#she was the first Big horse i rode after only riding big ponies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a11eya · 2 months ago

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birthday post!! warning, yapping ahead!!!

saturday morning was overcast, misty. quiet. the roads leading into town were winding, lined by unfamiliar trees. the sun burned off the mist, revealing clear blue skies, and i branched off onto a different road which brought me to the ranch.

the ranch had chickens and turkeys, baby donkeys and full grown pigs. alpacas and a cow! but everywhere i looked were ponies and horses. some stabled, some tied to a hitching post, some being trained in a corral.

the horse i rode that day is a former competition rodeo ropes horse named walt! he's fifteen, all white. there was one other rider there aside from our guide, and that rider's horse's name is marley. she used to jump hoops!

single file, with our guide in front, marley in the middle, and me and walt last, we set out on an hour-long trail through the bed of a former river. it's overgrown now with greenery, shrubs and small trees. the dirt trails were still littered with rocks, big and small, and poor marley must have slipped on them at least five times.

walt was very patient with me. the goodest, bestest boy. i know a little of the basics. a good seat requires balance, good posture. makes it easier for the horse to carry you. how to handle the reins for steering, how to urge the horse to go and or ask it to stop. i've ridden horses before, but you can count the number of times on two hands. so walt was patient. despite the fact i had to adjust my seat a couple times, despite the fact that he was last in a single file line with the longest legs of the three horses.

if you've never ridden a horse, there's an initial discomfort to overcome. straddling the horse's back, adjusting to its gait. paying attention to the road ahead of you. but once you get situated, that all fades to the background.

the rustling of small animals in the brush, the birds flitting back and forth. i heard the screech of some kind of hawk overhead, in a sky whose blue stretched far, uninterrupted by even a single cloud. the dust the horses kicked up as they walked, their snorts as they cleared their noses, the thud of their hooves against the ground.

we finished up around 11:30 AM. though i'd planned to have lunch after riding, i found i wasn't hungry just yet. so i set off to the olive grove where the olive oil tasting was happening.

the grove was out on the other end of town, out where there were more ranches and farms growing food. i passed an orange orchard that, spoilers, i ended up buying clementines from at the farmer's market i went to on sunday (more on that later, maybe).

at the entrance of the grove, there was a building, the tasting room, where containers of olive oil and balsamic vinegar lined one wall. you're given a wooden tray with circular indentations in it, deep enough to allow a small disposable cup (think—the kind you put pump condiments like ketchup for fries out into at restaurants) to sit in. next to each indentation is a label engraved into the wood to delineate between the oils and vinegar. you're also given a small loaf of sourdough baguette to rip apart into dippable pieces to taste with.

you make your way along the line of containers, filling your small cups yourself. they had a selection of extra virgin olive oils, infused olive oils, and interesting balsamic vinegars.

outside, they had picnic tables and hammocks under a small canopy of trees where you could sit and take your time tasting. i tried the olive oils first.

for the most part, the olive oil i've had has been cooking olive oil. the big containers you can get at costco, or at the grocery store. i've had good olive oil only a few times, back when i was in italy a couple years ago and wasn't in the headspace to really appreciate it. so i didn't really know what to expect from this tasting experience.

my brother-in-law asked me what i was surprised by from this experience, or something i learned from it. and it sounds so pretentious, but. i told him it's that you can really taste the notes in each olive oil, the ones that're mentioned in their descriptions. even just in the uninfused olive oils. the mild, buttery flavor of a more mellow oil and the spicy, almost peppery flavor of a more intense one. the way that a balsamic vinegar tones down or complements an olive oil when tried together.

they had a delicious garlic infused olive oil, a white truffle olive oil. a rosemary one, a lemon one. aside from their traditional balsamic vinegar, they had a peach one, a fig one, an expresso one, a cinnamon pear one. apparently, you can make a great lemon cake with the lemon-infused olive oil, or a bubbly, carbonated drink with the peach balsamic vinegar.

i ended up going home with an extra virgin olive oil made with olives from their heritage grove (peppery, spicy), the white truffle infused oil, and their traditional balsamic vinegar. i got my sister and brother-in-law an extra virgin olive oil that's smoother, milder, fruitier, and the peach balsamic vinegar—super sweet.

finally, i went for lunch. nothing too interesting to note.

following lunch, i headed over to an outdoor bookstore! it was lovely, exposed to the sky, greenery and plants everywhere. i ended up buying a book on art—The Artist's Palette by Alexandra Loske. it takes 50 artists from the 16th century until now and dives deep into one of their paintings and its color palette, the techniques used to create the painting.

i happened to pick it up because it caught my eye, and upon flipping through it, it fell open to the section on Artemisa Gentileschi. during my undergrad, i took a class on art history to fulfill some requirement, and in that class i wrote a paper on artemisa. she achieved a hell of a lot as an artist during a time when women weren't given opportunities to achieve, particularly in male-dominated circles. if you're curious, one of her most notable works is Judith Slaying Holofernes (warning for violence/blood/death). she's stuck with me, even after all these years, and the book opening to her section felt a little like fate.

after the bookstore, i headed to a wine tasting. i'm not a big alcohol person, and even less so now that i'm out of my 20s, but the area is known for things like their food, their olives, their wine.

my server was super sweet. she gave me a glass of rose on the house, and i didn't even tell her it was my birthday. i ordered a tasting menu of four white wines, and i sat at my table people-watching as i sipped.

it was still a little early for dinner, so i took a walk through downtown and came across a very busy park, despite the chill and setting sun. kids were running around, crawling all over the slides and monkey bars. people were walking their dogs. so i sat on a bench for a while and just let my mind empty as the blue sky flared in yellows and pinks and purples.

#i may write a part two about sunday bc farmer's market was rad and pottery has become my new obsession lol #apologies for the length and also the editing of the pics... don't wanna reveal where i went too specifically haha #jess talks #jess yaps a lot tbh #bday post #may!! you asked and hopefully i delivered lmao!!!!

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milfjagger · 6 months ago

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long horsey post under cut to save my followers who don’t care

i think i rode a pony for the first time when i was about 5 but i started lessons when i was 7!! my sister started at the same time aged 5 and my mum took up riding again having not ridden since she was a kid. (btw all of these photos are from this really cute memories book that my mum had printed for me and my sister ♥️)

we used to go to northern ireland to see my dad’s family pretty much every easter, and we usually also combined it with a trip to donegal in the ROI bc that was where my dad used to go on holiday as a kid! there was a riding school in rathmullan where you could take the ponies along the beach and that was where i had my first gallop!!! my dad doesn’t ride so he always walked along the beach and tried to get pictures; this is me on a pony who i think was called pearl iirc (i have a really good memory for the names of horses for some reason even if i only met/rode them like once)

by this point we had moved from devon to hertfordshire and i absolutely fucking hated it there BUT they did have a very big and very good riding school in walking distance from our house . we had lessons there every week and when i was 10 my mum bought a horse from them! he was called boris, he was a big chestnut irish draft who was sooo handsome and sweet and everyone was so jealous of him lol but here he is 🧡

boris was supposed to be the family horse but my mum is tall and didn’t really realised how much too big he would be for me and my sister (and my brother who rode for a bit before he decided his horse allergies were too bad to continue 😭), especially bc he was only 5 when we got him and he grew about 3 inches from then (finishing at just under 17 hands). i was already like 5’3 at age 10 (early puberty lol) so was able to ride him a bit but my sister couldn’t really bc her feet barely reached the bottom of the saddle. for a while we loaned (for free, from another owner on the yard) a 14 hand haflinger called tommy who i have literally NO pictures of but if you google haflinger that’s pretty much him, they only come in one colour. tommy was absolutely fucking mental and the strongest pony ever, i remember one time i was cantering on him and literally couldn’t stop him at all so i just had to sit and wait until he got tired 😭 we also did some jumping on him and rode him in our lessons which was always slightly terrifying but we had a lot of fun on him until he went lame from a health condition and his owner put him in retirement. then the stable owners told us they had a pony we could loan for free (mainly for my sister) but quote “it’s not a nice pony” and that is the story of how we got isobel, who we have now had for 17 years, is 25 and completely retired from work. she is a very small (12 hands) roan rescue pony who was extremely nervous and unhandled (she had been turned loose for a year before we got her, she wouldn’t let most of the staff near her and her mane was down to her knees and super matted) but my sister was super patient with her. i rode her a little bit but i was already bordering on too big for her. she was 100% my sister’s pony and my sister ADORED her. we all still love isobel so much even though she is grumpy as fuck she’s so cute and she deserves to live out her retirement in peace and be a friend to mum’s current horses ♥️♥️♥️ this is isobel (first pic with my sister soon after we got her 17 years ago and another recent one)

isobel had some limitations though, mainly that she was terrified of jumping and given what she went through before she was rescued by the rspca we didn’t want to push her too much. our riding school was super jumping focused and at the time me and my sister were both really into jumping (and we thought isobel was only gonna be temporary) so mum decided to get a pony that was bigger than isobel but smaller than boris and would be able to do some jumping. which was when we got cookie, who was an absolute legend and i really hope she’s happy if she is still alive today ♥️ she was a skewbald irish cob with one blue eye and one brown, just over 14 hands and came highly recommended by the riding school who had owned her briefly, but she was being sold by a private owner. we had kind of a rocky start with her (when we went to try her out, me, my sister and my brother all rode her and told mum that she scared the shit out of us, but my mum was like “well it’s this pony or no pony”) and she was completely mental for about 3 months and would just buck and run off constantly but luckily we had trained at the school of tommy (and isobel who could also be kind of quirky) and i started really enjoying her. my sister was still nervous but she had isobel who was much smaller and also now that we had 3 it meant we could all ride together which was super nice :) cookie was an amazing jumper for a cob and so pretty ♥️ she had quite severe hayfever and was very bothered by flies so she had to wear a fly mask in the summer and would toss her head quite a lot and in many ways she was not an easy pony at all but we literally loved her and learned so much from her bc she was so weird and crazy. i always think there are two types of cobs, the ones that are basically walking sofas and the ones that are a bit fucked in the head and she was definitely the second type LOL. here is a pic of me jumping on cookie!!! this is from when the riding school took a bunch of school horses and other kids’ horses to a cross country course and i literally fell off at least twice that day and the yard owner actually got on cookie to try and sort her out and she was like fair play lol that pony is spicy!!! but at least we got some good pics before that

pretty soon after we got cookie we moved back to devon and we were only planning to take cookie and boris bc isobel still belonged to the school but they basically insisted we take her, handed over her documents and she was ours 😭 we moved into a farm with its own stables and joined the local pony club, which kinda sucked tbh it was really cliquey and no one really thought much of cookie bc she was a cob and they all had expensive show ponies or thoroughbreds lol. she could easily jump a course of the same height as their horses but she wasn’t really fast enough to win the timed jump-offs …but we still got some rosettes ♥️ I didn’t take boris to many events bc he was mainly mum’s horse, and at this point my sister was really confident on cookie and wanted to ride her all the time so we thought about getting another horse that would be just mine. we heard from someone at our old yard in hertfordshire that she was looking for a home for her super nice dressage horse, but he would be super cheap bc he had health issues and intermittent lameness. i remembered the horse and had always thought he was really sweet and friendly and we ended up getting him, bc it was an amazing opportunity to have a really highly trained horse and have some fun with him when he was sound, but we did kind of know his time would be limited before he went completely lame. his old name was literally FUGLY which was so cruel and inaccurate but i assume he was a really goofy looking foal or something … anyway i was having none of that negativity so i named him lenny 🧡 he was a big 17 hand chestnut warmblood (oldenburg i think but you need a phd to understand european warmblood breeding) and was such a goofy silly head but so sweet and unlike any horse i had ever ridden and i was so extremely excited to have him. he was also best friends with boris who was a similar size and colour and they looked so cute playing together in the field 🥹♥️ this was lenny (with my mum riding him lol i never rode him at a show for reasons i will get into)

we had just got lenny and we knew he was kind of delicate so there was no way he was going to pony club camp to do jumping and all sorts, so for my first ever pony club camp (age 15) i took boris and my sister took cookie. and on literally the FIRST DAY we were having a jumping lesson, boris tripped and i went over his shoulder and broke my collar bone 😭 i had to go to hospital but luckily he was fine and he actually stayed for the whole camp and i think one of the pony club mums rode him and had a great time 😭 and then basically i couldn’t ride for weeks and was super nervous to get on even when my shoulder was better, especially bc lenny was new and a lot more of an advanced horse than i was used to. my mum absolutely fell in love with lenny though and got into dressage on him. I didn’t really ride much for ages after that and even when i did i usually rode cookie. then boris was diagnosed with arthritis - he could still be ridden a little bit though and had medication to manage his joints. I can’t remember if mum sold him before or after we got my sister’s next horse bailey but she ended up selling boris to someone from pony club who said they just wanted a horse to do light hacking on and we could visit him whenever, but within a few months they had sold him, probably for a profit and by lying about his health which was so incredibly irresponsible, infuriating and heartbreaking. so I have no idea what eventually happened to boris but i suspect he was put to sleep within a few years 💔 it’s really sad and i hate that person so much for lying about what they wanted him for and then potentially tricking someone else into buying a horse that wasn’t fully sound. fuck them forever fr boris was so sweet and deserved way better

anyway as i said my sister wanted to do more jumping and especially cross country jumping, and she was getting to a level where cookie couldn’t really keep up with the other more sporty type horses so she ended up getting a 15.2 hand bay irish sport horse called bailey. he was also kind of quirky and for a long time she would fall off him literally every time she took him to an event. my mum would be waiting at the finish line to take a picture and see bailey come running in without her 😭 he was so funny though, when you groomed him he would reflexively start grooming the wall with his teeth as if he was mutual grooming with another horse it was so cute ♥️ this was bailey

because my sister fell off so often over jumps, and bc we had lenny who was highly trained in dressage, both my mum and my sister got really into dressage, my mum on lenny and my sister on both lenny and bailey. i get sad talking about those two bc they both had to be put to sleep, lenny first when he went fully lame from his long term injury. he also had a tumour on his ear which didn’t look good and we had to do the kindest thing for him 💔 my mum was devastated (she absolutely loved him, maybe even more than boris) and one of her friends very kindly bought her a big orange rose to plant in his memory ♥️ and then with bailey, it turned out the reason he kept bucking after jumps was bc he had arthritis in his front legs and would be in pain when he landed. he eventually went fully lame and was in constant pain and again it was the kindest thing for him but it was incredibly sad as he was still quite young. i think at some point bailey overlapped with the new horses mum got for herself and my sister but my timeline is wobbly bc i wasn’t really into horses at the time. i did cry a lot over those two being put to sleep and i cried when we eventually sold cookie, but she went to a really good home with someone who really loved her and may still have her to this day (we lost touch but cookie would be about 23 and could well still be alive).

anyway then my mum had a big 16.3 hand piebald warmblood called stan and my sister had a 16 hand grey british sports horse called george. stan was older (15 when mum bought him) and very experienced and well trained but he was extremely grumpy and difficult a lot of the time and everyone except mum was scared of him 😭 and george was a super sweet youngster who was definitely my sister’s favourite horse ever (except probably isobel) but he kind of scared the shit out of my mum bc he was young and nervous. then my sister went to uni and mum had to sell one of the horses bc she wouldn’t be able to exercise two (we still had and still have isobel but she is too small for any of us and retired anyway, not to mention no one would ever buy her lol) and she decided to sell george for some reason even though he was the way nicer horse. my sister was obviously sad but she follows the new owner on instagram and it looks like george is still doing well to this day :) so mum struggled with stan for a few years and then decided he was basically too old to be competing anymore, snd that was probably why he was getting so grumpy, so she sold him quite cheap to someone who just wanted to do light work (and was really happy with him, he was a beautiful horse for the price they paid). and also if mum had kept george then she would probably never have got athena, who is her current dressage horse and my mum loves her to bits. she is a 16.1 hand dark bay warmblood and is basically perfect for mum in every way. she’s not the most friendly horse but she’s really calm and easy to handle and i love her a lot ♥️ this is athena aka bean aka babina she’s such a fancy girl

athena also has a few health issues though (literally classic our family’s luck with horses) and was off lame for ages in 2018-19 and since it was just athena and isobel at home mum was itching to ride so she spent ages looking for the perfect “project horse” i.e. a young horse that had been backed (ridden) but not really trained so she could do some training herself. after looking at about 20 horses she found this funny little 5 year old grey mare who was maybe 15.1 hands at best and really cheap. and that was bubbles aka bugs who I literally love so much she is soooo cute and friendly and has turned into such a nice little horse. she is the one that i ride now when i visit my parents and she is such a sweet girl i absolutely love bubbles ♥️ look how cute she is (ft. me jumpscare)

mum wouldn’t let me ride bubbles straight away though bc bubbles was young and i was really out of practice, plus bubbles needed a confident horse to go out hacking with (i.e. not athena who is too delicate for such things) so one of my mum’s friends really kindly started letting me ride her horse bonnie :) then through 2020-22 bonnie’s owner wasn’t riding so we moved bonnie to the farm and i loaned her full time. she was a little 15 hand bay baroque type lusitano who was bought for literally 100 euros from a meat factory in portugal 💔 she was also literally evil and would attack you while you were grooming, feeding, putting on rugs, tacking up or basically anything that wasn’t riding, but as soon as you got in the saddle she adopted the chiller nature and was really fun to ride, very speedy but really solid and unflappable, presumably bc she used to be a bullfighter and carriage horse back in portugal. despite how mean she was i loved bonnie and she gave me so so much confidence in my riding and i don’t think i would have got back into horses without her. me and my sister rode loads together during lockdown, switching between bonnie and bubbles :) she was also there for me when i wanted to take on another loan horse, a smallish cob called misty, who threw me off quite badly on like my third ride on her and i was terrified to get back on, so i got on bonnie instead and got my confidence back (misty went back to her owner, who then sold her bc he was a professional trainer and even he couldn’t fix whatever was wrong with her lol and she was supposed to be a riding for the disabled horse!!! she was dangerous fr!!!!)

but anyway then i went back to uni and even though my mum kind of wanted to keep bonnie, she wasn’t going to buy her from her owner after all the work and training and money that she put into her and her owner unfortunately really needed the money from a sale (a lot more than the €100 she paid for her…. thanks to the work of literally me and my mum and not bonnie’s actual owner but i digress). I would have bought her myself if i had the money and the time but i don’t live with my parents and the farm is about 1.5 hours drive away and i can’t reasonably ask my mum to look after my horse all the time especially bc she is such a nightmare to handle. and i can’t keep a horse nearer to me, it’s way too expensive and i don’t have the time 💔 but on the plus side i am definitely confident and competent enough for bubbles now (i don’t really ride athena, i wouldn’t get much out of her as i’m nowhere near trained to that level) and it meant i felt really confident on my riding holiday even on a more spicy horse… bc i know i can handle it !!! my mum even admitted yesterday i am “quite a decent rider” and coming from her that means a lot 🥲 ♥️ and i can ride bubbles whenever i visit my parents!! anyway here’s me and my sister on bonnie and bubbles 😁 thank you for reading if you got this far

#deep ezra lore

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darklingichor · 1 year ago

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By the Shores of Silver Lake; by Laura Ingllas Wilder

This one turned out long, so I decided to look at it on its own.

By the Shores of Silver Lake picks up in Plum Creek, some time has passed since that Hopeful Christmas Eve were we left the Ingalls.

Baby sister Grace was born, but despite that happy occurrence, everyone is a bit sadder. The family came down with scarlet fever, and it's has left Mary blind and weakened.

Laura has become Mary's eyes, painting word pictures for her sister. This task and the fact that she has had to take over things that Mary will not be able to do, or has not recovered enough to do yet, has made her more mature, and patient.

Money is tight, with the grasshopper years not far behind them and doctor bills to be paid.

This understandably gloomy mood is interrupted when Laura's aunt Docia, Charles's sister, comes riding up to their door. She has a job offer for Pa. She and her husband are running a railroad camp in the Dakota Territory, and they need a bookkeeper and storekeeper. The pay is good and, Charles and Caroline decide that it is too good an opportunity to pass up. Mary isn't strong enough to travel, so, it is decided that Caroline and the girls will follow when she is well enough.

Off Charles goes, and a few months later the rest of the family boards a train. Their first time traveling this way.

Since I read these backwards, I also believe this is the first time the book mentions something that makes this daughter of a nurse twitch.

The communal drinking cup/dipper

It's one thing to have a cup shared between Mary and Laura, or having a family dipper for water ( you do what you can with what you have) but *one vessel * for a bunch of strangers to drink out of? I know, I know, knowledge of the transmission of sickness was different back then, but all I could think was ACK! That thing is made of TB and influenza!

Anyway, they all get to Dakota Territory where they interact with more people than they had in the first four books. Not just talking with people, but being around them. it's odd, because the reader is so use to having the Ingalls family being in open spaces, them being in a crowd seems closterphobic somehow, and is a sign of changing times.

Soon Pa comes for them and they head to the railroad camp on Silver Lake.

On the way there, the wagon is followed by a menacing man on horse back, Caroline is nervous, but then another man tall, in a red shirt and riding bareback, shows up and Pa assures them all that they will be okay, because that is Big Jerry, a good man who is half Native American. Sure enough Big Jerry keeps the potential trouble man away from the family. As with even positive potrayls of indigenous people, Big Jerry's introduction is problematic, because along with having Pa's seal of approval Big Jerry is also decribed thusly: as a gambler and poossible horse thief, a wild man, and also as moving with his horse "as if they were one animal." I get what is trying to be conveyed, Big Jerry is in sync with his horse, he knows his horse and his horse knows him, making riding effortless. But the word choice made me wince. I would have simply dropped the word "animal" but...

This passage is also difficult for me because the descriptions of landscape are great, and also, after Big Jerry rides off, there is a piece of writing that not only shows Laura's commitment to paint a beautiful world for Mary, but also how the two girls differ in personality.

"Laura let out her breath. 'Oh, Mary! The snow-white horse and the tall, brown man, with such a black head and a bright red shirt! The brown prairie all around—and they rode right into the sun as it was going down. They’ll go on in the sun around the world.'

Mary thought a moment. Then she said, 'Laura, you know he couldn’t ride into the sun. He’s just riding along on the ground like anybody.'

But Laura did not feel that she had told a lie. What she had said was true too. Somehow that moment when the beautiful, free pony and the wild man rode into the sun would last forever" (Pg 62, Kindle edition).

Mary is very practical, very concrete in her imagination. Laura on the other hand is all feeling. Neither one is better than the other but I feel like it is good character development to show how these two viewpoints clash at times and cause annoyance to both girls.

The family gets to the camp and are met by Docia's family that includes cousins, as well as a surprise for Caroline, her brother Henry.

What follows is Laura and her cousin Lena having a lot of fun, riding Ponies, singing. There is a lot of fascination around the building of the railroads and seeing it done. Here the subtext is heavy.

Pa tells an excited Laura that the camp is a small one, and, one would guess, start to describe how they work together, but Ma stops him with the slightest shake of her head. Pa gets it and tells the girls (looking right at Laura) to steer clear of the workers.

Later, after Laura continues to be fascinated by how the building works, Pa says that he will take her to see.

Ma takes Laura aside and tells her to go if she must, but not to speak with any of the men in the camp, and not to take her cousin Lena, who while a good girl, was "boisterous ".

All of this comes on the heels of Laura meeting a woman who's 13 year old daughter had just gotten married.

WhT is being said without being said is that Caroline is understandably nervous. She has four daughters in the middle of a camp of men. Mary likes to stay home, but Laura is outgoing, curious, and brought up to be nice. Where Laura goes Carrie might want to follow. And cousin Lena is even more outgoing than Laura and Docia has not "curbed her as much as she might." (Pg. 95, Kindle edition).

She's afraid that someone might take advantage of the girls, either though convincing them that they wanted to marry them, or through force. If I imagine this part of the book from Caroline's perspective, it's a nightmare.

And continues to be honestly. At one point, all the workers revolt, because they are not getting their full month's pay at one time. Since Charles is the book and storekeeper they start to go after him. This is averted, but Caroline and the girls have a tense time of it.

The winter is cozy and relaxing, not least because the family has the whole camp town to themselves.

They spend the winter, after the camp is packed up, in The Surveyor's house with a stocked pantry, Pa finds the land that he wants to put a claim on, Reverend Alden from Walnut Grove comes by, tells the Ingalls about a college for the blind in Iowa, they make friends with Mr. Boast and his new wife.

And then what happens is the equivalent of when you open the door for one person and the entire building decides to evacuate and you happen to be the doorman.

The family is settling down after a busy holiday season with house guests when a wagon full of inexperienced men pull into De Smet and is on their way to another town, Heron. Charles is worried that if they don’t let them stay they will get lost and freeze to death. So they feed and let the group stay the night.

And so begins another Nightmare for Caroline.

The people keep coming through, and eventually the Ingalls start charging for people to eat and stay. Meanwhile, the girls are pressed into kitchen duty and have to be locked in their room upstairs at night until Ma sounds the all clear. They do make a good chunk of money to go toward sending Mary to college.

Honestly, the rest of the book, save the the last few chapters, weren't all that interesting to me. Pa gets the claim, they move out if town and away from the steady stream of borders.

The most exciting thing that happens is that while planting trees on the claim, little Grace goes missing. After a frantic search, Laura finds her in a deep depression in the Prarie surrounded by violets.

Pa tells Laura that it was an old buffalo wallow. With the Buffalo mostly gone, their wallows have grown over with grass and given a good place for the flowers to grow.

The family settles into their claim shanty and they are finally home.

This book is very uneven for me. On the one hand, there is a lot to unpack. The building of the railroads calling people west simply because of the need for workers, coupled with the tantalizing promise of comparably cheap land, the challenges that presented. Ma's anxiety always just under the surface, and the new found hope for Mary that came from a visit from an old friend.

There is a tension in this book, between the family's desire to be self sufficient, interacting with the community on their terms, and the continuing settlement of the west making this a harder and harder thing to do.

This is symbolized by the dwindling population of Buffalo and Buffalo wolves. Pioneer Girl does talk a lot about this time, but it was all very similar to what was in the book.

The part that stood out to me was that Laura and cousin Lena use to sing when they milked the cows, after Lena and her family left Laura didn't feel like singing. Ma complained that she wasn't getting as much milk as usual. She then says that she pe4fored an experiment. Singing while she milked and then not singing. She found that the cows gave more milk when she sang. She says wryly that she had discovered this fifty years before an agricultural experiment station had figured it out. I enjoy it when Laura let's that kind of humor out.

All in all, there's a lot of stuff happening in this book, but it's not the best one.

#books #book #book blogging 2023 #By the Shores of Silver Lake #laura ingalls wilder

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battiegutz · 2 years ago

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ok :3 i was obsessed w dinosaurs as a kid and carried this plesiosaurus bath toy everywhere but bc i brought it in the bath too my dad wuld have to like drain the water out of it but i think it still developed mold so one day i "lost" it i was so fucking devastated. also related to the dinosaur obsession i made my mom nd grandma paint my room w dinosaurs but they left the velociraptor unfinished above my bed after th first paint sesh nd in my like 5 yr old brain i was like "i can absolutely finish this" and i drew the ugliest most abhorrent head on the velociraptor with markers that definitely should not have gone on my wall. in that same room i used to have a tiny old crt tv and would only watch icarly and doctor who on it even though those were not all th dvds i had. i would watch that shit on loop. speakin of dvds i used to beg my dad to take me to the dvd rental store like nightly nd i would always pick out an old school godzilla movie (i dont think any newer ones had even been made yet tbh) and they never had covers bc they were so obscure but the lady who ran the shop knew us so well bc of how often we visited nd she always gave me those like fruity tootsie rolls for free w the movie. i have a note she gave to my mom for me i keep in my wallet after my mom told her i transitioned. i used to be friends w this kid that was across th street sorta nd we were like besties (one time i got home frm hanging out at his house nd my mom nd dad had gotten me a goldfish. i kept changing his name over th years but he lived like 10 yrs until my mom accidentally killed him nd my other fish w a magnet) until like randomly one day his mom apparently didnt want me hanging out w her son anymore. idk i think they were kinda conservative she culd probably smell the queer on me. i also had reoccuring dreams where his family nd him would take me to a barn to interact w horses. i did horse riding a bit when i was like 12? but i finally figured out i was allergic when the pony i usually rode died nd they switched me to a full horse. i also slammed my hand in my dads cars door in their parking lot once nd it hurt a lot but then he told me abt how one time when he was in school the big heavy bathroom doors closed on his thumb nd the bone was poking out and his teacher fainted when he showed her nd i was like cool dad lore but my fingers still hurt

wow i didnt know u were british when i was 11 i thought i wanted to be british i practiced a accent and everything everyone was so annoyed w it. turns out i was just trans and getting major gender envy from the doctor frm doctor who

-battiegutz

I wanna study you

#silver spills #mutuals :3 #despite hating myself i also love talking abt myself idk #long post #srry lol

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grandmaster-anne · 2 years ago

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Inside Princess Anne's lifelong love affair with horses

By Ellie Kelly | Published 14 August 2020

The Princess Royal has spent a lifetime with horses. Like her siblings, she started riding at the age of three. But what makes her remarkable is the success she achieved as a competitor. Aged 21 she was crowned European Eventing Champion at Burghley. She was riding Doublet, a horse bred by the Queen, for polo, and gifted to the Princess.

At the 1975 European Eventing Championships, she finished second on Goodwill, another horse owned by the Queen and her mount at the Montreal Olympics in 1976, where she became the first member of the British royal family to compete at an Olympic Games. She rode winners in horse racing too, notably in the Grand Military Steeplechase at Sandown over jumps, and the Diamond Stakes on the flat at Ascot. No wonder she won BBC’s Sports Personality of the Year award in 1971 - the first ever event rider to carry off the trophy.

There were always ponies around during her childhood. Both her parents rode regularly, as did her older brother, Prince Charles, who developed a keen interest in polo and was considered a gifted player.

In those days polo was a men-only game, so not something his sister would have pursued, but she was a member of the Pony Club where she would have tried most equestrian disciplines with other young enthusiasts. Perhaps the attraction to eventing was the camaraderie that is always synonymous with a risk sport; horses are no respecter of titles.

When she became more serious about eventing, her parents arranged for training with Alison Oliver, wife of international show jumper Alan Oliver, who was based near Windsor. She is widely credited for propelling the Princess on the road to international equestrian stardom.

Lucinda Green, one of Princess Anne’s eventing peers, describes her as the pin-up of their era. Lucinda was a fellow team member at the Montreal Olympics and remembers the Princess having a crashing fall halfway around the cross-country course and suffering concussion. She remounted and finished the course but to this day cannot remember the rest of the jumps.

“She was extremely brave and good enough to get on the British team on two very different horses. Goodwill, her horse in Montreal, was not easy. He was big and had no brakes - I definitely wouldn’t have ridden him,” says Green.

With animals so often comes heartbreak, which even Princesses cannot escape. Her partnership with Doublet, a diminutive chestnut with the heart of a lion, ended in tragedy. The pair were destined for the Munich Olympics when the horse who had defined her career shattered a hind leg in an accident at Windsor and had to be put down.

At a time where security at sports events was minimal, The Princess was hounded by the media. “I always admired the way she coped with the press. That added the most unbelievable pressure on top of trying to do her sporting best. Tough for her but she put our sport on the map and kept it in the spotlight,” observes Green.

In 1985, she was persuaded to ride in a charity horse race at Epsom (home of the Derby). By this stage she’d hung up her eventing boots and had two young children. Yet she was always game for the challenge, if it involved horses.

Horse racing requires a very different technique from eventing, so she approached trainer David Nicholson for help. Known as “The Duke” because of his imposing personality, he suggested she come to his Cotswold yard, little expecting she would turn up almost every day for several years to ride out.

His wife Dinah became familiar with the Princess, as she would join them in the kitchen for breakfast after exercising the horses. “She was so dedicated and determined, driving 40 minutes every morning and arriving at 7.15am on the dot, so she could tack up her horse before riding out on the gallops. Then she would have breakfast with us and sometimes there would be a jockey - Richard Dunwoody or Peter Scudamore. The conversation would mostly be about horses. After breakfast, she would set off for a busy day of royal duties.”

Even if she had a royal engagement in London that went on late into the night, she would still get up after a few hours sleep to drive to the yard in Stow-on-the Wold. Acquaintances say her security detail looked permanently exhausted from keeping up with her.

After the charity race, in which she finished a respectable fourth, she asked Nicholson if she could continue riding out at his yard. It seemed the attraction was as much about the camaraderie of yard life as it was the actual race riding. “She became very fond of the people in racing and was always very natural with the stable lads, who liked her.”

There was a horse she was very fond of too, called Cnoc Na Cuille. He was a big winner for her in her career as a jump jockey (including the Grand Military) but soon after finishing third at Warwick, he dropped dead, probably from a heart attack.

“The Princess was not one for showing emotion but she was clearly very upset about it,” says Dinah. Soon after this she gave up race riding, although she has bred a few race horses herself at her home, Gatcombe Park in Gloucestershire.

For 37 years, thanks to the Princess, Gatcombe has hosted eventing competitions, including the prestigious Festival of Eventing. The cross-country course is designed by her former husband Captain Mark Phillips, an Olympic medallist and four-time Badminton winner (once the golden boy of British eventing), and the Director is their son Peter Phillips.

Princess Anne’s daughter, Zara Tindall, a former European and World Champion event rider and silver medalist in the London 2012 Olympics, regularly competes there and the Princess hands out the prizes.

Tindall has even more eventing accolades than her mother and, like her, she was voted BBC Sports Personality of the Year (in 2006). Her mother has always been hugely supportive of her children’s interest in horses. Every Christmas, the Princess would drive the children’s ponies up to Balmoral herself in a horsebox so they could all ride.

There is also a strong equine theme to the Princess Royal’s charity work. She’s President of World Horse Welfare and the Riding for the Disabled Association (RDA) as well as Patron of the Pony Club and the Injured Jockeys Fund (IJF). She was President of the International Federation of Equestrian Sports (FEI) from 1986 to 1994, a role she took over from her father, Prince Philip.

Roly Owers, CEO of World Horse Welfare, describes the Princess as having a deep love of horses, devoting a huge amount of time to all aspects of horse welfare. Former champion jockey John Francombe describes her as the best after-dinner speaker he has ever heard, with a great sense of humour, persuading well-oiled guests to open their wallets for charity and even persuading them to adopt horses themselves.

Rehoming unwanted horses is a large part of the World Horse Welfare’s work and the Princess is a rehomer herself. “On one of her visits to our rescue centres, she met a Welsh Cob called Annie and asked if she could have her. I believe she still rides her today.”

“She has always had a clear opinion but understands horses better than anyone,” says Owers. That once got her into trouble, at the 2013 World Horse Welfare conference when one of the topics was the European Horse Meat scandal. “She made a comment about the value of horses that was translated as ‘Princess Anne eats horse meat’ by certain journalists.”

What the Princess had actually said was: "Should we be considering a real market for horsemeat and would that reduce the number of welfare cases, if there was a real value in the horsemeat sector? I chuck that out for what it's worth because I think it needs a debate."

As Owers remembers, “it was unfortunately the first time we filmed the conference and broadcast it live, so you can imagine it created 48 hours of hysteria.” Though whether the Princess actually sits down to pony steak for Sunday lunch is not known.

Caroline Ward of the RDA remarks on her extraordinary empathy. “She understands the challenges our participants face and what they get out of the experience of riding horses. She will talk to them about their ponies and what it means to them to spend time with horses.

“These riders, many of whom find communication and mobility so difficult, will always open up to her. They are bound by this common interest and love of horses. She will also chat to the volunteers, to make them feel all the more special.”

Ward recalls the time Princess Anne helped a rider load her difficult horse into the horse box. “She came to our RDA National Championships at Hartpury College. She saw this struggle and despite not being dressed to get stuck in, she clearly couldn’t walk by without offering assistance. Well, this horse took one look at her and realised this was someone who meant business, and walked straight into the horsebox.”

Ex-jockey and racing journalist Brough Scott has known the Princess for many years through sport and her support of the IJF. “At charity events, rather than entertaining the fat cats, she is happiest talking to the ex-jockeys, many of whom are in a wheelchair. One really likes her for that, even though she is not trying to be liked.”

To be a successful rider, you have to build a relationship of trust and mutual understanding with your horse. That means controlling your fear and emotions. Eventing, a combination of the three disciplines of dressage, cross-country and show jumping, is perhaps the truest test of all-round horsemanship, demanding both accuracy and courage. It is only for the bravest of the brave, says Scott.

“Princess Anne wasn’t simply a Royal who rode, she was an athlete who achieved great things in her eventing career and rode courses that would have terrified most people. That must have given her self-confidence and fulfillment.”

In her public duties too, the Princess Royal has given her all, incidentally personifying the characteristics necessary for a fine horsewoman: discipline, dedication and courage. Are they a matter of her breeding and upbringing, or do we have her love of horses to thank for that?

#princess anne #princess royal #the telegraph #article

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squidproquoclarice · 4 years ago

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Yeehawgust Day 2: Rhinestone Cowboy

Excerpt from “Belle of the Ball: Black Belle Colter In Her Own Words” by John Roberts Jr. for the quarterly magazine “Legends of the Old West”, Fall 1926 issue.

The husbands, oh, they always want to know about the husbands. Six times married, never divorced, so they say. Scandal, huh? Well, since you ain’t asked, I’ll actually tell you.

Henry Lee MacDonald (1865-1867, never legally married)

Harry came back from three years at war, twenty going on fifty, and my Lord, he was hungry for a woman. Being seventeen, I was hungry myself, you might say. Hungry to get out of Arkansas too. So there we went, running off to somewhere out west with the usual big damn fool notions of two kids. We had some fine times, we did.

He didn’t put much stock in preachers, so he said. Said we was married in spirit, and that was what mattered. But he liked the dice and the cards and the ponies, he did. Money always did slip through his fingers like water. That marriage in spirit didn’t seem to matter much when I woke up one morning in Amarillo and found him gone, and everything I owned along with it. Took me years to cross paths with him again, but leaving him in his unmentionables with no horse, no gun, and no money seemed only fair play to me. He did make it back to town, so that’s clean conscience in my part. I heard he got shot up in Deadwood a few years later trying to cheat at poker. That was Harry for you. So crooked he didn’t know how to play it straight to save his life. But he got me off the farm and he did teach me to shoot, so I’m always grateful to him for that.

Horace Daughtry (m. 1868, d. 1870 of pneumonia)

What was I thinking, marrying a fella with a name like “Horace”? I still ain’t quite sure. Sometimes a gal gets lonely, you understand? And I reckon after Harry he seemed like just the tonic I needed. Everything Harry wasn’t, I thought, which turned out to mean he was dull and steady and generally thick as a fresh-sheared fleece. Another mismatch, in the wrong direction. I’d put myself in harness with a plodding plowhorse of a man.

Me as a shopkeeper’s wife? Can you imagine? Go ahead and laugh, though. I lived that life for a year and a half. Folks out in Garry’s Bend can tell you we kept an honest store, and I served them customers right. Then Horace died. Slipped away with just about as little fuss as he’d lived. We was no good match, the two of us, but he was a decent man all the same. Though it was that marriage that told me I wouldn’t go through life quietly myself. I was gonna drink life down to the dregs, you know?

I do still get flowers put on his grave, though. I do for all of them.

Michael “Diamond Mike” Sullivan (m. 1872, bigamous marriage as Sullivan already had a wife. Three, in fact.)

Ah, next we come to Diamond Mike. Swept me off my feet, all right. I’ve always had a weakness for a man with some fire and flash to him, especially after Horace. But flash was all he had. You know rhinestones? Them little chips of crystal that they use as fake diamonds? All the shine and none of the worth? Yeah, that was good old Mike Sullivan. “Diamond”, my a__. A real worthless rhinestone of a cowboy, that one. I may be six times a wife, more or less, but I ain’t never married one falsely like he did. I suppose he did me a favor in that the marriage weren’t legal. It meant once I knew, I could ride away with no ties to bind me. The first wife, Clarissa, she weren’t so lucky. She was stuck with him, even though I expect she didn’t see him for decades after he run off on her. We wrote some back in the day, both of us pissed off at him, and we became friends of a sort from that until she died a few years ago. Guess that’s one good thing Mike done for us, though count me reluctant to give him any sort of credit for it. Daniel “Daredevil Dan” Tobin (m. 1873-1887, killed in a shootout with lawmen in Ambarino Territory)

Danny was the love of my life. We rode together, we fought together, did damn near everything together. Started the Colter-Tobin Gang together. We had good years, we did. I held him while he laid there dying from the bullet in his chest. And I buried him where the lawmen won’t be able to find and bother him. That’s all I want to say about that. The rest is between Dan Tobin and me, and that’s where it stays.

Bruce Herrsching (m. 1888-1890, killed by the O’Driscoll Gang)

Bruce and me got together for comfort from grief. We both loved Danny. He’d lost his wife Geraldine a few years back to tuberculosis. I’d loved Deena too. We was friends long before that, and we missed the folk we’d loved and we could understand each other in that. That’s a good kind of love too, you understand me? It ain’t all fairy tale romance with larks caroling in the meadow.

The O’Driscolls took a notion to cut in on the dance, so to speak. Heard they’d had some back and forth with the Van Der Lindes the year before. Ugly business with dead folk on both sides. Licking their wounds from that, they took the notion to come after us. Prove something by it, I suppose. As though there was something to be proved. It was just Bruce and me by then, though to hear the newspapers talk, it was like we had dozens of men following us still.

Colm O’Driscoll sent Bruce back to me in a state that ain’t fit to tell. Suffice it to say, I got no sorrow in me that they snapped his neck in St. Denis back in ‘99. I’m only sorry it didn’t happen years sooner. And I’m only sorry he didn’t suffer more. Thomas O’Leary (never legally married, 1892-1894)

Tom was a sweet fella who’d been stuck toiling on his pa’s farm until he was damn near thirty, and then decided he’d have himself an adventure. Turned into a real adventure, all right, when I walked into that saloon. Shy as a rabbit, that one, and more than a little in awe of being with bad old Black Belle. A real looker, too. And as I said, a gal gets lonely. I tried the whole “married in spirit” thing with him. Truth be told, I think I was married out. “Till death do us part” loses some luster when you’ve buried three husbands before turning forty-five. So I got a handsome young fella for a time, and he got his wild oats sown a bit and went home to Ohio. Probably married some nice gal and had some babies. Always did wish him the best. Still do. After Tommy and me parted ways, figured there was no point anymore in marrying, or even calling it that. Nothing wrong with the pleasure of temporary company. Better than many a marriage, I can tell you that.

What can I say? I always did have a weakness for handsome men, old booze, and fast horses.

#yeehawgust #rdr2 #black belle #writing #fic from the parking lot #yeehawgust 2021

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

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Why in ADWD Jon dreams of killing Robb and ygritte? He also once beat one NW brother in rage when he remember the memory of Robb saying he won't get lord of WF as he is bastard. Do you think his guilt made him dream of these nightmares and future foreshadowing for kingslaying? Like ygritte represent his violent lover and Robb represent his kin. Or it means something else?

Hi anon!

I think in this dream and how it is echoed in other parts of the books, we see Jon’s inner struggle with his role as Lord Commander immediately before his biggest political act ever: inviting the enemy to cross over into safety.

And it is the enemy. And Jon is struggling. In the violence of the dream, and in how it contrasts with Dany, and in the decision they both make in its aftermath, we see their true selves revealed and get a glimpse of what this means for them as enemies eventually.

Jon’s nightmare opens ADWD Jon XII, right before he wakes up to The Big Day, the most massive breach of protocol by a Lord Commander in living memory. He’s letting thousands of wildlings past the Wall. The very thing he had fought a vicious battle to prevent, because he knew it comes with massive risks.

Lots of quotes ahead:

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums. Boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM came the sound, a thousand hearts with a single beat. Some had spears and some had bows and some had axes. Others rode on chariots made of bones, drawn by teams of dogs as big as ponies. Giants lumbered amongst them, forty feet tall, with mauls the size of oak trees.

The boom DOOM boom DOOM theme is present in the Red Wedding in Catelyn VII and with Theon in A Ghost in Winterfell, moments of intense transformation. Catelyn turns into a wrathful weirdwood image and murders and innocent in her failed attempt to sway Walder Frey to spare Robb. A dark promise kept, and then she dies in despair, only to rise again as Lady Stoneheart three days later. But that will not be the end of her story.

Theon has become Reek, and longs for the sweet deliverance of death in the face of Stannis’ siege. He “gave the girl away, he played his part”, he may have earned death as a reward now. But he is drawn to the godswood, where Bran’s voice calls his true name. And there he is found by Rowan, who insists on one last service. It it the act that will lead him back to himself. To Theon.

Jon's dream places him back in the battle at the Wall, holding it against Mance’s assault. But unlike then, he is alone, his battle is as lonely as it is intense.

“Stand fast,” Jon Snow called. “Throw them back.” He stood atop the Wall, alone. “Flame,” he cried, “feed them flame,” but there was no one to pay heed.

They are all gone. They have abandoned me.

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. “Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she’d appeared.

This part of the dream mirrors Dany’s nightmare before her own fateful decision to “free” the unsullied with dragonfire.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened. (ASOS, Daenerys III)

Waking the dragon, indeed. Unlike Jon, Dany’s experience of the dream is an experience of satisfaction and empowerment for her. Her enemies are slain by distance weapon, they have no faces, the melt away by the power of dragonfire. It appears these two may be facing off - the tongues of fire attacking the black ice.

Unlike Dany, Jon uses his sword, and he sees every face, names those he knows. He had considered killing Ygritte in battle, and he does it here, in battle between wildlings and Night’s Watch.

The world dissolved into a red mist. Jon stabbed and slashed and cut. He hacked down Donal Noye and gutted Deaf Dick Follard. Qhorin Halfhand stumbled to his knees, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his neck.

Same with these men, Qhorin in the Frost Fangs, the other two during the same attack that saw Ygritte die. But these are his brothers in arms now. The fight turns to them. A red mist. Then it is his true brother facing him.

“I am the Lord of Winterfell,” Jon screamed. It was Robb before him now, his hair wet with melting snow. Longclaw took his head off. Then a gnarled hand seized Jon roughly by the shoulder. He whirled …

Just like Jon couldn’t kill Ygritte in life and rejected Stannis’ offer, he is doing the opposite here, his darkest emotions bubbling up in a red wrath - but unlike Dany, it’s clear the experience is not euphoric. He is wrestling alone, with his enemies, his brothers, his entire self.

He has been trying to save lives, but it isolates him, he is battling alone, unable to trust anyone, sending his friends away, hacking away at his own soul by not being able to help Arya. Betraying everyone, the wildlings (Ygritte), the Night’s Watch (his black brothers), his family and the North (Robb), and it is chaotic and endless. A red mist, a carnage.

But he is interrupted.

… and woke with a raven pecking at his chest. “Snow,” the bird cried. Jon swatted at it. The raven shrieked its displeasure and flapped up to a bedpost to glare down balefully at him through the predawn gloom.

Snow, the magic word that made the decision for him the last time, does it again. Unlike Dany embracing the dragon, Jon has an exit route: Snow. His true self is not inside the dream. Just like Theon’s true self is not in serving the Boltons, just like the tree calls to Theon, the raven calls to Jon. Snow. During the hour of the wolf, for both. He wakes and the nightmare fades. His path is before him. It is not battle. It is far more complex. Dangerous but life-giving.

The hard decision he has come to make, the transformation, is very different from Dany’s decision. She makes a false trade and burns her enemies, has them slaughtered in the streets, including children age 12 and up. Jon is about to embrace his enemies because they have a common foe. Peace after war.

The day had come. It was the hour of the wolf. Soon enough the sun would rise, and four thousand wildlings would come pouring through the Wall. Madness. Jon Snow ran his burned hand through his hair and wondered once again what he was doing. Once the gate was opened there would be no turning back. It should have been the Old Bear to treat with Tormund. It should have been Jaremy Rykker or Qhorin Halfhand or Denys Mallister or some other seasoned man. It should have been my uncle. It was too late for such misgivings, though. Every choice had its risks, every choice its consequences. He would play the game to its conclusion.

This decision is massive and Jon is trembling before it. “Madness.” He is making a trade that is fragile but honest. With the people he had battled. His enemies. But the time for war between them is done. If Jon doesn’t want to see the world end in ice, if he wants to protect the North and all that he loves, he has to break with tradition - and have faith.

“All is in readiness,” Bowen Marsh assured him. “If the wildlings uphold the terms of the bargain, all will go as you’ve commanded.”

And if not, it may turn to blood and carnage. “Remember,” Jon said, “Tormund’s people are hungry, cold, and fearful. Some of them hate us as much as some of you hate them. We are dancing on rotten ice here, them and us. One crack, and we all drown. If blood should be shed today, it had best not be one of us who strikes the first blow, or I swear by the old gods and the new that I will have the head of the man who strikes it.”

Jon’s gamble will end up costing his life at the very hands of Bowen Marsh, but it remains the right decision. It will cost him, it will not make him more powerful in the short term. But it will pay off in the long term. It reveals who he is.

Dany emerged from betrayal transformed into a dragon. Jon’s transformation is still coming up. He will be a wolf for a while, but his path is not Dany’s path.

We see their true selves in this. For Jon, the battle is a nightmare he can wake from because he is not ice nor fire nor fully a wolf. He is Snow. His own person. Someone is calling his name. Like Bran calls Theon and helps him return to himself. Like Arya will call Catelyn by her true name: mother.

For Dany, the battle is her true self, and there will be no turning back. Who is calling Dany? Quaithe. Dragon dragon dragon.

When they face off, this will be crucial. It will be carnage. But one of them will emerge, and the other will not.

#asoiaf #jon snow #wildlings #anti daenerys targaryen #black ice #dragonfire #nightmares #foreshadowing #parallels

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princessanneftw · 5 years ago

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Inside Princess Anne's lifelong love affair with horses

As the Princess Royal approaches her 70th birthday, those who know her recount the most enduring relationship of her life

By Eleanore Kelly for the Telegraph

#this is a lovely piece #i would love to see coverage of the races she rode in #especially when she won #and indeed her eventing career #i wish there was more available to watch #the way she wrote about losing doublet in rtml made me cry #princess anne #princess royal #horse whisperer #anne70 #british royal family #brf #newspapers

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mybrothershands · 5 years ago

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spoon 2

if tumblr dies just know it was by mine own hand but I think i got the paragraphs to post in order this time bngfhuriepiio

link to the part one:

https://mybrothershands.tumblr.com/post/617963341198016512/would-be-very-interested-to-read-about-the-spoon

The boy sat vigil outside of the doctor's home, legs long since gone numb. The worst came to mind. What if his friend's lungs collapsed? Was he bleeding on the inside? Or his heart- was it safe? No one had come out to tell him otherwise, so all he could do was sit there and worry.

Dew had settled on the boy's neck and shoulders as he stared down at the hands in his lap and listened to the dogs bark in the distance. His stomach growled, and he found himself wishing he had eaten the apples and oats that had been put in front of him earlier instead of throwing a fit. He was not sure he could eat anything now. The growling sound came again, louder this time, and he clenched his jaw. Maybe he should go back and at least try, if only it would shut up this horrible noise.

Just as he was about to get up, he heard a door creak open, and firelight spilled out onto the street in front of him. At first he worried it was the doctor, and all of his fears flooded past his eyes. Yet it was not Dr. Baker and instead there was a young girl holding the doorknob. Her eyes travelled up, up, up, until she met his face with wide eyes, her mouth agape.

If the boy had not been near tears before, he certainly was now. Surely this child would scream and run back into the house any moment now. He closed his eyes and waited, frozen in place. Yet as the time ticked on, no such cry was raised. Instead, she clutched a pillow in her arm, the end of it dragged the ground, and took a step out onto the stoop. "You are very big," she observed.

The young giant squeezed his eyes shut tight. Yes, he was painfully aware of this. It was not until she started to approach that he drew in a breath. "Uh, uhm… maybe you should return to the barn- er, house. I mean house."

She seemed to ignore him, dragging her pillow in the dirt as she came closer still, eyes full of wonder. "Are you Caw?"

He took both his hands and clamped them under his armpits. To keep her safe. "It's Ka," he softly corrected. Though the difference was subtle, "caw" always sounded stupid to him. "Why don't you return to the house?"

He cleared his throat when she persisted, "It's late. Dr. Baker will be upset."

"He's busy," she shrugged, drawing closer to his left leg. "You look a lot different than I thought."

He narrowed his eyes. How had she known his name? Then an image came to mind- one of her and Dr. Baker and his wife around the table, telling stories of the town menace. Ka closed his eyes and sighed softly. "What did you expect?" He said, more because he felt obligated to ask than out of true curiosity.

The girl shrugged, stopping short of touching him. "I dunno. You just look more… real. More human than I thought."

Silence grew between them. "I am not human," Ka said decisively. He clamped hands firmly to his sides. "And I am not safe. Return inside."

She cocked her head. "You talk funny," she said, ignoring him again.

"Leave," he ordered.

"This is my house," she countered, looking him straight in the eye. The girl opened her mouth as if about to say more, but left it at that. She reached out to touch his knee, despite how nervous this made the giant.

It took Ka several seconds to recover from her words, but was quickly brought back into reality when she started trying to climb onto his folded knee. "I- uh, erm. Well, this is my... self-area."

She peered up at him. "What?"

"Self-area. I don't want... you are too close."

"I don't give a crap," she spat, proud to say the word. Just as she did, there came another horrible noise. The girl stilled for a moment, an arm and a leg hooked over his knee, and made a face. "What was that?"

"That was your tummy?" She said, eyes wide. "It sounded like a monster."

Ka grimaced. "I'm… well, today I haven't eaten anything. I should leave."

At this, the giant grew still, and his face sombered. He shoved his hands deeper into his armpits, hugging himself. "I think you should return to the house," Ka said quietly. His eyes began to sting. "Now?"

For once, the girl paused. She slid off his knee, though not completely on purpose. "Will you come back?"

"Yes," he lied.

In the dim moonslight, she could not quite see the shadow of his face way up there. Yet the way his eyes would not meet hers- well, that much she could see. "Promise?" She asked.

Ka studied her for a moment. If he said no, she would not back away enough for him to get up. Moving her himself was out of the question. Not after what he had done. "Maybe," he decided.

This seemed to satisfy her well enough, and she dragged her pillow back to the house. Ka's eyes followed her, and was surprised to find her mother standing at the door, watching. How long had she been there for? She did not give him a chance to ask, however. With the child safely under her wing, she glared him square in the eye, face blank. The only thing that broke her gaze was the door as it closed between them.

The boy drew in a deep breath which turned into a stifled, nervous yawn, and sighed. He uncurled his arms and leaned forward. Finding his legs had gone to sleep, he stayed there on his hands and knees for a moment, allowing the blood to return to his feet. That was when he noticed it. A little human footprint in the dirt, right next to the crook of his thumb. How small it looked, like a mere bird's track, and as he removed his hand he found more of the same.

He did not belong among them.

When Ka at last could stand again, he left for his barn. Thankfully, he met no one on the road. Yet the dogs did hush as he lumbered past. Tails tucked, he imagined.

There was not much to pack up. Only a few spare clothes. He looked at his plate, untouched, and the utensils beside it. Though he finished off the apples and oatmeal, he did not touch the spoon. He wanted to bend that one up, to destroy it, yet it felt wrong. Cairo had bought it for him, after all, so it was not his to break.

The boy's eyes drooped. His muscles still ached from the previous day's work, and having gotten little to no sleep the night before was wearing on him. He could sleep once he reached the outskirts, the young giant decided. That way no one would have to gawk or cower from him if he left during the day. So, with the little bundle under an arm, Ka ducked out the barn, headed south.

He would miss Cairo. Very much so, he realized, but it would be safer this way.

---

The morning came with the patter of hooves on grass. At first he thought it was Lempkins, come to fetch him for work again. Yet the beats sounded different, not like the buckskin he usually rode. Ka lifted his head to find a pony coming up the road towards the trees under which he lay. The little beast's trot looked rougher than river rock, with its head reared to spot any opportunity to turn back towards the barn. The rider: a young boy.

Ka decided he would get out of his way. He knew how spookish horses got around him. Slowly, he got to his feet and turned away, quickly putting ground between himself and the rider. Yet even as he did so, the hoof-fells did not seem to fade. Rather, they picked up at the tick of a whip. Maybe he should hurry more to get out of the pony's way.

Then came a voice. Unsure at first, not knowing how to call. "Hey! Uhm," the human struggled with the pony a moment before redirecting his attention. "H- hey, giant! Wait up," he called.

Ka slowed, not sure if he had heard correctly. At last he paused and glanced back. The boy was staring straight at him, half pleading and half angry at his mount. The pony stopped as soon as her rider stopped kicking, and took instead to fidgeting, trying to turn around. "Your brother- he asked me to fetch you."

The young giant's brow traced with worry, and fear grew in his eyes. "My...?" He noticed the equine looked fairly fresh. Surely his brother was not so closeby? Mouth dry, Ka swallowed a lump in his throat. "What… did he hurt you?"

The rider looked a bit confused, but too distracted by his mount to voice it. "No. I mean he was grouchy, but that's normal."

Ka blinked. That description did not fit. "Wait, who? My brother, you said."

The boy nodded, a bit indignant at this stupid giant. "He's back at Baker's. He can't ride with his ribs broken, so he sent me."

"Wh-" the pieces began to fall into place. "C- Cairo?"

"Yeah, him!"

Ka was still a moment, lips parted and jaw slack. Cairo had called him that? Even after what he had done...? He looked away. "Tell him you could not find me."

"He's not going to pay me if I come back without you," said the boy. He glared up at him, a question in his eye. Why did he balk?

Pausing, the giant considered this, studying the little human. He remembered the tracks in the dirt from the previous night and how tiny they had looked beside his hand. How effortlessly he had struck Cairo and yet still broken him. Even the pony the boy rode could easily be picked up in one hand. It was just a simple sum of money for the boy, but for him? Ka sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Could you make up your mind?" Said the human, pulling heavily on his chubby steed's mouth. The pony was getting back to the barn, even if she had to back-pace the whole way there.

"No," Ka decided, turning away. Cairo would get by just fine without him. They all would.

"Please?"

Ka glanced over his shoulder and firmed his brow. "What of your parents? Wouldn't they be happy I'm gone? This would be a giant-free place again." He grumbled.

The boy did not hear, busy fighting the pony. As the crop whacked her rump just a touch too hard, she sat down, and the boy slid off. Free, she got up and galloped off with a trail of dust rising behind her. Hearing the boy curse Ka paused, turning around to find him in the mud. He took a step towards him, but stepped right back.

"Are you hurt?" Ka said from a distance.

The boy glared in response. He pushed himself up and wiped the mud from his pants. "Just get your sorry butt back to Baker's so I can get my pay," shouted the messenger.

The young giant sighed, then pursed his lips. Maybe just to say goodbye. He owed him that much. Ka nodded, but did not move until the boy forcefully pointed back towards the town. Making sure to skirt well around the little human, the giant headed into town.

---

Ka did make it back to Baker's, but was quickly turned away. Cairo had left hours ago, and not before raising cain. The girl from the night before waved at him from the window, but the curtain was curtly drawn before she could open it. Well, he had tried, anyway.

Lost in thought and out of habit, his feet carried him back to the barn. There he found a curious sight. Cairo was sitting in the massive open doorway, staring up at nothing. Ka padded softly over, and the man's head turned ever so slightly before returning to stare into the dark. They were silent for a moment, neither sure what to say. When they did, it was both at once.

"Cairo, I-" he sighed. "Tha mi duilich."

The human did not answer for a long time. The wind rushed past them in the quiet. Birds began to chatter, and even distant conversation of farmers reached them. Still, not a word. Quietly, Ka sat down beside him, crossed his legs, and stared into the barn. At nothing.

"You were just going to leave?" The human said at last, his voice quiet.

"You would be safer without-"

"What! Safer without you?" Cairo snapped, instantly regretting it. He turned to face him, eyes red and cheeks wet. "Come down here so I don't have to yell," he grumbled, wincing as he gripped his side.

The giant obeyed, pulling his feet out from under himself until he lay flat on his belly in the dirt, his face propped up on his arms. Even as he did so, he had moved further away. Enough so that the motion barely served its purpose. "Tha mi-"

Cairo held up a hand. "No, me. I'm sorry."

"Sorry," Ka mouthed the new word, and the human nearly scowled at him for it.

"I-" He cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have thrown that lamp at you. That was cruel of me. Even if you can take it."

Ka was silent, not meeting his eye. As if there was something on his tongue, he opened his mouth but thought better, and clamped it shut again.

Cairo continued. "This wasn't your fault," he said, indicating his broken side. "Do you understand?" His voice was stern.

Silence came again as the giant stared at Cairo's ribs. It was covered in some kind of bandage, and a shirt over that. In the back of the boy's mind he could still feel the bones crinkling in his grip, and felt his face heat up. Words flowed out, but in that language, Cairo could barely understand what the young giant was saying. At the end of his little rant, Ka buried his face in his arms and began to shudder and cry.

There came a grunt, a growl, and a curse which was presumably Cairo getting to his feet. In a moment, there was a small but firm hand on his shoulder. "Hey now, you quit that crying," he said, though his tone was soft. They sat there for a while like that, the human still awkwardly patting the shoulder he had ridden on so many times.

It took awhile for Ka's breathing to slow, though not as long as it had last night. Wiping his nose on his shirt collar, he picked his head up and sniffed. "I'm sorry, Cairo," he said, the words awkward on his tongue.

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, remember?" He lightly punched the giant's arm. Some of his normal gruff tone began to return. "And don't run off like that, fool. Now I have to pay that kid."

"I'm s-"

He punched him again, harder this time. "Stop saying that," he growled.

Ka nodded, but kept his gaze down at his hands. Cairo's feet rested within the crook of his right thumb, and though his boots were bigger than the little girl's bare feet, they still looked tiny next to his own fingers. "He told me… that my brother was looking for me," he said quietly. "Why did you tell him that? That I was…."

Cairo reached out and grabbed the bridge of Ka's nose and tried to shove his head back and forth. "Because you are, idiot." he said.

Although Ka's eyes followed him, he was too close to focus on. Even so, he could still hear the smile in his voice.

Brother. He mulled the word over in his mind. How strange it was, because if this were true, and Cairo were older…. A smile cracked on his face. "A bit silly."

"No it isn't," Cairo said, and backhanded Ka's cheek.

The giant flinched, more out of surprise than anything. "No, I meant. You would be the 'big' brother," he said. Sitting up on his elbows, Ka reached out and nearly poked the man before freezing up. He curled his fingers back and tucked his hand away.

Cairo glared at the retreating hand. "You can still touch me," he growled. "I'm not made of glass." He then reached up and whacked Ka's jaw as if to demonstrate, but winced and came away gripping his side.

He then noticed the bundle of clothes Ka had been carrying, then to the barn, and sighed. "Look, I know it's rough, but you can't just up and leave like that." He looked away, voice quiet, "Lempkins may let us keep the wood you've collected, maybe we could…" he rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "Would you rather be around your own kin?" He said at last, almost as if defeated.

"Yes," Ka said at once. Then paused, bringing his hand up hesitantly. "But, I would miss you," he said. Slowly, he reached out again. This time he softly poked Cairo's belly, which awarded him a curt smack and an angry glare.

"I won't run away again," he said, hiding a smile. "Not like that… not without saying goodbye."

"Hmm, better not." Cairo grumbled, then quickly changed the subject. "Lempkins won't bother you today, but I did talk to him about your pay."

As if in response, Ka's stomach growled. The boy grimaced as he remembered the girl's words. About how he sounded like a monster.

Cairo, however, laughed at the sound as he patted Ka's arm. "I told him a growing boy needs three squares a day. He didn't like that much but," he winked, "I think he needs you too much to let you quit."

At this, Ka felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you," he sighed.

"Mmh," he grumbled. "Well, come on, then. We'd best tell him you're back or else he won't feed you. Get up, come on. I've walked out there once and I'm not doing it again."

At this, Ka paused. Poking him was one thing, but the idea of picking him up brought back nightmares. "I'm…" he began.

"Safe," Cairo finished. "And I'm going to carry my ruggedly handsome big brother so he doesn't have to walk with this ghastly war wound."

Ka almost smiled before sitting up. Safe? The idea seemed almost foreign now. Yet he found himself offering a weak hand for Cairo, who readily took to it.

"Alright, already," The human urged, waving him up with his hands. "Get your lazy bones off the ground and let's get going. If we hurry back, I can still get drunk before noon."

Ka raised an eyebrow as he slowly got to his feet, still taking extra caution. "Or not," he said.

Cairo clawed his hands and scrubbed the palm beneath him. This tickled a bit, causing a smile to finally poke through again. "Oh, come on, now," the man teased. "Little liquor never hurt anyone, did it?"

"Uhhhh."

"Forget I said that," Cairo said as they started walking.

It would be awhile before Ka would be comfortable touching or handling humans again. Maybe it was best to take something like this as a learning experience and move on, but it was certainly easier said than done. It took a while, even longer than it took for Cairo's bones to knit (which was much to Cairo's frustration) but move on they did. Still, the human made it a point not to throw any lamps at his brother from then on.

#mbh #mbh shorts #my brother's hands

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thelovecore · 5 years ago

Text

To The Races Part 2 -Tommy Shelby-

I just felt a need to make a second part to this, to kind of wrap up this little thought I had. Tommy Shelby x Fem Reader

Masterlist

Part One

_______________________

I had been working for Tommy for a few months, taking care of his horses while watching over my pony he took in from my father. My family heavily disapproved of me working for the Shelbys, insisting they were rotten people and I was going to get them in a load of trouble. I moved out into a small place of my own, since Tommy was paying me very well. Tommy had also been taking me to the races more often, and after some time, took me to a horse auction.

“See that one there?” I said, pointing to a lanky dark bay horse. Tommy looked up, putting a cigarette between his lips. He nodded in response.

“If you put some weight on him, he’d be wonderful. See how his back is short? That means he’s a smooth ride. He’s got nice straight legs on him too. He just needs fed properly.” I said. Tommy looked over the horse as we walked closer. The bay looked at us, his big brown eyes scanning the two of us. Tommy finished his cigarette and put it out on the cobblestone floor of the auction barn.

“How old is he?” I asked the man holding the thin horse.

“Bout to be three. He’s not our farm’s best, there’s a colt a few behind that looks better...” The man started but Tommy waved him off. Tommy picked up the horse’s front leg and inspected his foot.

“I’ll buy him before he hits the auction floor.” Tommy said, reaching into his coat. “How much?”

“Well, sir, I do recommend the other colt...” The older man started, wiping sweat off of his forehead.

“I don’t want the other colt, I like this one.” Tommy said. “Two hundred pounds?”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby, I won’t take more than a hundred for this one.” The old man said. Tommy handed over the money and I took the rope from him, guiding the tall bay to the transport truck we had brought.

“You really have faith in this one?” I said as I loaded him. He was so quiet.

“He’s so calm. That colt he wanted to sell us was dancing all over the place. I want this one to be yours.” Tommy said as we climbed in the front seat. I was taken back.

“Tommy, he’ll be yours, into the training program.” I said.

“You can’t ride that old pony forever.” Tommy said as he started the engine. We silently left the auction yard.

“Thank you so much, Tommy. I owe you everything.” I said.

“You can repay me by marrying me.” Tommy said, keeping his eyes forward on the road. “Consider the bay a wedding gift.”

“Tommy...I...I...” I stammered, looking over at him, feeling tears in my eyes. Of course my feelings for Tommy had grown in the months working for him, and I had become more comfortable and accepted by his family.

“I haven’t met anyone that shares my love for horses as much as you do. You want to build a whole branch of the Shelby empire on the track, which is great for my business. You have to admit, we work together very well as a team. It makes the most sense that you stop being my hired stable hand and become my beautiful wife.” He said, finally glancing over at me as a huge smile formed on my face.

“Tommy, of course I’ll marry you.” I said, leaning over and kissing his cheek. The corners of his mouth barely turned into a smile, but to me that meant the world. I felt one of my tears slip and roll down my cheek. I smiled out the window as Tommy and I pulled the truck into the stables and I hopped out quickly to unload the horse. Tommy followed me slowly, watching my interactions as I stroked his neck and spoke softly to him.

“Have you picked a name yet?” Tommy asked, lighting a cigarette. I looked at Tommy, and back up at the horse, and back to Tommy.

“I like Sonny.” I said.

“Than Sonny it is.” Tommy said. I took him to a stall next to Toby, who lifted his head above the door to sniff at the newcomer.

“You’ll always be my first love, Toby.” I said, ruffling the mane of the pony over the door. Tommy walked up behind me and put his arms around me.

“We’ll build a name for ourselves at the track, just you and me. Not Shelby Company, just Tommy and Y/n Shelby.” He whispered.

“I’d like that very much.” I said.

“How about we go to the Garrison and celebrate? I told the family what I was planning today, so they’re already there.”

“Of course.” I said. We got into Tommy’s car and went straight to the bar.

We were greeted with shouts and a huge hug from an already drunk Arthur.

“He finally did it! Ol’ stone-faced Tom finally found himself a woman!” Arthur said, ruffling Tom’s hair and pulling me into a tight embrace.

“Welcome to the family.” John said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Polly smiled and handed me a drink, raising her glass to me and Tom. Tommy actually had a smile on his face, looking over his family and fellow Blinders.

“To Tommy and Y/n!” John shouted. Everyone raised their glasses and Tom and I looked at each other. I fell so deep into the blue eyes I had been met with on the day my father was going to shoot my pony, and I couldn’t believe those eyes were going to be with me for the rest of my life.

Our wedding night was very similar to the night at the Garrison, but with more dancing. Arthur and John barely let me sit down, and just when I got to take a breather, Ada pulled me up for the next dance. Every now and then, I’d glance at Tom, who was smoking with Polly, and my heart would skip a beat. As the evening was winding down, Tom pulled me close to dance with him.

“I think you’ve danced with my brothers more than me tonight.” He joked.

“They wouldn’t let me sit down.” I giggled.

“I love you.” Tommy whispered.

“I love you too, Tommy.” I said. We danced slowly next to the fire, until everyone had gone to bed or passed out on the lawn. Tommy and I went back into what was now our home, and almost immediately fell asleep.

“Easy, Sonny.” I said, pulling the handsome bay up as we rode near a small creek. I stopped and let him get a drink, taking in the cool breeze and closing my eyes in the warmth of the sun. I pulled the horse’s head in the direction of the house and rode up as I saw John pull up in his car. I dismounted the horse and saw Polly as she got out of the passenger seat, smiling.

“Feeling alright dear?” She asked as I wiped sweat off of my forehead. I nodded and John got out of the car, carrying a box.

“He should be home within the hour. Just take this to the stable then?” John said. I nodded, smiling.

“Thank you both for coming to be here for this.” I said. “I’m worried how Tommy will take it.”

“He’ll be fine dear.” Polly said. “Let’s get this horse put away.” We followed John in the direction of the stable and I slid the saddle off of Sonny’s back. John had set the box he was carrying in front of Toby’s stall. The old pony was currently out to pasture, but I called him up when I turned Sonny out.

Toby trotted up gently, and I put a rope around his head and lead him towards the barn. John was smoking a cigarette, far away from the barn, and yelled to Polly and I that Tommy was home.

“Tom!” We heard John yell. If we didn’t let Tommy know where we were, he would have just gone in the house and started drinking whiskey. Polly and I stood with the pony, my heart racing a million miles a minute. Tommy strolled across the lawn with his brother and looked and Polly and I quizzically.

“What’s all this? Why do you have the pony?” Tommy asked.

“I bought something for him, it’s in that box. Can you take it out for me? I’d like to try it on him.” I said nervously. Tommy walked over and opened the box and pulled out a small child sized saddle. He looked from the saddle to me. I smiled bashfully, unaware of how he was going to react to the news, if he was even putting it together at all. Tommy glanced at Polly, who nodded, and then put the saddle down and hugged me.

“Are you…really...” He whispered in my ear. I nodded into his chest, and he gripped me tighter. Polly took the pony and put him back in the pasture. Tommy kept his arm firmly around me as we walked back up to the house. John called the rest of the family to come over for a celebratory dinner.

After dinner, the family was getting ready to head home for the night and Tommy and I were left in the sitting room on the couch together.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Tommy said, resting a hand on my stomach.

“Yes. I’m nervous, Tom.” I said. He shifted his gaze to look at me, and in those eyes, I felt peace.

“You’ll do wonderful, love.” He said.

“Finding out about this baby has really made me think Tommy. If it weren’t for you, not only would I not be Mrs. Shelby, but I wouldn’t still have my childhood pony to teach my child to ride on.” I said, tears slipping down my face. Tommy reached up and wiped them away.

“That pony was the best fifty pounds I’ve ever spent.” Tommy said, kissing me softly.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tom shelby #tom shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon

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ramsayboltonsmuse · 5 years ago

Text

Thrill of The Hunted

Chapter 1: Of A Body’s Desires

Pairings/Characters: Ramsay Bolton/Original Female Character, Ramsay/Myranda, Roose Bolton

Summary: The story of Roose Bolton’s last living true-born daughter Annette Bolton and her half brother, the infamous Ramsay Bolton. It is a tale of power, control and a forbidden dark devotion.

Warnings: Half-sibling incest, Smut, Dom/Sub, Violence, Noncon, Ramsay is his own warning

Links to other chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2A, Chapter 2B, Chapter 3A, Chapter 3B, Chapter 4 A+B

Ao3 link

“Ramsay.”

Annette did not turn from her bedroom window when she heard him step into her room. Perhaps heard was the wrong expression. She never heard him, not at first. She felt him. An odd injection of twisted air that set a heavy weight about a room’s ceiling. She would feel space tighten around her and the atmosphere press down into her core, trying to flatten her until she was forced to slip through wooden floorboard cracks and drop down down into the hideous waxlit light of the dungeons.

That was when she knew he was there. Annette tried to inhale a steadying breath, but already her oxygen was lead.

“Little sister.”

Ramsay’s voice was honeyed venom and it never ceased to make Annette’s skin crawl. She heard him slide the heavy wooden door closed and fasten the iron bolt across it. It was a beautiful door, masterfully made and quietly daring any to attempt an intrusion into the bedroom of Roose Bolton’s last living legitimate child. Tragically, the door was purposed more as a solemn promise to keep Annette in, and the demons with it.

Annette grimaced. “Half-sister”. Her voice rang the word out expressionless. She knew better than to tempt his rage yet she could not ignore that with each passing day, she had a little less left of her. She clung to her words, the last thing that seemed to have any power.

When she had been a young child, the ladies of the Dreadfort had whispered about the impossibility of such a precious sweet thing born to Roose Bolton. They had clapped their hands when she spoke and sang and said her voice was the loveliest sound in all the North and her words the most beautiful. Years had passed since that time, hard and informative years, and Annette had learned to keep expression from her voice, especially around Ramsay.

He was hand-carved it seemed to exist in the Dreadfort, and his movements complemented every beam and curve and stone of the place. She didn’t hear him approach until she felt him snake his hands around her waist grabbing the sharp bones of her hips through the expensive dress fabric she wore and leaning in to whisper into her ear.

“Oh sister, you wound me so.” He smirked against her cheek. “You know how much it saddens me that we’re not full blood siblings. I know it saddens you too. If we were, I couldn’t do this.” Ramsay swept his hand lightly across Annette’s left breast, pinching her nipple through the dress.

Annette whirled around and pushed him, but he didn’t move, her skinny frame no match for his toned and muscled build. Annette’s pupils dilated and her eyes grew wide glancing around the room frantically for a way out. Ramsay grinned and stepped closer. Annette’s hands shot up trying to hit him, but he grabbed her wrists and roughly backed her into the wall, the cold stone making harsh contact and pressing against her back as she writhed about trying to free herself.

“Let go of me!” Annette managed to kick one of his legs and Ramsay’s smile dropped.

He pinned her hands above her head with one hand, twisting her wrists until she cried out in pain, while the other shot out and grabbed her neck squeezing.

“Don’t test me sister dear.” Annette struggled against him trying to free herself as she gasped for air. Ramsay’s grip tightened and her face turned shades paler. His blue eyes locked on hers. As her vision turned fuzzy, Annette could see only them through the haze as everything else faded, those intense blue eyes.

From the day that her father had introduced her to his bastard son, Annette had been amazed by his eyes. They were the color of a winter’s sky during a northern snowstorm, when the air was bitingly cold and your eyes spilled tears from the pure carnal desire of the wind. Annette’s own eyes were hazel, a watercolor of green and grey and chocolate that Ramsay had been drawn to as much as she had been drawn to his. But for a different reason. For Annette’s eyes were the eyes of a true-born Bolton, the eyes of their father.

Ramsay dropped his hand from her neck as quickly as he had grabbed it causing Annette to collapse to the floor, straining to get air into her starved lungs.

“You will not try to strike me again Netty. The next time you do won’t be as pleasant.”

Netty. It was the nickname Ramsay had given her when they were children. Annette was eight and had wanted to go hunting with their father and didn’t understand why she could not. So she had slipped out of the captivity of her septa and rode her pony out into the woods to play her own game of hunting.

She had been gone for only an hour before she dismounted to inspect a curious-looking rock and fell into a large netted trap that lifted her into the air, swinging from the branch of a huge tree screaming. She had been terrified and thought she would never be found, succumbing to the cold or some other horrible danger.

It had been Ramsay that found her. He was 12 then and already strong for his age. When the castle began its frantic search for the missing child, Ramsay had taken a horse and ridden out into the woods, knowing she would have gone there. He found her pony’s trail and followed it to her. Annette remembered how he laughed when he found her.

“How did you get yourself stuck up there?” His blue eyes filled with mirth.

“Ramsay, get me down!” She had called. “Stop laughing. Please! Just get me down, please!”

Ramsay hadn’t stopped laughing, but he had lowered her down carefully and released her from the netted bondage. Annette had been shaking with fear from her hours tied up and alone, and Ramsay had taken off his cloak and wrapped her up in it before pulling her flush to him. “You’re cold. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm.” He had lifted her onto his horse and rode her back to the Dreadfort still smiling at how she had managed to be caught like a silly rabbit in that net, and calling her “little Netty”.

Annette remembered thinking him her hero, even though he had laughed. She had fallen asleep on the ride home, curled back into the boy who kept her steady on his horse. When they had arrived at the Dreadfort, she was still sleepy and Ramsay had carried her from the stables into the Great Hall where their father sat stoic, waiting for one of his men to come back with his little daughter.

“You found her.” Roose’s voice had woken Annette and her eyes opened, her small form still cradled by her half-brother.

“Yes father.” Ramsay had set her gently on a chair as her senses began to return to her. Ramsay stood up, meeting his father’s gaze before making to turn and walk back out to the servant’s rooms where he slept with the other orphan and bastard boys.

“Wait.” Roose commanded and Ramsay stopped and turned. Roose stood and walked over to the boy. “Do you know what the most important thing is?” He asked.

“No father.” Ramsay stood taller as Roose approached. “The most important thing is the survival of the Bolton line.” Ramsay looked away then, shame filling him as the word bastard bastard bastard invaded his mind.

“Look at me.” Ramsay’s eyes snapped back to Roose. “You have done the family a great service by finding Annette. She is a valuable possession for our enemies and you found her before they did. Before my own men did. With Domeric dead, Annette is even more valuable to the right buyer.” Roose sifted through Ramsay’s eyes for a moment. “You will not be sleeping with the servants anymore.” Ramsay looked shocked. “You will have a room here, in the family’s quarters.” Annette had remembered the look on Ramsay’s face. It was the happiest she had ever seen him.

“Thank you, father.” Roose had nodded and instructed the maester to make the arrangements.

Ramsay never left Annette’s side after that day, not for very long. Wherever she went, he went. The only time she did not feel his shadow was when she slept. She would learn that he used those dark hours for other pursuits. She felt him watching her always and as year after year passed his gaze grew hungrier.

Annette’s thoughts returned to the present as her lungs found breath again. She stood up, regaining her composure. Ramsay had made himself comfortable in one of the rich leather armchairs in the room. He had grabbed a bright green apple from the table and was peeling it with his knife. These moments of Ramsay testing his power over her were growing more and more frequent.

“Why did you do that Ramsay? You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Father wouldn’t like it.” Annette tried to hide the fear in her voice. It seemed with each passing day that Ramsay grew more bold. She was not a fool. Ramsay enjoyed playing his games, and none so much so then with his little sister. She worried when the games would turn more violent or worse.

Ramsay huffed, halting his peeling to look her dead in the eyes. “Father won’t care. Not anymore.” He paused, a big smile spreading across his face. Annette saw the smile and his bright eyes and held her breath. If Ramsay was happy about something, it didn’t spell anything good for her. He stood suddenly and strode over to her, knife still in hand.

“You’ve reminded me why I’ve come sweet sister!” Ramsay pointed the knife at her. “You are no longer father’s only true born child. Oh you are going to love this.” Ramsay dropped his knife holding hand to his side and used his other to tenderly tuck a long brunette curl behind Annette’s ear. He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. Annette shivered.

Ramsay drew away, looking into her eyes. He spoke down to her, having trouble keeping a smile from his face as he told her the news. “I’ve been legitimized.”

Annette felt her stomach drop. She backed away slowly, involuntarily, from him. But he matched her movements. He watched her eyes as they shifted between dread and anger and sorrow and then back to fear, the most beautiful vision on her, he thought. Annette was horrified as one of his signature grins spread across his face, his blue eyes locked on her eyes and seeing her through to her bone. He knows me better than I know myself, she thought, and shuddered.

“My dear dear little Netty. Don’t be so glum!” He clapped his hands together, making her jump. “We are going to have a lovely time as brother and sister, truly. And when I inherit, we’ll have even more fun! But don’t you worry sweetling,” Ramsay’s expression turned suddenly deeply dark and Annette felt her skeleton shiver, “We don’t have to wait that long.”

***

Ramsay had not come to her rooms again after telling her about being legitimized for a full week. There was so much changing that Annette couldn’t keep track. Ramsay was constantly meeting with father’s men and preparing for gods know what his new position entailed. Annette was glad for that at least. It was the most time she had had alone without his shadow in years.

Ramsay’s absence wasn’t the only change however, and that was where the good news stopped. It seemed the entire castle had internalized Annette’s reduction from Roose Bolton’s only living legitimate child to the status of younger daughter, and younger to the dreadfully feared Ramsay no less. She was suddenly vulnerable to much more without her father’s intense unspoken protection following her everywhere. And as more men took notice, they withheld their impulses less.

Walking through the corridors of the Dreadfort, Annette heard men whisper how beautiful she was. Women would snicker in the kitchens about how long it would be before Roose’s daughter would find herself in an unguarded hallway. And Ramsay’s much-loved bed warmer Myranda was very vocal in her gladness.

Myranda had never dared to speak to Annette before, but had went out of her way to serve her dinner just so that she could speak to her. “I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve been replaced my lady. But don’t fret. You’ll be married off to a lord somewhere far from here before long, now that Lord Bolton doesn’t need to have you here for safekeeping.” Annette had stared at the girl but said nothing, knowing her silence would annoy her more than her words. Myranda loved Ramsay, Annette knew it, and she was intensely jealous of the time Ramsay spent with his little sister. Take him, please, Annette thought. But she stayed silent. She was still Roose Bolton’s daughter and she wouldn’t let Myranda feel more powerful than her. Seeing no response, Myranda had twisted her face angrily and paced out of the room, unsatisfied.

The most shocking change was her father. And it frightened her more than anything.

Annette was having dinner in the Great Hall with her father and Walda. Ramsay was off meeting with different lords under the Warden of the North’s command, cementing alliances and loyalties. The dinner was silent until Roose spoke as Walda, the last to finish eating, finally put her fork down.

“Lady Bolton, would you leave us? I have some matters to discuss with my daughter.”

“Of course Lord Bolton.” Walda stood, curtsied at Roose, and smiled at Annette before waddling off.

The room was empty.

“Come here.” Roose beckoned and Annette dutifully stood and glided over to the other end of the table, where her father sat.

Roose stood as she approached.

“My daughter.” Roose circled around Annette as she stood still, her eyes on the floor. Her father had always intimidated her immensely. Ramsay frightened her, but she could read his moods better. Her father though, her emotionless solemn serious father, she did not know what he was thinking. “You are very beautiful.” Roose stopped his circle in front of her again, inspecting her carefully. “It won’t be difficult to find a strategic match for you.”

Annette nodded. She had expected this conversation.

Roose drew closely to her. “You realize that your situation has changed with Ramsay legitimized as my heir.”

It was less a question and more a statement.

“I will use you to secure our alliance with the Lannisters in the South. I have it on good authority from Tywin Lannister that his son Jaime will be removed from the Kingsguard soon. When that happens, you will become his wife.”

The South, Annette thought. Far from Ramsay, far from here.

“But until that time you will stay here, in the Dreadfort, for safekeeping.” Annette nodded. “You were always a well-behaved child. Very disciplined.”

That’s what I wanted you to think, Annette thought. She was lost in her thoughts of her childhood for a moment, inwardly smiling at how effective she was at convincing everyone she wanted to that she was the perfect lady, when her father’s hand on her arm brought her quickly back to the moment. His grip was tight. Annette looked at his hand on her arm, confused.

“You’re still a good girl aren’t you.” His fingers dug into her flesh and Annette winced. She had never spent more than a few minutes alone with her father before and she felt shock fill her as his eyes roamed her pretty young body. “You’re not going to marry Jaime Lannister for several months. Ramsay is going to be kept very busy, and you,” He looked at her hungrily “you are going to stay right here by my side without the eyes of your brother or your intended or my men to ensure your purity. No one is looking at you anymore. I am finally going to get to enjoy you.”

Annette was frozen in place. Her father had never said anything like this. Only ever Ramsay, Ramsay with his games and his promises of ownership. Her father hardly glanced in her direction.

“I -- I don’t understand.” Annette stuttered.

Roose released her arm and walked back to his chair, seating himself.

“No? Well perhaps I was wrong to trust in your intelligence. Let me be clear. You are very beautiful and very desirable. You either know this or you’re too foolish to see it. If you’re marrying Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister and all the Lannister men will have no idea what I’ve done to you - they’re thousands of miles away. So I’ll be enjoying what I’ve been wanting for years now. You look much like your mother you know. But far more beautiful.”

The sound of a heavy door opening and boots shuffling invaded the room. A man called out “My lord, news from the Karhold” and Roose’s notice of Annette completely dissipated as he turned toward the incoming men. She backed away slowly before turning and hurrying out of the Great Hall as quickly as her feet could carry her.

Annette started running through the halls, bumping into several servants as she bolted for the familiar wood and iron that promised to protect her. When she got to her room she rushed in panting and sealed the door with the large bolt before collapsing onto the ground against a wall and holding her knees to her chest, rocking and silently spilling tears from her eyes. Nowhere is safe nowhere is safe nowhere is safe, she repeated in her head.

That was where Ramsay found her hours later.

***

There was a time in her childhood when Annette believed she loved Ramsay, with all the loyalty that a sister could have for her brother. She didn’t care that he was bastard, it had meant nothing to her. For several years really, after Ramsay had removed her from that net, Annette had loved him dearly.

He had taught her archery and taken her hunting for rabbits. She had loved the wildness of it all, the carnal desire that she felt in stalking something and the elation when she caught it. She always looked to Ramsay for approval. His attention became an impossible need for her, and she wanted to please him with her hunting.

She had grown up with little companionship of children her own age and her only family, her father, scarcely seemed to look at her. Only once, after Domeric had died, did he pay any real attention to her. Even then, it was only to ensure her wellbeing and safety. Once satisfied, however, he retreated from her life once more, though Annette had remembered several nights when a dark shadow was watching her sleep. It was too big to be Ramsay then and she had decided it was only nightmares. Though she remembered faintly servants in the kitchen whispering about the abnormality of a father going into his daughter’s room late at night. After that, Annette recalled new kitchen servants and an end to those strange nightmares.

But within those strange and convoluted childhood memories, Annette could remember the exact moment when she had begun to despise Ramsay. She could not forget the way he ripped her heart out and revelled in the pleasure of her pain, simply because he could do it. She had been unable to understand why the boy who had protected her had suddenly and violently decided to hurt her.

But as much as she hated him, she could not deny the simple truth that he always seemed to find her when she was in trouble and save her. When it wasn’t trouble of his own creation.

I need to get out of here, run as fast and quick as I can Annette thought, still with her head buried in her knees.

“Annette?” Fuck. Adrenaline shot through her veins. She had forgotten that Ramsay had moved to the bigger and more luxurious chambers connected to her own room, chambers that once belonged to her true brother Domeric. She hadn’t locked the door between the two rooms.

Annette raised her reddened teary eyes to look up at Ramsay. He truly was quite a specimen. He stood towering above her, his shirt in hand, chest exposed. His strong jaw-line, dark hair and powerful build made it obvious why all the girls in the Dreadfort fawned over him. Until they realized what he wanted to do to them. Annette could tell he was about to take a bath as her eyes swept over fresh blood splattered over him. It wasn’t his blood.

His eyes were angry. She was certain that he was going to hurt her, the rage emanating off of him was so intense. Ramsay knelt to her crumpled form on the ground. Annette decided right then that she wouldn’t struggle, she knew it would make it worse. She resigned herself to her fate and met Ramsay’s gaze waiting to see what he would do to her.

But he was just looking at her, sweeping his eyes over her body, looking for any signs of harm. “Netty, what happened?” He was angry she realized not at her, but at the unexplained ominous “they” who made her cry.

Annette let herself sob then. She sobbed and a few final tears fell down her face, but she was out of tears then. She had cried them all.

“It was father.”

Ramsay’s eyes hardened. “What happened?” His stare bore into her. Annette just shook her head, unable to say it. He read it on her face.

Ramsay slammed his palm into the wall above her head.

“He touched you didn’t he!?” Ramsay hissed. Annette shook again, terrified at his sudden outburst. He realized then that he was scaring her, and tried to calm his voice. “I’ve known what he wanted for years Netty.” His face hardened looking at Annette’s beautifully vulnerable form collapsed on the floor. “I’m not going to let him have you though. Not you.” He grabbed her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. “You’re mine.”

It was those words that did it. She felt it falling away then, the hatred and disgust that she piled as high as she could, because she didn’t want him to know, she didn’t want anyone to know - she didn’t want to know it herself. The horrible truth of it all.

And so she let him pick her up, lying still in his arms, and carry her from her bedroom into his, laying her down and covering her up with the soft furs on the large bed.

“I won’t let father touch you, sweet sister.” Annette smiled faintly as his fingers traced her jaw line delicately.

But then he drew his hand away and his voice turned cold as he stared down at her.

“I own you.”

Conflicted thoughts and emotions grabbed her from every direction, but she was exhausted. Annette couldn't stop her eyelids from falling, seeing him strip down and climb into the hot bath in the distant corner of the room as she faded into sleep.

****

The first sensations that Annette became aware of as she regained consciousness were that she had slept on her side and that her body was numb with cold. She remembered being tucked deeply into the many furs that ordinarily covered the Dreadfort beds, but she could make out in the dim early morning light that the furs were now strewn across the floor. As is my dress Annette noted with horror. She realized then that she was wearing only her thin white slip, her lean body completely naked underneath the barely-opaque fabric. Annette shuddered as she registered the reality that Ramsay must have taken her dress off after she had fallen asleep. The image of him unlacing and peeling it off while she lay as still as a corpse chilled her further, goose bumps breaking out over her smooth skin.

The second sensation that Annette became aware of was a firm bulge pressed up against her backside. Ramsay. Instinctively she froze, every pulse in her body trying to silence itself so as not to wake the monster who lay so close.

Ramsay was a hunter through every nerve and muscle in his body, and he felt that tiny movement when her body woke from its sweet sleep. Although not yet fully awake, Ramsay’s body activated with predatory instinct and his arm curled around her soft belly and pulled her taught against him.

“Good morning little rabbit.” Ramsay purred into Annette’s neck. He is so warm. Annette thought as her body was pulled completely flush against him. Not warm, but hot, hot like a fever, she thought, a terrible white fire fever that pulsated from him and into Annette, thawing her icy body. “You’re so cold.” Ramsay nipped at her ear lightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up.” He trailed his hand from where it had pulled her stomach close to him over to her hip kneading the sensitive flesh there. “You’re just too skinny.” She heard his breathing hitch, unaware that his imagination was currently at work tying her to an X-shaped cross and running a cold knife over that skinny body, a little nick here and there and pretty bright red ribbons trailing over her sharp hips and ribcage.

She did feel his cock harden against her and the hand on her hip squeeze tighter, his fingers digging into her delicate skin.

“Ramsay.” Annette was surprised at how small her voice sounded. “You’re hurting me.” She tried to squirm out of his grip, feeling his fingers press hard enough to leave bruises, but the feeling of her perfectly curved ass moving against his cock only served to excite him.

“Oh, Netty.” Ramsay inhaled sharply. “This isn’t hurting you, you stupid girl.” Ramsay bit down on Annette’s exposed neck making her yelp before flipping her over onto her back. Annette put her hands up to push him away but Ramsay roughly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head smirking before leaning down and hungrily biting and kissing her neck making Annette cry out.

“Ramsay stop!”

The slap shocked her.

He had struck her so quickly that she didn’t see the blow, only felt her face stinging painfully. Ramsay loomed over her. When he spoke, his voice was dark.

“You do not give the orders here you slut.” He spit the word at her and it cut her deeply. He was livid. Annette started shaking. He was not yelling, but his voice was so measured and laden with hatred that she would have preferred a million times over that he scream at her. “I let you sleep in my bed and how did you repay me? By questioning me?” Ramsay’s stare bore into Annette’s eyes and stabbed at her soul ruthlessly. “You can sleep in the dungeons from now on. Or better yet, the kennel. Get out.”

Annette didn’t move, she couldn’t move. Her body was frozen. “GET OUT!” Ramsay roared, seizing Annette’s waist and hauling her off of the bed before throwing her body full force toward the door. She hit the stone floor and felt a wetness on her cheek where the cold stones had made contact. Her head was ringing from the fall, but somehow she managed to stand. Still shaking, she touched her cheek, drawing her hand away to see it coated in blood. She looked at Ramsay, her eyes widening and her head feeling dizzy as she stared at the bright blood dripping gingerly from her fingers. Ramsay looked at her, standing there in her white slip with her long brown curls and naive hazel eyes and that gorgeous blood pooling and clotting on her beautiful face. But the only expression that passed across his eyes over and over like dark storm clouds was pure anger. He looked like he was going to kill her.

Annette’s bloodied fingers found the door to the hall and pushed it open before stumbling out and starting to run down the halls. She didn't know where to run to, so she just ran, a lovely phantom in a white dress now stained from her bloodied hands clasping its long train as she bolted down the hall.

READER’S CHOICE:

Annette decides to run → go to Chapter 2A

Annette decides to stay → go to Chapter 2B

#ramsay bolton fanfiction #ramsay bolton fanfic #ramsay bolton/original female character #ramsay snow #ramsay/reader #ramsay bolton smut #roose bolton #myranda game of thrones #ramsay/myranda #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction

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pengychan · 5 years ago

Note

A while ago you mentioned you had an idea for a HP fic where Riddle Sr. escaped from Merope with baby Tom. I was really intrigued with the story because I’ve always thought that Riddle Sr was unfairly considered a bad guy due leaving her and his child, but he was basically a victim of the most powerful date rape drug in existence so he had every right to escape. What kind of father did you think he’d be if he had raised his wizard son?

Oh yeah, Tom Riddle Sr. got a lot of shit for being… basically a rape victim? I get the pity for Merope, I pity her as well (she was so deeply damaged by her upbringing and never got a chance to learn what love is really about), but that in no way changes the fact what she did to Tom Sr. was terrible. And I really don’t like how it’s framed, with even Dumbledore going on about how he abandoned Merope as opposed to running away from a forced relationship after the effects of a magical drug wore off. Even the narration goes out of its way to remark on the fact he was an Unpleasant Stuck-up Guy, as though being an unpleasant stuck-up rich kid (he was like 20, he was young) somehow means you deserve to be basically robbed of your free will, taken from home and be magically coerced into a relationship.

… Okay rant over sorry on to the story idea.

Basically my idea was that Merope would only wean Tom Sr. off the love potion after their child was born, hoping as per canon that he would be in love with her regardless. Of course he wasn’t, and of course he was absolutely horrified when she admitted what she’d done and how. Horrified enough to kill her out of anger and fear she might bewitch him again (with her too stunned and pained to react with any magic). As I said, I pity her, but let’s be honest - to Tom, she was a terrifying being who had enslaved him and could do it again if he allowed it.

Anyway, he’s now left with a dead body and a baby. He gets rid of the dead body somehow, and almost smothers the baby because what if it’s like its mother, but Tom Jr. starts wailing when he looks down in his crib (unusual, that, he was usually a very quiet baby) aaaaand no, he can’t do it. So he takes the baby, and gets to the nearest station. The plan is to hand the baby over to a bobby claiming he found him in a rubbish bin or something before hopping on the first train home. Only that he… doesn’t. He can’t. And so he gets home, trying to explain he was somehow bewitched (he is fully aware no one would believe the full story about a love potion, I mean, come on) and with a baby in tow, claiming Merope left him and the baby and he has no idea where she is now (the bottom of the Thames, probably) and anyway, he’d really like his old life back.

And the return home… sucks. A lot. His parents don’t believe him being bewitched for a second, of course, and are furious at him. His fiancee, well, she wants to hear no more of him since he just up and left her to elope with the crazy gal. The village as a whole is having a laugh at his expenses. His parents full-on pressing for him to give the baby up for adoption or something aren’t helping, but at this point Tom Sr. is so angry with his lot in life, he decides to keep the child mostly out of spite. He lost nearly everything, his reputation and the woman he wanted to marry, but this child? He’s his. He’s keeping him. His parents can swallow their dentures. Not that he’s going to look after him much, they can hire a nanny to do it and that’s exactly what happens.

But time passes and the baby grows, and to everyone’s relief he looks nothing like his mother, or anyone from that weird family. He looks like his father and he seems so normal, and little by little, his grandparents are won over. He becomes the apple of their eye, and of course they set upon spoiling him. The boy wants a pony to learn how to ride? Then by God, the boy is getting the damn pony, and new clothes, and just about anything he asks for. What Tom Jr wants, Tom Jr gets. He leads a sheltered life in the manor, his every whim satisfied.

And soon enough he wants to spend more time with his father, who has become increasingly withdrawn and spends a lot of time having long horse rides across the countryside, though never anywhere near the shack where she used to live. And little by little he lets him. He’s still guarded, anxiously waits to see if his son does anything strange, but he does not. There is a certain distance between them, and Tom’s mother is a subject to never bring up, but they… get along well. Tom Sr becomes more interested in what his son is up to, and he does give him whatever he wants because why not, that’s how he was raised, too. And the kid loves his life as it is, the spoiled only child in a big mansion with rich grandparents, long horse rides with his father, and not a care in the world. His mother? Why would he care to know who she was?

Until of course something happens. During one of their rides, they are ambushed by a raving Morfin Gaunt, who spooks the horses, makes Tom Sr fall off it, and tries to hex him - only to be thrown back by a sudden explosion of uncontrolled magic by Tom who is, understandably, kinda angry at this guy who went and threatened them. Morfin becomes unable to breathe and Tom almost, almost kills him before his father grabs him and snaps out of it and takes him away, back home, leaving Morfin to gasp.

Suddenly Tom Sr finds himself with weirdly dressed men in his living room, his parents’ memories being erased, and his child chasing around a moving chocolate frog while this Dumbledore fellow talks nonsense about a school of magic what the hell is going on.

What is going on is that this is basically his nightmare, his son is like his mother and will apparently go be educated among other people like his mother whether Tom Sr wants it or not. And ten years earlier, the day he broke free, he would have smothered the boy in the crib if he’s known that - but then was then and now is now, this is his son, and he wants him safe. It takes a long time to convince him Tom Jr will be fine learning magic, that everyone else will think he’s going to a really fancy boarding school, and he’ll be back every Christmas and summer, but he finally relents.

Of course Tom Jr is enthusiastic, a ten year old kid who was just told he’s gonna learn MAGIC, who wouldn’t be? It takes some effort for him not to blurt out too much in the presence of his grandparents. This is gonna be great, he thinks, and oh boy is he wrong. He is sorted in Slytherin, and he finds out at his expenses that being Muggleborn (of course he thinks his mother was a muggle, too, his father surely would have told him if his mother was a witch?) is looked down to. He goes from being a spoiled rich kid to being an easy target, the kind other classmates turn their nose up to. He tries the Draco Malfoy “when my father hears of this” talk, only to be laughed at because literally nobody fears or respects a muggle. You could say it’s one hell of a culture shock.

And he hates it. A lot. He loves learning magic, but he hates the way he’s treated and how his family is looked down to. Even once his achievements earn him some respect, he still hates it. So he looks forward to vacations at home, when he can be the spoiled rich boy again and spend time with his father - who knows all that well what it is like to be a pariah over something you had no control over. He almost tells him about his mother, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead he uses that time to teach him about Muggle things, about science and mathematics and literature and muggle history, a whole wealth of knowledge wizards discard but oh are they wrong to do it. The older Tom grows, the closer they get. People seeing them side by side could almost think they’re brothers.

Little by little, Tom becomes certain that Purebloods are deluded - it’s Muggleborns like him that really the best, because they have access to the knowledge of both worlds. And he eventually guesses, as he grows - as he hears whispers about his parents’ eloping - that his mother perhaps was a witch; he can guess what she did. But at this point he doesn’t care, and never bothers to look into her lineage. He’s Tom Riddle, he’s son of a muggle, and he’s going to show everyone what he can do. Instead of throwing away his father’s name to embrace his mother’s legacy, he throws away hers to remain his father’s son.

And… that’s the long and the short of it. I would need to check my notes to see what was meant to happen at this point, but I think Grindelwald’s war was involved, with Tom taking the opposite side because oh no, he’s not going to trample Muggles underfoot, no sir, not on his watch. All while his father knows vaguely what is going on, and is worried for his son, the way parents are, as Tom tells him and his grandparents to move for their safety. At some point, Tom Sr would have probably told him the whole truth about what his mother did to him and how she ended up.

I don’t remember if they all made it through to see the end of 1945 - I think I had Tom Sr and Morfin Gaunt dying in the same incident, and Tom visiting the Gaunt shack afterwards to set it on fire, letting it burn with Salazar’s locket inside while he rode back to Riddle Manor, but I’m not 100% sure.

… I was pretty close to making this my NaNo project a few years ago, really. I kinda wish I had gone for it, but oh well. XD

#harry potter #tom riddle #ton riddle sr #merope gaunt

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kthstrawberryshortcake · 5 years ago

Text

You Had Me At “That Horse Will Bite You”

pairing: taehyung x OC

genre: fluff

warnings: cheesiness

word count: 2,013

This is definitely at least a bit cheesy but I couldn’t hold in my need for a tae + horses scenario any longer. :) Hope you guys like it.

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I’m going to enjoy filming this movie. That was what Taehyung was thinking as he sat in the car, on the way to his destination. The film was set in a riding stable and dealt heavily with horses. He’d learned to ride a few years ago and had a fair bit of experience, but this movie was going to require another level of expertise. He now found himself en route to the stable where he would be doing his training in everything horse-related. He was an animal lover overall, and he was looking forward to spending time with more animals and fewer people than he was used to. He’d not been told anything about who would be teaching him, but his sense of excitement kept the question from even occurring to him.

The car turned onto a long gravel driveway, lined on either side with neat-looking black wooden fences. Lush green grass was everywhere and several horses could be seen grazing in the pasture. The actual stable building then came into view at the end of the drive, large and rather high-end looking. Finally the car parked and Taehyung got out, looking around at the new surroundings. He’d been told to just enter the barn when he arrived, so he did just that, finding that the barn’s interior looked just as expensive as the exterior. Beautiful stalls were situated on either side of the center aisle and there were literally chandeliers hanging over the aisle way. He walked slowly through the barn, looking at the horses.

He stopped in front of a pony’s stall. It had a golden coat with black mane and tail. While not tiny she was quite small. He read the nameplate on the stall door. Stella. He smiled unconsciously as he took a few steps closer. Stella took an interest in the stranger, walking up to the door of her stall and sticking her head out in curiosity. Taehyung started to slowly extend his hand to pet her nose, but before he could, a small hand grabbed his wrist, seemingly coming out of nowhere. He looked at the hand’s owner in surprise. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. She’s cute but pretty evil, you’re likely to get bitten.” A short girl stood before him looking slightly amused, letting go of his wrist.

“Sorry to grab you like that, but I figured you might like to keep your fingers.” She joked. She had medium length red hair tied back in a ponytail and was dressed in a dark green v-neck sweater, breeches, and tall riding boots. It was clear that she belonged here. “Thanks for saving me.” Taehyung laughed slightly. The girl offered a small friendly smile. “You’re the one here for the movie training, right? Kim Taehyung?” She asked and he nodded in reply. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hazel. I train some of the horses here. I’ll be teaching you.” Her eyes went back to Stella, who had returned to munching on her hay, no longer interested in the people standing in front of her stall. “I still haven’t gotten to this one today, so I suppose a good place to start is just grooming and tacking up, and then you can watch her training?” Hazel suggested, earning a nod of agreement from Taehyung. The girl then grabbed the leather halter and black lead rope hanging from the hook outside the stall, opening the stall door just enough to slip through before shutting it back behind her.

Taehyung watched as she approached the supposedly-evil pony. Sure enough, as soon as Hazel got close, Stella pinned her ears and tried to nip at her, earning herself a swift thwack on the shoulder. Hazel quickly slipped the halter over the pony’s head and attached the lead rope, opening the stall door and leading her out. She led the pony down the aisle to the grooming area and attached her to the cross-ties to hold her still. unclipping the lead rope and hanging it from a hook on the wall. Taehyung was just kind of staring at her in awe, amazed at how she’d easily handled the aggressive little pony. Hazel gestured for him to follow before walking down the aisle to the tack room. She showed him the basics of what tack they needed, grabbing a saddle pad, girth, saddle, and bridle. The saddle was rather heavy but she handled it like it was nothing, more than used to carrying it around. She took everything back to the grooming stall, grabbing the box of grooming tools. She explained to him the tools’ different uses and demonstrated how to use them, and before long Taehyung was brushing the pony as well.

Hazel showed him how to put on the saddle and bridle before putting her helmet and gloves on. She picked up a crop just in case she needed it, which, knowing Stella, was rather likely. “This way.” She said, gesturing to a wide doorway to the outside. She led Stella through, Taehyung walking beside her, curious to see what kind of training the pony was in for. Hazel led the pony into the large riding arena, leaving footprints in the sandy footing beneath her boots. She handed Taehyung the reins. “Hold her here for a second,” she instructed and he nodded. She walked around the arena setting up some of the jumps before returning and taking the reins back. Walking over to the mounting block, she then got up into the saddle.

Taehyung watched silently in interest as she warmed the pony up, first at the walk, then the trot and the canter. Stella became considerably less cooperative at the canter, occasionally threatening to buck. Hazel was having none of that, though. She used her crop to give the pony a smack on the hindquarters, squeezing with her legs and even growling at her to get her to behave. It worked. After a few corrections the pony appeared to be listening. They were finally ready for the fun part. The pair cantered toward one of the jumps and Hazel made a clicking noise at Stella to get her to move a little faster. Thankfully Stella liked jumping, so she was a bit more willing to listen. They soared over the first jump, then around the corner to the next, and the next after that.

After a few minutes it was going well so Hazel decided to give Stella a quick break. She rode the pony at a walk over to where Taehyung stood. There was a look of awe on his face as well as excitement. “That was so cool!” He exclaimed, causing Hazel to laugh. “I’m glad you think so because I’m going to have to teach you to jump for your movie,” she said, looking over at the jumps. “She’s rather small to be jumping that height. It was amazing how you made her listen to you!” Taehyung enthused. She shrugged. “Not that small. The jumps may look big to you but they’re not really. I won’t need to even have you jump that high though, I think they just want you to be able to jump over some small logs out in the open or something.” She explained, giving Stella an affectionate scratch on the neck. “Back to work!” she sighed, urging Stella forward again.

For the rest of the ride Taehyung watched in total amazement, not just at the actual jumping but, he realized in surprise, at Hazel herself. He was so impressed that such a small girl controlled the horses so easily. She was all confidence and capability. He examined the look of focus on her face as she rode and it made him smile. So beautiful. he thought, before being caught off-guard by his own thought process. It surprised him, and he didn’t know how it’d happened in under two hours, but he definitely liked this girl.

A small black blur running into the arena brought his mind back to the world around him. Hazel saw it too and brought Stella to a halt. She gave an exasperated groan. “Dragon! Seriously? You broke out again?” she spoke to the blur, who happened to be a tiny miniature horse who was now running around the arena seemingly enjoying himself. Taehyung gave her an odd look. “Dragon?” He questioned, surprised that such a tiny creature would have such a strong name. Hazel laughed slightly, though clearly still frustrated at the little horse’s appearance. “He could literally breathe fire.” She joked, looking relieved as someone else came and captured Dragon, taking him back to where he belonged. “He’s a menace, believe me.”

Hazel then rode Stella around the arena at a walk for a few laps to cool her down before hopping off of her. During the walk back into the stable, she began to explain Taehyung’s riding training. “I know you said you’ve ridden before but for this particular role you’re supposed to look like you really know what you’re doing technique-wise, so just doing whatever works isn’t going to be enough. We’ll have to work on your actual form while riding. You’ll ride Leo, he’s a gentle giant. Very tall but a total softie, perfect to learn on.” She informed him. He nodded and smiled widely. “I’m excited to learn,” he told her earnestly. Less than an hour later he was in the saddle atop Leo, awaiting instruction.

**********

Weeks passed by. Taehyung was a quick learner, which made Hazel feel proud to be successfully teaching him but sad that his time there would consequently be shorter. Taehyung was positively smitten with her, a feeling which only grew with each passing day. He was agonizing over what to do about it. The thought that he’d never see her again was unacceptable to him. To spend more time with her he’d begun staying longer after his training just to have time to talk. The two could easily call each other friends by this point, though neither of them truly wished to leave it at that.

When it was finally his last day at the stable, Taehyung had managed to talk himself into confessing, though he felt nauseous now as the moment approached. Hazel was deeply sad that it was his time to go. She was cleaning a saddle in the tack room while Taehyung sat on a nearby trunk. “You’d better not make me look bad. I’m counting on you to continue to ride well when you start filming.” She said jokingly, though there was no happiness in her tone. Taehyung took a deep breath. I can do this, he told himself. “Maybe you should just come watch to make sure I don’t get lazy on my technique.” He said, trying not to blush. He wasn’t looking directly at her. She gave a small humorless laugh. “Because that wouldn’t be weird, bringing your riding coach to a movie set.” She said sarcastically. He bit his lip, forcing himself to be brave enough to look her in the eye. “Maybe so, but it wouldn’t weird to bring my girlfriend to a movie set.” He said, feeling proud of himself for keeping the total fear out of his voice.

Hazel stopped what she was doing and blinked at him in shock. “I -, I mean you -, You don’t mean -,” She struggled to form a coherent sentence, totally floored by what he’d said. “I like you. I feel like I could never spend enough time with you. I don’t intend to just let that go, unless you don’t….”He trailed off, his confidence wavering. She moved across the room, sitting down next to him on the trunk and taking his hand, lacing their fingers together. She was blushing bright red. “I like you too.” She admitted, watching his nervous expression transform into a boxy grin. “So that’s a yes?” He asked, and she nodded, feeling shy even as she was over the moon about his question. Taehyung leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Thank goodness. Who else would rescue me when I approach the wrong horse?"

#bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fluff

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reddeaddamnation · 5 years ago

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“To there and back...or not” - Thorin Oakenshield x reader [part 2]

You were awoken by someone loudly fumbling around you and knocking over something heavy, followed by a quiet curse. The sun’s rays filtered through the window and shone in your face. You opened your eyes to see Kili looking through various bags and reaching up on shelves, in search for something. You shook your head, confused still and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “Kili?” you perked his attention. “Oh! You’re awake.” he smiled “I’m just looking for my sword.” You looked around instinctively and noticed a weapon that resembled a sword, propped up against the wall in a corner “Is it that one?” you pointed in direction of said sword. “I mean we’re already a bit late and I was just about to wake you up before... Oh! That’s where I left it!” he exclaimed, laughing and walked over to the corner to retrieve his belonging.

By the time you got ready and walked outside of Bilbo’s house, the company had already gathered and were waiting for you. “Hey, sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” you apologized. “Alright.” Thorin spoke indifferently “If everyone is ready, we continue our journey.” With those words, he turned towards the road and started walking. “Wait!” you exclaimed “What about Bilbo?” you asked, knowing he was supposed to come as well. “Leave him. He made it clear that he does not want to come.” answered the dwarven king with the same indifference. “But you need him!” you shouted suddenly, not really realizing your own change of tone.

For some reason, you didn’t know why, you believed they needed Bilbo. You had no idea what was going to happen from here on, although you could recall faint memories of last night in which you had told the company something about a book. You remembered going to the hobbit’s house because you didn’t know any other, but how you knew where to find him, that fact you couldn’t recall. “And why is it that we need him so much?” Thorin asked sternly, raising an eyebrow “Another trick from your magic book of the future?” sarcasm dripped from his voice. “I...I suppose...” you furrowed your eyebrows, trying hard to remember what book he was talking about. But to no avail. “I have a feeling she knows how this journey will end.” Kili grinned widely “Tell us, will we succeed? Will we reclaim our land and rid the world of the dragon?”

Dwalin was next to speak “Surely we have. Otherwise whoever wrote the book wouldn’t tell the story. What interest could a lost battle hold?” Kili exclaimed in joy “Aha! Then we will succeed!” But you weren’t listening to them. You were trying to recall what happens next, but your memories betrayed you. You had forgotten everything, but one thing was sure - you had an awful feeling of dread in your heart and you didn’t know why. “Enough!” Thorin cut off sharply “Of course we will succeed and we don’t need any book to tell us that.” his eyes traveled over every dwarf, as if daring them to say otherwise “We have idled enough. Time to go.” And with those words, he turned his back on the company and started walking down the main road “I don’t even know why we had to come here in the first place.” he murmured “Another one of Gandalf’s schemes that did only just delay us.” The wizard didn’t openly show disdain, but wasn’t happy about the accusation. “Trust me.” he spoke in a mysterious voice “He will come.” Thorin merely rolled his eyes “Well I do not plan to waste another day until master Baggins decides to change his mind.”

Nobody argued and soon the company followed after their leader, one by one. You followed close behind, walking in the back, next to Nori. Not far from the Shire, there were several ponies, whose reins were tied to a tree. The animals stood in one place, calmly grazing the grass and nearby bushes, huffing through their noses and hoofs digging into the dirt underneath them. There was one for each dwarf, one big horse for Gandalf and one or two to spare. You watched as the dwarves hopped onto their mounts. “Can you ride?” Thorin turned to you. “I like to think so, yes.” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. You remembered one Medieval Fair that you had went to and ridden an actual live horse and didn’t manage to fall off. “Go on then.” he pointed his chin towards a black and white spotted pony with a long white mane and cute white “boots” that covered its hoofs from view,which was looking around curiously. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea and if the animal could bare your weight. After all, you never had ridden a pony. The horse you rode was much larger, but then remembered you weren’t any taller than the dwarves and had relatively less armor to worry about weighing you down. As you hopped on your pony, the next question to worry you was your clothes. Your current ones offered no protection in case of an attack or from the weather conditions themselves. Wherever you were going, you doubted it was always going to be sunny and warm like in the Shire.

“We should get you something proper to wear as well.“ Thorin stated. You spurred the pony forward to catch up to the dwarven king “What do you suggest?“ you asked. He eyed your attire with a strange look “Well...Something more fitting...for our time at least.“ You suppressed a giggle caused by his funny expression, but then Kili rode up to you with his ever present smile “Would you let me wear your cloak?“ he asked enthusiastically, gesticulating to your hoodie “I have never seen anything like it!“ This time you straight up laughed “Sure, Kili. If you think it will fit you.“ He beamed at your answer “I’ll let you try on my armor if you want in return!“ You two shared a laugh, not noticing Thorin’s eye twitch.

You spent quite some time now on the road, keeping a steady walking pace, during which you asked Kili tons of questions about dwarven customs, traditions and history. You would have loved to talk to Thorin as well, but his nephew was more talkative, describing things in vivid detail and exaggerated gestures and such tone, while Thorin answered with little to no words. In return, you told stories of your own, or at least the ones you could remember from the world outside of Middle Earth. What you didn’t realize was that you remembered less and less...

With a merry conversation, time passed faster. Eventually Balin and Fili joined in on your conversation and the three made it their goal to teach as much to you about the dwarves as possible in a small time span. At some point, everyone was stopped in their tracks by someone yelling “Wait!” behind you. The ponies stopped and the company turned around to see a certain hobbit run after them, breathing heavily and waving a long piece of paper in his hand. Who knows how long he had been running. “I...” he panted, leaning on his knees tiredly “I signed the paper...” he handed the document to Balin who tried to contain a stern look, but couldn’t hide a small smile. The older dwarf looked over the document thoroughly, before finally smiling freely and answered “Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, master Baggins.” cheerfully. “Give him a pony.” Thorin ordered. “Oh! Oh, no.” Bilbo protested nervously “It’s fine... I’ll...I’ll walk. It’s no problem at all...”

But the dwarves weren’t having it, as two of them scooped him up easily by the arms and placed him onto the free mount. There was no room for protest anymore. Now that the company was whole, there was no more reason to delay. You rode into the unknown, being involved in a matter you hardly understood with a people you never would have guessed existed if you weren’t seeing them with your own eyes, but was still very thrilled to partake in. You didn’t know what was to come, but were sure as hell determined to give it your best and help in any way you could. You were going on an adventure!

#the hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #the hobbit thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader imagine #thorin oakenshiend imagine #bilbo baggins #dwalin #balin #fili #kili #dori #nori #ori #oin #gloin #bifur #bofur #bombur

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