hoof beats

8

get to know me meme: [6/10] favourite animated movies → spirit: stallion of the cimarron (2002) “I was there and I remember. I remember the sun, the sky, and the wind calling my name in a time when we ran free. I’ll never forget the sound and the feeling of running together. The hoof beats were many, but our hearts were one.”

8

They say that the history of the west was written from the saddle of a horse, but it’s never been told from the heart of one. Not till now. I was born here, in this place that would come to be called the Old West. But, to my kind, the land was ageless. It had no beginning and no end, no boundary between earth and sky. Like the wind and the buffalo, we belonged here, we would always belong here. They say the mustang is the spirit of the West. Whether that west was won or lost in the end, you’ll have to decide for yourself, but the story I want to tell you is true. I was there and I remember. I remember the sun, the sky, and the wind calling my name in a time when we ran free. I’ll never forget the sound and the feeling of running together. The hoof beats were many, but our hearts were one.

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002)

get to know me → favourite animated movies (2/10)

The Dullahan’s Ride through Elsewhere

 A short little story based in the fantastic supernatural world created by @charminglyantiquated. Do check out the Faerie shenanigans going down at @elsewhereuniversity; it is amazing.


You hear the thundering hoof beats and shrieking neigh just as the sun is setting. Gan Ceann is riding tonight. You know he is riding for you.

You had been too arrogant, too overconfident to dare remove your golden token this evening, for gold is the only thing that a Dullahan dreads. But she was such a pretty girl, and the time you spent with her certainly felt magical.

It will be the death of you.

You were certain that Elsewhere University would be a place to seek true protection. A clever deal, a well timed act of kindness, a gamble won… the Seelie always protect the ones they favor. You came to seek Their favor. Security that only They can provide against Others like themselves.

No one has ever said why, but in your family, once a generation spanning at least the past three centuries, the Dullahan will ride to claim a soul. Last generation it was your uncle, during holiday. While he slept with his wife. They heard the whinny and sharp metallic clang of the bit in the horse’s teeth too late. Your aunt awoke just in time to hear your uncle’s name called from the severed head. She screamed and Gan Ceann struck her blind in her right eye.

Your uncle’s soul was lost, taken in a hotel room on holiday, for there is no place that is out of the reach of the headless horseman. No gate, no door, no fence, no lock will keep him at bay when he rides.

It could have been one of your cousins now. It could have been your sister, or brother. You came to Elsewhere to stack the deck in your favor, to ensure it wouldn’t be you.

But it is.

Your plan might have worked, but you did not move quickly enough. It was just so nice to finally be away. Away from the daily reminders that the Dullahan still had yet to choose a quarry; reminders to keep your gold coin always safe and ready should you hear the horseman approaching; ongoing, repeating dialogue that reminded you that horrible death would strike your family, and that it was not a matter of “if” but “when.”

Being away from that daily conversation, free to even enjoy the occasional glimpses of some other Others than the one that plagues your family, you chose to dawdle. You thought you would take your time and shop for the best protector. The bargain that would net you the most benefit for the least payment. You are not keen on the stories of students who have hacked away enormous, essential parts of themselves for something, in your opinion, entirely too small, too insignificant. A life is an expensive thing to trade for. You did not wish to live a half life for a little extra insurance. So you waited. Listening. Watching. Learning. Weighing.

But now your time is nearly up.

You still hear him coming, even as your heart pounds in your ears and your straining, panting gasps shudder through the otherwise still twilight. You pause and look about your surroundings frantically, trying to pinpoint the direction the steed’s roaring breaths are coming from. It is the sound of the horse only that you hear, which reminds you that you are still among the living and still have time, however little it may be. You will not hear the voice of Gan Ceann. Not until he calls your true name. Not until he claims your soul.

You catch a glimpse against the deepening blues and purples of the sky: the black silhouette of a rider, holding his head up by its hair to scan ahead while his mount paws at the ground beneath its hooves. The dry grass flares up with each trample, sending orange cinders dancing up into the air. The rider is still too far away, but you imagine the ever moving eyes locking onto yours. In an instant the Dullahan pulls back on the reins, and the jet-black horse rears its head. You don’t stay to watch it resume its menacing gallop. You know the direction he is heading.

You take off again toward the copse at the far end of campus, just beyond the library. It is rumored to have the most activity this late in the day. You need to increase your odds of a meeting. You need to find a member of the Gentry; anyone will do at this point. Any Other you can make a hasty trade with. You grasp at your rucksack and hope what you have will be enough to trade. Enough to barter for your life.

“Gentle Fair Folk, please grant me an audience,” you pray, and repeat this mantra in rhythm with your hurried steps. Once… twice… thrice…

The shimmering glamour around the copse begins to lift, and out of the air directly before you a tiny blue light appears. You hear the tinkling of bells as it bounces in front of you. You skid to a stop just a hair’s breadth away from running into… you aren’t entirely sure. Another tiny bell jingles and you see another dot of blue light zip into being. And then another. And another. You are mesmerized by the dazzling trails they are carving into the deepening darkness, and you realize what they are.

Wisps. Will-o’-the-wisps.

Which is peculiar, even for Elsewhere. Isn’t it rumored that there are no fearie lights at EU? They are conspicuously absent from all the recounts you have ever heard of students being Lost, Taken, or Touched. Maybe this is a Gentry trick. Maybe this is one of the Fair Folk simply taking a more benign form. Maybe these truly are wisps. Maybe you are very lucky.

Or very unlucky.

Regardless… you have your audience.

“Please,” you beg, and drop to your knees to fumble with your bag. “I’ve come to trade. I need The Court’s protection from Gan Ceann, one of the Unseelie. He is coming for me.”

More jingling. You don’t know what they are saying, if they are saying anything to you at all. You remember the iron pins stuck in the lining of your jacket and the salt packets slipped into your socks. Will they help you if you still carry these deterrents? You strip your jacket and toss it away from you, likewise dig out the salt packets and throw them into the bush. The jingling stops and the lights hover. You take it as a good sign. The sounds of the rider’s horse are growing nearer.

You unzip your pouch and dig out a tightly sealed mason jar. “I have sea glass and abalone shells, and pendants of enamel and obsidian. What will you take in exchange for protection from the Dullahan?”

The wisps float before you silently. You begin to feel that the deal is going badly, and you are becoming desperate. At any moment you imagine you will hear your name and you will be dead.

“Please!” you cry, and shake the mason jar in frustration. “I’ll offer you everything I have in exchange for your help! Please!”

The tinkling of the bells resumes, and the tiny Fae line up before you. Tears trickle down your cheeks; you did not realize you were crying.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and get to your feet. You remember to be polite; you must always be polite. You leave your bag and grasp the mason jar tightly as you feel yourself being drawn along a path you cannot see, a path that the wisps are leading you down. You take out your cell phone and flip on its flashlight to help light the ground as you hurry after them.

The glamour lifts before you reach the copse and you know you are now in the realm of The Golden Ones. A too green marshland stretches before you, where the leaves are illuminated from within and the light along their sharp edges seems to march like a scrolling marquee. The land is dotted here and there with old, gnarled trees that have human faces, and nymphs and water sprites dance among the foliage and shallow waterways. A white stag ambles by in the distance.

The scenery seems lovely, but you wonder how being here will protect you from the Dullahan. You expected to be brought to a castle, or a fortress, or some other place with defenses. Maybe just being beyond the veil of the glamour will be enough, you think. No man-made structures can stop a Dullahan; maybe the thin glamour will prove stronger. Or, at least, strong enough.

It doesn’t.

A sudden gust of hot air on your neck makes you shriek, and you whirl around to see the Dullahan and his black horse towering over you. The horse’s nostrils flare and his breath comes out in a burst of fire. Gan Ceann still holds his head aloft by the hair, and its ever moving dark eyes lock with yours. You fall back into the waters of the marsh as the soft, sunken, moldy cheese colored face splits into a horrifying toothy grin, impossibly wide, so wide it literally stretches ear to ear. The mouth opens, and you know the next breath will be your name and your soul will leave you. You do the only thing you can think to do in the split second you have left.

You throw your cell phone at the horse’s feet.

The back flies off and the screen shatters into a hundred shards. The horse rears up and jumps back. The Dullahan head screams. There is no name in his screeching cry. He yanks the reins around, and turns to ride out of the Seelie marshland the way he came.

He is gone. You are alive.

Your breaths come in ragged sobs. At first, you are confused. Relieved, but confused. As you reach for the remnants of your phone, you remember something that you never should have forgotten. If your phone was functional you would query the Internet. “How much gold is in a smartphone?” you would ask. “Enough” is the answer. There is enough.

You remember the wisps and dump your mason jar of treasures out onto the soggy marsh bank beside you to show your gratitude. They surround you while you stand and you thank Them again for their protection.

They are not dancing. They are not jingling, or tinkling, but They are making some airy sort of noise. It bubbles and echoes around you until you realize with horror that it is the tittering sound of laughter.

Your feet are rooted in the marsh. You do not feel them anymore, and do not see the way back to the campus. The luminescence of the marsh has become black, and in the dark all you see are the lights of the wisps and the glowing amber eyes of the trees. The trees with the human faces.

You will be favored here. You will live, and the Dullahan will never claim your soul.

Such is the price of Their protection.

Unadulterated Crack Part 1

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

warning: None yet…I think? 

word count: 3,337 

Author’s note: This is unedited for the most part…I have no idea what I’m doing btw.  It’s based of several imagines, but I don’t know how to like, site those yet. Also this is this is only part of the whole fic, I didn’t think anyone would like to read a 45,000+ word fic in one go. Also the is just a working title ….uhh so here *slides fic cross table and runs away*

Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8


Originally posted by tinysofia

   The company chatted away, waiting for Bilbo to regain consciousness,when they heard a horse scream and the thundering of hooves. Everyone fell silent, Bag End practically vibrated with each hoof beat. Gandalf grumbled, “About time they got here,” getting up and going to the door.

     Thorin demanded, “Who got here? What is coming?” Closely following the old wizard to the door.

     Gandalf rolled his eyes, and groaned, “The other company member, they probably ran into trouble on their way here.” As he opened the door.    Moments later a monstrous black draft horse with a rider in a black hooded cloak came thundering up to the front of Bilbo’s house. Thorin felt rather intimidated for his head was level with the center of it chest. The beast reeled up on its hind legs and let out an ear piercing scream. The rider yelled, “Whoa there Wilhelm!” as they pulled on the reins in attempts to get the horse under control. It took a minute to achieve, but ‘Wilhelm’ eventually settled down. Gandalf hollered, “That beast of your’s is going to get you killed.”

    The rider looked down at Gandalf, shrugged, and started to stroke the beast’s neck. Gandalf sighed, “Tie him up and come inside." 

     Thorin caught sight of the rider’s hand in the moonlight, the skin was fair and smooth. A woman of the race of men, or an elf? Since he couldn’t see their face due to the hood, he decided, based off the rider’s height, that they were a male elf. Thorin barked, "I will not travel with an elf!”     The rider cocked their head, and a smooth voice purred, “Oh really?” giving Thorin the shivers. It was a female, she was tall for a she-elf. By her voice alone Thorin wanted nothing more then to hold her, and never let go. It made him uneasy.   


    Thorin said, “You’d get hurt, and drag us down.”

   The rider sighed, “I’m not an elf, Thorin.”     “I find that very hard to believe.” Thorin snorted.

    The 'she-elf’ pulled down her hood revealing a head of wild and vivid bright blue and purple hair. She smirked, and chuckled, “Believe me now?" 

   Thorin and the rest of the dwarves stood there in awe of her hair. Thorin was the most effected, her hair was his favorite shade of blue. Gandalf growled, "Hurry up woman.” Thorin wanted nothing more then to braid her hair over and over and over again. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, she turned her attention to the old wizard and nodded her head. She gracefully dismounted the horse, and took his reins, and led her horse into the gate.  

    She pulled Wilhelm’s head down to her level and said, “don’t go on that hill,” pointing at Bilbo’s house, “and help yourself to his garden.” Before walking over to the group gawking at her by the door. Gandalf noticed their staring and snapped, “Get back inside you fools!”

Keep reading

8

movie requests, part 25 (requested by otaku-whovian-allons-y) »

↳ “they say the mustang is the spirit of the west. whether that west was won or lost in the end, you’ll have to decide for yourself, but the story i want to tell you is true. i was there and i remember. i remember the sun, the sky, and the wind calling my name in a time when we ran free. i’ll never forget the sound and the feeling of running together. the hoof beats were many, but our hearts were one.” - spirit: stallion of the cimarron (2002)

A little gift for @gentlesleaze, who seemed to like the idea of Benvolio in armor as much as I did… :)


Rough alarum bells rang out in violent echo through Verona’s streets – yet they were barely heard over the city-wide panic that seemed to grip its citizens by their very throats. Shopkeepers boarded their windows and barred their doors, looking to find some way to protect their goods from pillage and destruction. From open doorways mothers cried out for their children and then quickly pulled them inside to safety. Able-bodied men had been told to find a weapon – although some carried little more than kitchen cleavers and pitchforks – and, once assembled into small companies, to make their way to the city gates to meet the danger that now threatened them all.

An army, led by the duke of Milan, was on its way – and it was growing ever closer as the day progressed. The host numbered eight thousand men, so the rumors said, alongside two thousand German mercenaries well-known for their savagery.

A citizen militia, however set they might be on defending their homes and their families, could do little against such highly-trained soldiers, so the prince had called upon the aristocratic houses, asking that each send forward their best men-at-arms to ride out against the enemy. And so Rosaline had spent the morning hours – like all the women of her house – in a whirl of activity, helping to ready the men for battle and the palazzo for the possibility of protracted siege. She had worked tirelessly, running from one task to the next with little rest, not wanting to let her mind lay idle, not wanting to contemplate what horrors might be unleashed were her Capulet kinsmen defeated and her city taken by the enemy.

The men had at last assembled in the courtyard, fully girded for war, led by her uncle, who sat sternly atop a hulking gray destrier. The women had donned ribbons of Capulet blue in their hair as a measure of support, and even with tears threatening in their eyes, they waved their handkerchiefs as the men departed in a cloud of hoof beats. Only once the dust had settled did it occur to Rosaline that she was tied not to one house, but to two. It was from a sense of duty – and only duty, she told herself – that decided she must go and bid farewell to one last man before he departed for the field of combat.

She did not bother to take a servant – it would have been too much trouble, and besides, she resembled one well enough, a fact that allowed her greater ease of movement through the streets. But the mood outside was riotous, a barely-controlled chaos that seemed ready to erupt at any moment, and so she avoided the crowds, skirting close to buildings and drawing the hood of her cape up over her head as she hastened towards her destination.

As she walked, the streets became less and less familiar – she had few dealings on this side of the river, the heart of Montague power – but she guided herself by landmarks, her eyes continually keeping watch on the tall granite bell tower that guarded over the abbey church of San Sebastiano. His palazzo, she knew, was just there, tucked nearby. It was not as handsome or as grand as her own home, she noted as she approached it from the street, but it bore the trappings of wealth nevertheless.

People were still coming and going from beneath the arched portico, and she hurried inside, hoping that she hadn’t come too late.

Within the house, few took notice of her – she was dressed plainly, after all – and she found herself moving aside to make way for a group of knobby-kneed squires bearing armloads of pikes and brightly-polished poleaxes. She had half a mind to stop one of them and ask where she might find their young master, until she glanced past them, gazing into the wide courtyard beyond.

Near the center of the courtyard, just next to a burbling fountain, a young man was quietly adjusting the leather straps of his horse’s bridle, wrapped deep in thought. Warm sunlight gleamed brilliantly against the burnished steel of his armor, curling over the fluted breastplate and the round pauldrons that encased his shoulders. His arms and legs were similarly covered, and a final plate circled protectively around his neck, ending just below his trimmed hairline. He had set aside his slim rapier, exchanging it for a heavy broadsword that hung from the belt around his waist. Looking at him, Rosaline felt her heart quicken with a sudden jolt. She did not understand how, but her Montague betrothed had been utterly transformed. In her mind, she had associated him with all the callow excesses of youth: irresponsibility, recklessness, a desire to live only for his own pleasure. In front of her, though, with his marble-cut profile and hair turned red and fiery in the rays of the sun, was a man, one arrayed to practice the lethal arts of war. Were it not for the somber, melancholy strain in his eyes, he might resemble Mars himself.

His task complete, he gave the animal an affectionate rub along the length of its muzzle, and moved to place the reins up towards the front of the saddle. With a turn of his head, though, his gaze found hers, his expression at once overcome by surprise and confusion.

Her feet compelled her forward, powered by an urge she did not fully understand, until she was but an arm’s length away from where he stood.  

“My lady… Rosaline…” he said softly, his brows furrowing inward. “Why have you come? Why have you not stayed at your uncle’s?”

The words came slowly, trapped as they were between her head and her heart. “I have come to see you, before you ride out. To offer you a farewell,” she at last replied. “It is only fitting. For we are betrothed, are we not?”

He said nothing to her question, but dismissed it with a sigh and a shake of his head. “The streets are dangerous and the Milanese army almost to our gates. You ought not to have concerned yourself with me.”

She wanted to argue back, to tell him that she would concern herself with what and whom she pleased, to remind him that they were yet unmarried and for now, at least, his will would not prove a master over her own. But she bit back her tongue, knowing that she could not start a quarrel, not now. For she had not come all this way just to let him depart with only foul words having passed between them.

That he might never come back at all was a possibility she had not fully contemplated until this moment.

A curly-haired squire clad in dark red livery approached, carrying a round metal object polished to a high sheen, which he held out for his master to take.

“Your helmet, my lord,” he said.

Her betrothed grasped it tentatively, his gaze following the squire as the young man turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the house, and then finally falling upon the steel helmet in his hands. From his silence, his unfocused gaze, and the pale pensiveness that had begun to cloud his features, Rosaline could tell that he was thinking of the battle to come, perhaps wondering if he would live to see the end of it. She could not say why it pained her so to see him disheartened, for he was nothing to her – and she to him, no doubt – the two of them bound to each other solely by royal decree. Still, some small voice within her urged her to speak, to offer him the balm of what few comforting and encouraging words she had to give.

“In more chivalrous times, they say, a knight would go into combat wearing the colors of his lady, to furnish him with strength and to help him remember what he was fighting for.” She reached up and pulled the blue ribbon loose from her hair, holding it towards him. “Will you wear them for me?”

If he seemed surprised by her words, he said nothing, but raised his arm in acquiescence, allowing her to tie the ribbon around the top of the metal plate that encased his elbow. Once she had finished, she looked up at him once more, noting – with some small pleasure – that his mood had brightened. A ghost of a smile curled along the corner of his mouth, and there was something in his eyes as well, a trace of that brash, sardonic humor she had come to know well since their betrothal.

“Look not so pained, my lady,” he said in gentle mockery. “Perhaps I shall fall in battle, and then you will be free. And as we are not married yet, I’m certain your mourning period would be brief. You should be able to cast aside your black veil by Michelmas at the very least.”

She shook her head, feeling a smile begin to play upon her lips as well.

“If you could try not to die, for my sake at least, I would well be pleased,” she replied, realizing at that moment that she spoke the truth. She was certain – that is, fairly certain – that she had no desire to marry him, but she did not wish to see him taken from this earth. “For black does not flatter me,” she added, “and I would fain not have to wear it for so long a time as that.”

“Now there you are wrong,” he murmured, “as any color would suit, for such a face as yours.”

His compliment was unexpected, as was the warm flutter that stirred within her chest. She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile – and then, out of some unknown impulse, she leaned over and gave him a small kiss upon the cheek.

His eyes turned wide with surprise, his mouth open to speak, when suddenly a great clamor of shouting was heard throughout the courtyard.

“To arms, Montagues! To arms!”

The rallying cry had been sounded, armored men on horseback now thundering through the courtyard, and Rosaline knew that the moment had come to say goodbye. It seemed far too brief a time to her, though, too brief to voice the thoughts that came unbidden to her mind, too brief to do anything but look back at him, her breath turning raw and unsteady as she met his gaze.

His eyes were like two fierce stars, blazing with determination, but she had little time to wonder why, for without warning he grasped her by the waist and pulled her to him, pressing his mouth firmly against hers. Her palm was flat along the smooth metal of his breastplate, and she might have pushed away, struggled somehow to release herself from his hold. Yet she did not. Instead, she surrendered, her body melting against his as their lips met in passionate desperation.

And then just as quickly, he released her, and after having found his mount and hoisting himself up into the saddle, he circled closer and met her gaze one last time.

“If you would be so kind, lady, as to keep me in your prayers?” he asked. She nodded breathlessly, still feeling the warmth of his lips on hers, and with a spur of his horse he galloped from the courtyard to join his kinsmen, the dark blue ribbon on his arm fluttering against the bright gleam of steel.


[my Still Star-Crossed ficlets are on AO3 – read them here] 

Welcome Home.

A continuation of the Sonas/Happiness series which was last updated HERE. Please let me know your thoughts and I hope you enjoy it. The Voyager timeline goes a little wonky here so please excuse me, but I hope the overall story will be worth it :) Thank you, Han xxx

Jamie had been in Edinburgh for nearly three weeks. Fergus was perfectly capable of arranging for the printing press to be placed into storage but Jamie was adamant that he needed to be there to see that ‘she’ was handled delicately.

Claire, now rather heavily pregnant, had decided to stay at Lallybroch rather than attempt the journey, much to Jamie’s evident relief.

“I’ll miss ye dreadfully Sassenach, but it willna take more than a month I shouldna think. Once she is safely stored I will ride like the Devil himself to get back to ye.”

He had promised and Claire had waved him off with a cheerful intonation not to get stabbed, arrested or shot on his travels.

“At least try not to!”

“I make no promises, but aye, I’ll try!”

Jamie had grinned, blowing her a kiss.

They had received no letters from either Jamie or Fergus over the weeks but whilst Claire longed to hear from her husband, she consoled herself that no news was most definitely good news!

Claire was in Jamie’s study reading one morning when she heard her name being called rather urgently from the hall and the sound of hurrying footsteps.

“Mrs Claire! Mrs Claire!”

She smiled and slowly, for there was no other way for her to do it, stood up. Rabbie McNab’s eldest boy, Ben, had been completely overwhelmed when informed that he could call Himself’s wife by her first name rather than ‘Mrs Fraser’ and though he had tried to accommodate her request, Mrs Claire was the closest he seemed able to get without blushing furiously.

“Ben! I’m in Jam … Himself’s study!”

She called.

“Mrs Claire there is a …”

“Ben, don’t shout through the door, come in!”

“Ah … Mrs Claire my boots my get mud on the carpet…”

Claire rolled her eyes and made her way toward the door herself. Though she reasoned that Ben had only been into the study once to the best of her knowledge, after him and another lad, whose name Claire could not remember had been caught raiding Jenny’s strawberry patch. She supposed that the experience had left him with a healthy dose of respect and caution regarding what might happen when summoned to the Lairds study.

Opening the door she looked down at his freckled face, eyes lit with excitement and smiled

“What is it, Ben?”

“I think Himself is home, Mrs Claire! My Da spotted a rider just like him in the distance and riding fast from the look of it.”

“Oh!”

Claire beamed and her hands flew to her hair, patting at the strands and curls that had escaped her pins that morning.

“Should I ask Mrs Murray to set out some breakfast?”

Ben asked, having delivered his message he was now clearly eager to be dashing off on the next errand.

“Yes, please do. And Ben, thank you for coming to find me so swiftly, you really are an excellent messenger.”

The boy’s cheeks flushed with praise and he bobbed his head shyly, mumbling a thank you before tearing off to the kitchen.

Claire hurried, as best she could, to her bedroom and hastily fixed her hair and pinched a little colour into her cheeks, it was daft she knew, but she wanted Jamie to come home to her in a suitable state, not looking frazzled and pale and as though she was about to burst out of her dress. The dress she could do little about, the babe was growing bigger by the day and Jenny had altered Claire’s dresses as much as she could without butchering them completely but the fabric still strained in places.

“You haven’t changed much in three weeks Beauchamp! Stop being ridiculous.”

Claire admonished herself and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

It was the first little separation they’d had since her return. Three weeks wasn’t that long and Claire had certainly had enough to keep herself busy but she couldn’t deny that there had been a tight little knot of anxiety in her chest since Jamie had been gone and she would feel better once he was home. Claire needed to know that he would return, to know that he could return, and that they would not be lost to each other again.

She exhaled slowly and resolved not to throw herself at her husband too wildly the second his boots touched Lallybroch earth.

Claire made her way downstairs and stepped out into the courtyard. She could hear hoof beats and her heart hammered in rhythm. She smoothed the front of her dress and lifted her chin as the horse nosed around the bend in the road.

Sunlight glinted from auburn hair, sending shoots of ruby and copper dancing through the lengths which caught on the breeze. Slanted blue eyes, widened and a full lipped mouth curved into a delighted smile at the sight of Claire.

“MAMA!”

Brianna dismounted before the horse had fully stopped and staggered towards Claire, tears already streaming down her face.

“Bree? Oh my God! BREE!”

Claire lunged forward and grasped her daughter, pulling her close. They clung to each other, crying and laughing at once, their embrace as tight as it could be considering Claire’s belly between them. Finally, Claire thrust Brianna back to look at her properly.

“What are you doing here? Are you alright?”

“There was a fire  … there will be a fire … in America …”

Bree shook her head to clear the jumble of thoughts and wiped her sleeve under her nose. Claire dashed her own sleeve across her cheeks and sniffed heavily.

“Mama, are you … you’re pregnant?”

Brianna’s eyes had widened further and Claire touched her swollen belly self-consciously.

“I am. It wasn’t planned. I mean, of course I’m happy but it … we …”

Claire closed her eyes and squeezed Brianna’s hand tightly in her own.

“Later. We can talk about this later, I want to hear about you.”

Brianna looked as if she would far rather hear about her mother’s pregnancy but obligingly filled Claire in on what she had found and what had prompted her to come through the stones. As she spoke, Claire watched her face and felt love envelope her heart so tightly she felt like she could hardly breathe.

She had always seen Bree’s similarity to her father, anyone could see it, but having Bree here … Claire swallowed heavily.

“So I guess at some point you and … ah … Jamie will move to America.”

Brianna spread her hands before her and shrugged.

“We haven’t got any plans to but …”

Claire waved the consideration away

“I am so, so glad you are here, baby. I have missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Mama. Is he here? Jamie?”

Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. She had been so caught up in her own joy of seeing Brianna she had not even thought about Jamie meeting his daughter.

“He’s in Edinburgh at the moment, actually someone thought you were him and told me he was home.”

“Oh.”

Claire couldn’t tell if Bree looked more relieved or disappointed.

“Meeting you will mean the world to him, Bree.”

Bree smiled slightly but a small frown still creased her brow,

“Mama, I don’t want to … you and Jamie … I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to warn you and make sure you’re safe and I’ve done that. If you think I should go…”

Claire felt guilt stab at her. That she had left Brianna with any doubt about just how much Jamie had loved her, had wanted her, right from the start was a terrible oversight on her part and one that she intended to fix immediately.

“Bree, you’re our child. You are my child! Of course I don’t want you to go and Jamie … Jamie will be delighted to meet you. I have told him so much about you, he wanted to know everything!”

“He did?”

This time the relief in her voice was so obvious

“Of course he did and now you are here. This is your place as much as it is mine, Brianna.”

Claire stroked a thumb over her daughter’s high left cheekbone and cupped her cheek gently.

“Welcome home, baby.”

Shackles 3 {Rhaegar Targaryen x Stark!Reader}

Part One Here!

Part Two Here!

Warnings: General Violence/ Death/ Childbirth

(Trying to feel out whether or not I should make banners for my multi-part stories, what do you guys think?)


Jamie felt his lips part as he tried to articulate what he was thinking. Left in a state of half-stunned silence, Jamie was deadly still, palms pressed flat against the table. “You can’t be serious.”

Arthur remained silent, his gaze downcast, examining the grooves in the stones comprising the floor.

Rhaegar sighed. “She committed treason. She abandoned her king, and the father of her child and she rides for the North. You think this will not spark another war? The peace we’ve made is tenuous as it is.” He reasoned as if explaining the thought behind the atrocity that’d just left his lips made it any less ghastly.

Keep reading

Tenderness

Robb Stark x Reader

Author’s note: this is a kind of prequel to Ruins. This looks like it’s trying to become a kind of illogically ordered series. Also the original song was in Hebrew, so I provided the translation Eric Whitacre provided for the song. I trust him, since his wife wrote the lyrics. So, credit there. Also the typical “I don’t own Robb” thing because copyright. Enjoy!

Warnings: A fade-to-black sex scene, but otherwise this is pretty fluffy. 



Hu hayá malé rakút

Hi haytá kashá

Vechól káma shenistá lehishaér kach,

Pashút, uvlí sibá tová,

Lakach otá el toch atzmó,

Veheníach

Bamakóm hachí, hachí rach.

 

He was full of tenderness;

She was very hard.

And as much as she tried to stay thus,

Simply, and with no good reason,

He took her into himself,

And set her down

In the softest, softest place.

Keep reading

Chilling Tales and Banshee Wails Part One

Pairing: The company x reader

Word Count: 1,483

Warning: Scary story, blood, the story revolves around children, lightening


Originally posted by kylogue


You sat staring into the crackling fire in the center of the cave the company had set up camp in for the night, and you were absolutely bored out of your mind. All of the chores had been done, Thorin had forbidden any of his kin from sparring with you, you had already bathed for the night, pranks had become boring, nobody had anything for you to read, and Thorin had also demanded you sit still “for once in your life.”

You were jittery, and just wanted to just get up and run, but you couldn’t do that now could you? For one it was raining like billy hell outside the cave, and two, you didn’t think Thorin’s heart could take the stress from both running after you and worrying about you.

 You were drawn out of your thoughts when a bright flash of lightening lit the entire cave up and cast your companions and your self in sharply contrasted silhouettes of fearful and worried looks on the wore and tired faces of your companions transitioning into eerie abysmal darkness.Feeling the cogs of your mind turning, you chuckled darkly as the corners of your mouth turned upwards in to an ominous Cheshire grin.

 The members of the company slowly looked at you, feeling suddenly unsure of whether or not bringing you along was a good idea. You hummed briefly before singing, “I have an idea.”

The only sound to be heard for a minute was the pitter pater of rain on stone, which in the cave made it sound like the outside world was under water. Finally Thorin’s melodious baritone stammered, “And what idea is that?”

“We tell scary stories to pass the time.” You muse sinisterly, rocking your body side to side, casting strange shadows along the bumpy and rough cave wall behind you.
The other members of the company looked at each other, they knew you could be extremely dark at times. So much so that it even frightened them, warriors hardened by war. Kili said, “ it’s fine by me, but only if we can have you stop telling a story if it proves too much.” his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped his words down.

 The others nodded at each other, you smirked a little wider and purred, “That’s agreeable to me boys, shall I start?“Bofur spoke up, “If you don’t mind I’d like to start.”

Dwalin grumbled, “And I’m after him.”


You sat eagerly through story after story of orcs sneaking into villages and slaughtering everyone on a night just like this or a troll kidnapping a child only to rip them limb from limb and devour the blood and organs from the holes left. Everyone told at least one story, you knew they were trying to procrastinating so you wouldn’t get your turn to tell a story. Which only worked in your favor, it gave you time to pick which story you’d tell them, and how you’d spin the story into a web to ensnare them, only to lead them in for the kill, like a spider  to the fly. When you had the perfect sequence, all you needed was a little flair of magic, something Gandalf had taught you, and a prop, which you had in your bag, and best of all no one knew you had it. you unlatched your bag and prepared the prop for use.


Thorin eventually yawned, “Alright time for bed,” as he stood up and stretched his arms over his head.You, who was sitting closest to the entrance of the cave, stood up abruptly as lightening flashed behind you. The company gasped when they saw your curvy and tall form, they had not seen you move from your seat. You innocently said, “one more story and then bed, if that is alright" 

mischievously eying the dwarfish king, “Unless you’re too scared from hearing about the cut throat orcs?“Thorin’s eyes narrowed at you, he sat down, waved his hand towards you, and said, “You have the floor my dear.“You cleared your throat and began your story.


This is in fact not a made up story, it happened to my aunt and her good friend, Mahalia many years ago. My Aunt, Jasmine went for a sleep over at her friend Mahalia’s house when she was five. Now Mahalia’s family lived together on the same house, it was Mahalia, her younger sister, her parents and grandparents. This house was surrounded by the woods, but a hundred yards from their back door was a guest house, where Mahalia’s great grandparents lived, but there was woods separating these houses. Mahalia’s mother asked Jasmine and Mahalia to bring the great grandparent their serving of dinner. The two of them chatted, while trying not to spill any of the food, as they walked to the guest house their backs up against the setting sun. The two girls stayed and listened to stories of ghouls and goblins, until it was well after dark. Once it was bed time, the Great grandmother sent them back to the main house on top of the hill, with a flashlight so they didn’t step on any snakes or get off the path. After ten minutes of walking Mahalia and Jasmine realized they were no where near the house. They were lost, the forest by now was pitch black, and only illuminated by the dim flickering light of flashlight in Jasmine’s hand not even the light of the full moon pierced the canopy of the trees. Mahalia clung to Jasmine’s arm and cried softly, she was scared of the noises of the vast jungle around her. However the forest quickly grew still, and nearly silent. The only sound either of the girls could make out was the faint sound of hooves clip clopping against the dirt coming from behind them. Fog swirled around the girls like hands of the vanquished attempting to drag them to the underworld. Suddenly the hoof beats sped up, Jasmine and Mahalia looked at each other before squinting into the darkness. Jasmine caught sight of a tall bulky figure skulking towards them. A loud snort slashed through the silence, a snort that sounded like a horse. Jasmine grabbed Mahalia’s hand and ran as fast as she could. The two of them ran for ages before needing to stop for air. Jasmine managed to remind them that they needed to turn their clothes inside out if they ever wanted to see home again. After the Jasmine pulled on the last article of her clothing back on, she helped stuff Mahalia back into her inside out shirt, just in time to catch a glimpse of the hulking figure lumbering toward them. Again the girls ran, only this time they managed to get to the house, where Mahalia’s Grandmother waited for them. Her eyes widened at the sight of the two children, gasping for air, sweaty, and wearing clothing inside out. The old woman ushered them closer, and when the girls reached the porch, the clops of hooves skirted the edge of the forest . All of them looked back to see, the silhouette of a man, that wasn’t a man. He had the head, feet, and mane of a horse and his body as that of a muscular man that was covered in short bristly horse hair. But most noticeable as his eyes, they glowed a bright and sinister red, red as blood, but bright and luminous as that of the harvest moon lurking overhead in the clear sky. The Grandmother whispered, “Tikbalang” horsely, she made the mistake of saying the beast’s name aloud. The figure stood still before making a lunging motion with it’s arm, throwing something at them. A hollow rolling noise followed, and stopped at their feet, it was a skull.This Skull was still partially covered in fleshy muscle, but it was crawling with maggots, and centipedes and oozed decay. Before disappearing off into the woods, the beast let out one ear piercing scream, that Jasmine could not tell if it was that of a horse of that of a man. The rest of the night whispered to them, and the air was tense and hot until Jasmine left the next day.


At this point you used the magic Gandalf had taught you and created two orbs of red  light at the entrance of the cave after a flash of lightening, and while all of them had their eyes locked of the orbs of light you tipped over your bag and watched as the skull rolled to Ori’s feet. All eyes followed, the skull in silent horror, no one dared speak. You watched as Ori’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slowly tipped backwards and fell unconscious on the cave floor. You leaned forward and whispered, “Good night boys,” before scooping up your skull and curling up with it on your sleeping mat.

A/N: this fic was requested and promised to

@fullvoidmoon


Originally posted by hunterpreston

Tag list: @arabellaelliana @a-midwinter-night-dream-86 @nelswp @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms @fentah

r-i-f-d25  asked:

Levihan (of course) with 7 "I almost lost you." Please. (I love your stories 💖)

Thank you! <3 I hope you like it!

Send me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a drabble.


In retrospect, it was a foolish mistake. Everyone knew to check their saddle before riding.

Hanji had been rushed. Her experiment had run long. She’d been hurried, shouting results for Moblit to record, even as they dashed to the stables. Everyone was already gathered. A stable hand passed her the reins to her horse. Erwin was at the front, and Levi waited at his side, glaring in her direction – likely annoyed to have been kept waiting.

She hopped on the horse without a thought. Tucked beneath the horse’s belly, the frayed girth was hidden from sight.

They rode hard for the walls. They’d gotten a late start, and Erwin was determined to make up for lost time. They would need it once they pushed forward in the expedition.

The wall had been in sight. Dust choked the air as hooves pounded the dirt-paved road. A formation of birds flew overhead. Craning her neck, Hanji rose in her saddle to get a better look and –

Something snapped.

The stirrup on her left side plunged suddenly down. And then she was sliding – pitching sideways. She grabbed for the horse’s back, but her fingers found no purchase. Her right foot was tangled in the other stirrup, and she was falling. She saw the dirt packed road, and realized with a horrible, sinking certainty that she was going to hit the ground. She curled.

Her shoulder hit first. The world turned on its head and her teeth slammed painfully together. She was rolling. She couldn’t breathe. Hoof beats were the last thing she heard.

Keep reading

RWBY V4E11 - What was the point of that last scene?

WARNING: HUGE SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN RWBY VOLUME FOUR EPISODE ELEVEN: TAKING CONTROL.  I URGE YOU TO SEE THAT BEFORE YOU READ THIS.  THE ENTIRE EPISODE WAS ONE BIG REIGN OF HYPE AND TERROR.  IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE EPISODE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS RWBY, DO NOT READ THIS.


Okay, now that that’s out of the way.  The last scene of Taking Control did not just tease the Nuckelavee Grimm again.  I think it showed us that the Nuckelavee has some kind of special ability.

Let’s go through the last scene again.  Ren and Nora are running through Kuroyuri, scared and intent on making sure Ruby and Jaune are okay.  They collapse outside an archway, out of breath and terrified.

The first thing on Ren’s face is relief, because he sees that they’re okay.

It seems that it’s only them in the clearing, and that they haven’t been hurt.  

“What are you guys doing here?” asks Ruby.

“Did you hear that noise?  What was that?” asks Jaune.

Ren starts to answer, but immediately sees something and slowly drops to his knees, his head hanging low, pure terror in his eyes as he repeats “No…” over and over again.

“Ren?!  What is it?” screams Ruby, off-screen.  Suddenly we hear hoof-beats and hissing noises, slow and menacing.

“Wait…do you guys hear that?” asks Jaune, off-screen.

“Ren…?” says Nora, fear building in her voice, off-screen.

And then…

We see it.  The Nuckelavee Grimm, with arrows from previous brawls still sticking out of its back, its eyes and mouth like fire inside it.  And then the episode ends.  Stop with the cliffhangers, RT!!!

This entire scene was just a little bit off to me.  Ren and Nora arrive, but directly after Jaune and Ruby speak, Ren sees the Grimm.  There’s even a part where his eyes dart around before he sees it.

So…um…where is it?

In the shot where we see the Nuckelavee, it looks like it’s close enough for Ren to see the details on its face…and I say Ren because it was obvious that he saw it.  Everyone else was all “What are you doing here” and “What’s going on”.  None of them ever mentioned seeing it.

Is Ren the only one that can see the Nuckelavee?

They could definitely hear it; Jaune mentioned hearing the hissing and clopping.  But none of them seemed really scared.  And here’s another thing to note: Every time the camera zoomed in on Ren, everyone else was heard off-screen. 

Which makes me wonder if Ruby, Jaune, and Qrow are even there to begin with.  Is this an illusion cast by the Nuckelavee?  What is Ren really seeing?

What the hell is going on?

Elsewhere U- The kiln god

(Note: this is crossposted to AO3 here)

There is a thing, at Elsewhere U, that deals in might-have-beens. In wasted chances. In ruined potential.

It is not fey, not quite. It definitely isn’t human, though it approximates the shape of one more closely than most. Indeed, it is only ever so slightly off- tall, but not too tall; handsome, but not otherworldly; bright, glittering eyes, but not quite lit from inside. It even stays consistent in its appearance: androgynous, chin length feathery blond hair, bright brown eyes. Generally, it wears a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans.

Of those who know about it, some think it came from across the seas, brought here like so much luggage with an international student. Others think it some form of demon, or twisted spirit. Others say it crawled out of the pages of a book, well loved enough that the monsters came to life.  

Keep reading

2

Edmund trod along the border, his gaze frequently lingering on the trees on the other side, searching for your familiar face.

He wasn’t disappointed as hoof beats reached his ears and you came into view, elegantly sitting atop your horse. You smiled when you caught sight of Edmund, pulling gently on the reigns so you slowed to walk alongside him, still on your side of the border.

“A beautiful day, is it not, King Edmund?” You asked, soft accent causing your words to lilt and flow like music.

“Even more so in your presence, Princess,” Edmund replied, his chest feeling strangely light and warm.

You laughed, ducking your head humbly, “You are too kind, good King. You have seen my face far too often to still find it anything but plain.”

Feeling bold, Edmund replied, “If I may, Princess, I would prefer to see it far more often.”

A small smile curled your lips, “Now I understand why a king should show so much interest in his borders, and a princess in hers. Would you like to join me for dinner tonight, good King? It will be dark soon and I am well aware of the distance to Cair Paravel.”

Edmund grinned widely, eyes sparkling as he dipped his head, “It would be my honor.”

*not my gif

draganchitsa  asked:

slides into your askbox late because i'm that asshole asking for some aegon x betha.

It is Ser Duncan who catches her eye first. He is so very tall, and Betha isn’t certain she has ever met a man so obstinate about how a knight should be. Her father’s knights certainly do not care so much about their vows, and the Bracken knights are even worse.

She does eventually notice Egg. He’s rather hard to ignore, very brazen for somebody who is only a squire to a hedge knight. Betha takes in his bald head and insolent expression and thinks that inflicting him on the Brackens might do nicely. He does seem so very eager to go, and he can almost out talk Betha.

Almost.

I should visit Pennytree anyway,” Ser Duncan says, slowly. “On account of Ser Arlan.”

Egg nods eagerly and readies the horses. He doesn’t seem to realise that Betha is still there until she leads her pony out into the yard. He gapes at her and Betha scowls at him, looking away as she puts her foot in the stirrup and swings easily into her saddle.

You can’t come,” he insists. “There’s fighting, and you’re a girl.”

Betha tosses her head and scowls at him again.

“I’m a Blackwood,” she tells him firmly, “and Pennytree is a Blackwood village.”

Ser Duncan looks between the two of them, frowning, and Betha thinks he’s going to try to stop her so she digs her heels into the sides of her pony before he can try. It’s only a moment before she hears hoof beats behind her, but she’s out the gate by then, and the Blackwood men know better than to stand in her way.

Egg catches up to her a little way down the road and he’s smiling. He almost looks impressed. Betha doesn’t care about impressing him. She only cares about ending the fighting, and if Ser Duncan and Egg can help then she’ll consider them friends, and be glad of their company.

The Pilot Of  “Queen Of Shadows”

(THE TV SHOW ISN’T ACTUALLY OUT YET. THIS IS JUST MY PERSONAL VERSION OF THE PILOT) 

  • The episode starts with a black screen, with incoherent mumbles in the background 
  • We’re watching from the POV of whoever’s in that dark place as a door in-front of them opens 
  • Gray light floods the darkened space as a man pull out whoever’s inside 
  • We switch to an outsider’s point of view 
  • A person (we can only see their back, but it’s pretty obvious it’s a girl. She has blonde hair.) is being led into what looks like a mine by two men 
  • We get a close-up of the bottom half of her face
  • A female voice whispers “I will not be afraid” and the girl smirks 

———————————————————————————————————–

  • We get a back-view of a female (the same girl from the begging of the episode) using a pickax in a mine 
  • A man is standing beside her with a whip in his hand and is watching as she works 
  • He whip-cracks the floor and he smiles as he tells her to work faster, warning her that the next time he uses the whip, it won’t be on the floor 
  • The girl looks up at him and we finally see her face 
  • Her most eye-catching feature are her turquoise eyes, the pupils ringed with gold 
  • She glares at her overseer and the man’s smirk disappears 
  • He tells her to not look at him like that, but she ignores him 
  • Sneering, he brings down his whip, but then his features twist into pain 
  • The camera shows his abdomen, which has a pickax lodged into it 
  • The girl twists it before pulling it out 
  • She starts running, killing everyone who dares get in her way
  • She exits the mines and keeps running towards a wall 
  • She outstretches her arm as she nears it 
  • Her middle finger is only a fingertip away from touching the wall before the screen turns black 

———————————————————————————————————–

  • Two men (one’s black-haired and blue-eyed and the other have brown hair and eyes) are sparing 
  • It seems like the brown-haired one’s winning, but then his friend manages to disarms him and gets him down to the floor 
  • As the blue-eyed winner in helping his friend up, there’s a knock on the door and a man who looks like a guard steps into the room 
  • He bows and says “your Highness, your father have requested your presence.” 
  • The two friends share a look with each other 

———————————————————————————————————–

  • The black-haired man in walking down a hallway 
  • He reaches a grand door and knocks on it 
  • He waits till whoever’s inside gives him permission to enter before walking into the room 
  • The man sitting on a throne gestures for his son to come closer
  • He explains to the prince about how he wants to hold a competition to determine the “new royal Champion of Adarlan”
  • He asks his son if he wants to compete 
  • There’s a close-up to the prince’s face before the scene ends 

———————————————————————————————————–

  • I really want the other characters that are gonna appear later on the series to have guest appearances in the pilot???????

———————————————————————————————————–

  • At the end of the episode, the back of a shackled blonde is shown 
  • A man has his sword on her back while another one, cloaked, is gripping her hand and leading her through a maze of corridors and mazes
  • The last shot of episode is the bottom half of the girl, smirking a very familiar smirk 
  • The episode ends

 ———————————————————————————————————-

Bonus: 

  • You know how the ending of the second book is Chaol finding out that Celaena’s actually Aelin?
  • Yeah, that’s also gonna be the ending/finale of the second season 
  • And then the premiere episode of the third season will be a flashback to eight-year old Aelin running away from the castle (obviously, only the people who read the books will now that. MAYBE some of the people who didn’t will figure out, but I think the majority of them’ll think that it’s actually present time and not a flashback) 
    • The episode/season opens with a little girl running in a forest 
    • It’s fairly obvious she’s being followed; she’s scared and nervous, and keeps looking behind her 
    • The sounds of hoof-beats echo around the forest 
    • Just as we start hearing a river, the girl trips over a root and fell 
    • She’s stuck 
    • She tries freeing herself to no avail 
    • The sounds of the horse’s hooves are getting closer 
    • We switch to the horse-rider for just a second 
    • He unsheathes his sword 
    • Tiny eyes and small fingers appeared from out on nowhere and heaves up the root, freeing the girl 
    • She stands up and continues running, slightly limping 
    • The sound of the river gets louder, but so do the sound of the horse’s hooves 
    • The horse breaks through the trees behind the girl 
    • The rider raises his sword 
    • We see twin posts; a bridge 
    • The girl jumps onto it 
    • The rider cuts one of the ropes holding the bridge 
    • The girl fals into the river bellow
    • And then we return to present time in Wendlyn with Celaena on the roof