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elfven-blog · 3 months

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Deals with the Devil ain't so bad

Summary: Arthur Morgan became the devil's bounty hunter...but god does he miss you fiercly. Ghost Rider!Arthur Morgan x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ Only, p in v, fingers, forest/public, nearly caught, fingers, flames used during. Is this technically monster? Word count: 2.9K

He remembers signing that contract like it was yesterday. Remembers how the wind felt against his breath as he looked at the sun rising, how he struggled to breath, the sound of his own raspy voice shaking as he took what should have been his last breath. How his lungs hurt, and his eyes watered from the realisation that this was it.

Then suddenly there was the man. He stood watching Arthur dying on that mountain, his hands wrapped on his cain and the silver skull glinted in the morning rays. His eyes were cold and his voice worse as he spoke “I can help you” was all he said. The outlaws' eyes flickering to the strange man. The corner of his mouth turned up as he watched the dying man give a small nod, his breaths starting to wheeze.

Echoes of his steps fall around the mountain as he bends at the knee, resting right next to Arthur “I won’t ask you to get up”. He unrolls paper, and places it on the ground next to the outlaw. Arthur see’s something shining in that pale man’s eyes, there’s something wrong with him. But Arthur’s greedy.

He wants another chance at life, he wants to right his wrongs, he wants to see you again. He’s a selfish man, he thinks as his hands struggle to grasp the paper, and he doesn’t even read the contract before he tries to sign his name. The man laughs as Arthur coughs and his blood splatters the page “That’ll do just fine Mr Morgan” and he takes the contract away from him, rolling it back up and sheathing it in a metal cylinder. “When you open your eyes next, you’ll be healthy as a horse”. The man grins before he’s gone, and Arthur’s eyes slipped shut.

And now here he was a year down the line. The devil’s bounty hunter. He’d spent the past year collecting souls and returning them back to hell, never seeing you. He should never have taken that contract, he should have died that day on the mountain. You thought he had, Charles and John thought he had. Even set him up a nice little grave that he’d watched you visit time and time again over the year.

His heart yearned to be near you again, to feel your warmth and your softness beneath his fingers but he refused to let Mephisto know his weakness. So he spent his days wandering the west, the shire he’d gotten from Hosea had become his ride and he went everywhere with Arthur.

Even right now, here he was in the small town you’d settled in, watching as you brought in the washing. Your head turning up to look at the sky causing your shoulders to sag when you saw the grey clouds hanging overhead. Arthur kept his hat down low so if you happened to look, you wouldn’t see that rugged outlaw you’d lost a year ago.

The rider stood there for a little longer watching you but his sadness quickly turned to jealousy, his gaze dropping from that aching to venom as he watched some man he’d never seen before riding up to your house. The stranger dismounting as he pressed flowers into your hand which you seemed to accept willingly. That smile you reserved only for him was present and all Arthur wanted in that moment was to drag that man down to hell.

It was a few days later when he returned to you, and you were out tending to the small garden you’d managed to maintain. The sky had been clear for some time and he watched you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. You disappeared inside the door for a few seconds before coming back out with a basket, leaving the garden and turning down to walk through the trees that your property backed onto.

Arthur stood up straight, his hand shaking the cigarette and throwing it onto the ground once it was out. He pushed his hat slightly down as he began to walk after you. The outlaw watched you carefully, not showing himself just yet, and fooling himself that he was following you because the forest wasn’t safe. Who knows what was here, you needed that protection.

While he had taught you to use a gun some years ago, that didn’t mean you were any good at it. Least not better than him.

He followed you for a while, you hadn’t even noticed. More reason for him to be accurately worried. And he watched as you bent to pick more flowers, adding them to the already full basket. His brow furrowed as he finally took note of them, originally he thought the book you held was full of the information and pictures of them but now, as he looked closer, he noticed the familiar worn leather. His own journal.

You’d kept it. You’d kept it.

And that seemed to be what made him snap. Your head turning fast at the sound of someone stomping towards you. Hands forcing you to stand up, an arm wrapping around your waist and someone's mouth crashing to yours.. Teeth clashing against your own as your eyes widened and you tried to push this sudden figure off you. Anger filled your mind, until he pulled slightly away from you.

Your eyes still wide as you dropped the basket, shaky hands holding his face gently. One of your fingers gently tracing his face, mouth opening and shutting as you tried to speak.

It was Arthur who spoke first “I missed you darlin’” came that rough timber that you’d spent nights trying to replay in your mind “Missed ya somethin’ fierce”.

You were the one to kiss him this time, pulling him forward so quickly it knocked his hat back but he didn’t care as he kissed you back. Tongue pushing your lips apart so he could explore every inch of your mouth, you didn’t fight it like you normally would. His brow furrowed as he tasted something salty and opened his eyes to see you crying.

He pulled away again, shushing you gently as his thumbs brushed away the tears “I’m sorry, I know baby girl but I’m here now” you buried your face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Leather, gunpowder and sandalwood flooded your nose and it felt like you could breathe for the first time in a year. Your hands took the hat from his head completely so you could run your hands through his soft strands, looking up at him in wonder.

“You were gone” Arthur swore he could have fell to his knees right there with the way your voice cracked, he had never meant to cause such pain. Maybe taking that deal wasn’t such a bad thing, if it meant he could hold you like this, if he could hear that sweet melody of your voice.

“Let me make it up to ya” one of his hands slowly moved down from your waist to grab your ass, squeezing it tightly as his mouth crooks up into a grin and your cheeks go red at his insinuation. You try to stammer a reply but he just shushes you again “Come on girl, just lay here and look pretty, alrigh’?”

Those words are all it takes for him to quickly have you on the floor, hiking your skirts up over your waist and Arthur’s quickly pushing his trousers down. The gun belt is somewhere near his hat. His hands are as rough as you remember as he pushes your thighs open, his eyes dark at the sight between them “Hold” comes his gruff voice, and your hands immediately go under your knees to keep yourself held open for him.

The way his eyes watch you sends arousal thrumming through your body and your hole clenches around nothing causing the man above you to roll his neck and breath through his nose. His hands trace down the fat of your thighs before his thumb pushes against your clit and he slowly circles it “Missed me that much, sugar?”

You can only nod and grip your legs as he applies more pressure “I missed you so much Arthur” he leans down to kiss at your neck, your eyes fluttering and mouth dropping open as his teeth scrape against the skin. His fingers slide down your wet lips, gathering some of it before he gently pushes against your hole. Your body doesn’t deny the man entrance, he meets almost no resistance as he begins to move his fingers in and out, his thumb still rubbing at the sensitive nub.

“Then I won’t tease ya” he mumbles against the pulse in your throat, and you mewl in agreement. He stretches you gently, adding another finger and this causes you to gasp “S’okay darlin’ just been a while, gotta get you ready” your hand moves to the base of his hair, tanging in the strands and tugging to get his face to move up, pressing your lips to his again.

Your legs tremble in your own hold as his fingers press up against the soft spot inside you, the pressure on your clit and the way he kisses you until your breathless has your back arching. His mouth swallows all the sweet noises you give him.

It doesn’t take long for the man to expertly bring you to that edge, it’s been so long since you felt like this. You’d tried to do it yourself once you’d thought you were done grieving but your own hand just hadn’t been enough. Oh but Arthur’s hand? It knew exactly where to stroke, how fast to go, the right amount of pressure to apply. “That’s it sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl f’me”

And his words had you going over that edge, your fingers leaving marks on your own skin, your legs trying to close even as you held them open. Arthur’s eyes watching the way your hole tightened around his fingers, slick drooling down to the forest floor as your eyes fluttered shut and you could only whimper and whine at the feeling.

Arthur’s fingers left your cunt leaving you to whine as he shushes you, his hands making quick work to pull his trousers half way down his thighs, enough to bring his cock out of his underwear. The fabric pressed just under his balls. Your eyes gravitated there, tracing the hard dick he sported.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, his own hand barely able to wrap around it as he pumped a few times, his head tipping back with a groan and his cock jumped at the action. Arthur stroked the head against your folds, the precum oozing from the slit and coating your pussy as he gathered the wetness. You pouted up at him, trying to roll your hips up against him and Arthur raised an eyebrow.

His free hand moving to pin your body down as he threatened “Have I gotta crush you to floor, girl?” his tone let you know not to do that again, and your entire body relaxed against the leaves and sticks as he finally pushed into your hole. A gasp leaving you, and he stilled with just the tip inside as he let you get used to the feeling again.

Both of you tensed at the sound of your name being yelled through the forest, seeming to echo as someone called your name and suddenly Arthur’s loving exterior was gone. Your hands let go of your legs and you sat up to push him off you “Oh oh, we got to stop” but the outlaw only pushed you back to the floor, his body weight on you as he pushed the rest of his cock inside you.

“We ain’t gotta do nothing. You gotta lay here and take it” Your eyes widened, you’d never seen him like this before, but as Arthur started to buck his hips up against you, you could only do as he said. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders and clinging to the back of his jacket, his own hands gripping your thighs this time to keep them open. His fingers dimpling the fat as he almost seemed in a frenzy to fuck you.

You couldn’t see his face, but you heard the grunts and growls as his hips humped at you, his cock stretching you out over and over as he used your cunt. The yelling of your name got louder before fading away, the person walking in a different direction “He couldn’t do ya ike this, nah, he aint the type to give you what ya need darlin’”. You had no idea what he was talking about, brow furrowing but you couldn’t focus on one single thought. Not with the way his fingers bruising your thighs as the head bruised your cervix.

And then, all of a sudden, you felt very hot. Your eyes shot open as you watched flames engulf Arthur. His hands burning at your skin and as you looked down all you saw were bones gripping at your thighs “W-what?” you whispered out, your body tensing and Arthur froze too.

His mind went blank as he realised what had happened, and he stammered and stuttered as he tried to think of something to say “Darlin’ I, well, er” Your hand moved to touch the skeleton fingers, and they seemed to change back into his own fingers. And then you realised the flames didn’t really hurt. They were just hot.

Arthur’s eyes widened as he felt your hole clench around him, and it caused him to groan as he thrust into you again. Calming enough that he could morph back into your loving cowboy, his hands gripping your thighs again as he set back into his brutal “Ya like that, dont ya, sugar?” his voice dripped in arousal as he continued the assault on your cunt. This time his touch was accompanied with the flames you seemed to find fascinating. He watched you nod up at him, that devious grin charming up his face.

He brought one of his hands up to your corset, setting it on fire and you gasped as it turned to ash, blowing away in the wind. Mouth going dry as he teased at your hardened nipple, the flame licking at the bud but never burning you. And your hips rolled up forcing more of his cock into you, and your back arched pressing his hand against your breast again. “yeah you like it” came his deep timbre again.

With the added touch of his flames against your skin now, it was easy to get you back into that syrupy head space allowing Arthur to fuck you against the forest floor as he humped into your cunt, his cock dragging along your g-spot in the most delicious way. His words slipping into your ears as he brought you closer and closer to that edge again, his hand making it’s way down your body, burning the pieces of clothing that stopped its path before it could press against your clit.

Your entire body thrummed as he applied some of that heat while he circled your clit, your cunt starting to ache from how he used you and a whimper leaving your mouth as you soaked the floor and Arthur’s pants. He pressed closer to you until you could feel his shirt against your face, his hips keeping your legs apart while his hands moved to grab at the floor. Trying to keep himself grounded as he slowed down his pace “Fuck darlin’!” his voice rang out as you came undone around him.

His eyes rolling as his cock twitched, hot ropes of cum painting your walls white and he stayed as close as possible as his hips rolled and pressed you into the floor. His hands grasped around dirt and leaves as he filled you. “Forgot how good that feels” the outlaws voice was a raspy pant as he breathed heavily above you.

And you both stayed there for a few minutes, until his cock had softened inside you and he pulled out slowly, his hands soothing at your thighs while he shushed you. Your body tensing at the ache between your thighs, and little whimpers left you as he pulled out “I know, I know, ‘m sorry” came the once again gentle Arthur. The one you knew.

As you slowly blinked, trying to gain control over your breathing again, you moved your hand to touch his face. Brow furrowing as you tried to make sense of what you had seen. Not only was the man you loved back from the dead…but he seemed to be some kind of fire skeleton. Confusion swarmed your mind.

The rough man pressed a kiss to your palm, his hand moving to take your own off his face as he gave you a shy smile, his gaze full of concern and something else. Something that seemed awfully similar to that look when he was self-conscious all those years ago “I can explain”

You nodded up at him, looking at him expectedly as he began to explain what had happened. And while it didn’t all make sense to you, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you had Arthut back. Whether he was tethered to this ‘Ghost Rider’ demon or not.

#arthur morgan x femalereader #arthur morgan x reader #arthurmorgan #Arthur morgan xF!reader #arthur morgan x fem reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader smut #ghost rider!arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x f!reader

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metalhoops · 11 months

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Read Part 1 Here

As small and unassuming as Eddie’s trailer was to others, it had always been his fortress. It was the last stronghold against the forces of evil, and the bastion of all things metal and macabre. It wasn’t much, but it was undoubtedly his. When you grew up with little, you clung to what you had.

He’d come to Wayne’s at an age when the world had begun to haemorrhage magic, leaving a realm devoid of colour in its place. His uncle worked hard to stoke the flames of his creativity, buying or borrowing what he could to keep Eddie’s dreams of castles and kingdoms alive.

He’d spent a small lifetime buried in tomes of fantasy and mythology. He’d whiled away afternoons flicking through books that let him choose the story, always managing to die before finding the right ending. As a child whose mother died young, it was nice to live in a world where death could be undone.

Eddie managed to cling on to that last spark of childlike wonder into his early twenties. His childhood had been a landscape inhospitable for the companionships of knights and the trickery of wizards, yet he’d made it work. That kind of alchemy didn’t fade easily.

Yet, with Chrissy’s death tainting his memories of the trailer, he understood his fortress, his kingdom, was nothing but rubble and blighted soil. He was Frodo, returning to The Shire after the destruction of the ring. Eddie’s Undying Lands came in the form of a small bungalow on the edge of town, paid for with government hush money.

The place wasn’t much larger than the trailer, yet it felt vast in the late hours of the night when Wayne was working and Eddie was alone. They’d only been in the house a week. He still felt as though he were in hostile territory. He sat on his bedroom floor with the curtains half-drawn.

He’d spent the past half hour drawing them open before pulling them shut. If they were shut, the place looked deserted. People would be less likely to try to peer in, but he wouldn’t be able to see if someone or something was coming. If he left the curtains open, people would be able to see in. Eddie told himself he was being paranoid until he watched a pair of headlights flicker in the distance down the isolated road.

Eddie was quick to action, darting into the entrance as a knock sounded on the front door. He grabbed a box cutter from the pile of unpacked boxes and peeked through the keyhole. You could never be too cautious, not when half the town thought you were a murderer.

Standing in the doorway was Steve Harrington, the former king of their ever-changing kingdom, looking lost and worse for wear. His hair, a Harrington point of pride, as good to Steve as a crown to a king, was a sodden bird's nest perched atop his head. Though that wasn’t all. One of his arms hung naked at his side. Steve hadn’t managed to pull it through his polo, leaving half his skin exposed, the other half covered in poorly wrapped bandages.

They’d both been hurt by the hoard of bats, but Steve's injuries eclipsed Eddie’s. Something about that fact sat wrong with him. It was as though he’d stumbled upon a wrong ending. He wanted to turn back and find a story where Steve was safe. Eddie dropped his makeshift weapon and swung open the door.

“Steve? Christ man, you’ve seen better days,” Eddie spoke, ushering Steve inside, locking the door behind him.

“I’ve had worse.”

Steve, like Eddie, appeared changed from what’d happened to them. He hadn’t known how to explain it. Most of what he knew about Steve Harrington was mythology, a collection of stories which changed depending on the teller. Yet, all those close to him, far closer to him than Eddie, had agreed something about him had changed. This Steve was a broken bone set wrong. Something about him always appeared to ache.

Buckley had hauled up in the Harrington manor with him after they were released from hospital, helping tend to his wounds and wash his perfect hair. She’d confided in Eddie when he had come to check up on Steve that he was forgetting things.

Perhaps forgetting wasn’t the right word. Robin spoke five languages, yet she couldn’t find the term to describe what was going on with Steve. He seemed out of place, like a sour note in a once sweet melody.

Maybe it was one concussion too many, Robin had justified, which was a collection of stories shrouded in contention. How many concussions had Steve had? Nancy swore Jonathan hadn’t hurt Steve badly during their fight. He’d been able to run away, after all. Jonathan admitted he probably had.

The kids all agreed Steve was knocked out cold after his fight with Billy while Robin recounted what’d happened in Starcourt. She’d later confess Steve had other concussions before Jonathan, though wouldn’t elaborate on their origin. Some stories only hurt the teller. Eddie had learnt how to read negative space. Occam’s razor told them it was the easiest explanation, but to Robin and Eddie, it didn’t feel like the right one.

Steve talked about things that’d happened weeks ago as if they’d occurred to someone in another life. Then there was the way he looked and spoke to Eddie. Every time he’d show up at the Harrington’s front stoop, Steve would look at him as though he’d risen from the dead, shook off the grave dirt and stumbled back into his life.

He had the feeling Steve was always seconds away from telling him something important, but he too, didn’t seem to have the language to convey it. When they stood together in silence, as they did that night in Eddie’s new fortress, he felt as though he almost understood.

“What brings you to my humble abode, Harrington?” Eddie asked, trying to keep his eyes from Steve’s exposed side.

“Mostly pride,” Steve admitted with a humourless laugh, ushering to his side, inviting Eddie to look. He did.

“I told Rob to go home for the night and uh...” Steve cringed as he tried to lift his hand up to pull it through his sleeve. Eddie stepped closer without meaning to.

“Shit, hold still. Don’t rip your stitches again or Buckley’ll hand my ass to me on a silver platter,” Eddie grumbled. His hand twitched, wanting to touch. Steve took a step forward, inviting him to. Eddie hesitantly brushed his fingers over the gauze, examining the bandages.

“When did you last change these?”

“Two days ago,” Steve admitted, leaning against the wall, trying to keep his balance. Eddie cursed under his breath, grabbed Steve by the wrist, and guided him to the bathroom.

“You don’t have to change ‘em. They’re pretty gross,” Steve protested.

“Which is exactly why I have to change them,” Eddie argued as he help Steve slide onto the bathroom countertop beside the sink.

“I’ll get Robin to do it tomorrow. She didn’t throw up after dissecting a frog in junior bio.” Eddie groaned and scrubbed his face with his hand.

“Didn’t know that was public knowledge, great.”

“Not many people knew. I just... we were in biology together.” Eddie knew they weren’t.

He knew every class he’d had with Steve Harrington, much to his chagrin. They’d had gym, history, and Spanish together. Like shiny plastic to a crow or jewels to a dragon, Steve always managed to capture Eddie’s attention. He’d like to blame it on the fact he found Steve attractive, but there were a handful of other hot jocks who made Eddie want to shove his hand in a blender. Steve had always been different to him, though he’d managed to keep his affections close to his chest. It’d never do him any good.

Steve had a habit of rewriting their mythology. Eddie had noticed him doing it often as a way of explaining away little things he’d have no right knowing, by fabricating new pasts. That was a piece of Steve’s new persona, which was reserved only for Eddie.

He wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. He liked Steve. Hell, the more the two got to know one another, the more Eddie thought he could love Steve, but their relationship felt like an empty hallway in a horror film. It was devoid of any real threat, but it felt as though something was lurking just out of view.

Eddie blamed his feelings of love for the strange gravity between them. Occam’s razor. He wanted to kiss Steve. He didn’t know what Steve wanted. That caused tension.

“Why did you come here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Stevie. The door’s always open,” Eddie said as he peeled back the bandage.

He felt Steve stiffen and moved one hand to rest on the boy’s thigh. Steve’s hand covered his, lacing their fingers together and surprising Eddie. He tried not to look too closely at the wound. He found their first-aid kit and got to work, squeezing Steve’s thigh each time he pulled the bandaged taught.

“I miss you,” Steve said, once more sounding seconds from another confession Eddie knew wouldn’t come.

“I haven’t gone anywhere, dude. I saw you yesterday.”

Steve muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like,

‘I used to see you every day.’

Another past that’d never happened. A reinvention. To make matters worse, Eddie wanted to believe in that past. He wanted Steve to tell him their story, the one that lived only inside his head. Eddie would follow it. He’d do anything to stop the boy from looking so lost.

“Can I do something weird?” Steve asked, and all Eddie could do was nod.

Steve hooked his arm around Eddie’s neck, pulled the boy into the space between his dangling legs, and buried his face in Eddie’s hair. Steve’s hands balled into tight fists in Eddie’s shirt fabric, holding him so close he felt his bones creak like wooden floorboards underfoot.

“You don’t have to miss me, sweetheart. I’m right here,” Eddie assured, feeling the need to do something, say something to make everything better. Steve’s grip tightened.

“Do you ever feel like we’ve been here before?” Steve spoke, his voice muffled by Eddie’s skin.

He knew the answer Steve wanted. He couldn’t in good conscience give it to him.

“No,” Eddie confessed.

“But I wish we had.”

Steve pulled back so the two could get a better look at one another. Unable to help himself, Eddie leaned forward, trying to smooth down his hair.

“When you were seven, you scraped your knee so badly you walked with a limp for half a year and ever since you’ve hated the sight of blood,” Steve spoke, not daring to look at Eddie.

He felt his whole body go stiff. His hand in Steve’s hair froze. He was right, but Eddie couldn’t understand how he knew. He’d moved to Hawkins when he was twelve. His life before that was a mystery to the town.

“How?” Eddie began, but Steve wasn’t finished.

“You do that thing when you’re nervous. Yes, that thing you’re doing with your hair,” Steve observed. Eddie had taken a string of hair between his thumb and forefinger and half hidden behind it.

“And when you’re flirting,” Steve amended. Eddie’s brows drew together.

“Which you do with me, a lot. Took me forever to work out that’s what you were doing but give me enough time and a good enough thump to the head and I’ll realise it, eventually.”

Steve knew Eddie liked him. Shit.

“Took me even longer to realise I liked you too, but everything’s kind of screwed now, isn’t it?” Steve asked, his humourless, dry laugh coming back.

“Because every time I’m with you, I miss you. And I know that makes no goddamn sense, but I do.”

Eddie tried to unpick what Steve’s words meant, but he kept coming up short. Steve liked him. That much Eddie gathered. It was enough to send his stomach plummeting into his boots.

“Tell me what you’ve gotta tell me, Steve. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Get some of that damn weight off your shoulders,” Eddie mumbled, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder and rubbing circles into the spot as though to prove a point. Instead, Steve looked at him with a crooked grin and uttered,

“Like Atlas, right?” He hadn’t picked Steve as a mythology geek. Eddie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as though he were seconds away from putting it all together.

“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?”

“Not exactly, but almost.”

“Then why the hell don’t I remember it?” Eddie questioned, his voice growing strained.

“I don’t know. You never do. It doesn’t matter, it’s over.”

“What’s over Steve?”

“I’d ask you if you really want to know, but the answer is always yes,” He grumbled, nudging his face against Eddie’s hand.

Steve took a deep breath and told Eddie everything. He spoke about Eddie’s death, about being stuck in the same day for hundreds of repetitions. He told stories of Eddie’s death while brushing over similar terrors. Eddie knew he was getting a sanitised version of the tale, but still, he understood why the boy was haunted. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he were in Steve’s place.

Stories, where death could be undone with a simple flick of the page and another binary decision, were easy. In practice, with hundreds of little choices and thousands of ways things could go wrong, it seemed more akin to a nightmare.

“When you said you missed me,” Eddie breathed after a moment.

“Which version of me do you miss?” Steve’s brows pinched together, looking as though he’d been asking himself the same question.

“I don’t know. I think, shit. I think I miss a version of you that never existed. If that makes sense. I miss what I thought we could’ve been when everything was over. You’re alive. I’m alive. It was supposed to be easy after that.”

Eddie gave the boy a sad smile and nodded. To Steve, trapped in a never-ending cycle, Eddie had been his kingdom. He’d been a land to defend and a safe haven to return to. Yet, he’d wanted himself to be the same wide-eyed hero who’d left the empire, not the jaded veteran who’d returned home from war. They could never be the uncomplicated love story Steve had told himself to get through the days, but that didn’t have to mean things were ruined.

“Hey, Stevie? What’s your favourite movie?” Eddie spoke, causing Steve to really look at him for the first time since they’d started speaking of other timelines and death.

“Star Wars... The one with the teddy bears. Why?” Eddie got a goofy grin on his face, wondering how the hell someone who’d had the reputation Steve once had could love something as nerdy as Star Wars.

“You know a damn lot about me. Time we even the goddamn playing field.” Steve nodded and gnawed on his bottom lip. His eyes trailed down to Eddie’s lips. He didn’t have to know Steve well to know what he was getting at.

“Can I kiss you?” He questioned, his hand already tangling in Eddie’s hair.

His thumb ghosted over the space between his ear and jaw that always made his breath hitch. Steve knew how Eddie liked to be touched. That was a new revelation.

“We’ve kissed before, haven’t we?” Eddie questioned, Steve’s breath hot against his face.

“I haven’t kissed this version of you before,” Steve supplied with a smug grin.

“No fucking fair. You have the hometown advantage,” Eddie reasoned, and Steve let out a shocked laugh, a real one this time.

“You’ve never made a sports reference before.”

“So they’re surprises in me yet,” Eddie beamed, sick of the anticipation, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

The kiss was long and desperate. Steve clung to him, kissing him breathlessly, making Eddie weak at the knees. They had to pause when Steve let out a sharp inhale as Eddie accidentally grabbed his still-healing side. He muttered a slew of apologies, peppering Steve’s neck and jaw with kisses. He hadn’t shaved in days and Eddie felt a good kind of ache from the scrape of stubble against his jaw.

When they finally pulled apart, the two looked decidedly more dishevelled. Eddie caught his breath and whispered,

“You know, I’ve got Return of the Jedi on tape in a box someplace. You could stay over and we could... I don’t know, re-get to know each other,” Eddie proposed.

“I like the sound of that.”

#steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #time loop au #stranger things #fic #ficlet #multipost fic #drabble #a #again based on a post by #@theamazingbard #back by popular demand #metalhoops writes

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whoyacallinyellow · 3 months

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Borrowed Time hurt me a lot omg- Now I offer you even more angst.

It's sad that Javier became the very thing in 1911 that he swore to destroy (working as a hitman for a tyrant government) but it would be even sadder if (as a part 2 ig of borrowed time) Javier and his love meet again but this time, he was there to arrest her and bring her to town to hang.

Borrowed Time II

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR1-2 events Content: 18+, low honor Javier, angst, betrayal, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: I-II changed to second pov (wc - 4133) / pc: pinterest a/n: i can feel this request in my veins, so here’s my mediocre yapping! live, laugh, angst

Summary: Following the events of Beaver Hollow and your departure, Javier falls into work with Allende. After your reunion he reflects on his time with you, to only turn you in by nightfall.

It was a warm day in New Austin, the orange rays blanketing the barren dirt landscape, and not a cloud in the sky. Javier only imagined finding himself wandering these lands again, but yet he returned on what seemed to be borrowed time.

A few years had passed since he last saw you at Beaver Hollow. The man could not bear to show his face, the embarrassment of being wrong about Dutch was an ego check it say the very least.

Yet your note lived in the far corner of his mind, a small cabin just north of MacFarlane's Ranch from his understanding.

It did not take the man long to find it, local cowpokes cowered at the sight of the large Mexican outlaw sitting upon an even larger steed, interrogating them about a maiden. It was almost as if the best pieces of you resembled him, immediately reminding the folk of who it was he was searching for.

Boaz grunted against Javier’s spurs, digging deep into the loose red dirt below. The sunbeams which crept through the dry pine trees created quite the atmosphere, allowing Javier to get lost in his head, even if it were just for a few moments of bliss.

Despite the directions given to him, Javier hoped you had moved on after all these years, fled somewhere safer, started a new life, perhaps changed your name as well. Somewhere he would never find you.

Boaz continued to race down the winding path, feeding Javier’s anticipation against the warm breeze. As it gusted past the side of his head, loose strands from his tied hair tickled his ears, merely reminding the man how badly he needed a haircut.

The starving grass which bordered West Elizabeth held a yellow tinge, the land rolled and waved, flourishing with birds and wildlife. Javier reckoned he has not been to the area before, but you were not lying about how appealing it was— a perfect home for you two.

Upon whipping around the corner, abruptly revealed a small cabin with songbirds singing to him in the trees. The place was quiet, cozy, and seemingly inhabited, with small smoke stacks exhausting from the brick chimney.

Bringing Boaz to a halt, there was no sign of you— but sure enough a big black cloud skulked in the nearby pen, following you wherever you wandered like a burden.

Javier stiffly slid off Boaz, his knees nearly giving out from under him as his boots crunched onto the dirt. The beast was grazing on hay as he approached the fence post

After whistling and calling your shire a few times, Javier was promptly ignored, perhaps the slow and ominous brute heard the man call him el diablo one too many times.

He was still a strong believer the only reason the horse broke for you was out of pity— you looked like a child struggling to climb him every endeavor. Maybe the beast had a soft spot for you, just like himself.

But now the old shire was relieved from his saddle, serenading in the New Austin sun, not bothered to obey the envious man’s command.

Javier leaned against the corral post, admiring what he could have had with you, the thought of being a family man loomed over his shoulders and displayed no signs of leaving.

You and Javier ran together prior to joining Dutch, less for money and more for survival. Your past crimes covered bounty boards and train stations as a permanent reminder, never forgetting the wrongs that were written. That price only increased once Mexico inevitably caught wind of all the messy jobs in neighboring lands.

He drowned and you sank with him, the price of his sins were bricks added to your back. Being his accessory, the government saw you as a pawn, smart and knowledgeable, if caught— Javier would come for you, and they would be ready for him.

Those days were nearly from another lifetime.

Now under Allende’s ruling fist, he offered him a twisted plea deal of sorts; protection at the cost of something the man held more dearly than life itself—you. Your capture was not about the money nor status, but simply a test of his loyalty to Allende; if Javier did this job, he’d do anything.

The poor man’s convoluted loyalty never got him far, proving time and time again, leading him only to dead ends and false hopes. Charismatic attributes and big promises was something Javier foolishly gave everything to with a blind eye, something you always warned him about.

“Javier?—“

Your voice could have made him leap out of his own skin. As he hesitantly turned towards you, his gut twisted into something mean. You were beautiful as ever, after all these years you waited for him— just like you promised.

“Never thought I’d see you again, especially in the west.” You spoke again in disbelief, rag wiping your hands clean of a job he should have been doing.

Your voice only lived in his memories, hearing it again nearly whipped Javier back into shape, feeling sick for your puppy love he desperately relied on so long ago.

“Home sweet home.” The man swallowed dryly, throwing his arms out awkwardly and gesturing towards the open lands around you both.

Before his thoughts could catch up to the moment, you ran to embrace him, flinging yourself into his arms with a long awaited kiss. Javier grunted softly against your lips, staggering back to support you, the extra attention only reminding him how saddle sore he really was.

Just for a moment things felt normal, a feeling he was searching for since you split. He had a place in this cruel world once again, everywhere had a price on his head, no place to retreat to besides you— you were home.

Perhaps he could head tail between his legs back to Allende, saying you disappeared.

Maybe he could take you to Canada, or a tropical island— oh, anywhere but Guarma.

We must leave,

Javier’s unsaid words pricked beneath his skin, prodding relentlessly at his deepest desires for redemption.

“Oh—amor.”

Was all the man could choke out, the words exiting pitiful and weak, a near cry for help you assumed was just your bittersweet reunion.

Leaning away you smiled coyly at him, admiring your lost cowboy;

Your time apart was not easy on Javier, his hardened stare and the chip on his shoulder now set in stone.

The constant blazing sun of Mexico, along with surviving off rationed canned beans really took a toll on the man. His face was dull and lacking the usual pigment he wore so handsomely when Mr. Pearson cooked for everyone.

Javier’s newfound demeanor only put emphasis on his sharp brows peeking from under his bowler cap brim, residing above dark cunning eyes, ready to match any cowpuncher who dared challenge him.

Over Javier’s shoulder was where his mount rested, hoove digging into the dirt at the end of the cabin’s path.

“—and Boaz?” You began after a shared silence, slowly approaching the overworked horse.

“Still kickin’.” He uttered gently, a large hand scratching the back of his neck.

Boaz never really liked you, or anyone besides Javier that is. It wasn’t until the gang hunkered down in Colter for the stubborn bastard to take a liking to you.

The weather and unpredictable circumstances was not easy on the gang, including the horses, causing rations to be small among the mounts.

You always carried treats in your satchel to gain Boaz’s affection, and your efforts would eventually succeed in Colter. You would secretly slip him sugar cubes every time you left the shack, he must have appreciated the extra attention. Javier barely recognized Boaz trotting up to him in the snow, you mounted on top wearing a proud grin.

You wore a similar grin now, full of satisfaction and pride that he returned to you— with warmth flowing through him, his heart rapidly thumped in his ears, all the pent up feelings for you were reopening like floodgates.

“What’a nice feller, huh.” You cooed to the mount after a slow approach.

Showing no distress Boaz allowed your kind pats and rubs. Tenderly nudging you, the horse’s chops tried sneaking its way into your pockets, searching for the snacks you usually held after a long journey.

“Ai, fácil!”

Javier exclaimed, quickly guiding Boaz’s large snout away, the loving gestures nearly toppling you over.

“Guess I’m glad he still remembers me.” You beamed, tipping your hat lower to shield yourself from the beating sun.

“Or perhaps your donations, amor.” Javier quipped softly, his eyes wandering meekly.

Something besides time passing seemed different about him, you could not quite pinpoint it. Javier was always a timid man at first when it came to his lover, maybe your time apart presented this old side of him.

You knelt slightly, peeking under his sunken head which hung towards the ground.

“Javier? You don’t look so good.”

Your soft words managed to dig their way through his ringing ears, the man squinted his eyes tightly before swiping his lids with rough fingers.

“Uh— maybe you oughta sit for a bit, I think you’re overdressed for this heat.”

Your words broke through once again, giving a small tug on his poncho, his disoriented vision cluttered with black floating spots as you guided towards the porch.

As his vision continued to warp, the cabin doubled and skewed while you put him in the shade.

Javier knew you were speaking, your voice fading in and out irreguarly, piercing his ears every so often.

The words felt like they were being consumed by the ocean, his head bobbed up and down as if he were drowning. All he could think about was Dutch’s screams over the storm and waves, as he was about to be consumed by the large void.

But Dutch snagged him before being swept away, yanking him upon the tiny rowboat that threatened to tip from the added stress. Javier’s senses were waterlogged, rejecting the mean salty water from his lungs. As he gasped for air; the only thing he thought of was you.

“S’alright, son, You’re not dying today!” Was the first thing he heard. He faded in and out of consciousness as Dutch beat the sea water out of him, his ribcage rattling under each and every smack.

Javier sometimes wonders if Dutch should have just let him die, abandon him and allow the dark waters to engulf him whole, repaying his sins to his maker. Maybe his death would free you of your burdens.

He felt like his time had withered before Dutch had saved him anyways. Being a prisoner in Guarma is what convinced him that he would never make it back to you, sealing the deal. Your previous words borrowed time scratched at his skin again, yearning to be acknowledged.

“Ah well, I knew you’d come crawling back, you’re here for a reason.” You would always say to him after a particularly dangerous run with the gang. He would dismiss you with a mumble and a kiss, but always knew he was lucky to be alive as more of his brothers began to fall.

Sometimes he would catch you talking to a disgruntled Arthur as he packed his horse.

Upon inquiring about your words, Arthur being a somewhat vague man would shortly grumble;

“Jus’ focus on the job, and returnin’ to your woman, Javier.”

—and he always did. Javier knew you did not worry about him much, at least outwardly. But he did notice Arthur’s presence whenever trouble presented itself.

“Javier— some water.”

Your words along with a canteen dangled in front of him, the prior hallucination of a watery grave was almost enough to empty his stomach.

Javier stared back towards your shire lounging in his corral, his mind once again wandering back to the life he could have had with you.

In the midst of his tunneling vision, a lean coyote lingered through his gaze, stalking towards him, icy eyes sending daggers into his before diminishing.

“Javier. Say something.” Your words were now much clearer to him, breaking through his consciousness, the ringing disappeared from his mind fog.

“‘M alright.” He muttered, spitting out the bitter taste from his mouth.

“I reckon you oughta take it easy, being an old man n’ all now.”

Javier frowned at you and blinked a couple times, jaw agape, processing the pun you made at his dismay.

“Ha— so sorry, chica, ‘suppose I’m no longer the young buck you remember.”

He replied sarcastically, his voice both bold and hoarse as he raised back to his feet, every step whining for rest.

“Ride with me?” Javier suddenly asked as if nothing happened. It took you by surprise, he had just arrived after all.

“Alright.” You obliged shortly after a pause. “Let me grab my belt.” You continued, motioning towards the missing holsters on your frame.

“No need.” He cut you off quickly, his voice leaving traces of urgency.

“Boaz is packed.”

You eyed him up, watching the man shutter under your antagonizing gaze, how he hoped you were not suspicious of his intentions after all this time. But rightfully so, the man was yellow-bellied.

But you had no reason not to trust him.

You were not exactly sure where Javier was taking you, but for now his company was enough to keep you satisfied. The ride was eerily quiet, even for his standards, being a man of few words.

After riding a little down south he brought you to a small mountain that overlooked Mexico. He perched you both on a small flat area, just in time for the sun to sink below the land.

Javier stared over the horizon, he never really did think about how big the south was, yet how small he felt in comparison. A glimmer caught onto his peripheral, turning towards the shine was the pendent he had given you, when you both first started running with the gang.

The feeling presented itself again, feeling so small in the world— you were the home he had been searching for since the gang's fallout. It was always you.

He sank into his memories, a vessel of his former self was all that remained.

You two were quite away from your newly shared camp, with all the members and leads, the moments you had alone became quite sparse.

“What do you think, Javi?” Your sudden presence caught him off guard.

“The gang?—“ he pondered your words, leaning against a shady oak.

“I suppose they’re family for now, señorita. We’re much safer, and they’re good to us.” Javier replied, a hand brushing over the stubble on his jaw. You smiled gently with a nod, making your uneasiness all too obvious.

“It’s just temporary, amor, once we have the money to get on our feet— it’ll be the two of us again.” He reassured, a polite arm sliding around your waist.

Javier remembers the look in your eye, doubtful and full of sorrow, but you still trusted him, knowing he would never lead you astray. The same he thought about Dutch.

Repositioning himself behind you, he dug a necklace from his pocket, draping it over your chest and clasping it. You fidgeted in surprise against his movements, gazing down at the beautiful silver pendant that glistened off the very same sun. Before you could say a word he planted a kiss on your lips, gentle and quick before mounting Boaz.

“I promise!”

He called out. After blowing a kiss to you, he was off to assist the gang. He didn’t have much money at the time, but Javier always knew how to make things work—

Oh how naive of him— bright eyed and lovesick, he wanted to make a woman out of you, settle down. That is, before Dutch’s plan captivated him. Which ultimately led to this mess, but who is he kidding, he never really had a chance anyways.

Javier thought back with immense regret, wishing he was more romantic with you in a way, officially making you his chica earlier on, instead of prolonging it due to the possibility of death. He always feared that courting would further your heartbreak if something bad were to happen.

It was his own unaddressed way to cope with the harsh reality of survival and being an outlaw, he always prioritized your safety over intimacy until joining the gang. When he looks back on it, your shared time at Horseshoe Overlook and Clemons Point were some of the best times of his life.

Around that time of riding with the gang was when your relationship with him really began to evolve. The potential competition of other men drove Javier and his intimacy up a wall— his usual gentle lips ghosting over yours turned into small nips, and purple blotches he would mark on your neck late at night. A tight palm covering your mouth which muffled the moans of his name, words the man would kill to hear in such an uncaged manner. He entertained no confusion of who you belonged to; even if he did not make things official until that night at the lake.

Javier had nearly forgotten the sun had already set, and he somehow had no recollection of it. He looked down at you, only in a thin shirt as you gazed longingly off the mountain side.

The final sunset you shared was simply a ticking clock for him.

“Cold?” He whispered, words he could barely choke out.

“A little.” You replied, big doe-like eyes staring up at him, holding so much love for the man. Love he was not sure he ever deserved.

Forcing his gaze away quickly he arose, soles of his feet vibrating and pulsing with each step. After approaching Boaz his shaking hands freed his bedroll clasps, attention locked upon his rifle poking out of the saddle.

His head spun, finally digging himself out of his trance. After returning to you, he draped the cloth over you in vain.

“You okay?” You suddenly asked, your hush voice startling him, he sighed in despair.

The words you said to him at Beaver Hollow replayed through his mind,

Leave with me. Let’s run away.

But he could not get them out, his chest quivered under the constraint of his uneven breaths.

“Course.” He managed to form the word, you nodded in contentment, fresh air filling your nose.

His response would have to do for now, you decided to cut him some slack since he returned to you, after all.

By now you knew him well enough. Some nights he would stay up and collect his thoughts before laying beside you. You always respected his space, he had his demons, like everyone else. Soon enough in your slumber you would feel his protective arms drape around you, his steady breaths hitting the nape of your neck, tense body encapsulating yours— those were the nights you felt the safest, and knew he was going to manage just fine.

Other nights Javier would stay up while you were by your lonesome. He always feared something would kill the both of you while asleep, reluctantly you agreed. But the man always let you rest, you needed it more, that is for putting up with him all day round.

It was those nights he always coaxed you to sleep, you insisted he shouldn’t be awake alone, but eventually would give into the soft lulls he would sing, wordlessly agreeing that there was no point for the both of you to be cranky and tired in the morning.

—But there he sat, only to turn into the monster he swore to protect you from.

“I love you, Javier.”

Your words racked his brain, digging and clawing invasively into each one of his bones. Javier thought he imagined them until he looked over to find you staring this entire time. You knew there was something seriously wrong, but surely he would tell you within due time.

Javier’s voice was lost, swallowing suppressed sobs down his dry throat, he nearly felt like he was drowning once again in the frame he called a body.

Just like the days he would not say it back while pursuing a lead, with doubts he would not make it back to your arms— but he always did, it was the least he could do. It felt like lifetimes ago to him, how could the man choke out a te amo before sending you in?

Instead, he planted a kiss on your soft lips, lingering there for a moment, knowing it would be your last.

Looming below in the shadows, trailing to the border resided monsters he used to protect you from— two Mexican soldiers camped out by the tracks. Their lanterns flickering softly in the distance, patiently waiting for the man to arrive at the agreed meeting spot.

Javier shivered, feeling like a young boy again. His eyes fixated on the stock of his rifle that Boaz held.

Your breaths became shallow, harmonizing with the warm night’s breeze as you fell into a slumber. You trusted Javier’s judgment on setting up camp or heading home, you perhaps allowed yourself to get a little too comfortable.

It all happened so fast for him, and there was no going back. Javier’s mind blurred as he rode, Boaz fussing and fighting under his control. His very own horse feared the monster he had become, maybe poor Boaz thought he was Javier’s next victim.

He rode fast— but not fast enough to flee from himself.

A coyote lurked around the darkness, gazing at Javier from behind the two Mexican soldiers who taunted him, puffing on their big cigars from Uncle Sam.

The coyote disappeared as Javier reached for his revolver, patiently waiting for the man to shoot him— but he never did.

The soldier simply laughed, knowing Javier’s bark had no bite. While under Allende’s power, he was simply a coward a soldier would not even match out of pity.

Soon enough the two men fled into the night, banter that could be heard a mile away through the ravines. Anyone could have mistaken them for sick hyenas.

He could hear their stallions riding hard in triumph, with a new prize Javier held so close for many years, he watched the soldiers grow smaller and smaller over the uneven land until the darkness swallowed them whole, taking a piece of him along.

The nighttimes ahead would find Javier in a one horse town saloon, nodding off more times than he could remember. His glass turned from full to empty until his vision doubled.

Javier was not sure how many days had passed, the whiskey dulling his mind and senses, but the thoughts still ate him alive.

Did you think he would come for you? Or would you be envious, spilling everything you could before meeting the gallows.

Javier hid in his palms, knowing he got it all wrong— it should have been him.

It did not take too long for the man to get kicked out from the saloon due to his drunken stupor, not even the bartender wanted his dirty money.

Javier took Boaz to what he thought was east, the coyote returned to accompany him, lurking around on the monotone forest floors he traveled.

The night breeze made Javier reminisce of the times at camp, the very same breeze that whipped through your hair as you would drag him off somewhere secluded, your mischievous grin reflecting off the summer night's moon as you snuck off into the bushes.

You gave everything to each other— all for nothing it seems.

Javier sank lower into himself before eventually staggering off Boaz. It only took him a few unsteady steps to empty his bowels on the dirt path, elbows hoisting him up on his shaky bent knees.

Peeking out from his jacket cuff was a scar he once wore proudly on his wrist. A scar he earned in some honky tonk town just because another man looked at you wrong. The mere thought of it worsened his nausea.

All signs pointed to you, and you were gone because of reasons he barely understood himself— He feared he didn’t know what loyalty was anymore. Or what he stood for in fact.

Your blind love killed you in the end, and it was his cross to bear.

The sky was dark and dull, which was just as familiar as a bottle and a glass. Not a single star in the sky greeted him, leaving him to fester alone.

The wind howled violently through the trees, causing the leaves to rustle and sway. A northern was quickly sneaking upon the lands of New Austin.

His lone coyote joined him on a distant cliffside, coat black as sin, mocking the cowboy who lingered below.

#rdr2 headcanons #javier escuella #x reader #javier escuella x reader #headcanons #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #red dead redemption fandom #tried using metaphors and connecting it to both the in game lore and part 1 #i think i like it???#low honor #but could be occ still?

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holyratrimony · 1 year

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Bergamot Baths and Soft Sheets

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Summary: you’ve been bedridden with a fever for almost a week when Arthur decides you need a bath and a proper bed

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: non-descriptive nudity, not beta read

A/N: Thank you so much to @cowboydisaster for this request, I really enjoyed writing this soft, sweet fic :)

The steaming, bergamot-scented water lapped at your collarbone as you sunk deeper into the tub. Your muscles that ached after almost a week of doing nothing but laying on your stiff cot began to relax ever so slightly.

You’d been bedridden with a fever for almost a week now. You’d fallen in the river on the way down from Colter. The wagon hit a rock as you crossed one of the many cool mountain streams. The movement was enough to knock you from the back of the wagon where you sat with the other girls.

The water was freezing, weighing down your layers of dress, and saturating your petticoats. As Arthur was caught at the back of the procession with Charles and Hosea, Javier had been quick to pull you from the river. Placing you back in the wagon as Abigail and Miss Grimshaw fussed over you.

But despite the warm blankets they wrapped around your shoulders after you shed your soaked layers, you fell ill with a fever not even a day later. The cot you usually shared with Arthur became solely yours when the heat started to rise beneath your skin.

After days of being caught between waking and sleeping, Arthur insisted that you needed to get a bath and a real bed to sleep in. You quickly agreed to his suggestion, your body feeling fractionally better at the promise of sweet soaps and a soft mattress.

Arthur had gathered you onto his horse, Rowan, a towering black shire, and held you to his chest as the two of you made your way to the nearby town of Valentine. When you arrived in front of the hotel he had helped you down from the horse, and taken you inside, requesting a bath and a room from the man behind the desk.

Now you melted into the soapy water, the feeling soothing your skin. As you rested your head on the lip of the tub, you heard a knock at the door.

Where you’d been expecting the light, gauzy voice typical of a bath girl, Arthur’s low timber filled the air. “Ya wan’ any help in there?”

“That’d be lovely,” your voice was slightly scratchier than normal, due to lack of use.

The door creaked open, Arthur entering with it. He quickly closed it behind him to keep your naked body from the eyes of any passers-by. He looked handsome in the low light of the room, his green eyes shining just beneath the brim of his gambler's hat.

He crossed the space between the door and the bath in just a few strides before crouching down next to it.

“Hello, darlin’,” his voice drawled, a small smile gracing his handsome features as his hand reached out, brushing against your cheek. Your eyelashes fluttered as his fingers caressed your feverish skin. Despite being sweethearts for the better part of three years, you still felt butterflies when he touched you. You leaned into his touch slightly echoing back his greeting.

“You need a hand washin’?” You nodded gently at the question.

Through your lidded eyes, you watched him roll up the sleeves of his blue shirt. His tan forearms were roped with muscle, muscle that rippled with each small movement. You studied him closely as he grabbed the sponge and soap that had been placed near the tub.

“You checkin’ me out, woman?” His voice was light and teasing as he shot a faux stern look in your direction.

You nodded in response, grinning lazily as you leaned your head back against the rim of the tub. “How could I not?”

His rough and calloused hands were contradicted by the soft and soapy sponge as he began to scrub your arm. He started near the shoulder, making light gentle circles, creating a thick and foamy lather on your skin.

A deep and content sigh left your lips as you felt the grime and sweat of the past week be washed away by loving hands.

You began to get lost in the drag of the sponge on your skin, only really coming back when his hand disappeared into the water, his grip wrapping delicately around your ankle. He pulled it out of the depths, resting your heel on the edge of the tub, the murky water helping you keep your modesty. He moved the sponge across your calf first, the small circles he traced sent a tingle through your body.

Each brush of the soap over your fevered skin sent relief and relaxation through you. The love the man felt for you was communicated through every touch of his skin against yours.

Arthur meticulously worked his way up your leg, each swipe inching higher and higher. While normally touch like this would get you riled up, now it seemed to just be drawing you closer and closer into the arms of sleep. The soothing patterns he traced along with the sweet nothings that left his lips lulled you into a middle state between asleep and awake.

What brought you back to alertness was not when Arthur placed your legs back in the water, nor when his touch left your skin, but when you felt a brush of his lips against your forehead. Then followed by his hands on your shoulders, thumbs digging into the tense muscles there. You couldn’t quite stop the soft groan that left your lips as he massaged away the deep ache that had settled into your upper body.

The sickness and exhaustion that had settled into your body over the past week had been eased by the warm water, instead being replaced with a drowsy contentedness.

“How’re you feelin’ now, darlin’?” Arthur’s voice was gentle as he spoke.

“Like a new woman,” you joked lightly, your eyes opening slightly.

“The water’s goin’ cold. Think it might be time we getcha to bed.”

You nodded in response. You felt Arthur’s hands leave your shoulders as he stood up, stretching his arms. “D’ya want help getting dressed?”

Again you nodded, extending your arm out for him to help you rise out of the tub. He had grabbed one of the towels the hotel provided and began to help you dry off. He was just as gentle as when he helped you wash, touching you as if you were something precious and delicate.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, the words barely loud enough for you to make out.

The room he rented was right across from the bath, meaning you were unlikely to run into other people. Arthur helped you put on your chemise, the fabric was thin and light on your warm skin. He gathered the rest of your clothes in his arms before reaching for the door.

The two of you were quick darting into the hotel room, the door shutting solidly behind you. The room wasn’t anything fancy but compared to the cot you spent most of your nights on, it seemed lavish and extravagant. Arthur pulled back the sheets on the bed, gesturing for you to get in.

The linens were soft against your freshly scrubbed skin. As you burrowed into the blankets, Arthur took a seat on the single chair in the room. You shot him a questioning look over the edge of the sheets.

“Now jus’ what are you doin' all the way over there, cowboy?” you teased.

“Well seein’ as yer still sick I thought I’d give ya some space, darlin’”

“There’s plenty of room for both of us. Now quit bein’ chivalrous and come to bed.”

He shook his head at your insistence, a small smile playing across his face. He stood from the chair, the candlelight in the room illuminating his body in soft, golden hues. You watched like a hawk as he stripped down to his union suit.

Despite your body being heavy with sleep, you managed to lift the blankets for him, allowing him to slide in next to you. You turned towards him, the two of you laying face to face.

“Thank you for this, Arthur. I needed it.” Your voice was soft as you stared into his jade-colored eyes.

His hand moved to caress your cheek, his gaze dripping with fondness. “I’d do anything fer you darlin’.”

Despite the sickness still residing in your body, you felt a peace and calm that you hadn’t felt for many years. The two of you, alone, in a real bed, with no gang or Pinkertons to worry about, it made you crave a different way of life. But those thoughts became fuzzy as the veil of sleep overtook you and your dear cowboy held you in his arms.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #holyratrimonyrequest

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greatunironic · 3 months

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six sentence sunday

Did he hate Steve’s predilection for bright colors, for mismatched furniture, for his lack of coherent style? The Shire was so cohesive, so cozy, felt so much like a vision. Steve’s home was just filled with stuff that had caught his eye, his attention, that made him think of his friends and the little family he stumbled into by accident and chance. Robin said Steve liked stuff, because his parents never let him have things, and he wondered if Eddie would think it was too much — if he was too much. A lot of people said Steve was too much: old girlfriends, old boyfriends, teammates, coaches, teachers, his parents. It’d break his heart, he thought, if Eddie felt the same, but it wouldn’t surprise him.

(from the secret fourth thing, aka the small town movie theater + bookstore au, dropping next week)

#stranger things #steddie #six sentence sunday #wip #the secret fourth thing

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lostgirl14480 · 9 months

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A Not So Common Fairy (Teaser)

Summary: you're a dark fairy from the upside-down and when you see that a gate is open, your curiosity gets the best of you.

- eddie munson x fairy!reader

Nothing remotely interesting ever happened in this dimension. It was always dark with constant storms, which I didn't mind actually. But I always hoped something would change. Maybe a ray of sun, or the budding of a flower? But no, nothing beautiful ever came to this place...

So, when I got wind that Henry Creel was opening gates to another world, I decided it was time for me to leave this place in search of something more. There was nothing tying me here, only the memories of my family...

Without a second thought, I lift my multicolored wings and set off into the air, heading straight to an open gate. The only thing left behind is a small trail of black dust, but it is quickly swept away by the winds of the never-ending storms.

......................

I emerge from the gate, and for the first time ever, I see the color green. Instead of the dark decaying plants from my dimension, this one is full of life! I stare in awe at all the green leaves on the trees, the moss growing on the ground, even the small river flowing along a path. I'm about to fly over to a particular budding flower when I hear voices coming from below me. Not trusting what the noise is from, I try shrinking myself, but for some reason, being in this dimension is limiting my magic. So instead, I perch myself on a branch just high enough to be out of sight but low enough to hear what is going on.

"We need to see If there's a gate around here, It's the only way we'll be able to find Vecna and free Max from his curse." Says one of the younger humans in the group. Vecna? Curse? Are they talking about Henry? How do they know about the gates?

Intrigued, I lean in closer from the branch I'm perched on and continue to listen to the conversation this group of humans are having.

"Dustin, have you even considered how dangerous this plan is? And Eddie is still wanted for murder, we can't just go walking around town looking for a gate!" Murder!? These humans are getting more interesting by the second.

"Steve, it's our only shot, I don't see any other options..." Dustin replies. "And besides, I think Eddie should have a say, since he's the one being chased by the whole town. So what do you say Eddie?"

The one who must be Eddie stands up and addresses the group. I take a moment to look him over, and I can't help but stare a little longer than I intended, there's just something about him that draws me in.

"I say, you're asking me to follow you into Mordor, which, if I'm totally straight with you I think is a really bad idea. But uh the Shire, the Shire is burning. So Mordor it is." I'm amazed at how brave these humans are, knowing how ruthless Henry, or I guess Vecna, can be. But I guess I have a lot to learn about this new dimension, and the humans who live here.

After agreeing on what Eddie said, the group all start to follow Dustin. Eddie trails behind, seemingly lost in thought and I take the time to admire his features. In Vecnas dimension, there really arn't any attractive males, or any human like creatures for that matter, so it's hard not to admire Eddie in this moment.

But I guess I didn't realize how intently I was looking and how much closer I was leaning over the branch to get a closer look, because all of a sudden, the branch I'm perched on cracks, and I fall a few feet before my wings are able to extend. I quickly fly up to another branch, higher up this time, and behind the trunk of the tree. But I'm sure I felt eyes on me for a split second...

"Eddie! What are you still doing back there?" Dustin calls out. The group is already a bit further along the path, but Eddie is stood at the base of the tree I'm hiding in, staring at the cracked branch.

I stay completely still, not sure If he's already seen me.

"I just, I thought I saw-" Eddie starts, but stops and shakes his head, turing back to follow the group. "Nevermind."

🖤🖤🖤

A/N: This is just a random idea that I thought of, not sure if it'll just be turned into a few imagines or if I'll make it into a story, haven't decided yet 😂 But I've been in an Eddie mood lately so there's plenty more where this came from 😁❤️‍🔥

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington #dustin henderson

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edges-of-night · 10 months

Note

Heyo! I was wondering if you could write something about the lotr characters meeting a modern!reader that starts crushing on them once they show up in middle earth? (Preferably the 4 hobbits) Happy writings!

I hope I did your request justice! Enjoy!

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Sure enough, Frodo had heard the gossip about a strange human showing up in the Shire – not only one of the big folk, but dressed especially strangely, and talking even weirder. Being the gentleman that he is, Frodo would not investigate or snoop around any further than that. Surely that human had enough helpful hobbits around them by now… Little did he know that nothing could be further from the truth!

Your time in this strange place had been nothing but miserable. No electricity, no internet, indeed nowhere to charge your phone – it wasn’t like your navigation apps were of any help out here, recognising absolutely nothing – but still you dreaded losing your only connection to home. None of the people here could tell you where you were. They looked like D’n’D halflings, with their pointy ears and short bodies, but all they did was pretend they didn’t understand you or shoo you away with whatever tool they were holding.

When your phone eventually died, you broke down crying in the grove you had been wandering. Covering your face with your hands, you sobbed with your back against the tree. It should be cruel that you were so lonely in such a beautiful place…

Somewhen, you heard light – well, as light as these big-fooded halflings could walk – steps coming toward you. A polite and quiet voice asked, “Excuse me… Can I help you?”

You looked up with a sniff. Before you stood a halfling with the brightest and biggest blue eyes you have ever seen. He carried a book under his arm. His words and demeanour were careful, as though he tried explicitly not to scare you.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. As soon as the words left your mouth, a comforting warmth spread in your chest – you had already given up hope of ever finding a friendly face here! You broke into a relieved laugh.

“I thought I heard someone crying,” the halfling smiled with a wave of his book. “And from the sound of your voice, you could use a glass of water, couldn’t you?”

You rubbed your eyes. “That’d be great, yeah. Haven’t had something to drink for almost a day now. I guess. I don’t know how time works here.”

“It’s the twelfth of July,” the halfling said gently, huddling down in front of you.

You sucked in a breath – such blue eyes could only mean you were in some kind of fantasy world! “The same day I left home,” you uttered, hoping your heart would not jump out right into his face.

“And still you seemed to have travelled quite the distance,” he said and smiled. “Come on,” he offered with an extended hand, “you can rest at my home in Bag End.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. But when you took his hand, you suddenly got the feeling everything would turn out okay after all…

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

In the hope that it would make you seem smaller, you ducked your head – but the halflings’ eyes were still firmly on you. You’d already been in their world for days, and yet they gawped at you as though you were an alien.

Well, considering you hadn’t seen any other humans in their little halfling town, maybe that was sort of true.

“The same as always,” you asked the bartender. Meaning: left-over bread and a bit of water.

“Right away,” she smiled. She was friendly – your only source of food for the past few days – but even her eyes were cautious. As though you might break something just by standing at her small bar counter. You suppressed a sigh and mumbled a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Belay that order, Rosie! They’ll have a summer vegetable ragout,” a rough voice next to chimed in. “And how about some redcurrant juice? Better than water all day. We’ll have a carafe.”

You shifted, elbows on the counter. You weren’t in the mood for petty halfling nonsense – you just wanted something to eat and get back to the tree you were hiding behind…

“On your tab, Merry?” Rosie asked, eyebrows risen in amusement.

“Yes, yes, everything on my tab.” He downed his beer and leaned further onto the counter. “My treat!”

Nothing in his voice suggested malice, so you did turn around. Next to you sat a bright-eyed halfling in a yellow vest. His cheeks were puffy from grinning. “Sorry if you looked forward to that ol’ bread,” his voice rasped. “Hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

Something about his shamelessness made you smile. “You didn’t. Thank you.” You swallowed, but your next words left your mouth before you could stop yourself: “That’s the kindest thing someone around here has done for me.”

“Ahh, don’t give a horse’s shit about other people,” he went. “I was never averse to the big folk, and neither are the Tooks. And the Baggins’, needless to say. And, yeah, I’m a Brandybuck, so…”

Gears turn in your head – you’d heard all those names around town before. “Oh, you’re – what’s it – Merry?”

His head spun around, bright eyes staring at you. “Yeah,” he uttered. “That’s me.” He put his drink down and fumbled with the curls that had fallen into his face. You chuckled at how flustered he was all of a sudden – it was very cute! “And, and,” he stuttered, “you are…?”

You leaned in to tell him your name over the crowd’s noise. He smelled of apples and summer meadows…

When you pulled away, Merry gave you the brightest grin. “What a beautiful name!”

“Thanks,” you laughed, blushing at his smile.

“Now that that’s settled…” He shifted to give you a conspiratorial look. “We’ll get your ragout and juice, and then we can dance and sing together, what do you say?”

You laughed in disbelieve. “What?”

“Yeah! My friends are sitting over there! We can join them and teach you all the songs you need to know in the Green Dragon.” Though Merry’s enthusiasm was unmistakable, he still glanced downward, as though he was nervous about asking this of you. You thinned your lips in order not to smile like a lovebird – he was pretty charming! “I’d love to join you, Merry. Thank you.”

His joy practically exploded: “Great! Great, now then let’s go!”

“What about the ragout…?”

“I’ll teach you to dance first!” he called and took your hand to pull you with him.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Halflings, or Hobbits, as they called themselves, were a strange little people. When you had crashed into their town last Tuesday, their initial reaction to you had been rather hostile. Especially older people did not want you around, let alone talk to you.

With younger Hobbits however, the story was very different.

Children, insofar their parents wouldn’t hold them back, loved when you came to town to get food and water. They asked if you knew “Gandalf” and all other sorts of names you didn’t recognise. They also whispered secrets into your ear, about this or that sibling of theirs who had a crush on you. While amused, you shrugged it off as children’s nonsense, just the same as in your world. Until… you found a letter by the tree trunk you’ve made your home base. It was a neat and tidy letter, gorgeous handwriting, and even a seal.

Your tall figure and round ears have enchanted me…

It was a love letter! Your heart skipped a few beats – and then you laughed. Hobbits were impossible! And impossibly charming, as it would seem.

Soon you learned that they all had such tidy handwriting and beautiful stationary. The letters multiplied. Each day you found more by your home. It was getting ridiculous – so few would talk to you in person, and then apologise for it in the most beautiful letter you’d ever seen.

One day, when you found another seven letters by your base, a voice stopped you from reading them right away. “Here’s another delivery for ye!”

You turned around to find a boyish Hobbit with dishwater blond curls and blue eyes heading your way. He had a shoulder bag around his turquoise coat and marched straight toward you. You laughed when he did a little tip-toe-dance toward you.

“Wow. Then all of these are yours?” you asked.

“Wha’?” He stopped in his tracks, giving you a wide-eyed look with his lips falling open. “No, no, you couldn’t be further from the truth! Everyone’s been givin’ me letters for you, but none of it my own, I swear!”

You smiled at his charming accent and outraged expression. He even raised his hands in defence, thereby holding up the envelopes he meant to give you earlier.

“So, you’re my little messenger?” you asked, trying to ignore the urge to hug him. He was too precious!

“Somethin’ only a Took would do,” he said with a proud grin. “I bet no one’s asked you out for a bowl of Second Breakfast strawberries in person, right?”

“No?” you went, a bit unsure – was he…?

“Then I’ll do just that,” he grinned, pushing the envelopes into your hands. He smiled up at you so brightly you needed a second to understand.

“Only if you like the freshest, juiciest, reddest strawberries, that is…”

You chuckled. “What a question.”

He jumped a little, beaming like the sun. “One best asked in person, I figured. Come on, then. I’m Peregrin, by the way, but everyone calls me Pippin. Or Pip is fine, too, if you prefer that – Merry sometimes calls me that – you might know him, my first cousin, Meriadoc Brandybuck. I’m also cousins with Frodo Baggins, up in Bag End, I’m sure we can pay ‘im a visit later and play cards, that’d be a blast! And speaking of Bag End…”

Truly, you thought with a blissful smile as you walked down the hill, all that would’ve been a bit much to fit into one letter.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

For Samwise Gamgee, it was an ordinary day to the plant market and back. He was thinking about trying some of that summer lilac this year. The butterflies loved it, and the East side of Bag End could use another arboret anyway. It was heavier to carry than he had expected – but nothing rolled-up sleeves couldn’t handle, even below the warm late afternoon sun. With that, he was on his way back home.

You, on the other hand, were headed in the other direction. One second you were walking down the street, looking at your phone, and then…

A gust of wind made you raise your head. You had to squint your eyes against the suddenly bright and golden sun. Insects chirped around you. You were standing by a field! Below your shoes was a gravelled path, above you the clearest blue sky you’d seen in a while.

Just when you turned around, you bumped into a child coming from around the corner of the high wildflowers – or so you thought. After your initial confusion and an autopiloted “Oh, sorry!”, you realised the stranger was far from a child. Before you stumbled a tanned man with blond curls falling into his freckled face, sturdy and kind. His broad arms, exposed by a rolled-up old-timey shirt, carried a potted plant that he now steadied in-between you.

“Oh, not to worry!” he let you know. He grunted when he realised that raising the plant like this would block your faces. Rearranging it gave you time to further scan him – his feet were naked and big. And very, very hairy – “You’re a halfling!” you realised.

“Aye, sure hope I am,” the man replied. A smile tugged at his lips when his brown eyes met yours. “And you’re a human, as it looks to me.”

You laughed. He was very good at this. Had you wandered into a fantasy festival? “Yeah, um – sorry, again,” you babbled, stealing a glance at your phone. No reception.

“No worries,” he assured you. He tilted his head. “What’s that magic tablet you’re carryin’?”

You were on the verge of replying that this was just a phone, not a tablet, when he instantly straightened his posture. “I mean, not to make any assumptions, but we don’t get big folk visitin’ very often. People might stare if someone walks around with magic stuff, not to mention a beauty such as you.”

“Beauty?” Your heart picked up pace when the halfling looked at you shily from below his dark eyelashes. Your own eyes fluttered. Where were you…? “I was just walking down the street,” you mumble, “and before I knew it…”

“I know the feeling!” the halfling agreed. “One step and you don’t know where you are anymore.”

You studied him – something made you trust him. “Yeah.”

“Were you on your way to Hobbiton then? I can accompany you, very well, if you want to,” he offered you in his simple and charming manner. You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Thank you!”

#lotr imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr x reader #frodo x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader #samwise x reader #* fluffy #* hurt/comfort #* modern #* ask #* request

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duketod · 11 months

Text

#small town -shire #oc #ocs #original character

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toxooz · 11 months

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Do you have a backstory posted for ramsuse? I think he’s an interesting character and you’ve said he used to be human so I’m very curious 🙂

ROIGHT SO i gotta See it with my own eyes so i drew lil illustrations to go with it so letsa go buckle UP yall ALSO tw for like graphic gory description and suicide mention aaand i think thats it OK:

waay back arooound 1870's I'd say behold a man! Ramsuse was a very well distinguished hunter who also did bounty hunting. Being a big brawny man he had a big brawny horse as well who was named Appocolus, a shire draft horse (the Big Ol honses) and had a wife named Myrna:

They were happily married for about 5 years, owned a pretty small farm, and took a lot of hunting trips together (most likely sold the skins/ meat along with eggs ect.) but yeah huntin n fishin was one of their favorite activities to do together. They didn't live far from a small town where they did their trading and shopping from and Ramsuse was a pretty well known bounty hunter in the town and even had a small group of other bounty hunters that he would team up with occasionally. Back then, in most towns, it was still a Big Thing for monsters to exist and was often treated as a frankenstien event (light the pitchforks yada yada); but in this part of the overall timeline demons kind of infested some parts of the world (side note obv. that didn't last forever and the majority of demons and that of the like ended up being chased into caves and hidden crevices of the world which is maybe why Mogak had to go into a big ass demon cave community to get that demonic D.) some entire towns could become completely overrun with demons and many caused chaos and ruin among the land, which probably gave a lot of other unrelated monsters a bad rep. hence why they would be ridiculed as well. It was pretty common for demons to be outlaws and outliers, and it was also common practice for humans to capture demons (typically demons who were minding their own business (like Ollie in the cowboy au👀)) and sacrifice them in churches or do mass killings so it was kind of a back and forth rivalry between humans and demons during this time. Granted, while demons and humans were at war, naturally demons are more powerful than humans without any manmade advantage-so side backstory Myrna's parents got killed by a demon in their house when she was a child and she was orphaned for the rest of her adolescence, so she's carried a special kind of bitterness, fear, and hatred towards demons throughout her life.

As their town slowly starting having more and more demonic issues, a certain demon cowboy was a prominent culprit of the reoccurring destruction of the town:

he had the ability to transform people into demons and his "horse" is basically just another demon that tried to mimic a horse to be able to assist in the bidding of the outlaw (ie: it's ears are actually horns, it's neighs sound more like a donkey and hyena mixed together, ect) He too led a gang that tormented towns and cities, only they were damn near impossible to pin down. Ramsuse was the main tracker for trying to find him and every time he did, the outlaw would slip through the cracks of their dimension which would eventually drive Ramsuse to insanity and intense resentment towards demons and monsters trying to get the outlaw. It got to a point where that's all he wanted to do was try to find and catch the demon, even his own group of bounty hunters opted out and urged Ramsuse to do the same at least for a while, for it was eating away at his soul. Though it was out of love for his wife and their own town, he would leave for days and put off hunting trips that Myrna wanted to go on in order to attempt to capture the outlaw. Until one night he followed a seemingly deliberate trail of clues that led him to a run down cabin out in the middle of nowhere. The demon outlaw was patiently waiting for him when he barged in like a bat out of hell, however Ramuse was having none of it and went straight for his throat upon first look. He mopped the floor with him for a while until those eye flaps on the demons face latched onto the bounty hunters arms (kinda like venom slime stickin to shit) and started searing Ramsuse's flesh off to reveal his new demon skin. It eventually traveled through his entire body as he slowly burned to death, his horns erupting from his head probably feeling like his brains were being squeezed out of his skull, his old teeth being simultaneously pushed out by bigger lion-like teeth, his body getting bigger as his burnt dead skin fell off in bloody sheets to give way to the contorting muscles as the demon outlaw observed in deranged satisfaction

by the time Ramsuse could come to his senses, the outlaw was long gone. During the physical altercation, outside Appocolus and the demon horse got into it as well. When the draft horse saw that abomination of a horse, every red light went off in his sixth sense and he lunged for it, however it mauled him back and it's teeth essentially had the same burning effect in which Appocolus was doomed to the same fate as his rider.

Ramsuse spent several days trying to track any possible trace of the demon to see if he could somehow be changed back, but he was nowhere to be found. As time went on, desperately trying to find any way to change himself back at this point, dread began to seep into him like rot on a dead carcass as he realized he had no choice but to go back home and face Myrna with this new demonic vessel that he was cursed with.

As he reluctantly arrived at his house, he tried to talk to Myra through the door as a way to prepare her as much as he knew how. He attempted to stay behind the door as long as possible, beating around the bush as to what just happened, but she didn't understand why he was acting this way and only tolerated it so much before she opened the door and upon first glance immediately scrambled for a gun

Completely overrun with past memories, she refused to believe him and was convinced that a demon Actually killed him and took his form to get to her and was merely feigning his distress just to make her vulnerable. Ramsuse quickly saw her state and decided it was best to just do what she demanded and he fled after she shot at him.

After what happened, that was the final straw that broke the camels back and Myrna took to the town to try and tell people what happened to her husband. Nobody has witnessed anyone being turned into a demon and coming back ( they just knew people vanished or were just straight up dead) and with her being a woman back then, nobody believed her not even Ramsuse's former bounty hunter group. They drew the conclusion that Ramsuse merely found another woman and ran away with her, so Myrna was deemed mentally unstable and was locked up in a facility where she soon died of a fatal self inflicted wound. Ramsuse could only watch all of this happen from afar for he had no idea how to get through to her or to even show his face anywhere ever again as he drowned in grief and self hatred over time. He was cursed to be immortal as he became just a wandering cowboy, doing bounty work in passing towns. He took more heavily toward monster communities, however his bitterness and resentment toward the concept of life itself made both him and his horse extremely vicious and brutal to anyone around him. He would start bar fights regularly and kill more bounties that were strictly wanted alive and then he would kill lawmen if they so much as looked at him wrong he was just a whole ass mess. Appocolus was outcast as well by all horses, both feral and domesticated, so he too became very grudge driven and hostile. He would assist Ramsuse in tormenting and killing anyone they deemed deserving by biting and trampling as well. As the years flew by Ramsuse and Appocolus only had eachother in the world and now that the wild west is almost completely faded out he has a house and barn he made himself out in the middle of nowhere ( like somewhere around Montana or somethin if he was in this world I'd say) he owns thousands upon thousands of acres that he preserves and patrols( to make sure no bitch ass puts a gas station or mcdonalds anywhere PFFT) so theres pretty much a large chunk of the state that is untouched by modern life bc he Will destroy anything by any means necessary so nobody has successfully bought any land. so yeah now hes just a bitter old demon who refuses to move on from his timeline while desperately clings to whats left of his memories and avoids society except for an occasional bar run from a super old bar that's probably been around a while as well :') AIGHT i think i got everything abt his ass 😭 if u bothered to read this far HOPE U ENJOYED!!

#ramsuse #oc lore #oc facts #western #cowboy #demon #monster oc #monster #monster boy #exophilia #terato #tiefling #appocolus #just now named that damn horse lmfao

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 4 months

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I see you very much as an expert on all things Rohirrim, so I bring to you this question, hoping I can pick your brain for info to use in my own fics (full disclosure). 😅

It seems to be a popular fanon that the Rohirrim/Riders of Rohan have tattoos, and that body art is a part of their culture. Do you have any thoughts or personal HCs about this that you're willing to share?

Thank you in advance! I appreciate you and your blog so much (if you didn't already know that).

Oh my goodness!!! I am so very honored to be thought of as a person who is knowledgeable about my beloved Rohirrim, and I hope very much that I can live up to that reputation. Thank you!!!

I’m not aware of any real textual evidence for body art among the Rohirrim, and the historical record in the medieval Anglo Saxon and Norse societies that Tolkien used as a reference for them seems to be disputed. But I absolutely understand and agree with the conventional wisdom that tattoos are a thing in Rohan. It just fits well with a warrior culture that has a wilder, dare-I-say more pagan aesthetic as compared to the smooth solemnity of Gondor or the formal elegance of the elves. And since they’re a culture that doesn’t document things in written words, pictorial representations such as tattoos and body art would be one way to fill that gap (along with their songs and oral traditions).

In my mind, tattoos in Rohan are common but basic—they’ve really only got the technology for the “stick and poke” method so the designs are kept simple because anything too elaborate is difficult to pull off well. They’re mostly in black line (using soot) but some have color using powder made from grinding up certain dried roots and plants.

Each village/community has its own distinctive tattoo motif that is worn by all of that community’s members. So you can tell just by looking at someone whether they’re from Upbourn (a fish because it’s a river town) or Dunharrow (mountain peaks since they’re in the White Mountains) or Everholt (a boar in honor of the wild boar that live in this part of the Firien Wood), etc. And soldiers also tend to share tattoo designs specific to their éored—getting your éored’s mark is a formal rite of passage for the younger members when they first get assigned to their company. These shared tattoo designs are important both for group cohesion and as a means of identifying fallen Rohirrim even if the deceased isn’t known to whoever finds the body.

Beyond these ritualized and practical functions, I do also like to think that there are some purely decorative tattoos among them as a means of personal expression and/or to help cover small scars that so many Rohirrim have from battle, riding accidents or other mishaps. Obviously horse-based designs would be very popular, as well as other flora and fauna of Rohan. But they’re a very sentimental people and so I think little emotional signifiers would also be very common (again, especially because they generally don’t have a means to pay tribute to beloved people/things in written form, this sort of symbol would serve the purpose of making some kind of record of those tributes).

In terms of specific people in my head canon: Éomer has a little simbelmynë blossom for each of the major figures in his life that he’s lost (forearm). Háma had a sun to remind him of his wife, who brought warmth and light to his life (shoulder). Théodred had stars in the shape of a particular constellation that is visible every year on his mother’s birthday (chest). Éowyn has a representation of her father’s sword (left wrist) and gets a quill (right wrist) to represent Faramir after they get married. (Faramir got a little running horse in her honor on his first trip to Rohan. He was glad he did it, but he never wants to sit through that again.)

Merry brought tattooing back to the Shire when he showed up with a tobacco pipe on his bicep (both for its association with Buckland and in tribute to Théoden, whose last words to Merry were about smoking together someday when peace was restored). Unsurprisingly, tattoos did not catch on with the other hobbits, but Merry remains very proud of it.

Anywayyyy…I hope that was in any way helpful! Thanks so much for asking!! I remain a huge fan and am so grateful to you for helping convince me to put some of my thoughts and stories out there vs keeping them all in the confines of my own Google drive!

#lord of the rings #lotr #tolkien #asks #answered asks #rohan #rohirrim #éomer #éowyn #háma #théodred #merry #faramir #lotr headcanon #tattoos

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bluebellhairpin · 1 year

Text

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; Meeting up with Thorin's Company at Bag End didn't go as smoothly as anyone expected. But as the journey to Erebor begins, eventually everyone settles into a new rhythm of normal - even you and Thorin.

Warnings; Mentions of nightmares/visions of the future. Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns, and is Human.

Listening to; 'Noble Maiden Fair' from Brave - "Sun and moon, guide us, to the hour of our glory and honor."

Part 2

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

This is a re-write of a old series! If you'd like to read the original, you can find it Here.

Waking up in a strange place, with little to no memory of the events of the day before, had sent you into a panic.

When things started coming back to you like second nature - your name, places, how to do things and live - you figured, maybe, this wasn’t something to be so worried about.

Maybe it happened often?

You wandered a lot, and on your wanderings down in a place called the Brown Lands, you met someone. Not a man - a wizard - Gandalf was his name, somehow you knew it without him even telling you. You trusted him easily, as if you did know him already - something deep inside told you he wasn’t going to hurt you, that he was good - so when he gave you a map to the Shire - to Bag End - after a meal you shared, you took it with a nod.

The place you needed to go wasn’t far away, a few days of swift travel on horseback and you could be there - but you had no horse - and from what Gandalf said, it would be quite the dangerous journey. Weapons that would’ve been needed were not something you had on hand either. So you stayed in that small town working your arse off in order to have enough favours to pull to get you the resources needed - sturdier clothes, a bigger travel pack, food that could last, a sword, and a horse.

It took you less than two weeks.

You picked out a study mountain horse, with a dark coat and lighter colored mane. His owner said his name was Phar Lap. He was perfect.

You soon found your way over the mountain ranges that lead towards Bree, and by the time you'd made it to Bag End on the night Gandalf said you should be there by, you had already quite a journey and story under your coat to tell.

You’d tied up your horse, and let yourself into the Hobbit-Hole. The door was left cracked open, and no one answered when you lightly rapped against the window.

Ducking in and making your way through hall into the atrium outside the dining room, the dwarfs in your eyeline went silent.

You were relieved to see that everyone Gandalf said would be there had arrived already. The hobbit in front of you followed their gazes and looked over at you, as did the dwarf sitting at the table’s head and Gandalf. The other dwarfs moved to try and see you better.

“And who might you be?” The Hobbit - Bilbo, something in your mind whispered - asked, already irritated from his unexpected guests, but by the dwarfs reaction he guessed you were definitely uninvited, and therefore was even less pleased.

“I invited her, she shall be our number fifteen.” Gandalf said, taking a blow of his pipe. “She’s here to help.” he added and sat back up.

“To take back the mountain, Erebor. Gandalf told me much about your journey already, I’m more than willing to help you.” You said. Something about being in this situation had you giddy. Like you’d been waiting much longer than you knew to be able to meet them - and help them.

“Why might we need your help?” The dwarf at the head said. Thorin, that same voice told you. He quickly ruined your pleasant mood and stood to emphasize his protest - even though he just reached your chin when standing at his full height, he was still making you want to shrink in on yourself. “You aren’t a dwarf, and yet you’re too small, too weak. You’re no Hobbit burglar either. What could you possibly do to help us?” You eyed Thorin, weary, but wondering if he could really be so hostile to a stranger who was offering their help.

“I know things. I see how events play out in dreams.”

“Oh and what use is that exactly?”

“You’re asking me that? You willingly have a wizard in your company, and you’re asking me how visions of the future would help you?” You were very quick to bite back at him, to match his hostility. “I wouldn’t have travelled all the way from The Brown Lands to help you if I doubted if the visions were true. Gandalf wouldn’t have told me to come if he thought I was too weak or small.” All eyes then turned to Gandalf, of which was pretending he hadn’t quite heard you.

“I already told you she’s here to help. I’ve spoken, if you wish to ignore me that will be your fault.” He said promptly after seeing too many eyes on him.

“I don’t mind her coming!” A young blond dwarf said, a smile cracking onto his face as he playfully hit the shoulder beside him - his brother, Kili- on the shoulder. “We could use a pretty face among all the ugly mugs here.”

You looked over at the two younger dwarves bitterly, as the others erupted in laughter. “I’m well aware I’m the only woman here, but I won’t be reduced down to just a pretty face.” A quiet fell into the group as the laughter died down, your stern eyes receiving nods, and mutterings of ‘fair enough’.

“I don’t wish to sound like I’m doing what you just asked me not to do,” A dwarf who looked much too young to be among his associates stood, “But I want you to know that I think you are really, really pretty.” You took in a deep breath, and sighed with a smile.

“Thank you, Ori.” you blurted. You hand even covered your own mouth at the surprise you had for knowing his name. The Company themselves went into an uproar - partially out of annoyance that Ori was the first to tell you his thoughts and get away with it - and partially out of confusion as to how you knew Ori’s name even though you just got here.

“Who are you?” A rough shove to your arm brought your attention back to - Thorin, “And tell me what else can do you, or do we have to still protect you despite your ‘visions’?”

You told him your name. “I can use a sword well, quick thinking - I can hold my own very well in a fight -”

“Fight? Against what? A measly elf?” You felt your eye twitch. He was frustrating you more and more. If he kept this up, your anger would win over how much you wanted to help them. And you wanted that so dearly. You felt anger bubble inside you, ready to burst, but Gandalf interrupted, ducking his head into the conversation.

“Not elves, but she has had more than her fair share of orcs. Even a troll or two.” he said as you turned away to regain your composure, missing the flash of knowing hurt and regret on Thorin’s face before he spoke.

“I didn’t know.” He said.

“You couldn’t have, you don’t know me.” You replied, giving a small smile to let him know it was alright. For now.

“So is she coming?” Bilbo asked, popping himself into Thorin and your conversation much like the wizard did. “Because I would feel more comfortable coming if there was someone who knows what’s going to happen coming along.” He finished. Thorin took a few more moments to think, looking you up and down as he did so.

“I suppose so. The worst she can do is die.” And just like that, the anger was back.

“I can see how grateful you are to my offer of help, Thorin. I shall take my leave instead of staying around and helping the likes of you.” you said and made your way back out of Bilbo’s house and into the crisp night air. Bilbo himself came after you, almost pleading with you to stay a join anyway, or make everyone else leave with you.

“You will need to go after her, Thorin.” Gandalf said, peering down at the dwarf. “You have to bring her back here.”

“Why should I? She’ll be nothing but trouble, even if she can hold her own in battles.” Thorin said, his stubborn irrationality kicking in again. He just couldn’t see why he needed you.

“You yourself noted she was neither Hobbit or Dwarf. What business do I have inviting an ordinary human on this journey?” With Gandalf’s question Thorin seemed to slowly understand. “To tell you the truth, unknown to herself, she is not of this world. She was sent from another specifically to help you reclaim Erebor, to keep those close to you safe until then with her visions - memories.”

Gandalf took a puff of his pipe, and Thorin blinked, letting the words sink in.

“She’s suffered quite enough at the hands of this world’s darker forces to be able to be here tonight, if that alone isn’t enough reason to let her stay with you then you have a denser skull than I remembered.” Gandalf had a point. Thorin was being unreasonably mean. Even when his own kin were unwilling to help, you were here.

Thorin looked over at Balin, who was sitting and listening intently to Gandalf's words. He nodded at Thorin to go after you. Thorin clenched his jaw, let out a yell of frustration, then stormed out. He reached past the front door, pushed past Bilbo, and stomped angrily towards where you went.

A call of your name had you turning on your heel.

“Wait.” Your eyes almost flashed in the darkness under the fur of your hood, daring Thorin to insult you again, but instead they widened at his changed declaration. “You will come with us as Gandalf is advising, and… I’ll try to act more agreeable towards you.”

He couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, though. Instead taking a great interest in the hem of your coat.

“You mean less like a jerk, and more like a king?” your head tilted, trying not to let a smirk reach your lips - though somehow you thought he wouldn’t have seen your expression anyway.

“I suppose so.” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “Especially if you decide to be nice in turn.”

“I’m only nice to those who give me reason, your majesty.” you mocked. Thorin felt his frustration rise once more. He sensed you’d be the death of him - of he of you - if you both kept this up. You smirk widened - although there was no joy behind it - as you started walking past him. “Careful there, you might turn ‘unagreeable’ again.”

“If you want to keep vexing me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you turned, facing the equally angry dwarf, of which was now eye-level to you from the hills slope. “You’ll let - no - force me to leave and let your fate, and the fate of the rest of the Company reach the same end that I’ve seen? Trust me - you don’t want what’s coming.” Your voice was quiet, eyes even darker in the night. You watched as his jaw ticked, nose flaring in an effort to keep himself under control. “You do not want more dragon-fire. More lives slain at the hands of orcs. I’ve seen death, blood shed. I see it each and every night when I sleep, Thorin.”

“Well, what choice do you give me now?” Your eyes locked in a fierce hold. Your words hurt Thorin. Gandalf said you were here to help and keep those of the Company safe - you knew their future. If you were saying these things, saying you were to help keep them away from such a horrible fate - one he’d seen bestowed upon many before him - who was he to keep you away?

That alone made him more lenient. You must’ve seen it in his eyes.

“Fine.” You said with a huff. “You may be a king but that doesn’t mean you can be pardoned for acting so horrendously. Even so I will strike a deal with you.”

“Like what?”

“We try not to speak to each other, not to be near each other. Try to stay as far away from each other as possible so we don’t have to fake being civil.” You started, meeting Thorin’s blue eyes once more. They almost looked like they were glowing in the moonlight.” I think I’d be able to bear you much more if I didn't have to speak to you so often.”

“I’d have to agree.” He rumbled.

“We have a deal then?” you asked, sticking your hand out for him to shake. He grabbed hold of your hand, holding it a little too tight.

“Deal.”

Days passed, slowly turning into weeks, and for what it’s worth your plan had worked. Mostly.

You could easily assume Thorin’s temper flared against you just as often as it would’ve if you hadn’t agreed on a deal at all. Honestly yours did too - but only ever to meet his. You tried your best to be civil. But banter turned to bickering, and bickering - when given the chance - would turn to arguments. Tension was building, and often you didn’t know what kind it was exactly.

The Company had stopped for the night to rest under a rocky crevice. Thorin was set to start on the first watch with Fili and Kili before you took over with Dwalin and Ori. You decided to stay up with them. Balin often told stories, and the story Balin would tell tonight would be one you decided not to miss.

Tonight was the story of how Thorin gained the name Oakenshield. Balin told it very well. He often had you enraptured with his decade of tales - you soaked them up like a sponge. Instead of staring at the storyteller to take in every word, you watched Thorin, as everyone did, and found yourself standing with the rest of the company out of respect for your leader and king.

You knew orcs, they'd caused you pain, physical and emotional. Fighting one was enough for you, but an army would take being possessed by the spirits of a thousand warriors. They'd left scars on you - also physical and emotional - and too those wouldn't go away.

You’d always respect Thorin for what he went through, what he did - even if he chose to act like a jerk to you.

With the story told, the night lulled. Dwarves curled up to snore each other to sleep, and you rolled up in your blanket to sleep.

Trees framed your dream.

They peeled back, revealing where you were resting. You knew there were other vantage points where you could see your camp from, you didn’t know how you got there though.

You moved further back, and beside you were wild, vicious beasts. Wargs. Atop them were Orcs. Their eyes flashed in the dark, speaking in tongues you didn’t understand. They turned away, seething, but pleased.

You shot up, reaching a hand for your aching head. Now awake, you took your eyes over a turn of the group. Everyone was here. The bile that rose in your mouth quickly went away.

You were safe, for now.

You looked back at Gandalf, of which had sensed your dream and was keeping a keen eye on you as you woke. Your face had gotten dull, he was worried, but he’d come to understand that some things couldn't be shared.

“My my, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bofur said from a way across the camp. Unlike Gandalf, the Company didn’t yet fully understand the lengths of your visions. You often had to make up reasons as to why you suddenly looked so shocked, or somber.

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“Must’ve been something pretty scary. Perhaps you could spin a tale of sorts?” Bofur prodded, some of the other Company soon turned to face you. Apparently less of them were sleeping than you thought.

“No. No, I’m no good at telling stories.”

“What about a song? It doesn’t have to be a scary one.” Bofur took a puff of his pipe, smugly pushing his agenda. “We haven’t heard a single tale from you yet, I think it’s about time if I do say so myself.”

“Maybe another time, Bofur.” He looked at you, watching as you shoved your hands under your blankets, folding your knees to your chest. He seemed to take the hint, and left you alone, instead now humming a tune of his own.

Thorin looked over to watch you as you settled down again. He’d never seen you wake from a vision before. He never realized exactly what they did to you.

He kept looking between you and the fire to try and make it look like he wasn’t staring. After your waking, it was almost as if he saw you in a new light. Like one switch of many was suddenly turned on inside his mind which enabled him to really see you.

Sure, he’d seen you before, but only superficially, not like this.

This was deeper.

It suddenly occurred to him that - even if you didn’t know it - you had a life back where you came from. A family, friends, maybe even a lover or children. You’d been through hell to get to Bilbo’s that night you first met, only for him to treat you like you were nothing.

Now, he felt pretty bad about it, regretted it even, and felt the strange need to make it up to you.

The problem was he didn’t really know how.

He didn’t know what you liked. Mahal by his pride he wasn’t going to apologize - and he figured from your character you wouldn’t think it meant a whole lot anyway.

He thought about getting you something Dwarrowdam’s liked, pick something up for you on your travels as a gift - but you weren’t a dwarf. The chances of you liking what he’d find you were slim. He then seemed to be hit with an epiphany. Even if you didn’t know where it was, you wanted to go home - a place you’d be sent back to once your purpose was fulfilled.

You wanted the same as him, to return home. He’d help you fulfil your purpose. He’d help you to go home, and be with those who you’d want to be with the most.

You’d forgive him after that. Surely. Even without an apology.

#the girl who knew the end #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin x you #the hobbit x reader

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luna-redamancy · 2 years

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Hey could I have a Kili x Reader where the reader is someone Gandalf recruited early on the adventure. She spends all her time in the woods and can even converse with animals as well as being an adept hunter and survivalist? Kili just becomes infatuated then and there

Hello!! I'm so sorry this took so long to complete, but I hope you enjoy:

“I thought you said you had another person attending, Gandalf, your apprentice?” Thorin’s words floated above the murmur of the company members as they feasted on poor Bilbo’s pantry.

“I do, however, unfortunately, they were caught up in other matters. Do not fret, Thorin, they will meet us along the way.”

“What matters were so important to have missed a vital meeting before we set off on this journey?” Thorin’s tone was criticizing as he imagined a young lad trying to drink himself into a stupor-

“Medical ones,” Gandalf’s cheery disposition turned into a frown as he gazed upon the dwarf.

“They are providing medical guidance for a town riddled with disease. I say a sobbing child with a fever needs their attention more than a group of rowdy, but otherwise healthy, dwarves.”

“My apologies,” Thorin tilted his head to Gandalf who responded in kind.

“I know you are anxious to meet the final member of your Company, Thorin, trust me when I say everything will fall together- in due time.”

And that was the last they discussed the missing apprentice, your absence not being brought up again.

The next morning, after a night of feasting and somber singing, the Company set out on their journey.

The trees were lush and soon the rolling hills of the Shire had all but disappeared behind the horizon. Coin was shared upon the arrival of Bilbo, but the final member of the Company had still yet to arrive.

“Gandalf,” Thorin addressed as he fell to the middle of the line where Gandalf was atop of his horse.

“Do you know when your apprentice will be arriving?”

“I would say–”

“Right now,” You called out, popping up next to Gandalf as you stared at the bird in your hand. It was a small old-world sparrow, happily chirping as you nodded.

“You are-” Kili almost interrupted, the Company now halted as they stared at you awaiting introduction.

“One moment,” You held up a finger, keeping your gaze trained on the bird, pausing in your steps.

“Thank you,” You said after a moment, smiling at the small creature. You watched as the bird then took off, flying into the trees.

“You’re Gandalf’s apprentice?” Balin tried this time, your gaze returning to the Company.

“Yes, I am,” You bowed your head, “My name is (Y/n),” You greeted, your grin widening as each dwarf gave their name.

“And you?” You stared at Kili who seemed to be starstruck, eyes wide and round as the wind shifted the leaves of the trees, making the sunlight highlight different areas of your face. Dipped in golden light.

Fili chuckled, turning into a cough as Kili elbowed him harshly in the gut. “Kili, at your service,” he bowed his head.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” You turned to Gandalf, “There may be trouble along the old road,” You explained, “The sparrows have seen trolls taking livestock from farmers, they recommend to stay away.”

“Sparrows?” Bilbo questioned and before you could explain, Gandalf was quick to boast.

“(Y/n) holds many abilities, but one of them is animal conversing, birds are her favorite.”

“They know so much,” You shrugged, as the company resumed traveling. Walking alongside Gandalf, you failed to notice the eyes trained on your form and drinking in your appearance.

“Also, they say the population of rabbits has increased, especially towards the winding trees further north, we’re likely to be able to catch a few for supper come time to set up camp,” You were already planning your hunt in your head.

Kili felt like he was going to swoon. He was most certainly in deep, and you’ve only said a few sentences.

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