#Child Horse Rider | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 6 months ago

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Bonsoir

my English is not very good sorry 🥹

I’m obsessed with Sir Gwayne Hightower..

Can we imagine something like reader is the younger sister of Rheanyra and she fell in love with him during the tournament.

The king Viserys love his daughter so much that he accept her demand. They lived in Oldtown where they raised Daeron, and they also have children maybe 5/6?

Later they came back to King’s Landing and it’s their child’s who got attack the night (idk if one died like you want) and both of them goes furious agains Rheanyra and Alicent.

A House Divided

- Summary: During a tourney your father organized for the birth of his heir, your heart found a flame in Ser Gwayne Hightower.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The requests are now closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The grand tourney was in full swing, the air mingling with the scent of churned earth and sweat, and the clamor of metal clashing against metal reverberated through the stands. You sat in the royal box, perched between your elder sister, Rhaenyra, and her closest companion, Alicent Hightower. The three of you made a striking tableau, clad in the rich velvets and silks befitting your station, your hair arranged in intricate braids that sparkled with delicate gems. The sun beat down mercilessly on the field below, casting a golden hue over the proceedings as knights in gleaming armor paraded before you.

Rhaenyra leaned forward, her attention rapt, as one of the knights she had favored rode out onto the field. "Ser Harwin Strong," she whispered, more to herself than to you. "They say he could fell a dozen men in single combat."

You barely heard her, your gaze fixed on the next rider in line. He wore the silver and green of House Hightower, his helm adorned with the familiar sigil of the fiery beacon. Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, guided his horse with practiced ease, his posture straight and noble, as befitting the son of the Hand of the King. But it wasn’t just his prowess on the field that caught your attention. No, it was the way his eyes, even from beneath the shadow of his helm, seemed to seek yours.

You felt a flutter in your chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer sun. Your heart skipped a beat when his gaze locked with yours, lingering for a moment too long to be mere coincidence. His expression, though partially obscured by the helm, betrayed something—an unspoken acknowledgment, a silent exchange that sent a shiver down your spine. You offered him a small, shy smile, one that you hoped would convey the burgeoning emotions that you could barely understand yourself.

Beside you, Alicent noticed the exchange. She turned her head slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He is quite skilled, isn’t he?" she remarked casually, though the hint of amusement in her tone did not escape your notice.

"Yes," you replied softly, trying to keep your voice even. "He is."

Alicent’s lips curled into a knowing smile, but she said nothing more, her attention shifting back to the tournament as the next knight prepared to ride. But your thoughts remained on Gwayne, your mind replaying the moment over and over again.

The peace of the moment was shattered when a thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd. A new rider had entered the lists, one who commanded immediate attention. The black stallion he rode was as imposing as the man himself, its powerful muscles rippling beneath the dark coat as it trotted confidently onto the field. The helm he wore was unmistakable, the dragon sigil of House Targaryen gleaming in the sunlight. Your uncle, Daemon, the Rogue Prince.

A tension gripped the air, as palpable as the steel of the swords being brandished on the field. Daemon was not merely a competitor; he was a force unto himself, and his mere presence sent ripples of unease through the crowd. You knew well enough of the strained relationship between him and the Hand, and you could feel a foreboding sense of what was to come.

Your heart lurched as Daemon’s gaze swept the field, his eyes narrowing with calculated malice. He was looking for an opponent, someone whose defeat would send a clear message to the court. And then, with a wicked smile, he made his choice.

"Ser Gwayne Hightower!" the herald announced, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd.

The smile you had shared with Gwayne moments ago felt like a distant memory, replaced now with an overwhelming sense of dread. You watched in horror as Daemon spurred his horse forward, his eyes gleaming with cruel intent. Gwayne had no choice but to accept the challenge; to refuse would be to invite dishonor upon his house.

Alicent gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "He’s doing this to spite my father," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He means to humiliate us."

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened as she glanced between you and the field. "Daemon is always looking for ways to make his mark," she said, her voice edged with frustration. "But this…"

Your hands tightened around the arms of your seat, knuckles turning white as you watched the two knights prepare to charge. The tension was almost unbearable, your fear for Gwayne warring with the knowledge that there was nothing you could do. He was skilled, yes, but Daemon was ruthless, and the outcome of this bout felt all too predictable.

The sound of hooves pounding against the earth filled your ears as the two men charged at each other, lances poised to strike. The crowd held its breath, the world seeming to slow as the distance between the riders closed in an instant.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t bear to look away either. The moment of impact was sudden, brutal. Daemon’s lance struck true, sending Gwayne crashing to the ground in a blur of motion. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and gasps, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.

Alicent’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly, and you realized she was trembling just as much as you were. Rhaenyra leaned closer, her voice a whisper meant to comfort. "He’ll be all right," she said, though even she didn’t sound entirely convinced. "Ser Gwayne is strong. He’ll rise again."

But as you looked down at the field, where Gwayne lay motionless in the dirt, your heart was filled with fear and uncertainty. The triumph on Daemon’s face as he rode past only deepened your dread. You knew that this was just the beginning of a dangerous game, one in which the stakes were far too high.

And though you wanted nothing more than to rush to Gwayne’s side, to ensure that he was truly all right, you could only sit there, helpless, as the tourney continued around you, your thoughts consumed by the image of his fall and the lingering touch of his gaze upon yours.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet, the bustle of the day having given way to the stillness of the evening. You walked with purposeful steps, though each one felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in your mind. The events of the tourney still haunted you, particularly the moment when Ser Gwayne Hightower had been unseated by your uncle Daemon in such a brutal manner. The memory of Gwayne lying motionless on the ground was seared into your memory, and you had spent every waking moment since then worrying about his well-being.

You had learned earlier that day from Alicent that Gwayne was recovering in a guest chamber within the Keep, his wounds being tended to by the maesters. The relief that had washed over you upon hearing he was alive had been swiftly replaced by an overwhelming need to see him, to ensure with your own eyes that he was truly all right.

But more than that, you felt a deep sense of guilt. Gwayne had suffered because of your uncle’s vendetta, and though you knew Daemon was not your responsibility, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to apologize on his behalf. It was as if your worry for Gwayne had ignited a flame of something more within you, something you hadn’t fully understood until now.

You approached the door to Gwayne’s chamber, hesitating only briefly before knocking lightly. The sound echoed softly in the empty hall, and you held your breath as you waited for a response. A few moments passed, and then you heard the shuffling of feet from within. The door creaked open, revealing Gwayne’s face—pale but still handsome, his hair slightly disheveled, and his usually bright eyes dulled with pain. When he saw you standing there, surprise flickered across his features, quickly replaced by something warmer.

“Princess Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft but filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “I did not expect a visit from you.”

“I… I wanted to see how you were faring,” you replied, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping back to allow you entrance. “Forgive the state of the room. I’ve not been the best company, I’m afraid.”

The chamber was modest, yet comfortable. The bed in which Gwayne had been resting was neatly made, though the pillows were slightly askew, evidence of his struggle to find a comfortable position. A small table beside the bed held a pitcher of water, a few books, and some bandages that had been used by the maesters. The room smelled faintly of herbs, likely to aid in the healing process.

You walked slowly into the room, your eyes briefly scanning the surroundings before settling on Gwayne again. He closed the door behind you and made his way back to the bed, moving with a slight limp. You felt a pang of guilt seeing him in such a state, knowing that it was your uncle’s doing.

“Please, sit,” he offered, gesturing to a chair near the bed. You took a seat, clasping your hands in your lap, unsure of where to begin. Gwayne settled back onto the bed, wincing slightly as he did so.

“I’m sorry, Ser Gwayne,” you blurted out, unable to contain the words any longer. “I’m so sorry for what my uncle did. It was cruel and unnecessary, and… and I’m sorry you had to endure it.”

Gwayne looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he smiled—a gentle, almost affectionate smile that made your heart ache in a way that was both unfamiliar and comforting.

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” he said softly. “Your uncle is his own man, and his actions are not your burden to bear.”

“But I feel responsible,” you insisted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “He is family, and yet he… he targeted you because of your own.”

Gwayne reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours where they rested in your lap. The touch was soft, hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure if it was welcome, but the warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, you felt the full force of the connection that had been growing between you.

“I am a knight, Princess,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I knew the risks when I entered the lists. Your concern honors me, but please do not blame yourself for what happened.”

You nodded, though the guilt still lingered at the edges of your mind. “I’ve been so worried about you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “When I saw you fall… I’ve never felt such fear before.”

His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, the small gesture sending a thrill through you. “And I have never been so honored to be the cause of someone’s worry,” he replied, his tone laced with warmth. “But I’m all right. The maesters say I will heal fully, given time.”

The weight on your chest lifted slightly at his reassurance, and you allowed yourself to truly take in his appearance. Despite his injuries, there was a strength in him that shone through, a resilience that you admired. And more than that, there was a kindness in his eyes, a softness that made you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you hadn’t before.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “For being so understanding… and for not holding my family’s actions against me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I care for you, more than you might realize. Seeing you here, knowing that you came for me… it means more than words can express.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the unspoken feelings that hung between you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were acutely aware of how close he was, how the slightest movement would close the distance between you.

“I care for you too, Gwayne,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission. It was the first time you had spoken those words, the first time you had allowed yourself to truly acknowledge what had been blossoming between you.

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might bridge the gap and close the distance between you in a way that would change everything. But instead, he merely tightened his grip on your hand, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that felt almost reverent.

“I will heal, Princess,” he said, his voice low and filled with a promise that made your heart swell. “And when I do, I will strive to be worthy of your care.”

“You already are,” you replied, your voice firm despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “You have always been.”

The two of you sat there in silence for a long moment, your hand still held in his, the world outside the chamber forgotten. There was no need for further words; everything you needed to say was conveyed in the gentle touch, in the shared glances, in the understanding that passed between you.

Finally, you knew it was time to go, though leaving him was the last thing you wanted. You reluctantly pulled your hand from his, rising from your seat with a heart that felt both heavy and light all at once.

“Rest well, Ser Gwayne,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth.

“And you, Princess,” he replied, his eyes lingering on yours as you turned to leave.

As you walked back through the quiet corridors of the Red Keep, your heart was filled with a new kind of certainty. The connection you felt with Gwayne was undeniable, you knew that you had found something precious in the midst of all the turmoil—something worth holding onto, no matter what the future might bring.

The years that followed the tourney saw your life change in ways you could have never anticipated. The bond between you and Gwayne Hightower deepened with each passing day, blossoming into a love that defied the expectations of courtly life. What began as shy smiles and stolen glances grew into something much more profound—conversations that lasted long into the night, tender moments shared in hidden alcoves of the Red Keep, and a connection that seemed to transcend all the chaos and political maneuvering that surrounded you both.

Gwayne became your constant companion, his presence a source of comfort and strength. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. He was always there when you needed him, his steady gaze grounding you when the pressures of your station became too much to bear. And in return, you gave him your heart, knowing that he would cherish it as he had cherished you from the very beginning.

It was in the quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of the court, that you truly fell in love with him. You would sit together in the godswood, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves as you shared stories of your childhoods, your dreams, your fears. He would listen intently, his gaze never wavering, and you would feel a warmth in your chest that you had never known before.

But as the years passed, you both knew that your love could not remain a secret forever. The time would come when you would have to seek the blessing of your father, King Viserys, if you were to be together openly. And so, one evening, after much deliberation, you found yourself standing before him in his chambers, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear.

Viserys had aged in the years since your mother’s passing, the weight of the crown bearing heavily on his shoulders. His marriage to Alicent had brought stability to the realm, but there was a sadness in his eyes that had never truly left. Yet, when he looked at you, there was still warmth, a father’s love that had not dimmed with time.

“Father,” you began, your voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing at you, “there is something I must ask of you.”

He set aside the parchment he had been reading, giving you his full attention. “What is it, daughter?” he asked, his tone gentle.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I wish to marry Ser Gwayne Hightower.”

Viserys blinked, clearly taken aback by your request. “Gwayne?” he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. “You… you wish to marry him?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “I love him. He has been a constant presence in my life, and I cannot imagine my future without him.”

There was a long silence as Viserys studied you, his expression contemplative. You could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, the calculations, the concerns. Marriages were rarely matters of the heart in the Targaryen dynasty; they were tools of politics, alliances forged to strengthen the realm. But you had always been different from your sister, Rhaenyra. You had always followed your heart, and now you were asking your father to allow you to do so in this most important of matters.

“Does he love you?” Viserys asked finally, his voice quiet.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. “I believe he does.”

Viserys sighed, his hand coming up to rub his temple. “You know what this would mean, don’t you? You are a princess of the realm, a daughter of the dragon. To marry a Hightower… it would tie you to their house in a way that cannot be undone, like it did me.”

“I know, Father,” you said. “But this is what I want. I’ve thought long and hard about it. I’ve considered the implications, the responsibilities. And still, my heart tells me this is the right path.”

At that moment, the door to the chamber opened, and Otto Hightower stepped in, his expression as calculating as ever. He must have overheard your conversation, or perhaps he had been summoned, for it was not uncommon for him to linger near the king’s chambers.

“If I may, Your Grace,” Otto interjected, his voice smooth, “a marriage between the Princess and my son would fully solidify the bond between House Targaryen and House Hightower. It would further strengthen the realm, ensuring the continued loyalty of Oldtown.”

Viserys glanced between you and Otto, his frown deepening. But when his gaze returned to you, it softened. “You truly love him?” he asked again, as if needing to hear it one more time.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice filled with a sincerity that could not be denied.

Viserys nodded slowly, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “Then I will grant your request,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the decision. “You may marry Gwayne Hightower.”

Relief washed over you, and you rushed forward to embrace your father, the smile on your face brighter than it had been in years. “Thank you, Father,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

Otto’s expression was one of quiet satisfaction, and you knew that he was already calculating the benefits this union would bring to his house. But at that moment, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were free to be with the man you loved.

The wedding took place in the Starry Sept in Oldtown, a grand affair that was attended by the most powerful lords and ladies of the realm. You wore a gown of deep crimson, the color of your house, with delicate silver thread woven into the fabric. Gwayne stood at the altar, resplendent in his armor, his eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration as he watched you approach. The ceremony was solemn and beautiful, the vows you exchanged echoing in the vastness of the Sept as you pledged your lives to one another.

After the wedding, you moved to Oldtown, where Gwayne took up his duties as a lord and you settled into your new role as his wife. It was in Oldtown that your family grew, and soon your household was filled with the laughter of children. You and Gwayne were blessed with six—three sons and three daughters, each one as beloved as the last. The boys, with their father’s hair and your violet eyes, grew strong and healthy, while the girls, with their mother’s grace and their father’s determination, were the joy of your heart.

But it wasn’t just your children who filled your home with love. Prince Daeron, your young Targaryen half-brother, had been sent to Oldtown to foster with you, and he quickly became as much a part of your family as your own children. You and Gwayne raised him as your own, and the bond between Daeron and your children was as strong as any sibling tie.

One afternoon, you found yourself standing on the balcony of your chambers, watching your children play in the garden below. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the scene. Your sons were chasing each other with wooden swords, their laughter ringing out as they pretended to be knights defending the realm. Your daughters were sitting in a circle, weaving flower crowns and giggling at some shared joke. And in the midst of them all was Daeron, his silver hair shining in the sunlight as he played with your youngest daughter, lifting her up onto his shoulders with a grin.

A sense of peace settled over you as you watched them, a deep contentment that came from knowing that they were happy, that they were safe. This was the life you had always dreamed of, the life you had fought for, and it was more perfect than you could have ever imagined.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest. Gwayne rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he looked out at the scene before you.

“They’ve grown so much,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet wonder.

“Yes,” you agreed, leaning back into his embrace. “It feels like just yesterday they were all babes in our arms.”

Gwayne chuckled softly. “And now they’re growing into little warriors and ladies, ready to take on the world.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man who had given you so much. “I could not have asked for a better life,” you said softly, turning your head to press a kiss to his cheek. “Or a better husband.”

He tightened his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Nor could I have asked for a better wife,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You have made me the happiest of men, my love.”

You stayed like that for a long while, watching your children play, the warmth of Gwayne’s arms around you grounding you in the moment. This was your life now—a life filled with love, laughter, and the joy of raising a family together. And though the future was uncertain, as it always was in the world of thrones and dragons, you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face whatever came your way.

The laughter of your children and the gentle breeze of Oldtown were the sounds of your happiness, a happiness that you had fought for, and that you cherished with all your heart. And as the sun began to set on another perfect day, you knew that this was just the beginning of the life you had always dreamed of—one filled with love, family, and the promise of a future built on the strength of your bond with the man you loved.

The Red Keep had always been a place of grandeur and tradition, but in recent times, it had become a breeding ground for fear and treachery. You had come to King’s Landing with your family for what was meant to be a brief visit, a time to reunite with your kin and remind your children of the world beyond Oldtown. But that night, your worst fears were realized in a way that would haunt you for the rest of your days.

It was late when the nightmare began. The corridors of the Keep were quiet, the usual bustle of court life having settled into the stillness of the night. Your children had been put to bed hours ago, and you had just finished reading to your youngest son, his tiny form nestled under the blankets, his eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed him. You kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair as you whispered goodnight, believing, as any mother would, that your children were safe within these walls.

But safety was an illusion.

The first sign that something was wrong came with the faint sound of footsteps—too heavy, too deliberate. You had barely turned toward the door when it burst open, and two men, shadows in the flickering candlelight, stepped into the room.

Their presence was overwhelming, the stench of blood and malice clinging to them like a shroud. The taller of the two, Blood, held a cruel smile on his lips, while Cheese’s eyes were as cold and dead as the steel they carried. They moved with purpose, their gaze settling on the crib where your youngest son slept, blissfully unaware of the danger looming over him.

“No!” The word tore from your throat as you surged forward, your only thought to protect your child. But Blood was faster, his hand lashing out to seize your arm and wrench you back. You struggled, tears of desperation burning your eyes as you fought against his iron grip, but it was futile. They were too strong, too determined.

“Shhh,” Cheese hissed, his voice a mockery of gentleness as he approached the crib. “No need to cry, Princess. We’re here on a simple task.”

“You can’t—please, don’t do this,” you begged, your voice breaking. “He’s just a child…”

Blood’s grip tightened on your arm, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “It’s a son for a son, Princess. A fair trade.”

His words sent a jolt of terror through you. You knew the price they had come to exact. Rhaenyra, your own blood, had ordered this—vengeance for the loss of her son, Lucerys, at the hands of Aemond. The knowledge twisted your insides with a sickening realization. This wasn’t just a random act of violence; it was retribution, and your innocent child was to be the offering.

“No! Please, take me instead! Take me!” you cried, desperation lending strength to your struggles. But Blood merely laughed, a low, chilling sound that sent ice through your veins.

“Sorry, Princess, but we’re here for the boy.”

Before you could react, Cheese reached into the crib, his movements swift and practiced. Your son awoke with a start, his sleepy eyes widening in confusion as rough hands lifted him from the bed. His small, frightened cries pierced the air, tearing at your heart as you screamed for mercy.

“Please!” you wailed, struggling even harder, your voice breaking under the weight of your terror. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Cheese’s expression remained cold as he cradled your son in one arm, his other hand drawing a knife, its blade glinting in the dim light. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of panic through you, your body trembling as you watched, powerless, knowing what was about to happen.

But instead of the killing blow you feared, Cheese moved the knife down, slicing through the delicate skin of your son’s leg. The scream that followed was inhuman, a sound of pure agony that would forever haunt your nightmares. Your son’s body jerked in his captor’s arms, blood pouring from the wound, staining his clothes and the floor beneath him.

You collapsed to your knees, your strength drained, your screams turning to choked sobs as you reached out for your child. “Please, please, stop…” you begged, your voice hoarse and raw.

Blood released you then, his mission complete, his cruel smile lingering as he watched you crawl toward your son, your hands shaking as you tried to stem the flow of blood with the hem of your gown.

“Consider this a warning,” Blood sneered, his voice low and menacing. “A message to all who would betray their kin. The price of treachery is paid in blood.”

With that, they turned and left, vanishing into the shadows as quickly as they had come, leaving you alone in the darkness with your wounded child.

You gathered your son into your arms, rocking him gently as his cries weakened, his tiny body shaking with shock and pain. Blood stained your hands, your gown, the floor beneath you, and the horror of it all threatened to overwhelm you. But you couldn’t fall apart—not now. You had to save him. You had to hold on.

“Maester!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the empty corridors. “Maester, please!”

Moments later, Gwayne burst into the room, his face a mask of horror as he took in the scene before him. “No…” he breathed, his voice trembling with the same disbelief that had gripped you. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your son, as if afraid to touch him, afraid that the sight of his broken body might shatter what remained of his composure.

“They… they came for him,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “They came for him, and I couldn’t stop them…”

Gwayne’s eyes blazed with fury as he looked at the door, as if willing the men who had done this to reappear so he could tear them apart with his bare hands. “Where are the guards? Where were they?” he demanded, his voice rising with each word. “How could they let this happen?”

But no one could answer him. The guards who finally arrived were too late, their faces pale with the realization of their failure. And then came Alicent, her nightgown hastily thrown over her frame, her face as white as a ghost as she took in the horror that had unfolded in her own keep.

“Gwayne… my God, what’s happened?” Alicent gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she saw the blood, the broken child in your arms.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gwayne spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “They came for us. They came for my son. Your nephew!” His voice broke, and he shook his head, the anger in his eyes giving way to grief. “They maimed him, Alicent. They maimed my boy…”

Alicent’s face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks as she moved to kneel beside you. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry…”

But her words did nothing to ease the pain that tore through your heart. You held your son closer, rocking him as his cries grew weaker, his little hands clutching at your gown as if trying to hold on to you, to life.

“Why was my family not protected by the guards?” Gwayne demanded, his voice shaking with fury. “Rhaenyra... this is her doing! She ordered this! She wanted a son for a son, and now my son lies here, bleeding, because of her!”

Alicent flinched at his words, shaking her head. “Gwayne, please… Rhaenyra… she… she wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t she?” Gwayne cut her off, his eyes blazing. “This is her vengeance, Alicent! She ordered this! And for what? For Lucerys? And now my boy suffers because of it!”

You could see the pain in Alicent’s eyes, the realization of the rift that had been torn between her family and yours. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. There was nothing she could say that would bring back the sense of safety you had lost, nothing that could erase the horror of what had been done to your child.

The Maester arrived, his face ashen as he quickly set to work, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to save what remained of your son’s life. Gwayne held you close as the Maester worked, his hands trembling as they gripped your shoulders, his breath ragged in your ear.

“We’ll leave this place,” Gwayne whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll take our children and leave this cursed place. We’ll go back to Oldtown, where they’ll be safe. I swear it.”

You nodded, unable to speak, your tears falling silently as you clutched your son to your chest, willing him to live, willing the nightmare to end.

But deep down, you knew that nothing would ever be the same. The bond between your families had been shattered, the trust you once held in Rhaenyra, in the Targaryen blood, irreparably broken. You had lost more than just a sense of security that night; you had lost the belief that family could protect you from the darkness of the world.

#house of the dragon #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd gwayne #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x you

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flowerandblood · 6 months ago

Text

The Price of Pride (4/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: fingering & oral sex, a kind of triangle, smut, the angst, description of the effects of murder, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The boy's death had devastated her.

Even though it was a strange child to her, in addition from a family she despised, it was still small and innocent – she had seen Prince Jaehaerys accompanied by servants escorting him to his morning classes when she herself had gone out to meet his uncle, to practice on Vhagar the commands as she did every day.

Knowing that her father had done this made her feel a partial sense of guilt for what had happened, though she did not understand why.

Was it because she was born of his poisoned seed?

That a part of him lived inside her?

She knew it was revenge for Lucerys' death, but after all, the little prince had nothing to do with it.

The death of an innocent being always hurt the most.

She watched his funeral procession from outside the windows of the Red Keep, from her prison that was her small chamber, thinking of her one-eyed cousin.

Were you with that fucking old whore whose tits you like to cuddle up to?

With your second mummy?

She didn't know why his lowered head, his face and big eye filled with tears of shame made her feel sympathy towards him.

However, the death of King's son made her reflect on her own life and what she had experienced in it.

She realised that she had lived for years as if in lethargy, spending her time riding horses and hunting, even though in the midst of her family, in fact always remaining alone.

She realised that she had never even kissed a man.

She had never experienced a touch that was tender, that was pleasurable, that made her feel safe.

She bit her lower lip, pacing around her room, suddenly getting an idea that was extremely dangerous.

Her cousin was interested in women – this she knew for sure – and after being humiliated by his brother in front of everyone gathered he would certainly not return to the brothel to his lover, whoever she was.

From what she understood, this woman was older than him, giving him fulfilment not only physically, but also purely childlike.

She knew he was weak, but now she also had the certainty that he was miserable.

She couldn't try to seduce him directly, offer to spend the night in his bed – he would send her away immediately, furious, knowing what she wanted to do and how she hoped to achieve it.

She had to show him what he could have, while at the same time not offering it to him herself.

She had to make him desire whatever she was in his mind.

"I want to ask you something, cousin." She muttered, standing over him with a jug of wine, wondering what she was doing. "And I know you won't like it."

She saw him freeze, looking ahead.

"You like to take risks, don't you?" He sneered, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet without even bestowing a single glance on her.

His vision was hazy, his mind dulled by the wine.

He was weak, vulnerable, heartbroken by what had happened to his nephew, sunk in guilt.

This was her chance.

"No, but you give me no choice. I will fly with you and the will of the gods will happen, as you desire. However, the chance of me dying in flames or being devoured is just as great as the chance of me succeeding." She said uncertainly, and he sighed heavily, impatient, setting his cup down on the table.

"What do you want?"

She licked her lower lip, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest, cold sweat trickling down her back.

He would fall into a fury or fuck her, there was no other option left.

"Servant. I want to choose one and take him to my bed. I don't want to die without having any idea of this sensations." She muttered.

She saw that he froze motionless, his healthy eye open wide in shock.

Oh gods.

"Aren't you ashamed to ask something like that out loud? What self-respecting Lord will want you after this?" He asked coldly, annoyed, however it was not as aggressive a response as she had expected.

He himself didn't know what he thought of it, she thought.

Good.

"I don't care what the lords will think of me. If I become a dragon rider, my maidenhood will be the least of their worries. I have no desire to become either a wife or a mother. I could try to hide it from you, but I stand here before you and ask your permission like a dog." She said with a certainty that surprised her, recognising that her directness was due to the fact that she was partly telling the truth.

He was silent for a long time, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his finger in some involuntary reflex began to tap against the table top.

"Knowing what you ask, my soul will have no peace unless I am assured that no man has taken you by force."

There it is.

"I'll let you watch if it will soothe your conscience." She said without stammering, his grin turned towards her making her feel an uncomfortable shiver.

"It will."

Finding a willing person turned out not to be too difficult: she simply lied to the man she found handsome that the prince liked to look at such things and that it was his idea.

What could he do to her for those words even if he found out about it?

Were they not partly true?

Her whole body quivered in excitement and disbelief as, lying beneath Tyland Lannister's servant, she heard his lazy footsteps, felt his gaze on them, the fiery, thirsty lips of her lover pressed against hers.

It was a surprisingly wet and slick experience, not as pleasurable as she had imagined, however, it was not all that bad.

She swallowed hard, hearing her cousin sit down in a chair in the distance, and flinched when the man's hand suddenly clamped down on her breast, causing an unpleasant chill to pass through her.

"– no –" She whispered, tightening her hand on his wrist. "– not yet –"

She exhaled quietly, closing her eyes as she felt him take his hand away, trailing it instead around her waist, trying to feel what she had felt when her cousin had leaned over her face after she had fainted.

Serve me well and I will reward you.

When the time comes.

She felt it, that wonderful pulsing between her thighs, and sighed, opening her eyelids, involuntarily glancing at him. Her breath froze in her throat, her womanhood swelled all over as she met his gaze, dark and hot, his legs crossed, his head cocked in curiosity.

She gasped, feeling a squeeze in her throat and a cold shudder when the boy's body suddenly pressed her against the bed, constricting her space, making her fingers tighten on the back of his tunic in terror.

Is this how it should be?

Should she be so afraid, feel so cornered?

"– slow down –" She heard his voice, deep and displeased – her lover looked at him, surprised, panting heavily.

"– Your Highness? –"

"– slow down, I said –" He repeated with a kind of threat in his voice from which her lips parted in disbelief, some sense of gratitude and warmth spread through her heart, a pleasant stickiness sweeping from between her thighs down her buttocks.

He was protecting her, she thought, feeling the situation begin to slip out of her control.

This was exactly what she wanted.

Make me feel safe, she thought pleadingly, but no words left her lips.

Shame overwhelmed her.

"– sink your fingers between her thighs – prepare her properly –" He instructed the boy, her eyes grew big as she stared at him in disbelief – his nostrils twitched in excited breath, the corner of his mouth lifted in a dangerous smirk.

A sigh left her throat as the servant lifted her skirt and smallclothes, her gaze fixed on her cousin's face as his hand found her leaking, fleshy womanhood.

She moaned.

However, after a moment she flinched and swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she felt his fingers touch a very tender, sensitive spot, giving her pleasure and pain at the same time, not knowing what she herself felt, tears burning under her eyelids.

Why did it feel like this?

Why couldn't she enjoy it, why was she losing focus?

"– step back, boy –" She heard his voice, and then noticed that he moved towards them, startling her and him – she rose up on her elbows, panting heavily as he pulled her forward, sitting behind her back, pulling her close, his legs on either side of her body.

His arms embraced her lightly, his hand tilting her head back, allowing her to spread out comfortably while not taking away her sense of security.

She swallowed hard, feeling something long and hard pulsate behind her, pressing against her buttocks.

Good gods.

She gasped as she felt him press his nose against her hot cheek, his thumb running over her jaw as his free hand forced her to bend her legs at the knees, exposing her bare thighs.

"– bend over and lick her –" He commanded, running his full lips over the skin of her face, making her feel a simultaneous shudder of pleasure and terror shake her, his hand trailing down the exposed skin of her thigh.

Lick her?

What did he mean by that?

What purpose did it serve?

"– what? –" She mumbled, terrified, involuntarily reaching back with her hand, clamping it over his long white hair, wanting to pull away, hitting his hard body again.

She had nowhere to run.

"– easy – let me take care of this –" He whispered in her ear, making her moan stuck in her throat, her nipples became hard at his words, her throbbing walls clenching around nothing.

Let me take care of this.

He knew.

He knew what she craved.

She stifled a breath as the man obediently leaned between her thighs, a terrified, pathetic, surprised moan escaping her throat when she felt something warm and sticky slip between her tight, swollen slit.

His tongue.

She clenched her hand harder in his white hair, feeling her cousin's hand slide down her leg, to the very spot her lover had touched earlier – this time, however, she didn't feel the unpleasant pain as his fingertips merely circled around her oversensitive little bud, causing her to leak, stimulated from the inside and outside.

"– ah – oh, gods, t-too much, too much –" She mewled in despair as she tried to pull away from him, never having experienced a similar sensation before, he, however, held her in an iron grip, his free hand sliding from her face under the material of her gown, to her breasts.

"– you wanted it yourself – go on –" He said matter-of-factly in a way that sent a shiver through her – she tilted her head back, feeling the servant's tongue accelerate, forcing its way again and again deep inside her hot, throbbing cunt.

In some subconscious, involuntary reflex, she sought refuge, not knowing what to do with the waves of tickling pleasure and tension that were rising in her body, so she turned her face towards him and he leaned in, letting their foreheads touch.

For some reason she wanted to cry.

He was so close.

The gentle touch of his hand between her thighs, his thumb teasing lazily her hard nipple, his hot breath on her face, his embrace was too familiar, too safe.

"– if only you were my little sister – I'd caress you like this every night – would you like it? –" He breathed out encouragingly, and she shuddered all over in his arms, feeling her lover's tongue hit the sweet spot inside her again and again, her and her cousin's hips beginning to rub against each other, his manhood unashamedly hard and swollen.

If only you were my little sister.

I want this, she thought.

I want to be what you want me to be.

"– what would your father say at the sight of this – hm? – do you think he would be proud? –" He whispered, sinking his fingers into the throbbing folds of her moist womanhood, weeping with desire, teasing with lazy, slow circles her little bud.

She felt tears under her eyelids as she shook her head.

She didn't know.

She didn't know what her father would say to this sight.

He wasn't there for her.

He hadn't protected her.

"– you like it, don't you? – I can feel you're close – come on his face –" He exhaled and she shook her head, moaning from exertion, feeling something approaching, the tingling tension between her thighs unbearable, her breath heavy and hitched, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"– g-gods, stop –" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling that she couldn't take it any longer, and then she was shaken by a pleasure foreign and overpowering, hot and sweet, flowing in waves through her whole body, her lips, her nipples, her fingertips, her silken walls clenching around nothing.

For a moment she heard or saw nothing, heard his soothing whisper, his warm breath enveloping her face, his hands closed over her womanhood and over her breasts just continued to press against her skin, allowing her to calm down.

"You may leave. If you tell anyone about this, I will cut your tongue out." She heard his cold voice, but knew it wasn't meant for her – the man lying between her thighs had risen and simply stepped off the bed, leaving them alone, and she sighed loudly, as if she had just accomplished some extraordinary, demanding feat.

She didn't know why she had sought refuge in his embrace, why she had turned in his arms and snuggled into his body, burying her face in his neck, why she had felt nothing but peace as one of his hands lay on her back while the other slowly stroked her hair.

One by one tears ran down her cheeks, shame, relief and sadness spilling over her heart, making her only able to lie down and breathe. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his scent, the warmth of his body that pulsed almost imperceptibly, his manhood pushing against her stomach, his hands trailing gently over her body.

She thought that he was certainly proud of himself, but she decided that it didn't matter.

She needed his arms, she needed to hide, to disappear, to melt into him as one, not to think, not to feel, not to exist.

She fell asleep.

When she awoke, it was late afternoon – there was no one in the chamber but her, however, she knew it was not a dream.

Her bedding was soaked with his scent.

She wasn't sure who had benefited from what had happened. She decided, however, surprised by this discovery, that she did not regret it and did not intend to think about it again.

It had never happened.

As he had ordered, she was already ready before dawn, waiting for him in the courtyard in her riding attire, his mother, clearly displeased with his idea, tried to stop him, to his apparent annoyance.

"You cannot leave the Red Keep without Vhagar. Who will protect us?" She asked, and her son rolled his eyes, impatient, licking his lower lip.

"I leave you in the care of Sunfyre and Dreamfyre. May my brother be of some use for once. With the help of the gods, we will return in about four days with a new dragon on our side." He said and stepped around her, mounting his horse and nodding at her to do the same.

When they reached Vhagar's lair, the dragoness raised lazily her large head, looking at them curiously – having seen her almost every day, she had already become accustomed to her presence and scent, remaining calm.

"Come." He said, and she moved to follow him, seeing that he had taken in his hands some of the bags his horse had been carrying on its back earlier.

She walked behind him, never coming this close to her, watching as the prince tied the grey bags to the ropes hanging from the saddle.

"What are you waiting for? Climb up." He said, glancing at her impatiently, and she nodded, surprised by his directness.

They both had no intention of showing that what had happened had affected them in any way.

Being with him meant a constant battle for dominance.

So be it, she thought and glanced up, sighing quietly.

She was afraid that Vhagar would not be happy that someone other than her rider was trying to climb onto her back, she, however, merely tilted her head towards her and watched her, not moving from her place.

"Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī." Her cousin reassured her as she, panting heavily, climbed with great difficulty over one of the ropes to her very back and sat down in the large leather saddle.

She blinked as her cousin appeared at her side shortly afterwards, as if covering the same distance hadn't caused him any trouble, and sat behind her, pulling the bags up, using the ropes so that they weren't hanging down.

She grunted, leaning forward, hugging the front of the saddle, feeling him all too clearly, his body pressed against her buttocks and back. She shuddered as he slipped his hands under her shoulders, grabbed a couple of the front ropes and called out loudly.

"Sōvēs!"

She squealed, terrified, hugging the saddle as the dragoness suddenly rose up on her paws, moving forward with a loud thump, and closed her eyes as she spread her great wings and flapped them, struggling to slowly lift herself into the air.

She had never experienced something so terrifying and liberating at the same time.

It wasn't until Vhagar had stabilised her flight and was gliding through the heavens that she dared to open her eyes – she froze in awe, seeing clouds all around her, doing what other people could only dream of.

Indeed, there was something wonderful about it, she thought with delight.

In the freedom that flight in the skies offered.

She leaned against the front of the saddle, simply looking ahead with a smile, watching the sun rise in the distance. She drew in a loud breath, feeling her heart beat harder as his cheek pressed against hers, apparently resting in this position.

She felt his erection pushing against her buttocks again, but neither of them spoke.

It was just a man's natural reaction to a woman's closeness, nothing more, she thought.

She knew he was playing with her – she knew he already understood what she wanted.

What she needed.

Tenderness.

Care.

Shelter.

This was why he nuzzled his nose into her cheek, why he persisted in this position: he wanted to break her, wanted her to love what he could be for her.

She felt tears under her eyelids, her eyebrows arching in pain knowing that it was all just a lie.

Her father would never come back for her, and even if he did, it would only be for the sake of the dragon, if she could tame it.

But not for her.

She was of no value to either of them.

As they landed with a thud on the ground in the middle of a wasteland full of hills, evening was approaching. It was only when she opened her eyes, horrified by how intense the landing itself had been, that she realised that her cousin had not chosen this place without reason.

He must have noticed from above what she could see clearly now – vast expanses of black, scorched earth with dozens of animal skeletons.

She shuddered as she heard her cousin untie the bags they had taken with them, letting them fall to the ground, and after a moment he slid down the rope to the bottom, landing lightly on the ground himself.

"Come here."

She made big eyes, feeling that this height terrified her. She swallowed hard, turning her back, grabbing the line and squealed as she suddenly slid down it with far too much speed, thinking she was just going to kill herself.

She gasped as she felt someone's arms soften her fall, supporting her, his impatient sigh told her it was not a graceful jump.

"Get yourself together. We're going to recon. It's fresh tracks, it must not be far." He said, and she nodded, feeling her legs grow all stiff from the long hours of travelling in the saddle.

Her cousin looked around, as if trying to remember this place and how they were supposed to get back here, then moved ahead quickly, making her have to almost run after him.

"When we find it. What should I do? Approach it right away?" She exhaled, following him step by step.

"Mmm. No, you'd better not do anything rash. No sudden movements. You can't make a mistake." He said coldly, and she swallowed hard, thinking in the back of her mind that it was easy for him to say.

However, despite all the absurdity of the situation, she felt excitement.

If she succeeded, she would return to King's Landing on the back of her own dragon.

They climbed one of the peaks, from which they could see clearly in the distance the lying silhouette of Vhagar, the fields, hills and valleys, but not a trace of the dragon. Her cousin pressed his lips together, frustrated.

He thought this would be easier, and the dragon would come to them on its own, she thought with a sneer, but she dared not provoke him, knowing that they were both tired.

"We must turn back. It will be dark soon. We will start tomorrow before sunrise, moving in the opposite direction." He ordered and she nodded, following obediently behind him, looking around at the familiar landscapes.

She had an advantage over him here, she thought.

She knew these places, she knew these people.

So why didn't she feel the need to run away?

When they returned to Vhagar's liege, darkness surrounded them. Her cousin had picked up a few long, thick branches on the way, and when they sat down on the grass he laid them down and lit a fire using a flint he had taken from one of his bags.

She did not ask his permission, which did not escape his notice as she untied one of them and began rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" He asked matter-of-factly, adding wood to the fire, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"What did you take for us as nourishment?" She answered with a question to a question, causing him to merely turn his face away from her, trying to control himself for sure and not hurt her with his own hands.

"Bread and smoked meat." He said, and she sighed, pulling out a waterskin with spring water, drinking a few deep sips from it.

"If I had known that this would be our sustenance for the next few days, I would have asked you to bring a bow with us and I would have provided our meal myself." She said regretfully, and his face turned abruptly towards her.

"You don't need to eat. You will survive on water alone until our return to King's Landing." He hissed, meeting her tired, weary gaze.

"I have cooked many times while hunting with my uncle. It's a useful skill." She replied, pulling a woollen blanket from the pouch with which she covered herself.

Although Vhagar lay beside them, they were high between the hills where a strong, chilly wind was blowing.

She knew the night would be difficult.

Her cousin no longer spoke to her, gazing into the flames as if he could see something in them, his past or his future, his silhouette sitting on the Iron Throne or his fall from the heavens.

Finally, he lay down on the uncomfortably hard ground, placing one of his bags under his head, covering himself with the other blanket, and turned his back to her.

They couldn't sleep too close to Vhagar, for there was a risk that she would simply crush them by turning in her sleep. Therefore, they had to lie at a great distance from her, and their only source of heat was the fire.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think as her teeth began to chatter, her body trembling, her hands clenched into fists with each stronger gust of wind.

If this kept up, they'd both wake up with a fever.

"I'm cold." She said.

Silence.

A long one.

"I'm really cold. Aren't you?" She mumbled, guessing that he was suffering as much as she was, but would sooner die than admit it.

Targaryens and their fucking pride.

She stood up and walked a few steps with her blanket towards him, causing him to have exactly the reaction she wanted – he raised himself on his elbow and looked towards her, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"You have no shame."

"I don't care about shame. I'm supposed to die in dragon fire, not from the cold." She said and lay down beside him, slipping under his blanket, covering them with the other to create a thicker layer to protect them from the cold.

He slumped to the ground, letting the air out loudly, looking up at the stars as if he had given up. She embraced him, but not because she sought safety in his arms, but because he was a source of warmth that she wanted to cling to at all costs, hugging her face to his chest.

They stayed like that in silence, not moving – at first his whole body was tense, as if he thought that what she had done was just an excuse for her to slip her hand under his breeches and shamelessly try to seduce him – he relaxed, however, when he realised that all she really wanted was to lie in the warmth, and since he himself apparently felt better, also warmed by her presence, he said nothing more.

"What did you feel when you tamed Vhagar?" She whispered, looking ahead at the outline of the hills and mountains around them, feeling the cool breeze on her cheeks.

She was sure he wouldn't answer and felt herself begin to slowly fall asleep when she heard his quiet voice.

"Relief."

She blinked, surprised, not expecting him to put it this way.

Relief.

"Why?" She dared to ask further, still not looking at him, his heart hidden beneath the material of his tunic and cloak hit hard.

"I gave my family a reason to be proud." He explained, a note of bitterness in his words, as if something in that memory was painful to him.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, thinking with disappointment that she had never been anyone's pride.

Nothing she did mattered – not really.

She felt a single, lone tear run down her cheek onto the material of his leather coat and inhaled loudly, saying nothing more.

She shuddered, pulled out of her reverie when he slided his arm out from between their bodies – she froze when she felt him embrace her, cuddling her into his body, his fingers running through her soft hair as his cheek rested against her forehead.

She snuggled into him, into the merciless substitute of a protector he was to her, feeling the warmth in her chest as he let her face sink into his neck.

She knew that a part of him sympathised with her – she knew that, like her, he understood that in a day or two she might die for his cause, and so in some twisted definition of duty he tried to give her what she had craved all her life as a consolation prize for what she might lose.

It was so pathetic that she clenched her eyes shut and let heavy tears of shame run down her cheeks, her breath hitched and heavy, filled with pain.

She let him do this, let him take advantage of her desperation, the fact that she wanted so much to satisfy his vanity, because of how unavailable he reminded her of her father – by satisfying him, in her mind she was satisfying the man on whose lap she had sat as a small child, imagining that he had given her a second chance.

He created a lie for her to be able to endure what he was condemning her to.

"If you succeed. If you tame a dragon." He whispered, and she froze, feeling that he was about to reveal something vital to her, some secret he had never told anyone. "I will treat you like my little sister. I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side."

She shook her head, thinking how cruel he was, knowing exactly what to say, what to do to break her heart, to bend her to his will, to make sure she never betrayed him.

She cried out helplessly as he hugged her tighter to his body, as he cupped her cheek in his broad palm, rough from wielding his sword, and pressed his forehead against hers in a gesture that was too intimate, too tender, too sweet.

"I will protect you."

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immajustvibehere · 1 year ago

Text

Touch Starved Arthur x fem!touchy Reader (Part 2)

Pairing: hh!Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader (fluffly)

Part1 here!

summary: Arthur takes you and Jack out camping for two nights. Both of you have to battle your feelings for each other until you finally....

warnings: one bed trope, fluff, domestic bliss

6000 words

In the manner of Arthur’s approach, you knew he was up to something. His big hands rested on his gun belt, his expression was casual. His attempt to appear relaxed was almost perfect. You weren’t fooled so easily, though. By the smug grin that started to appear on your face as Arthur came closer, he understood that you had sensed his unease from a mile away. Your intuition was exceptional, and Arthur silently cursed himself for his own transparency. And suddenly, there were his subtle tells…the scratching of his neck, the scrunching of his nose, the restlessness of his fingers caressing the leather of the belt.

"Hey, what's up?", you asked and propped your head up with your elbow resting on the table.

"Uhm...I have a proposition to make", Arthur awkwardly sat down at the table. Thankfully, barely anyone else was around to witness this encounter. The sun hadn’t risen yet and people were only slowly crawling out of their beds. In fact, Arthur still saw the remnants of sleep in your features but the steaming mug of coffee in front of you suggested that you were diligently combating it.

"I'm all ears."

Arthur couldn’t help but detect the playful undertone in your voice. You had grown more comfortable around each other the last few days and weeks and some banter and teasing were commonplace by now, particularly in the presence of others. But when you found yourselves alone, which hadn’t really happened since last time, you’d feel like there was a more genuine connection and care for each other than either of you would normally let on.

"Ya can say no if ya don't want to but-...well, I already talked to Abigail. She said she was fine with it", Arthur started. You had no clue what he was on about, but he pressed on, "I suggested we take out Jack for a night or two. The boy needs to see something aside this patch of land and I thought...if you would wanna tag along? You know, I was fine fishing with him but I'm not sure if I'd be any good at the other stuff."

"Yes, of course", you immediately replied. Arthur wasn't sure why he had expected a rejection or a dismissal that he was stupid to suggest such a thing. You actually looked pleasantly surprised about the idea.

You smiled: "It's not just Jack, you know? I haven't left camp since we moved here, so I'll get to see some of the country too!"

"Okay, sure", Arthur said, still somewhat in surprise about what you had just agreed to. But his surprise soon gave way to a sense of anticipation, especially when he noticed enthusiasm. He couldn’t supress a warm chuckle, evidently relieved that everything had worked out.

You briefly discussed the logistics, and Arthur settled on a plan: a night between Dewberry Creek and Ringneck Creek for the first stop, followed by, if Jack was up for it, a night in a room at the Rhodes Saloon.

The following day, you were all packed up. Your horse carried a rolled-up tent, large enough to accommodate the three of you. Jack rode with Arthur, he was the experienced rider after all and would be much greater use in keeping the child from sliding off the horse. It was a fine day, the morning sun was veiled behind some clouds, offering a respite from the usual stifling heat. Rain wasn’t to be expected, the clouds looked like they would clear sooner or later.

For the ride, Jack was dead silent for ten minutes at a time but then asked any question he could come up with. Arthur appreciated your willingness to respond, particularly when faced with Jack’s more challenging inquiries that needed to be tailored for a child’s understanding. Arthur was outright impressed at your skill in addressing his questions, and kept silent, even if Jack wanted his view on something specifically.

It was a smooth ride. Once you had passed the first creek you kept looking for an ideal spot to build your camp. You watched happily how Arthur pretended to discuss the area with Jack, granting him the final say in where to put up the tent. Arthur was responsible for the tent while you went off with Jack to look for firewood. When you returned, the tent had been putt up and Arthur had already gotten out the fishing gear.

"Are we fishing again?", Jack asked with curiously.

"Well, we gotta eat something", Arthur answered.

"But fishing's boring!" Jack said back and Arthur chuckled warmly. The last time he took the boy fishing, it was anything but uneventful, though he understood that a four-year-old wasn't so keen on standing still and waiting.

You squatted in front of Jack: "Why don't you take your toys with you to the water? You can play and Arthur and I'll do the boring waiting."

"Mh, okay."

You walked over to Ringneck Creek. Arthur settled on the same spot he had been to while fishing with Javier a while back. It had a good overlook of the place, so Jack could play in the distance, while still being in eye- and earshot. You and Arthur sat down next to each other, not saying anything and prepping the fishing rod. Even when there were no words exchanges, both of you felt comfortable in each other’s presence. Arthur felt your eyes on him as he pierced a tiny bit of cheese through the hook and handed the rod to you.

“The fish get cheese for lunch? That’s mighty fine, don’t you think?”, you joked.

“This cheese? It has been mouldy for days now. It won’t do us any good. But for fish? The stinker, the better”, Arthur explained and added in a mumble, “Or so I’ve heard…”

You both threw out your line and before you quipped: “So you keep your mouldy cheese in your satchel with the rest of your food?”

Arthur watched the rings expanding around his line, then swallowed quickly before looking you in the eye. Not very convinced he answered: “No…?”

He had expected a lesson on proper food hygiene, but you only grinned cheekily: “Glad I took care of food for this trip. But you really shouldn’t do that, you know? Next time you leave camp for more than a day, I’ll pack you something.”

“Ya don’t have to do that, really”, Arthur replied out of politeness, but the idea of you walking up to him with a sandwich to take on his journeys sent tingles to his chest.

“Mh. I insist”, you said, “I’ll have to take care of you if your stomach goes mad, so I’d rather prevent that. Not that I wouldn’t like to take care of you. Don’t you never keep an injury or sickness a secret in front of me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am”, Arthur said, “You sound like Miss Grimshaw, it’s good yer away from camp for a while”, Arthur joked. Deep down, he knew that you didn’t want to control him, but that you sincerely cared for his well-being. Something Arthur couldn’t quite understand. Of course, he would do the same for you – but that’s different because he had already figured out that he liked your attention more than anyone else. No, that he liked you more than anyone else. Arthur got a little lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t yet entirely sure about his feelings for you. Mainly because he wasn’t sure how you felt. You were so kind and caring for everyone in the gang, he sadly doubted that he was anything special.

“I missed spending some time with you. Sorry that it’s so hard to sneak away from camp”, you said after a while, bringing Arthur back to reality.

“Doesn’t matter”, Arthur mumbled. He was embarrassed that he felt his cheeks getting warm, “We got away now, didn’t we? I feel almost bad that I take up so much of yer time.”

“Please don’t”, you laughed, looking at the man next to you with a smile.

“I think I saw Sean shed a tear when he heard that you’d be away from camp for two days”, Arthur mentioned.

“Yeah. I think he’s sweet on me”, you said so casually, that Arthur was caught off guard, staring at you in disbelieve.

Arthur cleared his throat before he slowly said: “I thought he and Karen…?”

“Well, Karen is good for one thing”, you said with an ambiguous smile, not meaning serious offence with those words, “I’m good for another.”

From the distance, you heard Jack calling for ‘uncle Arthur’. Arthur sighed with a smile and handed you his finishing rod.

“Yer okay to watch that?”, he asked.

“Sure, go ahead”, you encouraged him.

Jack wanted Arthur’s help to balance on a dead tree. It was wholesome to see how Arthur helped him up on the trunk and then held his hand so he would have an easier time balancing. Then the boy would sit on Arthur’s shoulders and break a smooth looking branch from a tree, using it to play swords fighting with Arthur. You knew that Arthur was gentle with Jack and compared to some men in the gang, even to John if you were honest, he was doing a great job. Still, you hadn’t dreamt that he'd be ready to take on a whole swords fight, pretending to get stabbed when Jack’s twig poked his leg. You noticed Arthur’s stolen glances in your direction. It was as if he wanted to make sure you were watching, though you didn’t have the impression that he only played along to impress you. Arthur seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

“Caught anything yet?”, Arthur’s voice woke you up from your daydreams when he walked up to you after a while.

“No…”, you answered and admitted, “I was a little distracted.”

“Ain’t blamin’ ya. We gave you a hell of a show”, Arthur said and took his spot next to you again. Luckily, a few fish bit later on and by the time you walked back to your tent, a fire could be built and the fish were grilled. A lot of time had passed, and the sun was already low in the sky. Jack demanded to be read to from his favourite book. After you had read a few pages and Jack had settled in to listen to some more, you handed the book to Arthur. He had been busy with stoking the fire and cleaning the grit, so he was a little caught off guard by the action.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”, he asked.

“Read to the boy”, you answered with a grin.

“Why can’t you?”, Arthur asked, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“My throat is starting to feel sore”, you lied so obviously, that even Jack could have seen through it, “besides; I want someone to read to me too.”

Arthur considered the situation for a moment before giving in. The last time he read a book to someone…well, he wasn’t sure. Was it to Jamie when he was still a little boy or to Isaac? Did he ever even read out to Isaac? Arthur was prompted into opening the book when you suddenly snuggled up to him. But that alone made him lose his voice for a moment, so he had to collect himself before starting to read.

You loved how raspy Arthur’s voice would get when he was nervous, but it soon smoothed out and he had barely read for ten minutes when you had to stop him, because Jack had fallen asleep.

“’s barely even dark…”, Arthur commented after he had carried the boy to his bedroll in the tent.

“He did have an eventful day”, you said, and Arthur had to agree. The bottle of whiskey Arthur had brought was soon opened up and half was gone by the time you could make out the first stars in the sky. A lot of your conversation was just recollecting the day or commenting on happenings on the last few days, but after some silence, Arthur started a new conversation.

"Maybe, if ya told me what the other men ask you to do, I'd feel less a fool for asking ya fer something", Arthur suggested. The undertone of his voice revealed curiosity, but he had tried to keep that intent hidden. You were surprised that he remembered what you had talked about the last time it was just the two of us.

"You're unbelievable!", you exclaimed and giggled so light-heartedly. Arthur's heart melted when he saw the crinkles around your eyes. "You just want the gang's gossip!", you accused him.

"No! I'm just sayin'", Arthur shrugged with a smile, "It would really help a lot."

You looked at him, his blue-greenish eyes staring right back at you. You were an avid eye-contact holder, it was required for your role in the gang. But no pair of eyes ever compared to Arthur's. It was his turn to catch your gaze wandering to his lips, he also noticed how your eyes fluttered, when they looked up again, and then briefly away, as if you considered something.

"Fine. I'll tell you some. But I won't tell you who asked me for what."

"Sure."

"Mhhh...it's not the craziest stuff, if you’re expecting that. Most men like when I play with their hair. Or head scratches. I told you I was good at them! Someone likes it when I feed them. Like...you know...we go pick some berries and I feed them. It can be really,...domestic, I suppose. But then it becomes a lot of fun because we try to throw the berries into each other mouths, trying to catch them. It’s great..."

You got slightly embarrassed. When you spend time with other men from the gang, you always tried to give them an experience that made them happy. Some of it was oddly intimate. It didn't bother you much, but now, speaking about it with Arthur, you somehow started to worry that you'd be worth less in his eyes. Just because you have done those things with his friends. It wasn't like you slept with them. No, none, with very few exceptional instances, have ever been inappropriate.

You were silent for a while, those thoughts taking over quickly. And yet, what should it matter? It’s just Arthur, it was okay if he knew that side of you.

You sighed deeply, still finding Arthur’s eyes glued to your lips.

"Some of them like to show off to me. It's real stupid stuff. Like 'look how quick I can draw' or 'check out this piece of wood I whittled'. I suppose these are just things they are mildly proud at...but embarrassed to show someone. I...like that, though. It's really cute and reveals something about the person. There is always something to praise or enjoy about it. And they really appreciate it."

Arthur stared into the fire, nodding his head slowly.

After a while, he started with: "I ehrm-..." Then he pulled out his journal.

"It's nothing special either...", he flipped through some pages, only to reveal a double-sided sketch of Clemen's Point. A beautiful sketch, well-observed with depth and detail. You knew Arthur kept a journal – you never knew he drew in it! And from all the sketches the other men had ever shown you, most of them could have been done better by Jack, this was honestly impressive.

"Arthur-"

"I know, 's silly", and he was about to close the journal when you snatched it out of his hand and placed it in your lap. Not daring to flip the page but studying the sketch in front of you.

"Are you kidding? It's fucking amazing."

When Arthur looked at you in disbelieve, you doubled down: "Fuck you, man. I can't even pick out things I like to praise because the whole damn thing's just-!"

"Yer teasing me..."

"Am not! When someone shows me a drawing, I often have to guess, like ‘Oh, that’s a nice bison you drew.’ And then they correct me and go like ‘It’s supposed to be a dog.’ and we have a good laugh about it…but this…Is that Dutch's horse?", you asked, pointing at the little white stallion. Arthur confirmed it. You started to point at things, accurately identifying what it was. John's tent, the chicken coop, even the figure in the distance, that only was a vague outline of a person, you identified as if you had been there when it was drawn.

"You have more drawings in there?", you asked.

"Sure. But- wait", he took the journal back, carefully skipping the pages where he had sketched you, which had happened suspiciously often recently, and only showing you the landscapes and animals. You never expected that Arthur had an eye for things like that. A doe was captured perfectly in its shy manner. A funny looking cabin, a crooked tree. For all those things, Arthur stopped and took his time to draw them. It was stunning. You felt like he had given you a better idea of what sort of a man he actually is. To say you liked that version of him, was an understatement and you started to realise this with every sketch of ducks or fish he presented to you.

"When you find someone, someone you really like. And start a family...you could draw and sell those pictures, you know?"

Arthur was shocked. Firstly, why you knew about his wish to start a family, and secondly, that you suggested his drawings are nearly good enough for anyone to pay money for.

"Y/n", Arthur lamented, almost with a painful voice. As if you were that naive girl that had no idea about how life works. That there could never be a family for him, never a different life than shooting and robbing to get to some money.

"Have you ever painted? Like with colour and a paintbrush?", you interrupted.

"Ain't worth it. I'd be no good with colour. And it's too expensive."

"When's your birthday?", you asked out of the blue. You were determined. If you had to work your ass off for it or drop to your knees in front of Miss Grimshaw, you'd get this man a paintbrush.

"No", Arthur said firmly.

"Come on!", you quipped.

"Stop it. It's just a stupid thing I do to pass some time it ain't-"

"But I love them!", you interrupted, "I really do. Every single one you showed me."

"Clearly, something ain’t right in your head then", Arthur joked and put his journal away.

"You are a charming man, Mr. Morgan," you teased back, bumping into his shoulder.

As if your words had confirmed Arthur's accusation, he comically tapped your forehead with his index finger: "Really messed up, aren't you?"

"Why?", you said, switching gears and skilfully capturing Arthur's finger that had went for another tap. It took both of your hands to open Arthur's hand, not that he resisted, but his hands were huge. And with your guidance, Arthur's hand cupped your cheek. "Is it because I like to spend time with you? Do you think one has to be mad to enjoy that? Because if you do think that...I have to give you ten reasons why you are wrong."

Arthur barely listened to your words. His senses were hyper focused on his hand which was touching your cheek. Warm and soft. Not smooth like a perfect hide, but skin isn't perfect. Hell, his hand must be mighty uncomfortable. It was calloused, beaten up, scarred. There was no rational reason why you would snuggle your face into it like it was a pillow you readied for a night's sleep.

With pleasure you watched how often he blinked, how flustered he became, how his hand twitched in excitement under your touch. As careful as you were some butterfly, Arthur’s thumb dared to caress your cheek. The movement was so small, it was like he didn’t even want you to notice that you he had dared to do that. Somehow, this rough and hardened outlaw was a real sensitive guy. A sensitive guy who made your stomach flutter.

"I'll head to bed and join Jack, you coming too?", you asked, guiding Arthur's hand into your lap and holding in lightly with your two hands.

"Imma...t-take care of the fire a little longer", Arthur answered with coarse voice, his throat entirely dried up.

"M'kay", you smiled and stood up without letting go of Arthur's hand. Halfway in the process of standing up you halted, pressing a light kiss on Arthur's cheek and whispered good night, before finally letting go and walking off to the tent.

Though you were exhausted, it was tricky to sleep. You listened to Arthur who was still attending the fire, walking up and down, whispering to the horses and occasionally took a swig from the bottle. Jack slept at the side of the tent, you had taken the spot in the middle. No matter how long it felt until sleep finally took over, Arthur crawled into the tent ten minutes later, only to find out that you had messed with the sleeping set-up. It wasn’t the way he had arranged it, namely, a very inequal distribution of blankets and ‘pillows’ (rolled-up jackets or other garments). Arthur had planned to spend the night without a blanket, so you and Jack had two. But you had given up one of yours, which neatly waited on Arthur’s bedroll for him.

“She ain’t gonna make this easy for me”, Arthur thought, before lying down.

“Uncle Arthur!”, Jack squatted next to the man who was still fast asleep. Well, until the boy started to shake him with all his might, though it barely rattled the man.

“Aunt y/n told me to wake you”, Jack smiled innocently. Arthur was trying to grasp the situation. For a fleeting moment, he thought there was danger nearby. Then he had been confused about why Jack was there. Only slowly, as Jack left the tent and the rays of sunshine hit his face, he remembered that he had went out camping with you and the boy. And clearly, he had overslept.

Arthur crawled out of the tent and stood up with a groan, stretching his tired limbs. The smell of coffee had reached his nose before he looked down to see Jack walking towards him, a half-filled cup in his hands.

“For you”, he exclaimed. Arthur took the mug and mumbled his thanks, looking up a little to finally lay eyes on you. The fire was on, the percolator boiling with water, and he saw that you were in the process of readying a little pan for some eggs you had apparently taken from camp.

“Good morning”, you said with a big smile.

“Sorry I overslept…”, Arthur grumbled, sitting down by the fire.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you could catch up on some sleep.”

Breakfast was nice. You scrambled some eggs, garmented them with herbs you had collected earlier and re-filled Arthur’s mug. Jack was happy after eating a few bites and then playing with his toys in the distance. Arthur and you discussed the rest of the day and decided you would take your time, see if Jack was up for a ride and a stroll through Rhodes and spending another night at the Saloon.

Later, Jack helped you with washing the dishes at the creek. You managed to talk him into throwing a wet rag at Arthur, which he answered by throwing the rag back at you. This started a game of dogde or catch the rag. You laughed a lot. By mid-day you were on your horses, carefully navigating the shadows to escape the relentless sun. After one very slow hour of riding, with breaks whenever Jack discovered something interesting on the ground that needed further investigation, you arrived in Rhodes. After restocking on groceries, you made your way to the saloon, finding it relatively quiet and peaceful still.

“Can I help you, folks?”, the bartender asked, leaning on the counter.

“A room, please”, Arthur stated briefly. The bartender considered you for a moment, his eyes wandered from Arthur to you and finally your hand that rested protectively on Jack’s shoulder.

“We have a special deal for families. Spacious room, enough beds and a discount on a bath”, the bartender explained, opening the ledger where he kept track of which rooms were taken.

“Sounds great!”, you chimed in happily before Arthur could do as much as open his mouth.

“There you go. Walk up the stairs behind there, first door on the right”, the bartender handed you the keys, “Just let me know when you want the water heated up.”

“Will do, thanks!”, you answered. Your free arm was quickly intertwined with Arthur, who was taken by surprise. He stiffened a little but walked off with you and Jack rather convincingly.

“Whoa! This bed is huge!”, exclaimed Jack when you walked into the room.

“Ain’t for you though, little man”, Arthur chuckled. The room was equipped with a bed that was big enough to fit a couple and a toddler, but there was still a children-sized one in the corner. Arthur noticed how your arm slipped away from his as you entered the room, dropping some of your luggage onto the floor.

“Luxurious, isn’t it?”, you smiled. It was definitely better than the rooms you’d get in Valentine and probably even cleaner than the other ones the saloon had to offer. Jack was settling in, testing how bouncy his mattress was and unpacking his toys while Arthur walked up to you, clearing his throat.

“Yer fine with sharin’ a bed?”, he asked.

You raised an eyebrow: “We shared a tent last night, and that was a much tighter fit, wouldn’t you say so?”

“I guess…”, Arthur felt a little helpless. Sharing a bed felt more domestic and intimate than sharing the same tent. Also, Jack wouldn’t be all snuggled up to you, but in his own bed at some distance. Frankly, Arthur was excited. You watched his frown, not quite sure if its origin was because of discomfort or simple nervosity.

“Are you okay with that? I could bring my bedroll and-“, you wanted to suggest, but Arthur was quick to interrupt you: “I just didn’t know if you were fine with it. I don’t want ya to feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about me”, you smiled, “I’ll go down and ask for a bath. Abigail will be glad I we bring the boy back cleaner than he was before.”

Arthur was alone in the room for nearly an hour, before you and Jack appeared with damp hair, smelling of soap. It was decided that Arthur would also make use of the warmed-up water, and as he went off to the bathroom, you and Jack set your plan in motion.

By the time Arthur returned he was met with a sight that initially puzzled him. The two of you had transformed the little corner with Jack’s bed using the limited resources available to you, creating a makeshift fort out of pillows and blankets. Jack’s small bed had been turned into a cozy cave of sorts, sheltered from the outside world to the point where you needed a lantern to read a book within.

Arthur didn’t even see you at first, he only heard Jack’s bubbly giggle and you shushing him. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to play along and pretend that he didn’t know where you were…like some sort of hide-and-seek. But he decided against it, instead sighing happily, and sitting down on the big bed.

“I can hear ya, ya know?”, he said gently.

“No you can’t!”, Jack said back.

“Should have built it bigger, doesn’t look like I’ll fit underneath there”, Arthur commented. Now, you peeked out. Arthur saw how you opened a mouth, but something stopped you for a moment. His hair was wet and slicked back. He hadn’t even bothered putting on his shirt, but instead only wore his pants and union suit underneath. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to button it all the way up. It hugged his muscles perfectly. You knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected THIS.

“Shouldn’t have grown so big then”, you finally said, a fine blush on your cheeks.

As the evening advanced, you had read several chapters to Jack, lulling him into slumber. You then quietly slipped into the bed beside Arthur. After some casual conversation which both of you skilfully and awkwardly used to get closer to each other, Arthur asked something that had been on his mind for a while: "What do you get out of it? All the nurturing and caring for everyone in the gang? Has any one of them ever done right by you?"

"Well...I have a place to stay and sleep. I don't have to worry too much about earning money. And I like making others happy."

Arthur didn't like that. A place to sleep and food, he felt like, shouldn't be things you had to earn by listening to the complaints of others all the time.

"All you get is hearing the troubles of some dirty, foolish outlaws. Ain’t really a life, is it?"

"Some make me happy too", you admitted, quietly. You realised how Arthur tensed up slightly.

"I get to know y'all. Don't you think that's a privilege? For a woman my age? Others can't simply walk around in the street, offer some hand-holding a listenin' and expect this to pay for their meals."

"You want to do this for the rest if your life?", Arthur asked. You scanned his body, focusing on the dark hair that grew on his chest.

"No", you whispered, and gently, you put your hand on his chest. You felt his heart, no, you saw how it beat, the skin of his chest swiftly moving in an up and down movement.

Arthur...was different than the others. You didn't know if it was that there was an actual difference, or if it just felt differently. But the way he treated you, the way he held you...it was so gentle. Like it was touch meant for a lifetime. The others were slightly more prudish, because they knew they had a couple of hours with you and maybe they'd be shot and die the next day. Somehow...not Arthur. When he pulled you closer into a hug, it was always the same, as if it was a welcome back, a coming home. There was no holding onto it, because he sorts of knew you would always be there. And you wanted it to be like that too. Because you, as tricky it was to admit, had feelings for this man.

Now it was you who caught Arthur staring, staring at the unsure movements your lips made as you searched for something to say. Maybe to explain what this all meant to you.

"Do you think it's ridiculous, what I do?", you asked. You wanted to know Arthur's opinion, truly.

"What? No."

"Really?"

"Hell, we'd be a bunch of degenerates if ya didn't keep us together. Yer ignoring Micah. For good reasons, I gotta say, and look what a slimy no-good he is. We'd be all like that if it wasn't for you", Arthur said. There was humour in his voice, but he meant what he had said. You smiled slightly.

"I wish I had come to you earlier", Arthur said.

"We are making up for the lost time, aren't we?", you said and leaned into him. The gesture seemed so familiar that Arthur wrapped his arms around you with barely any thought. Arthur watched your fingers as they trailed through his hair on his chest, never resting somewhere for long but tracing lines from his collar bones to where his beard started on his neck.

“Do you mind?”, you whispered, your fingers resting on a button of his suit.

Arthur subtly shook his head and watched how you unbuttoned one button after another. You had him slip out of the sleeves so the suit could be pulled further down, now exposing his entire abdomen to you.

There was no way he could hide his hitched breath. Your touch tickled pleasantly as your fingers explored his skin. He was enjoying those careful attentions, you'd trace around bruises and old scars, Arthur was focused on how it felt differently, the abused flesh and the scar tissue that had lost sensitivity. He noticed, either for the first time ever, or he had forgotten in the meantime, how ticklish he was on his side, under the ribs. He had no urge to laugh, but his body reacted to your touch differently, squirming when your skin brushed over his. Arthur noticed that you took a liking to those reactions, because he felt the corner of your mouth, which was pressed into his arm as you leaned into him, curl into a smile.

It was quiet. Sometimes the yells of a bar fight could be heard or someone hammering on the piano, but that aside, it was only Jack's silent snores that disturbed the peace.

"Arthur?", you whispered and sat up.

"Mhm?", Arthur looked sleepy. It wasn't even that late yet, but something about the situation was making him sleepy in the best way. You said nothing more. You only put your hand on his cheek, briefly caressing his stubble.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?", you asked.

For a few moments, Arthur's mind went completely blank. He only breathed a shaky "Yeah" and your lips brushed his already.

Instantly, Arthur's hands pulled you in closer. You were close, lips brushing, breathing each other's air. It was all you needed, before both of you finally pressed into each other.

You knew Arthur was gentle, but this sort of tenderness took even you by surprise. And Arthur- well, he was pretty sure he was dreaming. When was the last time he had kissed a woman? No, when was the last time he kissed a woman and felt like his heart was about to explode in his chest. He had craved this ever since the night you spent together. And by the way your hands wandered to his hair, fingers running through his strands, he knew you had wanted it just as much.

It was a soft kiss and both of you looked sort of surprised when it had ended. Arthur sat up slightly and pulled you on his lap, which earned him a happy grin. You started to pepper the man in front of you with kisses. Super light, as if a breeze was brushing his forehead, his cheek, his nose, under his ear, the corner of his lips. You had lost count, stirred on by a blushing Arthur underneath you.

"D-don't ya think that's enough?", Arthur said, kind of trying to dodge your kisses, but not really.

"Nope. You deserve this!", you said, but when you headed for his nose, Arthur managed to turn it into a proper kiss again.

Then you sank on his chest, lying on top of him with his arms wrapped around you.

For Arthur, this was a weird feeling at first. But he loved how your weight pressed him down into the mattress and how your hands always found a piece of his body to caress and tickle. He was embarrassed about how dry his mouth and throat became again, all of a sudden. He was convinced you realized how often he had to swallow and how hesitant he still was to move his hands any further down than the small of your back. Though if you noticed, you were very understanding. You clearly heard his heart hammering in his chest and waited patiently for it to calm down before speaking again.

"Can I tell you something silly?”, you said, lost in thoughts.

"Sure"

"I liked it when the bartender referred to us as family."

"Me too", and his hold on you became ever so tighter.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

@eyelovie @t3rritorial-piss1ngs @daenerysluvrr @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @tem60 @freshoutthewomb2 @itswormtrain @ineedyoubadly @lea-khena @anawkwardartistandgamer @pheesupremacy @tahitiansiguesss @c2ss1e @alyxhasonsocks @kagemaruzest69 @agaritas @lonesome-ranger @joelmillers-gf

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twola · 2 months ago

Text

Passerine - Chapter 6 [Finale]

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Wading through blood, you must confront the reality of where the road has taken you.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: graphic childbirth, smut, violence, blood, illness, graphic rape, death.

This is it, folks. Thank you for coming along for the ride. Please, I'd love your feedback after all is now said and done. Feel free to leave a comment or hit up my inbox. See you in the New Year.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous

The wagon roughly bounces on the path, your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle a groan. You cannot stop the tears from streaming down your face, not anymore.

One of your hands lies upon your distended abdomen, the child's movements having grown frantic and agitated.

Jack looks at you, fearfully, as he’s clutched in his mother’s arms. Another jostle of the wagon and the boy buries his face into Abigail’s bosom.

Sadie drives the wagon, cursing each time it hits a rough patch in the road, which is often this north in Roanoke.

From the ride to Copperhead and then turning around and piling into a suspiciously procured wagon, the last two days have been hellish. One hiding in plain sight along the river and the marshes, and the second was riding by night north again, trying to at least get past Annesburg. Ambarino -it would be safe there -

A horse pulls up next to the wagon, and a dirty and disheveled John Marston looks down at you, then down the bed of the wagon with a grimace, clutching at his bloodied arm. “How is he?”

Tears spill from your eyes anew as you look down.

Arthur, bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing, lies in the wagon bed, his head perched upon your thigh, your hand lightly draped over his collarbone.

You can’t respond.

John realizes this, looking up the trail again as the horse plods forward next to the wagon. “We need to keep moving, get to Ambarino.”

Abigail, who has been quiet for most of the ride, pipes up. “John. We need to find somewhere to hunker down. Soon.”

“I know-”

“No, I mean now. She ain't gonna give birth in the back of a wagon.”

John’s eyes dart back to you, wide and fearful. “Shit, shit, alright,” he looks up the road again, then looks behind them.

He figures they are just north of Annesburg, he chews his lip before remembering, “Arthur told me of a widow that lives up at Willard’s Rest. Kind woman. We can see if she’ll take us in.”

Abigail reaches over and places a hand on your belly, frowning when she feels how hard it is. She looks up at you, “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you settled.”

Another burst of tears overflow from your eyes. Your hand clutches at Arthur’s shirt, but your lover does not respond.

God bless Missus Balfour. She missed not even a step when a wagon and rider full of women and bloodied men appeared at Willard’s Rest, this safe haven hidden away off the road, far, far north of civilization.

“Here, here, you can put him in that room there. Let me get this room ready for her. I’ll boil some water.”

John and Sadie half-carry, and half-drag an unconscious Arthur up the stairs as Charlotte slowly walks you into the house, her arm under your shoulder. Abigail follows with the little shadow of her son directly behind her and rubs at her brow tiredly when they reach the kitchen.

Jack tries to bury himself in his mother’s skirts. She frowns down at him for a moment, and when John reappears from the other bedroom, she leans down and kisses Jack on the forehead. “Jack, I’m gonna need you to go with your father. You gotta stay with him and help him, alright?”

John looks as if he is about to say something, but wisely closes his mouth as Jack leaves his mother’s side to tuck himself against his father.

Abigail gives John a tired look, her brow furrowed and serious, “Please, take him a bit away from here. For a while.”

“What, wh-”

“So he don’t hear the screaming. John, please.” Abigail takes John’s hand and squeezes it, whispering low in an attempt for her son not to hear.

John blanches when he realizes what she’s talking about. He steels his jaw and nods, his other hand falling on his son’s head. He nods to Abigail, taking her hand and pulling it up to his lips quickly. “I hope everythin’ goes alright.”

Abigail’s brow falters, and she leans forward and catches him quickly on the lips, surprising him. He quickly recovers and kisses her back, and they both pull back slightly and lean their foreheads against each other, “Me too, John, me too.”

Your groan from the bedroom takes them from the moment and John’s mouth falls into a straight, hard line. “I’ll take him over by the waterfall. Far enough not to hear, but we’re close if you need anythin’.”

Abigail nods a quick thank you and darts into the bedroom.

John looks down at his son, the son for so long he had ignored, “C’mon now, let's get to see if we can get some fish for dinner. That’ll make everyone happy.”

Abigail leans over and undoes your boots as you sit in the bed, and after she works them off your feet, she helps you swing your legs up and sit atop the bed, as you breathe heavily. The tightening sensation in your abdomen comes again, and you hiss in pain.

“Breathe through it, that’s it.” Abigail takes your hand and lets you squeeze it. When the pain subsides, you let out a deep breath.

“I’ll be gettin’ everything together. You’re safe, and you’re gonna have the most beautiful baby.” Abigail cups your cheek gently, lovingly. Assuringly. You nod and her hand squeezes yours again before she leaves the room.

You close your eyes, the aching in your hips is near unbearable, and the pain that comes every few minutes is like a bolt of lightning strikes you at your core.

“You must be his wife.”

The dark-haired homeowner steps through the door, carrying folded linens and a large bowl of water, steam wafting upward as she sets it on the dresser.

You're genuinely surprised at the statement, unable to respond at first, “I-….”

“He’s a wonderful man, your husband Arthur. Probably saved me from starving. He couldn’t stop talking about you, his wonderful wife, how you were back home about to have your first child together, how he couldn't wait. He is smitten with you, dear.”

Oh god, your Arthur, your wonderful, sweet… dying Arthur.

“He’s, he’s…. agh-!”

You double over in the bed, clutching your belly and wincing, yelling out in pain as your belly tightens and hardens. Charlotte takes one of your hands in her own and lets you hold it through the contracting of your body.

Abigail bursts through the door, followed by Sadie. Grimacing, she rolls up her sleeves, muttering to Charlotte and Sadie to lay you back from your sitting position. Your head falls back on the pillow as you gasp in pain, clutching at your belly. Abigail pulls up your skirts, folding them at your hips. A warm liquid trickles against your inner thighs as Abigail mutters to Sadie, and the two women manipulate your legs to slide your bloomers off.

Another pain, and this time you cannot help the moan escaping your throat as your abdomen tightens. It's like your body is collapsing in on itself, and you are barely cognizant of the women in the room. Charlotte steps in and helps as well, and by the time the pain lets up, they have stripped you down to your petticoat shift, have propped your legs up, and your knees falling open.

You're in so much pain that you don't think about decency at all, Abigail propping herself between your legs, your entire lower half on display. Another strangled cry claws its way out of you as you throw your head back.

“Arthur-” you call out in vain, “I need Arthur-”

“I know, honey. He’s just in the other room.” Sadie pats your hair back as she holds your hand.

“H-how am I supposed to do this without him?” You weep, squeezing your eyes shut against the waves of pain.

Sadie frowns, looking across the room at Charlotte. The women share a knowing, pained glance between them - a look of familiarity, of pain, of uncertainty.

Of losing one’s other half.

The shitty, ramshackle cabin smells of unwashed men and rotting food. Arthur doesn’t know what’s going on -why is he here, what is this place?

Two men sit at a table, playing cards and drinking from open bottles of whiskey.

Their vests are green. Arthur seethes and goes to pull his gun from his belt, to find that there is none. There’s no gun, no belt. He looks down, and frankly, there is no him. He is not… really there.

His confusion is interrupted as a half-dressed man bursts through a door from another room, hoisting his pants up as he steps in.

“Donal, you rat bastard - how’d you pick up a thing like that?”

The dark-haired man laughs as he places his h cards down. “Enjoy it while she lasts - I’m sure she won’t be so tight when we take ‘er back to Hanging Dog.”

The returning man rebuttons his pants before sitting down in an empty chair, “‘er cunt is still real nice.”

“Wait till you fuck her ass, talk about real nice.” The third chuckles, taking his bottle of whiskey and taking a long drag.

“Ain’t you worried about Van der Linde?”

“Naw, ain’t no one comin’ for her. She ain’t anyone important.” Dark-haired man takes a large swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle on the table. He takes his gunbelt off and places it on the table as well as he stands up.

“Now if you excuse me, think I’ll fuck that tight little hole again.”

Why couldn’t do anything, why couldn’t he kill them? What was this all?

The door swings open. That old, dirty, ratty bed where he found you, it’s there. Lantern light spills out, casting shadows through the room. Arthur is able to follow, somehow, in this incorporeal form.

You’re curled on the bed in a fetal position, nude and unbound. Your skin is peppered with bruises and your hair disheveled and dirty.

Arthur has never felt so helpless, like he was on the outside, looking in.

“Come on now, get on your back f’r me. Been thinkin’ bout you all day.”

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness. You don’t move on the bed. The O’Driscoll starts to work at his trousers as he approaches your battered form. His pants drop to the ground as he reaches the bed. He manhandles you onto your back with no resistance, no fight in you.

He climbs atop you, parts your legs, and settles himself between them. The O’Driscoll spits in his hand slathers it over his hard cock, and without any preamble or gentleness, he pushes himself inside your abused cunt.

Arthur is stuck - he can’t look away, he can’t do anything. You don’t scream, or cry, or fight. You simply squeeze your eyes shut for that moment of penetration, completely resigned. Is this… is he seeing what happened to you? This, this heinous violation that happened because he wasn’t able to keep you safe.

The O’Driscoll moans in pleasure and Arthur wants to tear the world apart. Your body moves back and forth on the bed with each heinous thrust of the man on top of you. He grabs one of your legs and pulls it to rest on his shoulder. You don't react at all, staring at the wall.

“P-pretty miss.”

You need him, you need him, and again, he cannot keep you safe.

Arthur sees red, unable to do anything but watch.

You turn your head, catching Arthur’s gaze. Your eyes are dull, worn, dead. You can see him, the first acknowledgment from anyone all night.

You open your mouth and the most blood-curdling scream he has ever heard fills his ears.

Arthur’s eyes open; his vision blurred for several moments before being able to focus on the ceiling.

The screaming - it's not from his dream, it’s real, it’s happening right now - you need him-

He blearily awakens, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as he pants. He struggles to sit up, but finally does so, his head spinning. He feels so weak. Another pained scream from down the hall. Wheezing, he clutches at his chest as he sits up in the bed. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, blood staining the fabric.

He hears Abigail through the wall, some sort of murmured affirmation that he can’t understand.

The baby-

Arthur slides from the bed onto unsteady feet, nearly falling as he stumbles forward and grasps onto a dresser to stay upright, loudly panting.

Another scream. The baby, you’re having his baby-

He wipes his mouth again as he looks around, recognizing the bedroom as one he’s seen before - he’s up at Willard’s Rest, Charlotte must have taken them in.

Arthur musters the little strength he has and takes step after unsteady step, leaning against dressers and the wall as he exits the bedroom and slowly drags himself down the hall.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe through it.”

God bless, Sadie Adler is here too.

Arthur sucks in a loud breath as he leans against the frame of the open door, quickly exhausted by the exertion he has already gone through. It takes moments for his vision to correct and his lightheadedness to subside a little. Only then is he able to take in what is happening in this other bedroom.

You recline against Sadie, who rubs at your biceps gently as Abigail sits between your spread legs, arms bloodstained up to her elbows. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. Charlotte Balfour leans over and places a wet cloth against your forehead, wiping away the sweat.

He must be dead, he must be. There’s no way on god’s green earth he’s seeing this. He’s completely unnoticed by the women, all rightfully focused on birth and life and not on a dying man.

“There we go. Alright, come on now honey.” Sadie coos gently. You grab at one of her hands and she holds it with the strength that Sadie is known for.

Abigail looks up to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe. Heaving breath, trying to keep himself upright. For an instant, she wants to go to him, but another scream escapes your throat and she immediately turns back to you. She mutters something to Sadie that Arthur cannot hear, and Sadie moves to let you lay down in the bed as a racking sob shudders out of your body.

“Couple good pushes left, you can do it-” Abigail places one of her hands below your knee and pushes your thigh back to round your belly. Sadie does the same with the opposite thigh, one hand free to brush back sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. Abigail nods to Charlotte and the latter takes Abigail’s place at the side of the bed, taking your thigh in her hands, holding it back the same as Sadie.

You scream again, head craning back on the pillow. Your hands clutch at the bedding beneath you with an unmatched strength.

“Yes - yes, there we go, here we are-” Abigail mutters, her free hand disappearing between your legs.

Your voice, rough and abused, suddenly changes tone. From fearful and pained to something fierce. The scream from your lungs is one of determination - of strength and power and by god, he’s never been so in awe of you.

Arthur’s heart stops beating at this moment, and he nearly forgets the weight in his chest that makes it nigh impossible to breathe.

“Now push-” Abigail orders.

A fresh burst of tears works its way down your face as you suck in a breath and clench your teeth as you follow Abigail’s instructions. A defiant yell claws out of your throat. Arthur’s hand squeezes the doorframe with a strength that nearly escapes him, all from you. He wheezes, trying to keep quiet as the birth unfurls.

Fitting, a dying man witnessing this space of women delivering life. Fitting, that he's at the very least able to see this feat of strength from you, after everything you’ve been through.

But in this moment, you didn’t need saving. Not by him.

Your screams are of strength, not fear nor pain.

You didn’t need him.

You’d be fine, even after he’s gone.

One last strangled cry from your throat and you grit your teeth, pushing with every fiber of your being. Sadie leans forward and pushes your thigh apart just a bit more, Charlotte following suit on her side of the bed.

“Yes, yes, that's it!” Abigail exclaims.

The world slows, collapsing in on itself, he wasn't just watching the labor of a woman, he was staring at the birth of stardust, creation, and holiness incarnate. He, the sinner that he is, does not deserve to bear witness to such a thing.

From his vantage point leaning against the doorframe, he sees the baby’s head appear between your legs, cradled by Abigail’s waiting hands.

He can’t hear the women’s exclamations, a tinny sound having taken over his hearing. Arthur watches you suck in another breath and bear down once again.

In a rush of blood and fluid, Abigail catches the child as you deliver.

Arthur has never seen something so beautiful in his life. All the riches in the world, he’d have traded for this moment. The three women murmur joyful praises at you as Abigail rubs at the newborn roughly swaddled in the clean linen.

The tinny noise goes away when the babe wails, a high-pitched screech that fills the room, over your panting, over the beating of Arthur’s heart, the crackling of his lungs.

“Oh honey, y’ did perfect.” Sadie grins, letting your thigh down gently as she leans over toward the table and picks up her hunting knife. Abigail coos at the baby and undoes the linen enough to make that pulsing blue-white cord, the last connection between you and the child, accessible for Sadie to cut above the child’s stomach. Charlotte blots your forehead again with a wet cloth, holding your hand as you try to crane your neck to see your baby.

Abigail smiles as she places the newborn on the bed and wraps it tightly in linen with practiced ease. Once satisfied, she nods up to Sadie, who with Charlotte, slowly and carefully adjust the pillows behind you and help to pull you into a reclining position.

Abigail places the child into your waiting arms.

The baby wails and it’s the most beautiful goddamn sound that he’s ever heard. This sight is the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen. You, in all of your glory, settling in on the other side of childbirth.

And then reality crushes back in.

Arthur can taste the coppery blood in his mouth, and he slumps down the doorframe as he coughs, losing his breath as the back of his hand is covered with blood. Through his fading vision, he makes eye contact with you, hazy, but perfect lying there on that bed, holding his healthy child. You look horrified as you try to get out of bed, crying out in pain as Abigail and Sadie try to push you to lie down gently again, the baby wailing against your breast. Charlotte begins to round the bed to reach toward him as he collapses.

Crumbling to the floor, blood bubbles across Arthur’s lips as he wheezes, drowning in the weight of his own sins.

Your head pounds as you awaken, being jostled roughly and uncaringly. It takes you a moment to realize you are gagged, something tied across your jaw. Your eyes dart back and forth as they get used to the light in the room.

You know this room. The pit of your stomach opens up as you are roughly placed against an old bed, and you can see your companion.

Dark, greasy hair. Dark, ruthless eyes. A green scarf tied around his neck.

Companion, captor, rapist.

‘Ello there love, time for us to get to know each other.

You try to claw at him, but he proves to be too strong - and the both of you tumble onto the dirty old bed. He is able to hold you down as he stands up, one elbow across your back and his hand encircles your neck, pushing your face into the mattress.

You’re just gonna make this worse for yourself.

You scream against the gag, in rage then in pain when he pulls your arms backward and tucks them behind your back. Rolling you over, he keeps weight and one on your shoulder, your arms scream in pain as he holds you down.

He snarls as he catches his breath, pulling his knife from his belt.

You goddamn witch, I should kill you instead of fuck you. But it’s been so goddamn long since I’ve gotten my cock wet-

He draws the knife’s blade slowly across your collarbone. You stop fighting, afraid that the blade is going to pierce your skin. Instead, he starts drawing it down the front of your blouse, and buttons start popping and flying as he drags the blade against the fabric. He reaches the last button before your blouse gets tucked into your shirt and places the knife on the bedside table.

This is takin’ too long. He smiles, and your stomach drops as he takes a fistful of your blouse and rips.

You scream into the gag again as he continues, tearing the blouse off of you, the sleeves falling down your biceps, disconnected from the rest of the fabric.

His arm moves from where he holds you down to land on your chemise’s neckline and you immediately take advantage of his weight being gone, trying to sit up and throw an elbow. He is wise to your moves, however, and catches your arm as you swing it.

Fuckin’ Van der Linde whore-

The O’Driscoll backhands you across the face, leaving you smarting and gasping out in pain, falling back to the bed.

Another rip. Your chemise is torn at the neckline, between his two hands, and he continues to tear the cotton in half, your breasts uncovered as he looms over you. You can taste blood in your mouth as your eyes water over, dizziness taking over your being.

You can feel the cool knife blade against the curve of your waist as he slides it against the ties of your skirt, pulling the blade up and slicing through the strings, placing it back on the table side as he starts to pull your skirts off, his grubby fingers digging into your skin, gathering your bloomers as well as he works them down your hips, thighs, and legs. Your knee-high stockings get pulled from your feet.

You begin to weep as the O’Driscoll strips you naked on that shitty bed, every scrap of clothing gone. A rough, dirty hand squeezes a breast, grabs your hip, smacks your ass. Fingers reach to toy with the dark curls hiding your cunt.

He leans over you and pulls the gag down, smirking evilly.

Your man isn’t here to save you. He’s not coming. It’s just you and me like it always has been.

Like it always has been.

You know how this ends. You know what happens next. You know the pain, and the shame, and the pity and hurt in Arthur’s eyes when he finds you.

You cannot keep letting him do this. He’s right, Arthur is not coming.

The O’Driscoll stands to full height and begins to undo his gunbelt, a sickening grin still on his face. He looks down, starting to unbutton his pants and you see the glint of the knife on the side table as the lantern light flickers. With his eyes off of you, you swing your arm up, grasping the knife and immediately turn it on him before he has a chance to react, jumping up from the bed.

You sink the knife into the O’Driscoll’s neck. He sputters in surprise for a moment as he rears back, his blood spraying out between your bodies.

You grit your teeth and pull the knife out of his neck and immediately plunge it in at a different angle. Warm lifeblood splatters all over your chest, your naked breasts, your neck, your face. The man makes a gurgling sound as he begins to slump forward on top of you. You let go of the knife and push him with all of your might, and he rolls to the side off of you, off the bed, crumbling into a jumble of limbs on the floor, blood seeping out of the holes in his body.

You lean over and pull the knife from his neck.

You stand above him as he dies, his blood dripping down your naked form. For so long, this man has controlled you, taken your body as his own, and held you down in fear and nightmares, long after his death. But now, now you stand above him, knife in hand, like a warrior queen.

You are unashamed of your nakedness - you needed no armor to vanquish him. You are unashamed of the blood - it is not smeared between your thighs as evidence of violation, it is splattered across your face, your breasts, trailing in rivulets down your belly and your legs.

The O’Driscoll shudders in a death throe, his eyes wide as he stops twitching.

You grip the knife tightly in your hand. He’s dead, he’s dead and he can’t hurt you anymore. He can never hurt you again.

The room begins to fade away.

And for the first time in so very, very long, you wake up in your bed, alone, at peace.

The oil lamp flickers, casting a shadow throughout the room. You frown, mentally taking note to get more oil the next time someone goes to town.

You tiredly wipe the table of crumbs with an old rag, collecting said crumbs in your hand and tossing them in the sink, along with the dirty dishes from dinner. You had no desire to address those dishes tonight, the sun has long gone down. Sighing, you wipe your forehead of dotted sweat with the back of your hand as you clear the rest of the table.

A muffled bang comes from the door, and you hurry toward it before another knock rings through your house. Opening the door, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

John Marston stands in your doorway, holding a large canvas sack over his shoulder. You smile and step out of the way for him to come inside. He does so, stepping immediately toward your newly cleaned table and placing the sack down on the table. You consider scolding him, but hold your tongue as he unrolls the canvas, a large, paper-covered slab of meat as his bounty. Freshly shot, you know, Abigail having mentioned that John was out hunting this morning.

“Guess you were successful?” You laugh as John rolls his shoulder.

“A little bit.” He mutters, rubbing at it.

“Gettin’ old there, cowboy?” You tease, and Marston scowls back at you, his scars across his face always making him look more severe than you know he is. But the scowl does not remain long.

“Shaddup.” He laughs in that rough voice that brings you such comfort.

You laugh as well, placing your hand on his bicep, “Thank you, John, this means a lot.”

“You sure you’re alright out here? You know Abigail would rather you stay with us.”

“John, I’m fine. Besides,” You motion over to the wrapped flank of meat that he has placed on the table, “You provide enough as is.”

He rolls his eyes, “You do know I’m gonna get an earful from Abby when I get back to the house.”

“John Marston, both you and I know that you was gonna get an earful from her no matter what my answer was.”

He smirks, looking at his feet. Still bashful, after all these years. He looks up again, that half smile across his face, the silvered lines of his scars visible through the beard that doesn’t grow along them.

His gloved hand reaches toward you.

“You let me know if you need anything. Seriously. You know I watch out f’r you.” John squeezes your shoulder in a comforting manner.

You smile, brushing his hand from your shoulder, and reach around his shoulders to bring him into a hug, “Thank you, John.”

“You’re family to us.” You can feel him nod, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently.

“You tryin’ to butter me up to watch the baby?” You smirk as you unwind yourself from him, laughing.

John scratches the back of his head sheepishly, tilting his hat for a moment before resettling it, “I mean… an extra pair of womanly hands carin’ for a baby is always welcomed.”

“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“Abigail thinks it’s a girl. Says she’s feelin’ different this time around.”

“And you?”

“I don’t do a lot of thinkin’… you know that.”

“You’re a silly man. Now go back up that hill and take care of your pregnant wife.”

“Mama.”

You crack one eye open. The sun has risen in the east, and the door to your bedroom is open wide, and a small shadow appears at your bedside.

“Susannah.”

“Mama please-”

You sigh, yawning before giving in, knowing you can’t win this fight, “C’mon now, come get into the bed.”

The girl giggles and dives under the blanket that you hold open. You wheeze as she climbs over you, a knee to your belly, a hand squishing your breast, and finally her small body curls in against you under the warm covers, and you blow away a few strands of sand-colored hair from your face as she tucks her head upon your breast. You close your eyes again as you wrap your arm around her, hoping she will fall back asleep with you.

Blessed silence.

“Mamaaaaa-”

Interrupted.

“Yes, dearest?” You sigh, but you can’t help but to smile as the small body next to yours squirms under the blanket.

“Tell me about the house by the waterfall again.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve told you about it four times this week.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, but start the story anyway, “You were born on a bright, sunny day… like today.”

She crawls up to look you in the face, “And everyone was there.”

“Yes, everyone was there. Abigail and Sadie and Missus Charlotte helped me bring you into the world, just like how I’m gonna help Abigail bring the new baby into the world in just a few days.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing the mess of her honeyed hair back. “And when you came, and you cried and cried, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.”

“Before you were born, your papa said he loved the name Susannah. That’s why you’ve got that name,” You poke her little nose and she giggles, just like every time you tell the story. What joy simple things bring to a child.

The songbird that perches outside your window chirps gaily. It sits outside most mornings, and you have grown accustomed to its song, greeting you in bed. A horse whinnies from outside and your daughter bolts upright, throwing the blanket off her body and half off of yours. In a jumble of limbs, she bolts out of the bedroom, “Mama, mama!”

“Susannah, mind your shoes!” you call as you climb out of the bed, but secretly you want to run as fast as your daughter as you find a robe and throw it over your nightgown. You know you just scolded her to put on her shoes, but you also forego anything on your feet as you hurry toward the thrown-open front door, where Susannah bounds out as fast as her little legs can take her.

“There she is!”

Oh, your heart. Oh, your world. You have to hold onto the doorframe as you watch your daughter dart from the front door across the grass to the hitching post, several strides away. The large horse, tied to the post, swings its head toward the joyful shouts of the child. From behind the horse’s rump, a figure strolls around, tall and strong and bursting with excitement.

He stoops down on one knee and catches Susannah as she throws herself into his embrace.

“How is my favorite girl?” He easily swings the child up into his arms, holding her out and twirling her in a circle before gathering her into his chest.

“I missed you so much, Papa.” She buries her head into his shoulder.

“I missed ya somethin’ awful, sweetpea.”

The man looks up at where you stand in the door and smiles. His dark beard is long, his hair unruly underneath that old gambler’s hat.

He marches toward the door, and when he’s a step away from you, he lets your daughter down, who immediately latches herself to his pants leg.

“Susannah, Go on and get dressed. Give your father a moment to wash up.”

She scrunches her little nose in mock irritation, but dutifully does so, scooting past you and into the house, leaving you and him alone in the threshold of the door.

“Missed you somethin’ awful too, darlin’.”

You smile as his hands find your hips, “You owe me, Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, and his lips press gently at your exposed neck, “For what, leavin’ you with the little one while I rode a cattle train all the way to Denver ‘nd back? Sounds like you got the better end of the deal.”

You lean forward in his embrace as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Think you should stay closer to home next time.” You muse as you close your eyes.

Arthur’s hand creeps up from your waist and cups one of your breasts, squeezing firmly. You squirm in his embrace, gasping.

“Stop - Susannah is right there, you-” You push his hand away from your chest but he only chuckles in your ear as he unwinds himself from you.

“I’m bringing her up to Abigail’s. She can watch ‘er for an hour or two.”

“You just got back-” You are cut off when his hand darts forward and grabs your rear through your robe and nightgown. You can barely keep yourself from squealing.

“Yeah, and I need to make love to my wife ‘til she can’t take it no more.” Arthur rumbles roughly into your ear with a tone of voice that goes straight to your cunt. You are unable to find the words to respond as he pulls back and nods, a smirk painted across his face.

“Gimme fifteen minutes. You better be naked in that bed when I get back, woman.”

You frown as he rights his hat back on his head.

“You know how obvious that is going to be?”

Arthur waves his hand dismissively, “You didn’t notice me takin’ Jack out on so many rides nine months ago?”

“Mama, can Jack take me for a ride on the pony?” Susannah darts past you, having changed into a cotton dress and thrown little boots on, her hair a disheveled mess.

“Ah, ah, come back here missy. Go get a ribbon and let me tie your hair up.” You scold, and your daughter scowls back at you with a nearly identical look before stomping back to her room.

Arthur chuckles, and your finger wags at him, “Don’t think I don’t know where she gets that from.”

“Her mother, exactly.”

“You son of a -”

Your daughter reappears and you close your mouth before cursing. She holds a ribbon out as she marches to you, turning around right in front of you so that you can reach her hair.

“Mind your mother, Miss Susannah.”

“Papa-”

“Or there won’t be any pony rides. I’ll tell Jack to have you clean out the pony’s stall today.” Arthur laughs, completely unable to be serious.

“Ew!” She shrieks, her hand darting upward to give you the ribbon. You laugh to yourself, taking the ribbon and gathering her hair into a ponytail, tying it up and over her head. Once secured to your liking, you gently tap her shoulder and she bounds toward Arthur, who immediately scoops her up into his arms again.

Arthur juggles the five-year-old onto his hip, to her joyous, shrieking laughter, “C’mon, let’s go up and save Jack from his daddy’s chores.”

As he opens the door to the cabin, Arthur glances back at you, his eyes darkening, “You best be ready when I get back.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly, a shiver goes down your spine at his implication. He gets like this - ravenous, hungry, passionate whenever he comes back from a cattle drive. As much as you hate the weeks alone, the amount of money Arthur brings home makes the ranch nearly abundant. Last year both John and Arthur went, and kept the families fed throughout the winter comfortably.

Of course, this year Abigail threatened to castrate John if he left her alone for six weeks at the end of her pregnancy… so this drive, Arthur went alone.

You pick up his mud-speckled leather coat, laying it over the wash bin. The sack of clothing Arthur left outside the door was sure to smell of a cattle herd - he was smart enough to leave it on the porch this time.

You make your way back to your bedroom, sighing as you idly rub your back. Your gaze catches the mirror above your bureau and you slowly walk toward it.

You stand in front of that mirror, pulling your nightgown up, up and over your knees, your thighs, your hips, your belly. You pull the fabric over your breasts and finally your head, holding it in one hand as you look at yourself.

There are no scars, just like that night standing in front of the fire in Valentine. There are no outward signs of what happened to you those years ago. Placing the nightgown atop your dresser, you glance in the mirror one last time. You see fuller hips, silvered lines at your belly, your breasts flatter against your chest.

A half smile comes across your face. No, the scars on your body were not from the O’Driscoll that raped you - they are from growing and birthing the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You look away from the mirror and let a breath out through your nose as you climb back into bed. Flopping back against the pillows, you smile to yourself as you wait for your husband’s return, naked in the marital bed as requested.

It is not several minutes more before you hear the front door slam and smile to yourself as you hear Arthur’s heavy gait beeline toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door swings open as Arthur barges in, and his hungry eyes immediately devour you whole as you recline into the pillows.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur huffs, unable to move for a moment, staring at you. He pulls his hat from his head and chucks it to the floor.

“C’mon, ain’t known you to be one to keep your lady waitin,” you smirk, some of that old flirtation that you had at the beginning of your relationship shining through. You open your legs to bare your cunt, the dark hair parting as you spread your thighs further.

You’ve never seen him strip himself down faster. Boots tossed across the floor, his shirt thrown over the dresser haphazardly. He steps out of his pants and leaves them in a pile on the rug.

Fully nude, he climbs onto the bed, his hulking muscles undiminished by the years. Maybe, at first, in those months when he was bedridden at Willard’s Rest, where he slowly recovered from tuberculosis and you recovered from the ordeal of childbirth - was he a lesser man. But now? Now he was the Arthur you knew and loved - the Arthur who could tear men apart.

But you feel nothing but safe. You giggle as one of his hands immediately cups your cunt.

“Wife.”

You smile, your hands brushing down his shoulders to his biceps to his forearms.

“Husband.”

He parts your folds gently, rumbling as his other hand encircles his blood-hardened cock. He looms over you, and there is a secret sweet part of you that feels safe and protected underneath all of him.

“Sweetheart.”

He presses that trigger-worn finger inside you.

“Arthur-”

Your husband leans down and presses his lips against yours, his coarse beard tickling your chin as he begins to swirl and thrust that finger inside your cunt. You moan into his mouth as you begin to cant your hips, wanting more, more.

Arthur lets go of his cock to steady himself against your bucking, groaning at your desperation. His hard shaft smacks against your inner thigh and you mewl and gasp as he slides a second finger into your cunt. He begins to rut himself against the jointure of your thigh and hip, his cock settling in there as he prepares you, eases the way, ensures that he would never, ever hurt you.

God, you love this man so much.

He pulls his fingers from your body and immediately smears your slick on his shaft, the head of his cock already weeping. His eyes trail from his cock up your body to lock with yours.

You raise your arms, open wide, inviting him into your embrace and he smiles, knowing he is home. Arthur takes that hefty cock of his and lines it up with your cunt.

He grunts as he pushes into you, his head slipping inside as you whine; throwing your head back onto the pillow. He lowers himself down on top of you, plastering his entire body against you, and the two of you wind arms around each other’s boulders and your angles hook behind his back.

It’s slow, and full, as that first press inside always is. A strangled noise claws out of your throat as you dig your fingers into his back as those girthy inches stretch you. He rumbles against your neck as he works his way inside, his breath warm on your skin until he is hilted completely within you. He raises his head and kisses you headily.

Your bed is far more spacious than the small tent in Big Valley that saw your first coupling.

“Don’t know - how many times,” his breathless voice is interrupted by the frenzied kisses he gives you, “...I had to fist m’cock at night - thinkin’ of you and this perfect little cunt.”

Arthur begins to thrust his hips against yours, finding that rhythm perfected by years of experience together, “My perfect little wife-“

“Missed you so much, Arthur.” You throw your head back against the pillow as he continues to roll his hips against you, his cock dragging in and out, in and out of the vice grip of your cunt, “I love you so much -”

A particularly deep thrust makes you gasp and Arthur groans into your hair, panting as he continues his pace, “God, oh darlin’ -my darlin’ girl… I love you-”

He grabs your hand, pressing it down on the bed next to your head, interlacing your fingers as his pace slows, becomes more measured, deeper. The gold bands around your ring fingers make a soft clink against each other, nearly unheard among the sounds of lovemaking.

You cry out as he hits that spot within you again and again, sending you careening toward completion, the sensitivity of your channel making your legs shake and your breath hasten even more.

“Ar-Arthur- oh… I’m gonna-“ you whine breathlessly, squeezing your eyes shut as your husband groans in recognition.

“Come fer me, that’s it, come for me-” Arthur orders, throwing his hips roughly into yours in desperation, wanting, needing you to fall off the edge for him.

You cry out loudly as you throw your head back on the pillow, your hand squeezing his as the other claws into his back as you come, your entire body clenching as your arousal gushes around his cock.

“Yes, yes - oh, my perfect girl, oh-” Arthur praises you as you ride out your release, and gives three more heady strokes before he finds his own. You come down from your high just in time to dig your heels into his tailbone, the sign for him not to pull himself from your velvet heat.

His hips stutter, and he lets out a long breath as he stills, cock twitching as he comes inside you. You whine as you feel the warmth bloom in your core. He cuts off the sound from your throat by kissing you, hard and fast, needy and desperate.

“My…” he pants between kisses, “pretty little wife-”

You smile breathily against his lips, “My strong, handsome husband-”

The wet sound of lips meeting lips takes over for several moments before Arthur slides himself from your body, settling on his side next to you before laying his head upon your breast.

“Don’t go away for so long anymore. You gotta stay closer to home.” You muse as you run your fingers through his hair. The honey-blonde strands by his temple are peppered with grey- along with his too-long beard. Weeks in the saddle left your husband looking like a rugged mountain man whenever he returns. You’ll have to cut it later; it is growing longer than you like it.

He snorts playfully as he rolls off of you, sitting up on his elbow, facing you in the bed. With his other hand, he grabs the sheet that had been kicked away in the haste of lovemaking, pulling it up to pool around both of your waists.

You cannot help the smile that cracks across your face. You grasp his hand, his callused, rough hands that have built your home and provided for your family. The hands that rocked your daughter to sleep when she was a baby. The hands that keep you safe, warm, fed.

The hands that pulled you from your pit of misery those years ago. Maybe if that hadn’t happened - maybe - maybe that tawny-haired girl running around the house wouldn’t be here. Maybe Arthur would still be robbing and stealing and ushering himself to an early grave. Maybe he would have bled out on that mountain in Roanoke instead of being dragged out by John.

It hurts, still. Every so often on quiet nights, you awaken sweating and fearful and an O’Driscroll’s laugh echoes in your mind. But then - you turn into Arthur on those nights and he holds you through ‘til the morning. He whispers sweet nothings until you drift off again. He reminds you of his love for you, through words and touches and enveloping you in the most intimate of embraces. The circle of gold around his left ring finger, though tarnished as he never takes it off even when he works, still glints in the morning light.

And those nights that he’s out on the cattle trail? You pull yourself from your bed and pad quietly over to the other bedroom in the cabin, gazing through the sliver of the door partway open to see your daughter, born of struggle and the razor’s edge of that pain. How perfect she is. What joy she brings.

There will always be a part of you that O’Driscoll scarred you that night.

But maybe, just maybe - it fades, little by little over time.

Arthur playfully squeezes your hand in return, “Them weeks too long f’r my girl? Miss me that much, huh?”

You bring his hand up from where he holds yours to spread flat across your belly, and you lean toward him with a smile on your face and lightness in your heart.

Arthur Morgan’s eyebrow arches with confusion.

The songbird’s luted melody softly echoes through the window of your bedroom, the mid-morning light spilling out over your sheets, over your bodies in your warm, well-loved marital bed.

“No, silly man. I’m pregnant.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #twolafic #passerine #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic

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welcomethefears · 3 months ago

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Got inspired recently to write a Legolas x Reader angst fic, but I'm not sure if there's a market for it. Will possibly continue if people are interested :)

(Part two)

“Lady Arwen, may I ask a question of you?” Asked Frodo, looking up to the tall she-elf who stood before him. He had followed her fluttering navy skirts into one of the lush, green courtyards within the citadel of Rivendell. Originally, he had been searching for someone else in particular but had trouble finding her. Naught for lack of effort, but it had only been a few days since the incident on Weathertop, and he was yet to become accustomed to the breezy walkways of the forest city. He figured that is if he could not find the she-elf he had the intention of finding, then the lady Arwen would surely have answers. Arwen turned to face Frodo with effortless grace, and Frodo found himself once again understanding the admiration Strider had for her.

“Ask away young hobbit,” Arwen encouraged with a soft smile on her face.

“Who was the lady that rode with us to Rivendell? In my delirium I did not see her face and I was to thank her for her efforts,” Frodo asked in return, thinking of the (H/C) hair which flowed on the accompanying dappled horse behind him. He had searched for another maiden but had yet to see her. Arwen’s smile softened even more if possible, and a care took over her eyes.

“That is Elron’s youngest daughter, my sister (Y/N),” Arwen replied sweetly, clearly remembering her sister fondly at the mention of her name. “She is one of our finest riders and is quite knowledgeable in many arts. She rode with us as a precaution, Strider feared your injury graver than what it thankfully was.”

“Where can I find her?” Frodo questioned further, eager to see the youngest child of Rivendell again. Her touch had been tender and kind, and Frodo was not the type of Hobbit to not properly thank those who had helped him. Arwen’s face however fell slightly in the slightest of ways, a quiet grief overtaking her eyes while her soft smile remained for Frodo.

“She will be in her chambers now. She does not oft leave them…” Arwen trailed off, her body turning towards one of the many quarters in Rivendell, evidently (Y/N)’s. Frodo raised an eyebrow at this, and he continued his line of inquiry.

“Why does she lock herself away? Especially with all the visitors here now,” Frodo commented, thinking to how the day before numerous messengers, nobles, and representatives from all corners of Middle Earth. He himself had been overwhelmed, and he recalled hiding behind a balcony with the other Hobbits. Merry and Pippin had joked about all the royalty that had arrived, while Sam and himself simply watched. They had never seen so many important people in one place, and Frodo’s stomach had grown heavy knowing it was about the burden he now carried. That was partly why he had tried to find (Y/N) in the first place, he wanted to occupy his mind with thoughts beside that of the Ring.

“The man she loves is here,” Arwen replied lightly. Frodo raised an eyebrow at this.

“So then why is she hiding away instead of seeking his company?” He inquired further.

“He does not love her in return,’ Arwen’s tone was light, but Frodo could tell by her gaze, which still lingered on her sister’s chambers, that there was a slight grief to her words. Frodo was startled by this, thinking of the (H/C) haired lady’s ethereal beauty that rivaled that of the elf in front of him. He thought of how she effortlessly kept up with her sister and was unflinching in her dedication to helping him. Both of Elrond’s daughters had been dauntless in the face of danger, and even if Arwen’s courage was more forthcoming, he had heard (Y/N) instructing her sister of the route, aiding in their swift return.

“What happened, if I may ask?” Frodo asked softly, looking up hopefully to Arwen as she turned once again towards him. Her hair fell softly from her shoulders as she turned forward, before she gracefully seated herself on one of the many marble benches that occupied the courtyard. She gently pet the empty spot next to her on the bench, inviting Frodo forward to sit with her. He did as she said, however with a bit more difficulty as he clambered up, hurling himself on top with his upper body strength.

“It is a tale well-known to all Elves, so I see no reason to keep it from you dear Frodo,” She replied, before sighing softly.

“(Y/N), as Elrond’s youngest daughter, has always felt a need to prove her value. Since she was a young elfling she engrossed herself in studies of nature, manners, politics, battle, all areas she was allowed to. She was always outgoing, in fact I have fond memories of beckoning her to climb down from the tall trees surrounding Rivendell. My entire family cared dearly for her, she is my only sister, and being the youngest girl she is treated as fragile. Despite her efforts to prove herself worthy of admiration from others, I know my sister is insecure of her worth beyond being a high-born elf. Father, however, was immensely proud of her, and upon seeing her interest and natural aptitude in politics asked her to accompany him on diplomatic journeys since she was a girl. That is when she first met the elf she loves.

On a journey to Mirkwood she met their Prince, Legolas, a skilled archer and sworn protector of Mirkwood’s forest. She had previously struggled to prove herself in front of other high elves but found herself floundering even more upon meeting the prince. In the words she shared with me when she returned from this trip, he was tall, handsome and unfathomably skilled in archer and leadership. At that time, he was the head of a division of Mirkwood’s forces, and I believe he himself was struggling to prove himself to his father. (Y/N), upon seeing herself in Legolas, made great efforts to impress him with her skills. Legolas did not take well to it at first, believing her to try and embarrass him in front of his father, the king of Mirkwood. He retaliated with similar efforts, ultimately causing great rivalry between the two.

It was this way for decades, and I saw firsthand their hatred towards each other when Legolas came to Rivendell with his father. I could tell however that beneath her hateful façade, (Y/N) cared deeply for Legolas. The few times they were not fighting they would sneak off together, and although (Y/N) told me they were simply competing to see who was more adept in various skills, my brothers and I could tell that she was falling quickly for the blonde-haired prince. Slowly, over a long time, Legolas softened toward my sister, and they often snuck away from the respective citadels to spend time together in the forest. I caught them both once, in a similar position to my sister when she was younger. They sat upon the top branches of one of the highest trees bordering Rivendell, laughing heartily to each other as they gazed across the landscape together.

At one point father suggested an alliance between Mirkwood and Rivendell through their marriage, but I was quick to inform him of my sister’s true, underlying feelings. Though she had confessed to me that she was falling for Legolas, she feared he did not feel the same. She recounted to me all their time together, the soft touches and tender words which had made her fall under his spell. They had a shared love of the forest which has ultimately led to the end of their rivalry, and the beginning of their shared companionship. She told me about how once Legolas had absent mindedly given her a purple wildflower which sprouted from their favourite shared tree, and that she had it pressed in her favourite book. Although she knew she was infatuated with him, she also thought that Legolas did not love her the same, let alone think of her that way. Upon telling her of father’s suggestion, she endeavoured to tell Legolas her feelings herself to confirm her thoughts.

Father held a feast in honour of Legolas and his father, and (Y/N) asked Legolas to sneak away with her. Soon after Legolas returned to the feast without her. I rose to find her, but Legolas halted me in my efforts before going to find her again himself. Days later, when Legolas and his father had left to return to Mirkwood, I found her sobbing in her chambers. She told me all that had happened. She had told Legolas of her love and admiration for him, and he had frozen for a moment, before responding that he did not love her in return. She had fled to her chambers, only for him to find her later and stay by her side late into the night as she cried. Apparently, he claimed to care deeply for her despite not loving her and could not bring himself to leave her in such a state. He watched her sob throughout the night, before she finally could not bare his presence anymore and bade him leave her chambers the following morning. For many moons she did not leave her chambers, and I feared she may die of a broken heart. When Elves love someone so strongly, it may chance destroy us. Although in recent years she has left her chambers, she still refuses to see Legolas and hides herself away whenever he visits. That is why even now, when Middle-Earth is in most peril, she cannot find it in herself to face him,” Arwen finished, before her eyes lit up softly as she gazed at her sister’s chambers. Frodo, after finally processing the heavy tale presented to him, followed her gaze to finally spot (Y/N). She had emerged from her chambers to stand on her balcony, her own eyes unusually heavy for an elf. She was smiling softly to Arwen, though it did not reach her eyes, or even her cheeks really. Her gown, a gorgeous flowing violet that most vibrant of flowers Frodo had ever seen, was slightly crumped, and Frodo assumed this was due to her hiding away in her chambers. (Y/N) waved enthusiastically to Arwen, clearly trying to summon as much energy as she had to greet her sister and the Hobbit beside her. Her (H/L) (H/C) hair flowed in the light breeze, creating a halo around her form.

As Frodo waved back kindly to her along with Arwen, he found himself wondering who Legolas truly was, and how he could reject this beautiful elf. From what Arwen inferred; Legolas had not exactly made an effort to repair (Y/N)’s trust after her confession. There was a distinctive rumble of two sets of boots along the marble floors which led to the courtyard, and Frodo turned to see who was disturbing the peace of the greenery he shared with Arwen. As he and Arwen turned to face who had approached them, the two smiled upon seeing Strider, or rather Aragorn. Arwen rose quickly to greet her lover, while Frodo looked beyond the embracing couple to view the other man behind them. A tall, lean and blonde elf stood behind them, watching them embrace with an almost unreadable expression. His posture was refined, and Frodo found his eyes trailing to the quiver strapped to the elf. He was an Archer. He watched as the elf’s eyes turned to where Frodo had been looking before, looking sad and longing. Frodo turned, desiring to see (Y/N)’s react to the elf, only to see a peak of her violet skirts retreating back into her chambers. Oh. This elf must be Legolas.

“Frodo, I want to introduce you to Legolas, my close friend and confidant,” Aragorn confirmed Frodo’s thoughts as he turned back to face the three taller figures. Aragorn now stood beside Legolas, clasping a hand amiably to his shoulder. Arwen stood beside the two and regarded Legolas quietly. This surprised Frodo, as he assumed that Arwen would harbour hatred for the prince. Instead, she looked at him as if he were a friend, and knowing of Aragorn and Arwen’s relationship, it almost made sense that she did not despise him. Yet, underlying all that outward friendliness, Frodo noted something deeper, almost a look of pity. He did not understand it, but perhaps there was more to Legolas and (Y/N)’s story than what had been shared already.

~*~

It was evening in Rivendell now, the full moon illuminating the halls which shone back quietly in return. Legolas found himself drawn towards her chambers after the meeting of the Ring. He would be leaving tomorrow with the Fellowship, and as always when he was in Rivendell nowadays, he felt he had unfinished business. He knew the pathway like the back of his hand, and his feet carried him with a heaviness he felt only in her presence. Usually Legolas was agile, lithe on his feet, but the closer he got to her, the more he felt like a bumbling idiot. Earlier that day he had seen her again, if only a glimpse of face when he had met the ring bearer in the courtyard. (Y/N) had scurried quickly back into her chambers upon seeing him, and Legolas felt mournful as he was unable to see her beautiful face clearly. He endeavoured to at least say goodbye to her, after everything that had happened between them, she was still one of the closest friends he had ever had. As his feet carried him further into the night, he fondly remembered the many times they had spent together. The one that sprung to mind in particular was when he snuck out of the official arrival ceremony once to try and surprise (Y/N) with his presence. Instead of finding her within the citadel of Rivendell, he had found her nestled under a one of the fuller trees in the forest. Shaded completely from the midday sunshine by the evergreen leaves, she sat with a book open and surprisingly, an eagle by her side. The eagle, mighty in wingspan and intimidating in aura, was instead snuggled in her side, hidden partially by her flowing (H/C) locks. Although she was convinced that she was intimidating force, he knew in that moment that her influence and power was one which stemmed from kindness.

Legolas smiled faintly to himself as his mind retraced the memory that it had held so dear, until the smile dropped completely to allow for a solemn frown to occupy his lips instead. He had arrived at her door.

“(Y/N), may I speak with you?” Legolas asked tentatively, his voice almost getting lost in his throat. How long had it been since he had tried to talk to her last? Years, decades, perhaps more? He cursed himself softly, both at his lack of confidence and inability to speak to her. He racked his mind, trying to find a reason for his cowardly actions toward her when suddenly her door opened. There she stood, as beautiful as she had ever been, and yet his eyes were immediately drawn to her tired face, her deep (e/c) eyes flat as her once full cheeks instead showed tracks of tears. This was why he never approached her. Even now, being in her presence he knew what he was doing to her. He was breaking her heart even more, and that broke him in return.

“I know you are leaving tomorrow. I know you are part of the fellowship. I know you came here to wish me goodbye as you may possibly die on the journey. I know you wish to settle this matter between us, but I will tell you again what I told you decades ago,” She spoke directly before breathing in deeply, and Legolas once again saw that sharp mind he admired so. It wasn’t just that she could his mind now, no she had been doing it to everyone for over a century now.

“(Y/N), wait-” Legolas attempted to interject while she was drawing in breath, but she spoke over him.

“I am unable to stop loving you Legolas, and it seems my burden to bear that I will love you until I die. So, if you came here to try and make amends, then I am sorry, but unless you have suddenly decided you love me back, then my feelings have not changed. I will think of you often on your quest and do my best to keep you safe where I can,” She whispered the last part softly as tears started to stream down her face again, and she paused to give Legolas the right of reply. Once again though he hesitated, despite his heart straining and hurting at her words, her confession and the tears that would not give her respite. He cared for her so deeply, deeper than he had Tauriel or anyone else platonically or elsewise, including Aragorn. Yet he could not say it, not out loud or to himself. (Y/N) could see this, her broken (e/c) gaze dropping to the ground as she moved effortlessly to close the door.

“Goodluck Legolas, I wish you goodnight,” She whispered as he stood there, paralysed once again by her confession. Every time she said those words, told him that her love was undying, Legolas felt trapped in his own body. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t comprehend his own mind in those moments. His body always became overwhelmed, his heartbeat rapidly and he felt as if he may ill. He thought it was because he did not feel the same, that his body was physically reacting negatively to her words. But as he stood outside her door once again, unable to even speak to her because his appearance caused such severe heartbreak, he found himself second guessing everything. On the eve of leaving her again, possibly for the last time ever, he suddenly was unsure what his feelings were. Legolas opted to return to his chambers and chase whatever sleep he could before tomorrow, because he knew in his bones that there was nothing he could do tonight. Besides, he could decode his feelings over the many gruelling months ahead of him.

~*~

As Legolas walked with the fellowship out of Rivendell, he couldn’t help but look back longingly towards the forested citadel. Arwen had wished them goodbye, but her sister, as usual for Legolas, was nowhere to be seen. His heart yearned to see her again, and Frodo picked up on the Elf’s gaze quickly. As they walked further away, Rivendell barely a vision, Frodo finally spoke up, directing his words quietly to Legolas.

“Do you love her?” Frodo asked, a concerned look for his companion on his face. Legolas brushed his blonde hair out his face, frowning. He had heard this question many times, but finally this time, he had a different answer.

“I don’t know.”

#LOTR #lord of the rings #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf #x reader #legolas x you #legolas x y/n #aragorn #fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #lotr #arwen #Frodo

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cursedfallingmoon · 4 months ago

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A Dream is A Wish Your Heart Makes || Yan GB Cinderella x GN Reader

Characters: Elias

Summary: Even if you're a royal, you're his only human friend

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, abusive family

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Yan GB Cinderella who is stuck living with his abusive stepfather and stepbrothers. His father had died when he was a child and his mother had remarried this vile man and even more vile brothers. She had died only two years after in a tragic carriage accident. They had him work as a made, gave him the old attic room in the west tower of the mansion, and never allowed him to eat with them at the table. All he had was the grief of his dead mother and father, the memories of a good family, and his mouse friends.

Yan GB Cinderella who cleans all the messes, makes the meals, does the laundry, takes care of all the farm animals, and everything else in between. He never gets a break and rises with the clock tower in the distance that was a part of the grand palace. And when he does find some little time to himself, he's busy making small clothes for his mice friends. The only thing to carry him are his mice friends, his dog, and the dreams and wishes he holds close to his heart.

Yan GB Cinderella who goes out one day for the shopping and bumps into a cloaked stranger. This stranger apologizes and so much more. They had picked up the items he had dropped when he was startled. Elias was being shown more kindness in this one moment than he was used too in the span of five minutes. This cloaked stranger then rides off into the forest with a very expensive, purebred looking horse.

Yan GB Cinderella who felt inclined to follow this stranger. He wanted to give his thanks for this stranger's kindness. He found the horse, and it's rider sitting not too far away. It's the royal child of the kingdom. Even with the stranger's identity being found, he goes up to you. He bows his head and thanks you with a gentle tone of voice. Thus starting your lovely friendship with him.

Yan GB Cinderella who is captivated by how sweet you are. Compared to the rumors his family had shared during morning gossip were untrue. Well most were. There was only one clear thing about you. You were gorgeous. The only thing on his mind as you two chatted was how you handled thing with a gentle care. He simply watched with a gentle gaze and eyes filled with wonder.

Yan GB Cinderella who was shocked when you say you want to meet him again. You? The heir of the royal throne? He's so utterly thrilled that someone actually wants him around. From then on, he meets you in the same spot almost every day. Some days his evil Stepfather keeps him busy. He hates to leave you waiting like that. He makes it up to you by bringing you some homemade pastries.

Yan GB Cinderella who got to know you more, and he realizes you share similar burdens. He also becomes more touchy with you. He loves hugging you. He comes to learn, however, that your father is holding a ball for you to find a spouse. His heart drops when it's announced in the village during his shopping. Everyone else in the kingdom is invited to attend, most likely due to your everlasting kindness.

Yan GB Cinderella who is delighted that he'll get to see you in a social setting as big as a ball! When he shares with his stepfamily he's all giddy. It was very noticeable to his stepfather. He's all giddy and brighter than they've seen. His hopes become toned down when his stepfather told him he would need to finish all his normal chores first and getting new suits for his family and he'll “consider” it. Elias does what he's told, disappointed as time goes on. At this rate he won't find any time to mend his father's old suit. Well his mice friends take it upon themselves so they mend it for him. Elias words hard to get everything done and helps his stepbrothers get ready. The way they talked about you makes him so frustrated.

Yan GB Cinderella who finally accepts that he won't have any time to make his outfit for the ball. His voice is full of dejection when he shares with his stepfather that he won't be going. His stepbrothers snicker in the next door room. As he stared out the window of his attic room, his eyes on the castle. He knew you were there, probably having so much fun without him. The candles in his room suddenly were lit and he turned. His eyes widened as his old suit was perfectly mended. He wasted no time putting it on and rushed downstairs to show his family. He was so giddy as he showed off. His face fell when he saw his stepfather's face.

Yan GB Cinderella whose stepbrothers are enraged when they take notice of what was used on his suit. Elias had things that were theirs. Sure the two had thrown them out, but that didn't give Elias the right to take them. Once Lord Tremaine had calmed the two brothers down, Elias' suit was torn and ruined. The poor boy ran out into the garden in tears with his mice friends following secretly behind.

Yan GB Cinderella who spoke to the air while he cried. He apologized to his father. To his mother. He was trying so hard to remain kind and hopeful. He was so caught up in his tears, he didn't register the gentle hand on his head. He looked up with wide eyes. It was something out of a dream. Out of his dreams. The person claimed to be his fairy godfather. He didn't know why, but he felt so calmed by this stranger. He was quick to share his sadness. His problems.

Yan GB Cinderella whose fairy godfather consoles him with a gentle smile. Elias watches in awe as this magical being does his work His mice friends are turned into horses. His horse is turned into a coachman. His dog is turned into a footman. The most jaw dropping point is when a pumpkin is turned into a carriage. He's so excited he doesn't realize eh's still in the torn rags. His fairy godfather, however, notices and changes the rags into a beautiful blue suit with glass shoes. He finally felt beautiful. He leaves as his fairy godfather told him that the spell breaks at midnight.

Yan GB Cinderella who was the last to enter the ballroom. His name and title aren't even introduced. You waste no time to meet him on the ballroom floor. Your father watches with wide eyes as you walk past the princess you were being introduced too by the Grand Duke. Elias was so jumpy when you greet him. You look so regal. He's never seen you like this before. In this environment.

Yan GB Cinderella who takes your hand and starts the first dance of the evening. He tries not to be anxious. Or let his anxiety show. The stares of everyone around him gave his stomach butterflies. They were watching him be with you. Him being chosen by you. He keeps his eyes on yours. Your steps are so graceful. He doesn't notice his stepbrothers were watching in envy. He doesn't notice much. He's so lost in your eyes.

Yan GB Cinderella who dances gracefully for his first waltz. It helped that you're so paitent with him. Your hand was carefully placed carefully on his waist. You're so delicate with him. He loves it. He loves dancing with you. He loves you. You two end up dancing into the gardens, escapping the prying eyes of the guests. He's just with you. Exactly what he's been wanting for forever.

Yan GB Cinderella who breaks out of his daydream trance when you two are in the royal garden. He's delighted that you're showing him around. Sharing your favorite flowers. Just hearing you talk made his heart so happy. He'd rather have you talk than dance around in front of a bunch of strangers. He felt comfortable with you. You lead him through the garden like you had done with the dance. He's so engrosed in spending time with you, he nearly forgets the spell. Nearly forgets that it's almost midnight.

Yan GB Cinderella who hears the all to familiar bell toll. The bell that always woke him from his dreams. Like right now. He remembers the spell and rushes out of the castle. He runs as fast as his feet could carry him. You rush after him, wanting him to enoy the bal more with you. The Grand Duke sees the boy runn off. He joins in the chase. Elias was quick down the stairs. He didn't notice that the glass shoe fell off his foot.

Yan GB Cinderella who forgot to tell you it was him. The boy from the forest. The boy that you had befriended over the last few months. As he walks the rest of the way home, the king's knights run after where they had thought he went. He had the other glass slipper so he held hope in his heart. The hope that you'd find him. That you'd ask him to dance with you once more. The hope that you would take him away from the abusive household he's been trapped in. Hope that you'd connect the dots and figure out that it was really him. He helps his animal friends get home safe and sound before his stepfamily gets home.

Yan GB Cinderella who daydreams about the dance with you. His stepbrothers noticed his hazy look in Elias's eyes. They didn't give it much thought, however, when Lord Tremaine came with news that the king is looking for the boy that had danced with his child. The stepbrothers were so excited. They wasted no time in getting ready. Neither did Elias.

Yan GB Cinderella who tries his best to be discrete. His mannerisms changed. That much was noticeable to his stepfather. Elias was caught when he was humming the tune you and him had danced too. Hr was dancing around the attic space as if he was right back in that moment with you. His mice and bird friends watched with joy. That joy was snatched away when Lord Tremaine locked him in the room.

Yan GB Cinderella who begs to be let out of the attic room. He sobs to his animal friends as they watch his woes. They make quick work of trying to free him. Two mice run down the stairs and through the door cracks to get the key from the evil man. As the animals break apart to set their plans in motion, he is drowned in tears. He just wants to be with you. He just wants to be happy.

Yan GB Cinderella who, even tired with tear stains on his cheeks, still holds onto the hope that he'll be set free. As he gently cradles the other glass slipper, the mice, and birds bring him the key. He shoots up and fumbles with the key. Eventually he unlocks the door, bolting out of the room and down the seven flight of stairs. Placed delicately in his pocket is the other glass slipper.

Yan GB Cinderella who sees you trying to take the slipper away from one of his stepbrothers. He tackles you into a tight hug, sobbing against your shoulder. His stepfamily and the Grand Duke were both shocked by his sudden appearance. You calm him down like you always do. It was something you were amazing at doing. You helped him into a seat, get down on one knee and slide the glass shoe onto him. It fits and the moment it's on he falls onto you, giving you a kiss.

Yan GB Cinderella who is so happy that he's finally out of the abusive home he grew so used too. He can finally be happy. Happy with you. The royal wedding was large, all his animal friends were invited, and, best of all, you were right there with him. You let his animals move into the palace stables and gardens. He finally has his happy ending and the love of his life by his side. Nothing will ever take this away from him.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Property of @cursedfallingmoon! Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

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stagefoureddiediaz · 4 months ago

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911 and the Wizard of Oz!

So I’ve written a couple of times about the wizard of Oz connections that 911 has had in the past. Well after 8x03 and the trailer for 8x04 - everything has become much clearer to me and boy oh boy is Tim pulling a blinder with this one!

I need to start by saying he is playing on lore from both the original books as well as the film, so much of this wouldn’t be evident if you had little to no knowledge of the book series. I however do - because I loved the books as a child and I have also long been interested in the link between the books, the original film and the queer narrative that runs through them. Especially because of my yellow and blue and then blue and green colour theory and its use in telling queer narratives in cinema and television in the aftermath of the 1939 film.

For those who don’t know the background of it, you can read my post here about the wizard of oz and its queer narrative and the yellow/blue colour theme, but for a brief run down the wizard of oz and its themes have been a key part of the queer narrative since they first appeared in print and then on film. Yellow blue colour theory stems from Dorothys dress and the yellow brick road and became a film short hand for queer narratives in film, during the hays code era (1934-1968), and has continued on to this day. the most recent and most obvious use of the blue/yellow blue/green coding has been in heartsotopper - where it is very heavily and very cleverly used to help tell the queer narrative, but it is its use in films during the hays code where it was doing a lot of work to ‘secretly’ provide queer narrative in film. (this is a specialist subject of mine and I could write about it all day - I really would love to do a phd in it, but I do not have the money or time to do that so I write about it at any opportunity on tumblr!)

Many of the nods to the story are subtle, but they are there and I am going to go through a good number of them with you - especially the ones we’ve had in season 8 so far, the main thing to note right off the bat though is that they all connect in to Eddie and that is very telling to me - especially when we take 5x01 - 5x04 into account. the rest is below the cut becasue it's long!

The very first reference to the Wizard of Oz we get is in 202 - 7.1. We have the entitled woman (that is the name they gave the character in the credits!) with her dog - Paisley.The entitled woman is wearing red shoes and we get shown her with just her feet sticking out from under the rubble in a clear nod to the wicked witch of the east being buried under Dorothys house in Oz.

Kat the little girl who gets separated from her family and ultimately reunited with them is a nod to the overall story of Dorothy in the wizard of Oz - and Paisley is a nod to Toto - Dorothy’s dog. I will also mention the fact that we get a heart metaphor during this disaster - Jeff - the heart of a champion.

We get a further nod in season 2 in 207 - Haunted - where we have the girl at the halloween parade dressed as the film version of Dorothy. I don’t think there is a huge amount to read into from a Wizard of Oz perspective, beyond the fact that it is referenced - we don’t actually need to see anything further in regards to the Wizard of Oz - its all about making the connection.

This episode is a big episode of Eddie and his storyline and this is a way for 911 to link Eddie into the Wizard of Oz theme without being massively obvious about it and his absence from this scene is a key part of that.

There are other key elements in this scene that we’ve been seeing come into play over the seasons for Eddie and that is what makes the wizard of Oz reference especially interesting. First up it's important to note that this is the episode we see the return of Shannon in. We have the horse and his rider - being separated by the death of the horse and the officer describing the horse as his friend. There are two things this is playing on here - the first is the foreshadowing of Shannons death, the second is that the show has then reused this metaphor of partners being separated by death, this time making use of the police aspect as a part of Eddies breakdown in season 5 - Mills’s - Eddies partner while he was in the army and her death. These two elements are why Eddie absence is key - Eddie becomes the officer and Shannon or Mills becomes the Horse and having Eddie present in the scene waters down the metaphor.

The fact we get a lot of wizard of Oz references in season 5, makes this a really interesting and clever connection to draw. The other aspects of this scene in 207 is the pretty important reference about the horse needing a sedative to stop him thrashing around until his heart gave out. Bearing in mind this is the first really intentional heart metaphor we see on the show and it’s a pretty key episode for Eddie in relation to his heart, his absence from this scene becomes louder, especially as he is off with his heart (Christopher) enjoying halloween. It makes it clear that the Eddie and hearts metaphor has been there since very early on - and has been (at least loosely)connected to The Wizard of Oz.

Remembering what I said above and in my other post about the wizard of Oz being very heavily connected to queer theming and storytelling in media it makes it likely that this is the show putting in early building blocks for a queer Eddie arc gif they wanted to then go down that route later on. (this makes the season 5 theming I’ll talk about shortly even more interesting to me!)

The last thing to mention is the is the emphasis on the devil, a priest and a drag queen at the parade- all things we see appearing in Eddies arc through season n7 and into 8. The drag queens from the bachelor party - in which we really see Eddie letting go and have fun for the first time. The priest and the devil are a metaphor for Eddies struggles with his faith - the idea of temptation (in the catholic church - especially the devout catholic church, being queer in any way is seen as being tempted by the devil), and with us having knowledge of Eddie going to church and likely talking to a priest in some capacity in the next few episodes, we have yet another tie back to this storyline from 207.

Now I obviously have no proof with what the intentions were for ~Eddie in season 5, but I’ve long had my theories and now, knowing that they had originally intended to have Bucks bisexual arc take place in s5 but it got shut down by the higher ups, I can make some pretty educated guesses based off what we did get early on in the season.

Season 5 opened with the blackout and then we led straight in to 5x04 ‘Home and Away’ with all its yellow and blue colour theming. Can you see where I’m going with this? How does the opening of the film version of the Wizard of Oz start? Yup that’s right - in black and white and then when Dorothy finds herself over the rainbow everything is in colour and the use of yellow and blue is very strong with Dorothy’s blue gingham dress and the yellow brick road with the green colouring coming later on when they reach the emerald city.

So I think 911 was intending to play on that concept in season 5 - the idea that the black out is a nod to Kansas being in black and white (not to mention the use of green for the hackers!) and then 5x04 is a play on Dorothy following the yellow brick road - hence the heavy use of yellow and blue and the way it winds through the narrative of the episode (along with the use of the bluejay as the schools animal emblem - which is a symbol of communication, curiosity and confidence - seeing a bluejay is telling you to be bold and chase your goals!). What is the other thing we get a huge number of references to in season 5 - especially connected to Eddie - hearts and heart metaphors.

We do also get a nod to the wizard of Oz in season 6 and the zeppelin disaster - which is a nod to the hot air balloon the wizard crashed into Oz in. The zeppelin is yellow and blue and the conversation on board refers to one of the pilots mother in law - whilst she isn’t stated to be a witch, the implication is there. the 110 is also closed in roughly the same place as we get it closed in 8x03. along with the fact that Eddie is the one to go into the zeppelin - Chim and Buck only partially go in - and the parallel storyline in the episode is about a heart issue, we once again have The Wizard of Oz being tied into heart metaphors.

Let’s move on to season 8 now and look at the vast number of Wizard of Oz references we have seen so far and appear to have coming up in 8x04. I will say the sheer number of references in season 8 compared with the more subtle ones from seasons 5 and 6 is one of the reasons I’m so very sure we have a queer Eddie arc going on - that they’ve finally been able to pull that trigger and move things forward for him.

Just remember that things don’t have to exactly follow the story of the wizard of Oz to be relevant - its not about the narrative following the same path, but more about the use of recognised aspects and tropes from the book and film to convey information and aid the storytelling. It is often more about the concept and meaning behind something and a 911 character may share the traits of more than one wizard of oz character because it is their traits that are relevant not necessarily TWoO characters full journey through the book or film.

The bee-nado is a literal reference to the tornado that sent Dorothy to oz - its one of the reasons we don’t see more of the bees - they serve their purpose in the same way the tornado does so we don’t need to see them again.

Gerrard building ‘his 118’ with a security fence around the firehouse and cast iron plumbing is a reference to the wizard building the Emerald city - which has a wall around it for security. In Oz it is the place full o the most up to date technology etc. So Gerrard is building his Emerald City.

The mother in the car falling asleep due to anaphylaxis is likely a reference to the poppy field in the film version of TWoO, along with the flowers at the perfume launch and Bucks statement that ‘smoke worked last time’ - because the smoke did make the bees sleepy like the poppies made Dorothy and her friends sleepy.

Bucks plan to have Eddie run and attract the the swarm of bees is a reference to an event that happens in the book. The wicked witch sends a swarm of bees to sting them to death. The tin man and scarecrow had seen them coming and scarecrow comes up with a plan - he has Dorothy, toto and the lion covered in his straw to hide them from the bees who only find the tin man - they try to sting him but it breaks their stings and kills them instead without hurting the tin man as he is impervious to bees by nature of being made of tin. What we see happen in 801 is very clearly placing Buck into the role of Scarecrow and Eddie into the role of tin man - Buck comes up with the plan and Eddie undertakes it successfully - his turnouts protecting him from the bees just like the tin man being made of tin protected him.

Gerrard hitting his head is a reference to Dorothy hitting her head in the tornado and waking up in Oz - its a reference to Dororthy’s line ‘Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore’ - its a play on the fact that the 118 is a very different place to when Gerrard was removed first time. Gerrard represents the black and white world - outdated and not up with the times (which he wasn’t back in the day either but that’s kind of the point), the world (the 118) is now in glorious technicolour since his departure and Gerrard will end up back in a black and white world in the end while the rest of the 118 will remain in colour and move forward. This places Gerrard in the role of the Wizard, but it is more akin to the book wizard than the film wizard - originally in the books (it was later glossed over as it didn’t go down well with readers) the Wizard arrives in a hot air balloon and becomes ruler of Oz by usurping he King and handing over the princess to a witch (more on this later!). As is shown in the film, he leaves Oz to return home in a hot air balloon. If Gerrard is the wizard, this makes Bobby the king (usurped from his throne at the 118) and Hen becomes Ozma (this is something I will talk about a bit later as it deserves its own section!) which fits with how we are being shown Hen being given the 118 captains role on a more frequent basis - suggesting the show is transitioning her into becoming the captain down the line.

Tia, her dog and Jordan are an interesting trio - they are a very clear parallel serve as a multi layered allegory as they play on several aspects of the film and books, as well as linking to aspects of 911 and especially on Buck and Eddies storyline.

Firstly we have the dog - who is the same type of dog as Paisley from season 2 - right down to the red bow in the hair (which is encouraging us to draw parallels with the earthquake disaster). Both dogs are a nod to Toto - Dorothy’s dog in the Wizard of Oz. The dog is also a representation of Buck, but I’ll go into that when I talk about Buck below!

Tia represents both Dorothy and the tin man, we see her initially as, not heartless, but guarded, but she softens especially when we see her following the instructions Hen gives, and bonding with various people on the plane including Jordan, in much the same way we see the tin man do for Dorothy and scarecrow. She is also a representation of Eddie (again I’ll go into this more later on)

Jordan is a reference to both the flying monkeys (through his telephone conversation he is implied to be a business monkey which is in turn a play on monkey business - behaviour that causes discomfort our annoyance) and the cowardly lion. He is also a reference to Chopfyt who only appears in the books and is a man made from the parts of others and is a reference to Tommy, which I will explain later as well!

its worth pointing out that Jordans viagra fuelled boner is hidden under a rainbow towel and when they get off the plane Tia, Jordan and the dog are sat on a yellow tarpaulin - the implication being that they are still in Oz and over the rainbow, but that isn't real life - its fake - a dream - and reaity will set back in once they are able to go home.

Buck has 2 red flares to bring the plane home - symbolic of the red slippers - click three times and say there’s no place like home.

There is a lot of yellow and blue lighting used in combination - especially around Buck and Eddie.

The green lighting on the plane after it has landed - a reference to leaving the Emerald city and Oz and going home.

Im sure there are others that I may have missed, but these are the key ones, and most of them will likely remain in play in some capacity in the upcoming episodes.

As for the potential upcoming oz references, we have the following

the tiger in 804 is likely a reference to lions and tigers and bears. Oh my! from the film, but may also be a reference to the hungry tiger from the books - who is a tiger who is never full and desires to eat a fat baby but never would as his conscience would never allow him to. He is described in the books as the largest and most powerful of his kind and is one of Ozmas chariot drivers and is friends with the cowardly lion. The Tiger reference coming in no place like home and the books connection of the tiger with Princess Ozma and the cowardly lion makes me feel like Karen may be represented by and paralleled with the tiger, and the idea that Karens conscience won’t allow her to metaphorically eat Ortiz (the fat baby) but that is purely speculation on my part!

the pumpkin stuck on a head storyline that’s been hinted at coming up in 805 - in the books there is a character called Jack pumpkin head who is made by the Princess Ozma when she is Tip and then brought to life by magic (Ozma is the rightful ruler of Oz and was given to the Witch Mombi of the North by the wizard in order to prevent he rightful ruler of Oz ascending the throne. Ozma is transformed into a boy called Tip by Mombi, but is later turned back when Glinda discovers what has happened). Im expecting this arc on the show to play into Jack’s storyline in the books. Jack refers to having lost a father when Tip is returned to being Ozma. I think we’ll see it played as a reference to Mara, Chim and Hen, because Hen is Very Ozma coded which I’ll explain a bit more later on!

Masks. with 805 being titled masks it feels very loaded towards the Wizard of oz and the fact he wears different masks (in the book) depending on who he is meeting with. He appears to Dorothy as a giant head (as we see used in the film), to the Scarecrow as a lovely lady, to the Tin Woodman as a terrible beast, and to the cowardly Lion as a ball of fire. He does this with the intention of scaring them all, but in all cases has chosen the wrong image to make the desired impression. there is of course the fact that the mask slips (the curtain gets pulled away by Toto) and the truth of the Wizard is revealed - that he is a fraud - merely a man who has been using magic tricks to make himself seem great and powerful.

these are just the ones we know about, there may very likely be more revered once we’ve seen the episodes, for example we might get a play on Eddie in church and going to confession - the idea of hiding ones identity behind a screen.

I want to talk a bit about the specifics of the firefam, and how they fit into the concept in a more detailed way. Obviously all members of the firefam fit into multiple aspects of each of the 4 main characters in Oz, but they each have one that has a stronger pull than the others. Each one of the characters in the books and film have specific traits that form their personality and a key part of their narrative - Dorothy wants to get home, The lion wants courage, the scarecrow a brain and the tin man a heart. These are all allegories for the bigger picture.

Dorothy wants to go home, yes, but that is part of her bigger desire to belong - the books reveal much more about her past and upbringing in Kansas. She is also the first person in the wider story - it is her journey that sets in motion all of the other ones.

The cowardly lion is in fact not cowardly, but incredibly brave, and a loyal friend, he is just full of self doubt because he believes his fear makes him inadequate as lions are supposed to be the king of beasts. we see him overcome that self doubt and go onto succeed - becoming a well respected and important member of Ozma'z court.

The scarecrow wants a brain but is in fact shown to be the smartest of the group - coming up with clever plans and sharing a great depth of knowledge the also becomes the ruler of the Emerald city - appointed by the wizard when he leaves, and it is stated by the tin man in one of the later books the he is ‘probably the wisest man in all Oz’

The Tin man wants a heart, but in fact is one of the most tender, emotional, considerate and caring people in Oz as well as being extremely competent and practical. He is also shown to seize up and rust due to either the rain or his tears. In the books he is given more backstory - his axe was enchanted by the wicked witch of the east and it causes him to chop off his body parts limb by limb. The witch does this because he is win love with her ward Nimmie Amee. when he chops out his heart he feels his could no longer love her and so left. he does later try to find his long lost love but is left disappointed when he finds her married to a man made up of his body parts and those of another tin man called Captain Fyter who had also been enchanted by the witch for the same reason. she refuses to leave her man of parts and tin man and scarecrow return to the emerald city together.

The Tin man and the scarecrow sit very much in parallel with one another in both the books and the 1939 film, they are very much a pair and shown to be each others foil and in the books especially spend a long time debating with one another about the relative importance of the brain and heart, but in combination with one another form a perfect whole.

With the main characters of Oz covered we can explore the way 911 is using their traits to tell the stories of our firefam, but before we do that I want to look at a few other key 911 characters and how they relate to the wizard of oz!

Bobby in my opinion is Glinda the good witch - he shares a lot of traits with her. It is Ginda who helps restore Oz (the 118) to its fully unified state - something that had ceased to be under the Wizard and the wicked witches rule in separate counties. She also tends not to meddle or interfere in Ozian matters unless requested to do so. This fits with bobby’s traits very well - he doesn’t tend to get involved in things unless pushed to do so or asked directly. Much earlier in Oz’s history Glinda also helps redeem the tyrannical king of Oz through the creation of the forbidden fountain and the waters of oblivion - the king drank the water and then forgets his cruel and nefarious intentions. bobby replacing Gerrard at the 118 fits fairly well into this theme.

Ortiz is an interesting one - she fits into bot the role of The wizard, as well as the wicked witch of the west. I think that Ortiz is the wizard in part because the name Ortiz can loosely be read a s a play on ‘wiz’ as in wizard, but also because she is the most powerful person in the show right now - and it is all built on lies and corruption - much like the wizard is in Oz! However as the film unfolds we are shown that the witch is in fact more powerful than the wizard, but is also eventually easily brought down. This is why I think she is also a reference to the wicked witch, but also because the witch controls the flying Monkeys - who serve as her lackeys and undertake her bidding.

Gerrard is both the Wizard of Oz and a flying monkey. I wrote above about the wizard hiding behind screens and masks and and Gerrard and I wrote about Gerrard building fences around the 118 being reference to the wizard building the emerald city. The flying monkey connection is obvious - he is working under Ortiz.

Tommy fits into a couple of different characters. He is in my opinion most closely connected to Chopfyt and Nimmie Amee, but he also fits into the meaning of the flying monkeys. Chopfyt is made up of the parts of the Tin woodman and Captain Fyter (the tin soldier) who are rivals for the attention of Nimmie Amee who is married to Chopfyt but was at one time courted by the tin man and the tin soldier. Captain Fyter and the Tin Woodman become friends during their journey to find Nimmie Amee. The flying monkey connection is perhaps a more obvious of the three, the monkeys are subservient to the wicked witch of the west and in the begins episodes we are shown Tommy being very much under Gerrard wing through his behaviour. It is also worth nothing that the flying Monkeys in the book drop the tin man over shape rocks leaving him so dented he could not move and they pull the scarecrow apart, scattering his straw and throwing his clothes up a tree - Dorothy is able to repair them both with the aid of the Winkies (the people under the control of the wicked witch of the west) and Dorothy then commands the flying monkeys to take them to the Emerald city.

The meaning of these character connections is clear to me - Tommy as Nimmie Amee courts first the tin man (Eddie) and then the Tin Soldier (Buck) but chooses Chopfyt in the long run. Tommy is made up of parts of both Buck and Eddie in the same way that Chopfyt is made up of parts of Tin man and Captain Fyter. The fact neither Tin man or the Tin soldier succeed with Nimmie Amee and that she choses Chopfyt is telling and possibly gives us clues about the eventual demise of Buck and Tommys relationship and suggests that as tommy fits both characters parts (both characters who are fairly small roles in the books and are plot devices - much in the same way as Tommy is in 911), he will ultimately choose himself (as we’ve already seen him do in 705).

Onto the 4 remaining members of the firefam, and I believe Chimney is for the moist part, meant to be Dorothy - he is the first member of the firefam in the same way Dorothy is, he fits a lot more of the Dorothy tropes from the book than the film shows, he is described as the heart of the 118 - which is basically what Dorothy represents in the books and film - she is the one who keeps everyone together, or brings them back together when they have been separated. And if we follow the theming of Gerrard being the wicked witch of the west, it becomes more apparent - in the books Dorothy is enslaved by the wicked witch and forced to carry out menial cleaning tasks - in much the same way we see Chim being treated by Gerrard in Chim begins. It is Chim who we are shown supporting Hen, Buck, and Eddie as they begin their careers at the 118.

The other thing of note - which currently doesn’t fully work, but will if, as I suspect, the wizard of oz references around Eddie are a part of his Queer journey - is that Chimney is the only one of the four members of the team (we are not including Bobby as he is the captain) who has no queer coding in any way and is in a heterosexual marriage. The reason this is important and plays into the idea of Chim being Dorothy is that the term ‘Friend of Dorothy’ is coded speak for being queer - I explain it further in my meta which I linked at the top of this post - the play is that Dorothy herself is not queer, but that her companions on her journey down the yellow brick road are. Which fits Chimney perfectly - with Hen and Buck being Lesbian and bi respectively and with the Wizard of Oz connections to Eddies storylines across the previous seasons and again in the current season being very loud, it feels fair to assume that Eddie will also sit somewhere on the queer spectrum before too long (and really is the reason behind me writing this insanely long post!)

Hen is the cowardly lion. We are shown Hen doubting her abilities at several points throughout the show, but she is arguably the bravest of the 118. The cowardly lion’s favoured companion is the hungry tiger (as I wrote about above - we may well see Karen paralleled with the tiger in 804)

But Hen is also Princess Ozma and this is a far more powerful connection. Ozma is the rightful heir to the throne of Oz and spent much of her childhood in the form of a boy called Tip as she had been enchanted by the witch Mombi until Glinda the good witch discovers the enchantment and forces Mombi to return her to her true form and take her rightful place as ruler of Oz. With Bobby filling the role of Glinda, helping Hen achieve her full potential and the allegory of Hen having to hide herself for much of her life until she becomes a firefighter - the wig we see Hen wearing in Hen begins plays into this idea perfectly - that Hen was disguised but has been freed from that disguise and become her true self.

Buck is the scarecrow. But he is also Toto and Captain Fyter. I explained the Captain Fyter connection above in the section on Tommy so I won’t repeat myself here. Buck is toto for a couple of reasons. Firstly we have the connection to the dog in the plane in season 8 who growls at Jordan and Tia tells him that the dog doesn’t like men, he then becomes friendly when Jordan is ill, but we see him returned to Tia when they leave the plane. this is all a allegory for Buck’s bi arc. Tia is Eddie in the scenario and Tommy is Jordan . The dog growling and being protective is akin to Buck growling and becoming jealous over Eddie and Tommys friendship, trying to keep Tommy away from Eddie, but then becoming friendly with Tommy in the same way the dog becomes friendly with Jordan in a therapy dog kind of way before returning to Tia at the end, implying that Buck will always go back to Eddie when it comes down to it. the therapy dog aspect is also interesting as it implies BUck is providing some kind of therapy for Tommy - this could be read as Buck helping Tommy learn and grown (likely in connection with his still undressed past behaviour) - makes him a better person, before they part ways and Buck ‘returns’ to Eddie.

Then there is the wizard of oz references - it is Toto who sets much of the plot of the wizard of Oz in motion - by biting Almira Gulch in Kansas in the film version and by hiding under the bed in fright in the book version. It is Toto who reveals the truth of the Wizard of Oz being just a man, and it is Toto who leads The lion, scarecrow, and tin man to where Dorothy is after she has been captured by the wicked witch (in the film - he is less involved in the book!) and it is toto who stops Dorothy from leaving with the Wizard and ultimately leads to Dorothy learning the slippers she wears can carry her home if she clicks her heels together 3 times and wishes to go home. All of these events either play into Bucks arcs in 911 or will potentially going forward. Bucks impulsive ways could be said to mirror Toto’s impulsive actions in TWoO and it will be interesting to see if being taken under Gerrard wing leads to him gaining information that helps Hen take down Ortiz!

The biggest connection though is with the scarecrow. The scarecrow has long been associated with bisexuality - due to his line in the film ‘of course some people go both ways’. in the book the scarecrow also reveals that he lacks a brain but greatly desires one - he is in fact only 2 days old when Dorothy meets him so he is essentially just naive because as the book progresses it becomes increasingly clear he actually is very intelligent and knows many things. One of the other aspects of the scarecrow is his ability to know his own limitations and in the books he becomes ruler of Emerald city, but hands the crown over to Princess Ozma enabling her to take up her rightful position as ruler of all Oz, becoming one of her most trusted advisors. Most of these are traits that Buck shares with the scarecrow - we see season 1 buck reflected in the naijvtie of a 2 day old scarecrow, but once he hits his stride, we see that Buck is actually very intelligent, full of knowledge (random facts wiki Buck!) and comes up with great ideas - things that are being very clearly demonstrated in season 8 so far. He is also becoming much much better at knowing his limitations and that is something I think we will continue to see develop in the way it does in the scarecrow across the books.

And finally we have Eddie. Eddie is the Tin man through and through. The heart metaphors that surround Eddie - especially in season 5 are a very obvious and direct link to the tin man. and Like I said above the Tin man is the most compassionate, sensitive and tender and caring people in Oz. He is incredibly practical and competent as well and undertakes the scarecrows plans readily. He and the scarecrow pair up a lot across the book series and go on adventures together, their heart and brains combining to lead them to success in nearly all cases. The tin man also becomes a trusted advisor to Ozma and is considered to be a fair and wise person in Oz. These are all things we see portrayed in Eddie. He has this tough exterior, but inside he is very soft and tender and he only reveals that side of himself to those he can trust. Eddies heart is a key part of Buck and Eddies dynamic especially in combination with Bucks brains - we are so often shown Buck having an idea and Eddie carrying it out because he trusts Buck - the perfume bee run is just the latest in a long line of them and it is a key aspect of the Tin man and Scarecrow in the Oz books. I’ve spoken above about the other aspects of the tin man and his connection with various characters, but it really is the tin man and scarecrow dynamic that is at the heart of things in the wonderful wizard of Oz book especially (pun intended!!).

All of it plays into the Oz theming we’re being shown in 911 having an important meaning and it is very much connected to Eddie far more than any other character. One can argue that the books - at their core - are about following your heart and letting it lead you to your truth and to home and that is the very heart of Eddies story. Carla’s line about making sure he’s following his heart and not Christophers rings very true, and we’ve reached a point now where Eddie has to follow his own heart, because Christopher is not in the picture and they’ve chosen to go very very hard with the wizard of Oz metaphors - building on the foundations they already created in previous seasons and now being able to bring them to fruition.

I could literally write about this all day, but this is already ridiculously long and I'm not sure it even makes sense at this point! It was only supposed to be a short post! So I’m stopping here and letting you all go back to your lives - thank you for reading especially if you've made it this far! and let me know your thoughts!💜💜💜🐝🌪🌈

Tagging a few random people just in case they're interested! @buddiediaz118 @buddie911abc @fruityfirehose @sunflowerdigs

@spotsandsocks @livingwherethesidewalkends @satvojihusana @inell @eddiedisasterdiaz @lemotmo @courtjestermerlin @lover-of-mine @lovecolibri

#kym writes very long meta!#long meta #sorry this wasn't meant to be this many words!#911 does the wizard of oz #911 abc #911 meta #the wizard of oz #the wizard of oz and queer narrative #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #anti bucktommy #anti tommy kinard #911 spoilers

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