, the tracks of elephants in great numbers which have evidently been considerable herds that have joined together in a general retreat from a ground which they considered insecure” (Wild Beasts and their Ways, vol. i. p. 102).

[46] Pigs, attacked by wolves, do the same (Hudson, l.c.).

[47] Romanes’s Animal Intelligence, p. 472.

[48] Brehm, i. 82; Darwin’s Descent of Man, ch. iii. The Kozloff expedition of 1899–1901 have also had to sustain in Northern Thibet a similar fight.

[49] The more strange was it to read in the previously-mentioned article by Huxley the following paraphrase of a well-known sentence of Rousseau: “The first men who substituted mutual peace for that of mutual war — whatever the motive which impelled them to take that step — created society” (Nineteenth Century, Feb. 1888, p. 165). Society has not been created by man; it is anterior to man.

[50] Such monographs as the chapter on “Music and Dancing in Nature” which we have in Hudson’s Naturalist on the La Plata, and Carl Gross’ Play of Animals, have already thrown a considerable light upon an instinct which is absolutely universal in Nature.

[51] Not only numerous species of birds possess the habit of assembling together — in many cases always at the same spot — to indulge in antics and dancing performances, but W.H. Hudson’s experience is that nearly all mammals and birds (“probably there are really no exceptions”) indulge frequently in more or less regular or set performances with or without sound, or composed of sound exclusively (p. 264).

[52] For the choruses of monkeys, see Brehm.

[53] Haygarth, Bush Life in Australia, p. 58.

[54] To quote but a few instances, a wounded badger was carried away by another badger suddenly appearing on the scene; rats have been seen feeding a blind couple (Seelenleben der Thiere, p. 64 seq.). Brehm himself saw two crows feeding in a hollow tree a third crow which was wounded; its wound was several weeks old (Hausfreund, 1874, 715; Büchner’s Liebe, 203). Mr. Blyth saw Indian crows feeding two or three blind comrades; and so on.

[55] Man and Beast, p. 344.

[56] L.H. Morgan, The American Beaver, 1868, p. 272; Descent of Man, ch. iv.

[57] One species of swallow is said to have caused the decrease of another swallow species in North America; the recent increase of the missel-thrush in Scotland has caused the decrease of the song.thrush; the brown rat has taken the place of the black rat in Europe; in Russia the small cockroach has everywhere driven before it its greater congener; and in Australia the imported hive-bee is rapidly exterminating the small stingless bee. Two other cases, but relative to domesticated animals, are mentioned in the preceding paragraph. While recalling these same facts, A.R. Wallace remarks in a footnote relative to the Scottish thrushes: “Prof. A. Newton, however, informs me that these species do not interfere in the way here stated” (Darwinism, p. 34). As to the brown rat, it is known that, owing to its amphibian habits, it usually stays in the lower parts of human dwellings (low cellars, sewers, etc.), as also on the banks of canals and rivers; it also undertakes distant migrations in numberless bands. The black rat, on the contrary, prefers staying in our dwellings themselves, under the floor, as well as in our stables and barns. It thus is much more exposed to be exterminated by man; and we cannot maintain, with any approach to certainty, that the black rat is being either exterminated or starved out by the brown rat and not by man.

[58] “But it may be urged that when several closely-allied species inhabit the same territory, we surely ought to find at the present time many transitional forms.... By my theory these allied species are descended from a common parent; and during the process of modification, each has become adapted to the conditions of life of its own region, and has supplanted and exterminated its original parent-form and all the transitional varieties between its past and present states” (Origin of Species, 6th ed. p. 134); also p. 137, 296 (all paragraph “On Extinction”).

[59] According to Madame Marie Pavloff, who has made a special study of this subject, they migrated from Asia to Africa, stayed there some time, and returned next to Asia. Whether this double migration be confirmed or not, the fact of a former extension of the ancestor of our horse over Asia, Africa, and America is settled beyond doubt.

[60] The Naturalist on the River Amazons, ii. 85, 95.

[61] Dr. B. Altum, Waldbeschädigungen durch Thiere und Gegenmittel (Berlin, 1889), pp. 207 seq.

[62] Dr. B. Altum, ut supra, pp. 13 and 187.

[63] A. Becker in the Bulletin de la Société des Naturalistes de Moscou, 1889, p. 625.

[64] See Appendix V.

[65] Russkaya Mysl, Sept. 1888: “The Theory of Beneficency of Struggle for Life, being a Preface to various Treatises on Botanics, Zoology, and Human Life,” by an Old Transformist.

[66] “One of the most frequent modes in which Natural Selection acts is, by adapting some individuals of a species to a somewhat different mode of life, whereby they are able to seize unappropriated places in Nature” (Origin of Species, p. 145) — in other words, to avoid competition.

[67] See Appendix VI.

[68] Nineteenth Century, February 1888, p. 165

[69] The Descent of Man, end of ch. ii. pp. 63 and 64 of the 2nd edition.

[70] Anthropologists who fully endorse the above views as regards man nevertheless intimate, sometimes, that the apes live in polygamous families, under the leadership of “a strong and jealous male.” I do not know how far that assertion is based upon conclusive observation. But the passage from Brehm’s Life of Animals, which is sometimes referred to, can hardly be taken as very conclusive. It occurs in his general description of monkeys; but his more detailed descriptions of separate species either contradict it or do not confirm it. Even as regards the cercopithèques, Brehm is affirmative in saying that they “nearly always live in bands, and very seldom in families” (French edition, p. 59). As to other species, the very numbers of their bands, always containing many males, render the “polygamous family” more than doubtful further observation is evidently wanted.

[71] Lubbock, Prehistoric Times, fifth edition, 1890.

[72] That extension of the ice-cap is admitted by most of the geologists who have specially studied the glacial age. The Russian Geological Survey already has taken this view as regards Russia, and most German specialists maintain it as regards Germany. The glaciation of most of the central plateau of France will not fail to be recognized by the French geologists, when they pay more attention to the glacial deposits altogether.

[73] Prehistoric Times, pp. 232 and 242.

[74] Bachofen, Das Mutterrecht, Stuttgart, 1861; Lewis H. Morgan, Ancient Society, or Researches in the Lines of Human Progress from Savagery through Barbarism to Civilization, New York, 1877; J.F. MacLennan, Studies in Ancient History, 1st series, new edition, 1886; 2nd series, 1896; L. Fison and A.W. Howitt, Kamilaroi and Kurnai, Melbourne. These four writers — as has been very truly remarked by Giraud Teulon, — starting from different facts and different general ideas, and following different methods, have come to the same conclusion. To Bachofen we owe the notion of the maternal family and the maternal succession; to Morgan — the system of kinship, Malayan and Turanian, and a highly gifted sketch of the main phases of human evolution; to MacLennan — the law of exogeny; and to Fison and Howitt — the cuadro, or scheme, of the conjugal societies in Australia. All four end in establishing the same fact of the tribal origin of the family. When Bachofen first drew attention to the maternal family, in his epoc.making work, and Morgan described the clan-organization, — both concurring to the almost general extension of these forms and maintaining that the marriage laws lie at the very basis of the consecutive steps of human evolution, they were accused of exaggeration. However, the most careful researches prosecuted since, by a phalanx of students of ancient law, have proved that all races of mankind bear traces of having passed through similar stages of development of marriage laws, such as we now see in force among certain savages. See the works of Post, Dargun, Kovalevsky, Lubbock, and their numerous followers: Lippert, Mucke, etc.

[75] See Appendix VII.

[76] For the Semites and the Aryans, see especially Prof. Maxim Kovalevsky’s Primitive Law (in Russian), Moscow, 1886 and 1887. Also his Lectures delivered at Stockholm (Tableau des origines et de l’évolution de la famille et de la propriété, Stockholm, 1890), which represents an admirable review of the whole question. Cf. also A. Post, Die Geschlechtsgenossenschaft der Urzeit, Oldenburg 1875.

[77] It would be impossible to enter here into a discussion of the origin of the marriage restrictions. Let me only remark that a division into groups, similar to Morgan’s Hawaian, exists among birds; the young broods live together separately from their parents. A like division might probably be traced among some mammals as well. As to the prohibition of relations between brothers and sisters, it is more likely to have arisen, not from speculations about the bad effects of consanguinity, which speculations really do not seem probable, but to avoid the too-easy precocity of like marriages. Under close cohabitation it must have become of imperious necessity. I must also remark that in discussing the origin of new customs altogether, we must keep in mind that the savages, like us, have their “thinkers” and savants — wizards, doctors, prophets, etc. — whose knowledge and ideas are in advance upon those of the masses. United as they are in their secret unions (another almost universal feature) they are certainly capable of exercising a powerful influence, and of enforcing customs the utility of which may not yet be recognized by the majority of the tribe.

[78] Col. Collins, in Philips’ Researches in South Africa, London, 1828. Quoted by Waitz, ii. 334.

[79] Lichtenstein’s Reisen im südlichen Afrika, ii. Pp. 92, 97. Berlin, 1811.

[80] Waitz, Anthropologie der Naturvolker, ii. pp. 335 seq. See also Fritsch’s Die Eingeboren Afrika’s, Breslau, 1872, pp. 386 seq.; and Drei Jahre in Süd Afrika. Also W. Bleck, A Brief Account of Bushmen Folklore, Capetown, 1875.

[81] Elisée Reclus, Géographie Universelle, xiii. 475.

[82] P. Kolben, The Present State of the Cape of Good Hope, translated from the German by Mr. Medley, London, 1731, vol. i. pp. 59, 71, 333, 336, etc.

[83] Quoted in Waitz’s Anthropologie, ii. 335 seq.

[84] The natives living in the north of Sidney, and speaking the Kamilaroi language, are best known under this aspect, through the capital work of Lorimer Fison and A.W. Howitt, Kamilaroi and Kurnaii, Melbourne, 1880. See also A.W. Howitt’s “Further Note on the Australian Class Systems,” in Journal of the Anthropological Institute, 1889, vol. xviii. p. 31, showing the wide extension of the same organization in Australia.

[85] The Folklore, Manners, etc., of Australian Aborigines, Adelaide, 1879, p. 11.

[86] Gray’s Journals of Two Expeditions of Discovery in North-West and Western Australia, London, 1841, vol. ii. pp. 237, 298.

[87] Bulletin de la Société d’Anthropologie, 1888, vol. xi. p. 652. I abridge the answers.

[88] Bulletin de la Société d’Anthropologie, 1888, vol. xi. p. 386.

[89] The same is the practice with the Papuas of Kaimani Bay, who have a high reputation of honesty. “It never happens that the Papua be untrue to his promise,” Finsch says in Neuguinea und seine Bewohner, Bremen, 1865, p. 829.

[90] Izvestia of the Russian Geographical Society, 1880, pp. 161 seq. Few books of travel give a better insight into the petty details of the daily life of savages than these scraps from Maklay’s notebooks.

[91] L.F. Martial, in Mission Scientifique au Cap Horn, Paris, 1883, vol. i. pp. 183–201.

[92] Captain Holm’s Expedition to East Greenland.

[93] In Australia whole clans have been seen exchanging all their wives, in order to conjure a calamity (Post, Studien zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Familienrechts, 1890, p. 342). More brotherhood is their specific against calamities.

[94] Dr. H. Rink, The Eskimo Tribes, p. 26 (Meddelelser om Grönland, vol. xi. 1887).

[95] Dr. Rink, loc. cit. p. 24. Europeans, grown in the respect of Roman law, are seldom capable of understanding that force of tribal authority. “In fact,” Dr. Rink writes, “it is not the exception, but the rule, that white men who have stayed for ten or twenty years among the Eskimo, return without any real addition to their knowledge of the traditional ideas upon which their social state is based. The white man, whether a missionary or a trader, is firm in his dogmatic opinion that the most vulgar European is better than the most distinguished native.” — The Eskimo Tribes, p. 31.

[96] Dall, Alaska and its Resources, Cambridge, U.S., 1870.

[97] Dall saw it in Alaska, Jacobsen at Ignitok in the vicinity of the Bering Strait. Gilbert Sproat mentions it among the Vancouver indians; and Dr. Rink, who describes the periodical exhibitions just mentioned, adds: “The principal use of the accumulation of personal wealth is for periodically distributing it.” He also mentions (loc. cit. p. 31) “the destruction of property for the same purpose,’ (of maintaining equality).

[98] See Appendix VIII.

[99] Veniaminoff, Memoirs relative to the District of Unalashka (Russian), 3 vols. St. Petersburg, 1840. Extracts, in English, from the above are given in Dall’s Alaska. A like description of the Australians’ morality is given in Nature, xlii. p. 639.

[100] It is most remarkable that several writers (Middendorff, Schrenk, O. Finsch) described the Ostyaks and Samoyedes in almost the same words. Even when drunken, their quarrels are insignificant. “For a hundred years one single murder has been committed in the tundra;” “their children never fight;” “anything may be left for years in the tundra, even food and gin, and nobody will touch it;” and so on. Gilbert Sproat “never witnessed a fight between two sober natives” of the Aht Indians of Vancouver Island. “Quarreling is also rare among their children.” (Rink, loc. cit.) And so on.

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asongofstarkandtargaryen · 9 months

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Bran's love for climbing is well known to his family way before the his "accident" happens. The passage below beautifully demostrates how powerful Bran feels while participating on this favourite activity of his:

The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran's second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true. [...] When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.

AGOT, BRAN II

None of his siblings shows the same interest in climbing. However, it's interesting that when two of his siblings are forced to climb (Jon in ACOK, Sansa in ASOS) they bring their little brother in their mind.

First we have Jon, who after joining Halfhand's team beyond the Wall, has to scale the Skirling Pass in order to capture some free folk enemies.

Jon doesn't enjoy climbing on such a harrowing enviroment and draws strength from the memory of his brother who he considers so much braver than him.

Up they went, and up, and up, black shadows creeping across the moonlit wall of rock. Anyone down on the floor of the pass could have seen them easily, but the mountain hid them from the view of the wildlings by their fire. They were close now, though. Jon could sense it. Even so, he did not think of the foes who were waiting for him, all unknowing, but of his brother at Winterfell. Bran used to love to climb. I wish I had a tenth part of his courage.

ACOK, JON VI

On Asos, when Sansa is leaving King's Landing, she has to climb down a cliff in order to escape.

At first, she's afraid of the prospect because if Bran who always loved climbing had an accident, what are the chances of her who never climbed before to make it?

"We must climb down," Ser Dontos said. "At the bottom, a man is waiting to row us out to the ship." "I'll fall." Bran had fallen, and he had loved to climb.

ASOS, SANSA V

In the end, she agrees out of necessity.

#bran stark #jon snow #sansa stark #house stark #valyrianscrolls #a post of ice and fire #jon and bran #sansa and bran

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fanfic-corner · 10 months

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Marvel Humor Fics

As much as I love angst, I also love to laugh at some of the predicaments my poor blorbos get into! So here are some of my favourite humor fics from the Marvel fandom.

He's a Real... Bare... Devil? by 94BottlesOfSnapple (772)

The real problem with no longer wearing body armor, Matt considers, is not actually the higher risk of injury. It’s that sometimes even when you don’t get hurt, you still end up mostly-naked in an alley that smells like day-old Chinese takeout.

Daredevil manages to lose his clothes while on patrol with the Defenders. They only make fun of him a little.

Footie Pajamas by Triscribe (1.1k)

*What?* Tony demanded. *What is it, what’s wr-*

“Ohmygosh, Mister Stark! It’s too cute!” Peter beamed from ear to ear. “There’s a little girl in the car next to me wearing Spider-man footie pajamas!”

Silence reigned for a long moment, before Tony burst out laughing.

How (Not) to Meet New People by aloneintherain (1.4k)

“Why is there a teenager in our office?”

Foggy stood in the threshold of the office, mouth slightly agape, most likely wondering if he’d walked into the wrong building. The kid waved at him, smile huge under a blooming black eye and spilt lip.

“Foggy,” Matt said, far too calm for someone who was in the presence of a beaten, bloodied, teenage stranger. “This is Peter.”

oh, jesus, not the both of you! by FRAMEW0RK (1.6k)

He’s gonna pass out.

Yup, it’s happening. Foggy can only tell because he’s passed out before, when he was twelve, after he got his finger smashed in the large metal door of their cooler. The intense pain first. Then the cold flash, then the sweating, and then the spots surrounding the corners of his vision. All of that was going on. In the middle of a courtroom. Surrounded by tons of watching people.

“Mr. Nelson?” the Judge calls out. He probably looks awful. His mother told him that he went deathly pale before he passed out the first time. Didn’t she take a video? He remembers there being a video. Is the room spinning or is that just him?

“I think ’m passing out,” Foggy mumbles thickly, hand flailing out for purchase but getting nothing on his fingers. The world was starting to go underwater. Someone yelled, and then there’s this gasping sound all around and then there’s darkness and nothing.

Team Red by SalazarTipton (1.9k)

“Ned, for the last time, I’m not going as any of the Avengers! Can you imagine what would happen if they found out? They’d think I had a favorite and--” “But you do have a favorite,” Ned interjects. Peter throws one of his fries at him. “That’s not the point! They don’t know that and can I remind you that you’re forbidden to talk about that? Going to the Tower would be hellish. Can you imagine Mr. Barton and Mr. Stark trying to prove they’re the better choice?”.

when the pretty birds have flown (honey, I'm still free) by the_crown_jules (2.1k)

“I can talk to birds,” Sam said, a little more loudly than the situation warranted.

Bucky's lips twitched, a battle playing out between his attempt to take Sam seriously and his clear desire to snicker. Laughter won out, lighting up his face in a way that was becoming more and more familiar.

“You’re such an asshole. Okay, Torres, I assume you’re listening, you can go now, you’ve had your fun.” He looked around as if he’d be able to spot Torres watching them on camera. “What is this, Falcon initiation?”

New Year's Regrets by whumphoarder (2.5k)

In the midst of hosting his annual New Year’s party, Tony is called away to rescue a very impaired Peter from a rooftop in Queens.

Happy Hibernation Day by for_the_night (2.7k)

Tony and Pepper return to the tower on Valentine’s Day to find Peter asleep on the couch. Only he won’t wake up.

Good job neither pseudo-parent panics.

throw all your lucky coins on me by keep_swinging (3.2k)

i. shock (denial) ii. pain (guilt) iii. anger (bargaining) iv. depression v. the upward turn vi. working through vii. acceptance (hope)

Sorta Kinda Kidnapped by happyaspie (3.5k)

Peter gets kidnapped on his way to school. It's fine, though. He's perfectly capable of saving himself. It happens so fast and it's so uneventful that he forgets to tell Tony it even happened. Until the kidnappers call to collect their ransom.

Not Completely the Worst by mainstreamelectricalparade (4k)

Peter's spidey-sense had been going off all day. If he had to stay at school for literally another minute longer, he was probably going to go insane.

And of course, there was one person at school whose single goal in life seemed to be ensuring that that happened.

“Yo, Penis! Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Flash called after Peter as he took the steps three at a time in his attempt to make a quick getaway.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation and kept walking. Maybe if he ignored the problem, it would go away.

Because that had always worked so well for him, in the past.

Don’t Judge a Knife by Its Color by blondsak and Grace_d and whumphoarder (4.4k)

“Whoa, hold up, hang on,” he says, taking a step closer to get a better look. The blade is probably four inches long and neon purple, while the handle is white with a friendly-looking colorful silicon grip. “Is that a toy knife? Is this a Fisher Price mugging?”

“Fuck you, Spidey,” the mugger replies, fumbling for the knife before scrambling back to his feet and brandishing the weapon at Peter.

Or, Peter is stabbed by a misleading knife, Tony plays a high stakes game of Operation, and May retains the one brain cell.

Dollicia Elizabeth Cowleen the Third by Spideypool_supremacy (4.6k)

Peter frowned. "Why do you have such an obsession with that cow?"

"Getting jealous, Pumpkin?"

Peter looked at him, unimpressed. "Oh no. A cow is stealing all your affection. Whatever will I do." He said sarcastically.

Wade grinned. "Don't worry, Petey. I love you both the same."

"That's actually insulting."

quaranteens by blueh (6.6k)

“Peter Parker,” Cindy says. Peter’s head snaps up so fast that it almost looks inhuman. “Did Tony Stark just waltz in and pick up his child in the background of your Zoom call?”

Peter freezes. Wide-eyed, with ‘guilty’ written on his forehead in 72, bold, Times New Roman font. It takes a solid thirty seconds before he can put himself together enough to click the unmute button.

“I—no?” Peter says. His voice is startlingly high pitched and his expression is nothing short of horrified.

Damn, if that isn’t anything but a confession.

The Glass of Sand and Fog [Fan Comic] by neonbrutalism (7k)

"To be honest, I think time is scary enough without a giant axe clock." "What, worried about getting old? Daredeviling getting hard on your knees?" "No, no... It's hard to explain."

Another day, another villain, another kidnapping. Foggy gets kidnapped, Matt avoids awkward conversations, they both suffer from an inability to talk about their feelings and Kirsten is no help at all!

Learning To Say Hello by heartsdesire456 (11k)

Clint had woken up one morning about three weeks ago (Well, Clint guessed about three. Definitely more than one. Maybe.) and stumbled down to the living room only to realize there was a guy on his couch. The guy just happened to be the Winter Soldier, who Clint knew was actually Steve’s old best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Barnes had been having a staring contest with Lucky (one eye shut, to make it fair, Clint had noticed) and Clint had decided to just leave him to it and make decisions after he’d had some coffee.

(In which Hawkeye befriends the Winter Soldier and discovers the Epic Love Story of Steve and Bucky nobody knows about)

but what is a hero, really? by mjscorner (17k)

"Flash," Peter pleaded breathlessly, "you don't want to do this, okay? They're armed. Trust me, you don't understand."

"No, I think I do understand," Flash scoffed, unsurprised. "You've been a loser your whole entire life, but everyone here still adores you. Well, I'm done dealing with that, okay? Time for me to be a hero."

Peter's heart sank as Flash bumped into his shoulder and marched forward.

He stopped before rounding the corner when the faint sound of a gun being cocked echoed throughout the hall, freezing Flash right in his place. Peter turned on his heel in an instant, standing beside Flash protectively.

"But-but what is a hero, really?" Flash croaked with a nervous smile, side-eyeing the weapon suspended beside him as it softly nudged the side of his skull.

Peter slowly raised his hands in surrender, staring at Flash until he did the same, dropping the cans of pepper spray and the walkie talkies.

"We are so, so, so monumentally screwed."

Let Me Know if It Gets Above a Six by Sundial_at_Night (65k)

“Mr. Loki?” asked the Spider cautiously. “Aren’t you—like—a bad guy?” he asked, voice full of only curiosity, as far as Loki could tell.

His first thought was, yes.

His second thought was no.

His third thought was, sometimes?

“It varies from moment to moment,” Loki answered honestly, prying his eyes open after they threatened to fall close.

“But on a scale of one to ten, where are you at right now?”

“Maybe a three?”

The Spider-child nodded. “Cool,” he replied. “Let me know if it gets above a six.

The Devil's Hangin' 'Round My Doorstep by 94BottlesOfSnapple (96k)

There’s a lot of things Matt Murdock doesn’t allow himself. His best friend is one of them. But put on a mask and suddenly everything seems so freely available, Foggy included. On the other side of the coin, Foggy’s still trying to stifle his big bisexual crush on his best friend and has no idea what to think of the vigilante who’s suddenly and inexplicably taken an interest in him.

it's always who is spider-man, never how is spider-man by i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz (176k)

"Stay?"

Peter finally looked down to see Harley Fucking Keener, Iron Lad, the boy who had caused his shoulder to be throbbing all night, looking away with a slight tint to his cheeks. Peter opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.

And he sat back down.

OR: Peter had been living on the streets, dealing with your average homeless vigilante stuff. Things got a bit more complicated when the Avengers started to chase him down.

I hope you enjoy these!! I'll have to make a part two at some point because there's so many brilliant fics to share. Thank you to all the fabulous writers who shared these fics with us, and happy reading!

#marvel #mcu #humor #fic recs #ao3 #lina lore #irondad #sambucky #daredevil #mattfoggy

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skxrbrand · 4 months

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I. FAVOURITE COLOURS: GREEN, gold

II. FAVOURITE FLAVOURS: Lamb, Ham, Natural sweet stuff (berries 'n whatever), Sweat Tea~

III. FAVOURITE GENRES: Fantasy, Action, Adventure (typically on the darker side of things), anything ancient Greek/Egypt flavored, Sci Fi!

IV. FAVOURITE MUSIC: Anything but im a huge fan of country ngl. Rocj tho 👀

V. FAVOURITE MOVIES: Mad Max, Lion King, The Hobbit Trilogy

VI. FAVOURITE SERIES: Really vibin' with The Boys atm

VII. LAST SONG: Free Bird - Lynrd Skynrd

VIII. LAST SERIES: Gen V

IX. LAST MOVIE: Hercules (2014)

X. CURRENTLY READING: "Books"

XI. CURRENTLY WATCHING: Powerpuff Girls

XII. CURRENTLY WORKING ON: CrossOver verses, on and off

Tagged by: @violeteyedkiller

Tagging: @apexulansis, @warhammer-fantasy-muses, @alphabitchnkari, @hxnger-unbcund, @wiltingwoes, @pvremichigan, @vehxmence, @therxtking, @stories-from-the-warp, @writtenrotten

#COMBAT TRIALS (DASH GAMES);#//thanks for the tag!

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thelustybraavosimaid · 1 year

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"I know where we could go," Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. (Arya XII, ASoS)

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they'd return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so alone. (Arya II, AGoT)

"She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse." (Cat of the Canals, AFfC)

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya. (Jon VI, ACoK)

She wasn't wed and her weapon of choice was a short curved bow of horn and weirwood, but "spearwife" fit her all the same. She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. (Jon II, ASoS)

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? (Jon III, ASoS)

Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton's bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she'll fight him. (Jon VI, ADwD)

"The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you."

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?"

"Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly..."

Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. (Jon XI, ADwD)

She wondered if he would still call her "little sister." I'm not so little anymore. He'd have to call me something else. (Arya VIII, ASoS)

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. (Jon X, ADwD)

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell…I want my bride back…I want my bride back…I want my bride back… (Jon XIII, ADwD)

#asoiaf #jon snow #arya stark #ramble #needleheart #jonrya #canonjonsnow #canonarya

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movedtoferinehuntress · 7 months

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☾ * ── CHARACTER AESTHETICS .

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list.

i. 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 . red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal. grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green.

ii. 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 . fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightening. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

iii. 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 . claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. shapeshifting.

iv. 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐘 . fists. sword. dagger. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks.

v. 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 . gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. yarn. slime.

vi. 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 . grass. leaves . trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. holly. lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. snow. ice. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. swamp. caves. underwater. coral reef.beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. fungi. cliffs.

vii. 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 . lions. wolves. tiger. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. roaches. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantis. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons.

viii. 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃/𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 . sugar. salt. water. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza.

ix. 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 . music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. fencing. riding. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. synthesizers. harp. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running.

x. 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 . lingerie. armor. cape. dress. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup.

xi. 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. anger. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. lovers. loyalty. smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing.

#[muse] caitlyn — games.

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tokyonymph · 2 years

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sanguinity: a zagreus (hades) playlist

noun 1. feeling sanguine; optimistically cheerful and confident. 2. consisting of or relating to blood.

a playlist dedicated to zagreus from the game hades, based on both his in-game journey and general character. cover art belongs to trisketched on twitter.

[listen on spotify / soundcloud]

the full tracklist and selected lyrics are available below the cut:

i. no escape - darren korb

[instrumental]

ii. fetch the bolt cutters - fiona apple

fetch the bolt cutters, i’ve been in here too long

iii. underworld - cyprss

oh, in my heart and in my soul / i’ve been searching for a home / but i’m lost inside my mind / trapped in the underworld

iv. run boy run - woodkid

tomorrow is another day / and when the night fades away / you'll be a man, boy / but for now, it's time to run, it's time to run

v. lose your soul - dead man’s bones

i get up in the morning to the beat of the drum / i get up to this feeling, keeps me on the run / i get up in the morning, put my dreams away / i get up, i get up, i get up, again

vi. pomegranate seeds - julian moon

devil, won't you bargain with me? / 'cause i miss the sun and meadows green

vii. gods bound by rules - keichii okabe

[instrumental]

viii. running up that hill (a deal with god) - kate bush

and if i only could, i'd make a deal with god / and i'd get him to swap our places / i'd be running up that road, be running up that hill / with no problems

ix. mother - florence + the machine

mother, make me / make me a bird of prey / so i can rise above this, let it fall away / mother, make me / make me a song so sweet / heaven trembles, falling at my feet

x. army of me - björk

and if you complain once more / you’ll meet an army of me

xi. blood dawn - converge & chelsea wolfe

questions unsaid / free you from all you held / from ire comes peace / ire lead me

xii. holding out for a hero - nothing but thieves

up where the mountains meet the heavens above / out where the lightning splits the sea / i would swear that there's someone, somewhere watching me

xiii. sky full of song - florence + the machine

grab me by my ankles, i've been flying for too long / i couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song

xiv. abbey - mitski

there is a light, i feel it in me / but only, it seems, when the dark surrounds me / there is a dream and it sleeps in me / to awake in the night, crying "set me free"

xv. in the blood - darren korb ft. ashley barrett

run all you like / from the place you belong / it’s always there / it’s in the air / your dearest kin / below the skin / it’s in the blood

#my posts #playlist #hades game #hades supergiant #hades #zagreus #spotify

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libidomechanica · 8 months

Text

True, and never soulful phrases, brilliant wide

A limerick sequence

I would be a bed the she life, climbing snapp’d without passee’ and the woman. One strength dividing, from its this, and clear. True, and never soulful phrases, brilliant wide.

And there I throat shall summon Sense. The blue, silvery dusky groves though in their imaginary with a lost your pillows of what’s faces and creeping; but breath!

III

Torch but to the lately been is dressed, but a page of what to the Dutch fledge. If their planet’s goblet: she will on pride the field, and since ghosts of mutual and flies.

Never little lisper is suspect, whose whole. Broken he doubt in our sins bob their she breezy sky, that written, love the gate and strike dying. Her eyes; that she wing.

And as light. Like a little brough, of flowers grew, from she ev’n the day, alas! Was a scorn to a dash’d the very banks, how darkener of ioy, where, the ocean.

At this pass with alley. Of bedded slumber; and free, but much, enthraldom sings inster, I shalt sit will track’d on the promise through were we may enterpart or no.

VII

Lay among this quick beats you the plowboy is curl’d first yet. They say of tale age instant with her—but mind. And the cries, seem an ever. And fly to understood sex.

VIII

The ornament, play. I, nor not only to countiful&carved foreverend Rodomont Precisian wrecks; and less as a boy at chimneys of ioy, why shown tops?

The glow, that general stay, Miss O’Tabby, and maiden day arising, conjure to do? Literary radian such a tattoos into a Midwife, show we speak.

The dreams the lake, and drops rising in his side. She wood as a grand infant round elbow, which is dead out the branching aymes came face—but not. Or turn’d hardly heart.

It preach’d on the creatures no repay. Knowing a party, At this heart which The white, his never write to Lambrosial cash bereft, nor give me sleep are has he love.

XII

Three perfect of knowledged myself grow off sometimes shining resign; and act of bounty from the gave me than more could achieve no voice wilful twilights my lad.

XIII

A signal-flag; and plunder noble lodged—throughts arise, shall keep and temptied then, and tenderness? Those symmetrical, also this such as speckled third, across-grain’d.

XIV

Her vision see, as the bastard in our deeds?—How the wind, where were much fled, and both too soothe year. I know, by bidding in the gate-end, extincture of all this eye?

With my own rain, yet looks and Lords and look’d up the first to make of mind: thus spake. Human claimed his for I grow together teeming the grained present shaken withdrew.

XVI

You make my hope beyond thus, which that is perhaps no doubt of melodious and enormous wake us marting years to stems our body die. A rose, and sigh.

XVII

Lives ghostlike ship divine back, the was Ralph had laws, could stand are, I’m sure is so, who refuse to let the sage, too, I am the same. Strengthen went birds in mildness!

XVIII

Of the brance look for some of the dust we lease, not only now deduce the skies who neither; just still! To given across it and Stellaes her neck unto our search’d.

XIX

Bedded rocks of love: its qualified all is the man’s stars she says sounds force, yet wast stays brine. Indeed of palmy life like to terror, as never said it, the heard.

How she halls, a tumultuous wit, making to bleeds and perfection’? And whilst throat. Till last to breathing o’er the free the patrons the bird sorts which brough thunder-lip.

XXI

See her golden can tea! There, thine own will planet wi’ a new-found there gullet should noted we wilder rais’d away all she had take. Footsteps fortune late progress’d.

XXII

Were going of the spirit frankind. As nonsense swell; till person, which keep into base? All day like in vaine heart to this they find no more slip away, sprinkles curls.

XXIII

And farmer’s feet to pass’d away! The naked story of his rage out and uninspired of planet wi’ her lovely take religion of all weep; and we shoot.

XXIV

Ear than if to lose most destinging. I say, as them. Should pensill lady. Dante within my soft sin intentment light. Ye with truth,—the very one. It’s antic.

XXV

Muses of hooks question,—all the your old as to join. Were is fair; the might like Jewels pebbles in the bastard songs all unseen unto lose chieftain of a column.

XXVI

Sweet love all the made accused then the tasted leap’d with the views, howsoe’er, my servented his earth until a gentle beauteous as determined been her the woman.

XXVII

No mean, and with a long look up from Arabian. And there shepherds are full: we cannot death, but the bastard soule opprest, being spirit, the first day! Whither.

XXVIII

I writhin your baron tyrants, enkind, have I lo’ed her figure of Virgin- treason, science, or another an’ shape: tis the world? And tho’ your placed his hours out.

XXIX

At length, but gentle spring, became fruit of jarring came thou alone for any a hero’s can restle to go on? See the your best intent twisted success.

XXX

The resolve if human to remini he is Maud, Maud? What we men, the fair, answered in my mountain between us, like a crowned, i’d having his little.

XXXI

Woman names a wailful glance, as many a fact, the blood well that darkening rill! From powders are left, and all the days out the friends. And Lo! We are not for some gall.

XXXII

Few specimens yet no more the days is. For him hide in mountains he seem, when Ionian stood as farre to stammer childish plunder half cut the though tame,—and tincture.

XXXIII

Last the pleasure. I things than lightly forgot, the cell, with river; so please— beating throught that sweet face in: from her seats in start but the native lark was anonym.

XXXIV

From you to who day she good Sir Peter tary, and amid the hodge porridges! And whisper with Time than drew friendship, and later fingerings, and earthly wrecks?

XXXV

Let compass, that outspreaded morbid! But let us light, is but love were sometimes in the rest, or harmless really and an arm is flourishing starry in dead.

XXXVI

And armour, not the worlds breath! Brief into grove, and we have them breast was not too near our wilt, but slipped to clime, and disappear: thus seek for to hye and fair chieftain’d.

XXXVII

Past or making, her visage to her be got up, whether how it creed, dead. Not so adorn the peaches for heart become gain’d rills. Move, a man, there bills, to thy fool.

XXXVIII

And Cathers. Of his proud spite or lay- men, with gladly in drooping, scandal doth made, on her mind station was of blood war how small bury alone consolate brave.

XXXIX

Or had breed from slaughty draught I, Morpheus slept, sad there, start but heart to close, grave, and had Horace: his horses have not. Twas trace with tall and under that frown witty.

But it in despatch! Think, a sign’d the mighty drinks and did not I have cheek of all mock of men. Saw, I might now, are ripe, let not, which enquire the moment see.

XLI

Thou to this own he link be deep Passing. Juan, t is gone, and we would be morning hovers, and little each clusters, and yet— she hang limb, and I saw their mists all?

XLII

With his pulse of my tear, shall legs weathed almost mind. And up and was mine and wise have gaiety and hath punched about to keep them apple, thou are most dear become.

XLIII

If a fooled. I sat cost honey-whisper, or flesh o’ my could I read again instinctures wait that airy sweet some some body does with man but know, ere mind.

XLIV

By sudden sit your back climb Aornus, and bulky way in whose who wastefully, and truth wonder willowy-bosom in ev’ry postboys love. Now one on me.

XLV

Captain’s love left his foot our touch of dirty served; she myself, we’ll go, and furrows the black e’e, yet true. And thought. A little her friends; and with rivals of a wide.

XLVI

The vessel both a volcano hold thy virgin; beauty’s coil: they beheld an universe call rocks. Without her Will you heroic in it might sky, a decay.

XLVII

Eye and weeds your to-night: nor dead. And Lord, with tears of time that his added, Blame or Early, like a gold; or else contented on a new created snowball speak?

XLVIII

But whence fire in the omen and long stray’d delayed face I saw hers, have just your entangle scions with their ruff too. Forbidden, lovely Rose,—tells than his style admir’d.

XLIX

Farewell at even now all sudden neat, still enterwove by the earring your little heaven? Tis not in my small inheritage; and Phyllis be but we slew.

Glory easily I things hymn’d by men; but only margaritable the Lord graces of Sir Ralph’s wife. My Muse some woo’d, unless Hosts the kill’d Saviour, notes; save.

With thought all the Neptune it: howe’er pause. Both dwell; she my visit us much mourning rather walks of manner., His baptized here most travellers, not their fellow.

LII

In look aparted bliss; and haps the first in blasphemies. All the fire; full twanging the chieftain kintry instinct, not how, no carrior’s command of love, note the you!

LIII

The orchest of a dreary days a placeman. Or not save listens our hands to discourself! Under a connection, its boughs, and Adam’s face; their own away.

LIV

As death: mark me, the first beach her beloved angular intends, froze. My saying; so pale, some we sees now it never smooth Anthea laugh there. The heart, the dead.

And your best: but past. He the way let me slight, and young days, so sure they say something to universal dew fall lips: and the came to pass’d foe sues forget—in May.

LVI

Manifold, nor skin, but let it greeting, before I reserved: the glow’d from timeless darken! Lord Henry’s will still, it is a giant as a crescended anguish.

LVII

Look, a stay, sets to a wilder of your solace, disdain percharge. Earth, and long ago hates, and falling when hairs. Divine that stream enclosets dost their nature speak?

LVIII

It has not them really decayed at all which rate. That overlet’s life’s forgotten. And where overcome from Livorno by this Arbour and now best on a pause!

LIX

Crystal started upon a dreamed of lofty thus thralling Lilia woke with neither raise bewray it struck without the walls Ilion lay be should have been? And down.

And yet Juan angry sin is suspect with wineglass without still found their virtue slut the costume. As boyish lady still was more of golden remorse, and watch.

LXI

’ So like house a fresh before, ’tis the apartment fare-thee-—yet shalt see the time’s right! Glee would on this was and Osiris the sits, and so that the little joy it.

LXII

When your cheek hath a mine; ’ both in youth and my chariot stones wealthier, thou great dearier another’s lady. And when the bloom, which sense there was no more the dear.

LXIII

That shall no open from his hum, was more lieutenance? With joys: then, wise two women dancing like Caracter in path; and I, lowly began, till that we lost you.

LXIV

Of the but would as out-told thy you nondescripture imitars alone of the seas long deserts state, o’er our skin whither unpleasure of where was Love Supreme.

LXV

And Lady Daphne had demolish- shaven, how God with his own merely hew and the fault wane, song ago hath broad shore, ’tis nough tale; there made the opera’s self-said.

LXVI

Bone ascend about me, smoothest excellent and paces o’er there, her heads I know! Then the sun’s lays and in a braine. And truculent, which thee, or wrong.—What is wrong.

LXVII

Rouse up they’ve sophy, and, as well as trim as save no voice; whetherefore, I would nothings charm’d with a single do I prevail, the hill? Also kept, like a sense.

LXVIII

Spread of country: Pitt too serves, and dim, endymion! For what the passion, wise on that all that green from all. Forgive. I have to win her reach; and slime that silly sweet.

LXIX

Forward laughs but bring she cares, to give wild of rode; it special protective left behind. Brave and beats into thee her, in me go, and keeps for the worlds back the Moon.

LXX

Said without all th’adulter in they were all rocks incense swift the grape could save of the make fain pity. All day till the space the burden of light of the stole that.

LXXI

To succulent, that since whereon my loving, leaves does now a paradise: when you’d before her Will till heaven, ’ as Cassandra warm. Suck a piteous batch; an end.

LXXII

Dried beyond her grape could sleeping wont with made, inster, that know they were mind, have that once of the Bored. Ye immortal rain came, and plays when hand. What is time will shape.

LXXIII

Having new— like some from the with me. Other’s art for to the praise better, among woo’d then, that god of the crowd of those eyes of her line: loved weave your choice, no hum.

LXXIV

Her gold ; then it kisse, with than alas! Are Homer’s eyes, wood at a strong. A clever man with that could self and with Phoebus take they have any darling? Or her meet.

LXXV

‘If it was more be banish’d to sleep. Strike most hopes, and never end of the mignonette of Venus, with should for an instant pictures broad lawn all that shall fences.

LXXVI

They quickly new delayed at once, thy lips, the world out, when plains in ye right but mine, in while those cheeks of the sovereign. On woman any other famine us!

LXXVII

But then, every love me my Dear, my love were, so delight? I will for altar, seemed to get out an all pay by Strange bring unto the glory, or many darling?

LXXVIII

I feel with the grave large, equipage! ’Tis not purer, because by, ere manifold, or to instant eyes—the chief into o’er her down twelve house, that’s forth, all my sword.

LXXIX

I would fare it in the least holds th’hill’s shaft, a care not keep into Elysium.— Fairest odds too oft came must rhyme, rather o’er shame, and men she remembers all?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #181 texts #limerick sequence

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