#I HATE EVERYTHING I HATE THAT GIF I HATE THEM

[dovesnswords]

Gosh, how I HATE the Arcaneconfessions confessions;

People be saying things for the sake of saying things... Like, oh wow, you dislike everything ever, how analytical!! How smart!!

Everyone is obsessed with writing some overly negative, critical paragraphs about this show, and the excessive, undeserved negativity is always "justified" by some pseudo-progressive bullshit, that this show supposedly goes against and none of us, except of them have picked up on... like huh?

The stupid and overused notion, that Vi and Cait were a forced couple and are a shit wlw representation, the lack of understanding complex characters and describing Cait as an evil, heartless tyrant and hating her for it. Oh my god? This world has given us enough of everything to hate on, but Caitvi is not one of them.

7 years ago we could only dream of shit like this.

Take a breather and stop shitting on everything just because you can and wanna hear yourself talk... It's juvenile.

[callmemonster68]

jealous | p.sh - sunghoon

Sunghoon getting jealous

paring: !sunghoon x fem!reader 18+

wc: 1,799

warnings: nsfw content, unprotected sex

The atmosphere was tense in Y/N’s apartment. The soft music played in the background, but the sound seemed to not reach the two of them. Sunghoon was leaning against the table, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with anger as he watched Y/N fiddling with their phone.

Sunghoon: (in a cold voice) Who was that guy?

Y/N looked up, clearly confused.

Y/N: Which guy? What face? What are you talking about, Sunghoon?

Sunghoon: (narrowing his eyes) The guy you were laughing and talking with today. I saw you two at the café before you met me.

Y/N: (sighing) Ah, Minho? He just came to ask about a project. It’s work-related, it has nothing to do with it.

Sunghoon let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.

Sunghoon: Ah, of course. And did you really need to laugh like that? That didn’t seem like ‘work stuff.’

Y/N: (raising their voice) Are you hearing what you’re saying? I was being polite! I’m not going to treat people badly just because you’re insecure!

The tension in the air increased, and Sunghoon’s face became even more closed off. He took a few steps towards her, his eyes burning with jealousy.

Sunghoon: (low and intense) Insecure? I know you, Y/N. I know the way you smile… and that smile wasn’t for him.

Y/N: (staring at him) Oh, so now you even know the meaning of my smiles? Congratulations, you are a fortune teller!

He took her by the wrist, but gently, enough to capture her attention. Their faces were close, their breaths mingled.

Sunghoon: (hoarse voice) Don’t test my patience, Y/N. You know I hate this feeling… Of someone looking at you as if they had the right.

Y/N: (challenging) And you think that gives you the right to act like a crazy possessive person? You don’t control me, Sunghoon.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The music played, increasing the tension between the two. Sunghoon let out a bitter laugh and ran his hand through his hair, clearly struggling against his own feelings.

Sunghoon: (almost whispering) I just… hate the idea of losing you, you know? It consumes me.

Y/N felt her heart race. Despite everything, she knew that Sunghoon’s words were genuine. He was lost in a whirlwind of emotions. She approached, gently touching his face.

Y/N: Sunghoon… you won’t lose me. But you need to trust me.

He held her hand to his face, his eyes fixed on hers. Then, without warning, he pulled her into an intense kiss, filled with all the repressed feelings.

Y/N: (whispering between his lips) This doesn’t solve anything…

Sunghoon: (with a crooked smile) No, but it’s a start.

He picked her up, his strong hands gripping her thighs as he carried her towards the bedroom. His eyes were fixed on hers, Sunghoon’s gaze was intense, almost fierce.

Sunghoon pushed the bedroom door with his foot, his expression revealing something between desire and desperation. He placed her on the bed carefully, but his movements were urgent, as if he feared she might escape.

Sunghoon: (softly, close to her ear) You are mine, Y/N. It always will be… I’ll do anything to have you all to myself.

The grave tone of his voice sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. The weight of his words was palpable, laden with an obsession that both attracted and made her hesitate. He ran his fingers along the line of her face, as if he were etching every detail into his memory, before bringing his lips back to hers.

The kisses started intense, full of repressed passion, but soon became slower, deeper. Sunghoon explored every inch of her mouth, as if he wanted to claim every part of it. His hands traced paths along her waist, slowly climbing up her back, as he pulled her even closer.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the way he held her body, as if she were something precious, something he feared losing at any moment. But there was something more: an almost desperate need to prove how important she was.

Sunghoon: (with a hoarse voice, as his eyes slid over her) You don’t understand, Y/N. Just the thought of someone near you, looking at you… I lose control. You are everything to me.

Sunghoon: (hoarse voice, as he ran his fingers along her jawline) I need you, Y/N… more than anything else.

She felt her heart race with his words, the serious and sincere tone leaving her speechless. Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her again, but this time the kiss was different. It was deep, intense, as if he were trying to convey everything he felt — the love, the fear, the obsession.

Sunghoon began to slide his hands over her body, his agile fingers reaching the hem of her blouse. He lifted it slightly, his movements careful yet determined, as he removed the piece of clothing. His eyes fixed on her, admiring her as if she were a work of art.

Sunghoon: (softly, almost like a whisper to himself) You are so beautiful…

Y/N felt her cheeks burn with the intensity of his gaze, but she didn’t have much time to process it because he was soon leaning in again, kissing the space between her neck and shoulder, leaving a warm trail wherever his lips passed.

Meanwhile, she brought her hands to his chest, sliding her fingers over the shirt he was wearing. With a hesitant movement, she began to unbutton it, feeling the warmth of his skin under her fingers. He helped her, pulling the shirt off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without ceremony.

The skin-to-skin contact made them both sigh. Sunghoon’s hands traced every curve of her body, as if he wanted to know every detail, every inch. He slid his fingers along her waist, stopping only to unbutton her pants and slowly remove them, his eyes never leaving hers.

Sunghoon: (in a low voice, while watching her) I need you to know… how much you are mine, how much I want you.

She felt a shiver run down her spine as he spoke, the sincerity and intensity in each word being almost palpable. Sunghoon was not just in love; he was completely consumed by her.

With care, he removed the rest of her clothes, his fingers brushing against her skin in an almost reverent manner. He was taking his time, as if each piece removed was a moment for him to appreciate even more what was before him.

When she tried to pull him closer, her lips searching for his, he stopped her, holding her wrists gently.

Sunghoon: (looking deeply into her eyes) No, Y/N. Today, I’m going to show you how much you mean to me. I don’t want to rush… I want you to feel everything.

His words made her swallow hard. There was something in his voice, something in his expression, that made her realize how vulnerable he was at that moment. This was not just desire; it was something deeper, almost desperate.

He kissed her again, but now his lips explored every part of her — the neck, the shoulders, the breasts. He lingered in each area, as if he wanted to leave his mark, as if he wanted her to remember that she was his.

When it was his turn to remove the rest of his own clothes, he did so calmly, his eyes fixed on hers, as if he wanted her to see everything he was willing to offer. As soon as the last pieces were discarded, he approached again, the heat of their bodies now without barriers.

He leaned over her, their fingers intertwining as he looked at her with a mixture of adoration and intensity.

Sunghoon: (whispering) You are everything I need, Y/N. Everything I will always need.

He trailed his lips down Y/N’s neck, leaving a path of slow, hot kisses while his hands explored her body with reverence. Each touch seemed to carry a silent message: “You are mine.” Only mine.“

Sunghoon: (whispering against her skin) You are so perfect… I have no idea what I did to deserve you..

When their bodies finally united, there was a moment of pure stillness. Sunghoon closed his eyes, as if he were completely absorbing the sensation, while Y/N arched their body under his, a sigh escaping their lips.

Sunghoon: (with a hoarse voice, looking into her eyes) You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. How much I love you… how much I want you.

Each of his movements was deliberate, full of care, but at the same time intense. He held her hands above her head, intertwining his fingers with hers, as if he wanted to keep her even closer. His eyes never left hers for a second, as if he wanted to make sure she felt everything he was feeling at that moment.

Y/N: (whispering between sighs) Sunghoon… I am yours. Always have been.

Her words seemed to ignite something in him. He leaned in to kiss her again, the kiss deep and full of passion. Each touch, each movement seemed like a declaration — he wanted to show her, without a shadow of a doubt, how important she was.

The rhythm between them gradually increased, both of them getting lost in the connection they shared. Sunghoon whispered fragmented words against her lips, praising her, saying how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, and how much he needed her.

When the final moment approached, they could both feel the climax building like a wave that could not be contained. Their gazes met again, and they held on even tighter, as if the world could collapse around them and it wouldn’t matter.

Sunghoon: (almost out of breath) Stay with me, Y/N. Always…

And then, together, they reached the climax, their bodies trembling with the intensity of the moment. The room filled with a heavy silence, broken only by their irregular breathing. Sunghoon collapsed beside her, immediately pulling her into his arms, holding her as if she were his anchor.

He ran his fingers through her hair, still trying to catch his breath, while gently kissing her forehead.

Sunghoon: (softly, with a tired smile) I love you so much… You are everything to me.

Y/N nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the weight of his words.

Y/N: (whispering) I love you too, Sunghoon. I will always be yours.

They remained like that, intertwined, allowing the comfortable silence to speak for them. In that moment, all insecurities, fears, and doubts seemed to have vanished, leaving only the certainty that they belonged to each other.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿

[immortalmolloy]

“I’m strongly considering it,” Daniel admitted. “For a long time, I hated the idea of therapy. But maybe it could help. I want to do better, Mina. I want to be better for you. And I want to sort out my own feelings for myself too. It’s all a lot.”

Daniel didn’t have to explain to her why he needed therapy really. He was pretty sure that was obvious.

“I don’t have a lot of options for therapy though,” he told her. “I can’t talk to anyone normal about being a vampire. They would think I’m delusional. I may be fucked up, but I’m not delusional.”

Therapy had seemed like it was out of reach for him even if he had wanted it. He couldn’t talk about being a vampire with most people and unfortunately that was a big part of his trauma. He would never be able to succeed in therapy unless he was able to speak freely about what he was.

“I would never tell them anything that you don’t want me to,” Daniel assured her. “I would never talk about your past or your history hunting or anything like that. You’re a part of my life, but they don’t need all the details about your life. I would never tell them anything like that. I’m loyal to you and you matter the most to me out of anything in the world. I know you don’t trust them and I don’t trust them completely either. I’m smart when I need to be. I’m not going to just run my mouth about everything. There are certain things that are off the table. But maybe talking about my feelings or whatever might be helpful.”

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[b1xi]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

Timeskip! Tsukishima Kei x fem reader

Warning: fluff, pregnancy, Vomiting, childbirth

Parte 1

¡Fiebre de embarazo! Tsukishima Kei, quien, cuando le dices que por fin estás embarazada, se queda callado un momento; sus ojos dorados brillan con una mezcla de sorpresa y emoción contenida.

Babyfever! Tsukishima Kei, who has the biggest and brightest smile ever seen on him, one that completely erases his usual serious expression, revealing pure and uncontrollable happiness.

Babyfever! Tsukishima Kei, who hugs you so tightly it almost takes your breath away, his hands trembling slightly as he holds you against his chest, as if he can't believe this is really happening.

Baby fever! Tsukishima Kei, who kisses every inch of your face frantically, not caring how clumsy or desperate it seems, because there’s no way to contain what he feels in this moment.

Babyfever! Tsukishima Kei, who caresses your belly with an unusual tenderness, his fingers gently tracing it as if he can already feel the little life growing inside you.

Babyfever! Tsukishima Kei, who whispers against your skin with a voice full of adoration, "You're amazing, baby... you gave us the best of us."

Babyfever! Tsukishima Kei, who can't stop looking at you with a special gleam in his eyes, as if you're the most precious thing he's ever held, because now you’re not just the person he loves, but the mother of his child.

Babyfever! Tsukishima Kei, who spends the night with one hand on your belly while you sleep, his thoughts revolving around the future, about what it will be like to have a baby with you, all the things he’ll teach them, how he’ll protect his family with everything he has.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who the next morning you find in the kitchen, his cellphone held between his shoulder and ear while he stirs the eggs in the pan with one hand.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, with an uncommon excitement, bluntly says, "Hey, mom, guess what." And before she can answer, he drops the news with a proud smile on his face.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, after hanging up, is already dialing another number because your mom needs to know, his brother has to hear it from his mouth, and of course, Yamaguchi can’t be left out of the list.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who pauses to listen to the excited reaction on the other side of the line, looking at you with a playful gleam in his eyes while you stand half asleep in the doorway.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who can barely focus on finishing breakfast because his mind is too busy imagining what his life will be like now, what it will be like to see you with a round belly, what it will be like to hold his baby in his arms for the first time.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when he finally hangs up and turns to you, looks at you with so much adoration that it almost makes you blush, leaning in for a soft kiss before murmuring against your lips, “I love you.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who can’t help but feel guilty seeing you struggle with pregnancy nausea, his expression hardening with helplessness when he finds you on your knees in the bathroom, holding your hair back as your body trembles from the effort.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, despite not being great at taking care of others, does everything he can to ease your discomfort—airing out the room, fetching cold towels, and rubbing slow circles on your back.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you’re finally able to move away from the toilet, helps you up with the utmost care, holding you against him as if you were made of glass, murmuring softly, “I’m sorry, love… I wish I could do more.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who rushes to the kitchen in search of anything that might calm your stomach—jelly, crackers, yogurt, even a tea he probably made wrong but still offers with the best of intentions.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who sits beside you on the bed while you try to eat something, watching you with silent concern, his brow furrowed because he hates seeing you like this and not being able to do anything more than just be there.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when he notices you turning pale again, picks you up without hesitation and carries you back to the bathroom, holding you without a single complaint, wiping your face with a damp towel, and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you finally manage to rest, stays awake a little longer, caressing your belly with a gentleness that contrasts with his large hands, whispering barely above a breath, “This better be worth it, kid.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who now wants you to go everywhere with him, no matter how insignificant the outing may be.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when he sees you comfortable on the couch, frowns as he puts on his jacket and says, “Aren’t you coming with me?” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who ignores your response when you remind him that “you’re just going to the store” and crosses his arms, waiting for you to get up because, to him, any excuse is good enough to keep you close.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you finally agree to go, walks at a slower pace than usual, making sure you don’t get too tired—though his excuse is that “the weather is nice today.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who always has a hand on the small of your back or holding your wrist, as if he’s afraid you might disappear at any moment.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who makes you sit down anywhere available whenever he thinks you look tired, even if it’s only been ten minutes since you left.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you go shopping, somehow ends up in the baby aisle without even realizing it, looking at everything with an expression that leaves no room for discussion.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you catch him holding a tiny yellow onesie with a dinosaur print, clears his throat and silently places it in the cart without saying a word.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who doesn’t hesitate to fulfill every one of your pregnancy cravings, no matter the time or how ridiculous it might seem to him.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you say you’re dying for ice cream, doesn’t just get one but several different flavors because “I don’t want to have to go out again if you change your mind.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, if you mention missing his homemade meals, drops whatever he’s doing without a complaint and heads to the kitchen, preparing everything with an almost professional level of focus.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you ask for pizza at midnight, sighs and runs a hand through his hair, but he’s already putting on his shirt and looking for his keys. “Babe, it’s almost midnight…” he says, but he still ends up going.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, although he’s always been sarcastic and seemingly indifferent, now seems completely willing to spoil you, no matter how much he denies it.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, if for some reason he can’t get what you want right away, gets more frustrated than he’d ever admit, because he hates seeing you disappointed, even if it’s over a simple craving.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when he finally gets you what you wanted, places it in front of you with a triumphant expression, watching you with satisfaction as you enjoy every bite.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, after satisfying each craving, looks at you with quiet affection, running a hand through your hair as he softly murmurs, “This baby already has me completely at their mercy, huh?”

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who is totally moved by seeing your belly grow, even though he tries to act like it’s not a big deal at first.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, whose first action every morning is to slide a hand over your still-sleepy belly, fascinated by how much it has changed since the last time he touched it.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when he first notices your clothes fitting tighter than usual, falls silent, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of awe and tenderness that he tries to hide.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, if he catches you looking at your reflection with insecurity, approaches without a word, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his large hand resting over you.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who completely freezes the first time he feels a tiny kick, his eyes widening as he looks from your belly to you, searching for confirmation that it really happened.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, after that moment, can’t stop touching you, always using the excuse, “I just want to see if they move again,” when in reality, he’s completely obsessed with feeling every little movement.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who doesn’t hesitate to request paternity leave even though there are still two months until the due date, because nothing is more important than being with you.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, without a second thought, reorganizes his schedule, postpones meetings, delegates responsibilities, and temporarily steps away from team activities because his priority now is you and the baby.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, when you try to insist that you’ll be fine on your own, gives you a look that makes it clear you've already lost that argument. “It’s not negotiable,” he says firmly, without taking his eyes off you.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who becomes a shadow at your side, making sure you don’t make any unnecessary effort, appearing out of nowhere whenever you try to lift something heavy or stand up faster than he deems safe.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who accompanies you to every doctor’s appointment without fail, asking the doctor detailed questions as if he were the one pregnant, ensuring that everything is going perfectly.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who now knows all the prenatal class schedules and attends them without a single complaint, watching every demonstration with absolute concentration because he needs to know exactly what to do when the time comes.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, although he tries to maintain his usual carefree attitude, sometimes gets caught looking at you with a soft, almost reverent expression, as if he can’t quite believe he’s really about to become a father.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who, despite the fact that his past self would have never imagined being in this situation, now can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

Babyfever! Tsukishima, who you thought would be perfectly calm when the time for labor came—after all, he had studied the subject thoroughly, read books, watched videos, and taken notes at every medical appointment. But when the moment arrived, reality was completely different.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, the moment you felt your first strong contraction, froze for a second, as if his brain needed time to process that the moment had finally arrived.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, despite having planned everything, still checks the hospital bag three times before leaving, making sure he hasn’t forgotten anything while trying to hide the slight tremor in his hands.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, even though he wants to stay calm for you, his eyes betray his nervousness as he helps you into the car, his jaw clenched while he drives with extreme focus—like he’s in a championship final.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who can barely stay seated in the delivery room because he needs to move, needs to do something, but the only thing he can do is hold your hand and try to reassure you, even though he’s the one who needs it the most.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, when the contractions intensify and you’re in pain, feels completely helpless—his hand gripping yours tighter than he realized, whispering, “You’re doing great,” even though his own voice sounds unsteady.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, the moment he hears his baby’s first cry, feels his breath hitch, his eyes widening in surprise, and for the first time in his life, he feels like his entire world changes in an instant.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, when they place the baby in his arms for the first time, falls completely silent, staring down in pure awe, looking like an entirely different person.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, with his child in his arms, finally looks at you, and despite himself, his eyes fill with tears as he leans down to kiss your forehead gently. “We did it,” he whispers in a broken voice, as if he still can’t quite believe it.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who can’t stop looking at his baby, absolute adoration shining in his eyes, as if he’s witnessing the greatest miracle of his life.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who arrives home with excitement, carrying his baby straight to the room he prepared with so much care, every detail personally chosen by him to ensure it was perfect for his most precious treasure.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, with a softness you never imagined from him, holds the baby while showing them their crib, the plush toys precisely lined up on the shelves, and the carefully placed mobiles. “Dad even set up your playpen so you can have fun. Do you like it?” he murmurs, though the newborn only responds with a tiny yawn.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, even though he was never very expressive, now constantly talks to his baby in a soft tone, saying things like, “This is where you’ll sleep… or at least try to,” or “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re always happy, okay?”

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, despite thinking he could just put the baby in the crib and go on with his day, ends up standing beside it, watching them sleep, unable to step away too far.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, when he finally lays the baby down, keeps his hands resting on the crib’s railing, making sure everything is perfect before stepping back—just a little—without taking his eyes off them.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, although he initially mocked the idea of buying a baby monitor with a camera, now checks it every five minutes on his phone, frowning if the baby moves more than usual.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, when he finally lies down beside you, can’t help but reach out to gently touch your hand and whisper, “Thank you… for this, for everything.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima who never forgets about his wife, making sure you take a moment for yourself. Every time he tries to make you rest, he gently reminds you that after carrying the baby for nine long months, you’ve more than earned your well-deserved break.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who organizes everything at home so you don’t have to lift a finger. He tells everyone—from friends to family—that all you need to do is relax, and if you need anything, just say the word.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who becomes an impromptu chef, cooking your favorite meals and bringing them to you, making sure you have everything you need, even if it means losing sleep at night.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who insists you take a nap, even when your mind is full of thoughts about the baby. He looks at you with tenderness and says, “Rest, you deserve it. The baby is fine, and so am I, so just relax.”

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, after a long day full of tasks, prepares a little relaxing routine for you—maybe a warm bath or some soft music—making sure you take time for yourself.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who insists that you bring the baby to every volleyball game he has, securing you the best seats near the court so you don’t miss a single moment of the action.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, upon seeing you arrive with the baby in your arms, can’t help but smile with pride, feeling like every part of his life now has a new meaning. “I want him to see all of this,” he says, looking at the little one who, though too young to understand, is already part of his world.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, while at the match, becomes even more protective, giving you quick glances to make sure you and the baby are okay. When he scores an important point, his eyes light up, but he always returns to you with a gaze full of affection.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who pretends to be indifferent and uninterested when his teammates come over to greet you and the baby, but can't help but show a slight smile as he watches them greet you and how his little son becomes the center of attention. “It’s not like it matters,” he murmurs, but his eyes shine with a glint of pride.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who becomes even more protective when a teammate dares to get too close to the baby. Though his tone is sarcastic, there’s a clear tension in his posture.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, when seeing you smile and enjoy the match with the baby, feels more motivated than ever on the court, looking up to the stands in search of your face after every point.

Babyfever! Tsukishima who, while heading home after a match, can't help but mention how nice it was to have you both there, though he says it in a casual tone, knowing it will make you smile.

[a2006love]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎there is a light and it never goes out

‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎shifting and manifesting aren't fragile things that crumble under the weight of your doubts. they don't disappear when your mind wanders off or feels a little skeptical. they're something more like the speed of light racing through the universe—steady, reaching you from afar. and they don't require anything; they simply need you to allow them to just be.

the universe isn't waiting for you with a clipboard, tapping its foot, asking if you did the right method, if your intentions were pure, if your mind was clean. it doesn't lean over your shoulder, scrutinizing your steps like that one teacher you hated, waiting for you to mess up. the light does not flicker when you doubt. it does not dim when you 'fail'. it stays just as it is.

you have been taught that the sky only opens for the righteous, that shifting and manifesting are a tightrope walk—one wrong step, and you fall. but tell me—does the moon apologize for what it does to the tide? "the world bends for no one" yet it bends for you, over and over and over again, without hesitation. you could run from the door flung open before you, and still, the light would wait for you to extend your finger.

maybe you have been knocking on a door that was never locked. maybe you have spent years sharpening keys for a gate that was never closed. maybe you sit at the edge of your seat, thinking the invitation has been lost, when really, it has been in your back pocket all along. you write apologies into the margins of your desires, convinced you must be better before you can step forward. but the light does not ask you to open your hands and show it what you've done.

and if you doubt? if you rage? if you say, "this is not for me, i am too broken, too lost, too late"? the light does not go out. if you whisper to your pillow, "i have done everything wrong," if you try to silence your longing, if you build walls around your heart, the light does not go out. even in the wreckage, even in the places where you swore no good thing could grow, the light lingers.

so march forward, with shaking hands, with your sleeves undone, with all the ways you think you are undeserving. it does not matter. the light won't go out.

[blushingamethyst]

Hot Take:

If you’re the type of person who complains about poc writers only writing for poc readers you’re weird.

Like I get it, you go to a new fandom wanting fics and can’t find ones that represent you, but that doesn’t mean you get to bother these lovely people. Fan fiction is free, don’t be a choosy beggar.

For the longest time fan fics have been, for the most part, written for skinny white women. And personally I see the expansion of readers to be a wonderful addition to the community as a whole.

Being able to make the fics that represent you is really fun.

But I really hate to see people complaining about specific reader types. Especially poc readers.

And this is coming from someone who is white. For me I’ve always struggled with fics because I’m not thin, so seeing all the wonderful chubby/fat reader fics makes me so happy. And I’d imagine it can feel the same for those who aren’t white, finally getting the wonderful fanfic they deserve.

Some people need to realize that not everything has to be catered to them.

Let poc writers have their fun and just scroll by if it’s not for you.

[thorne-kreizler-fanfiction]

WOHOOO HERE WO GO AGAIN, and I know this will punch me in the heart

-"Thorin doesn’t answer, nodding only with his head, ignoring the mischievous glint in Dwalins eyes. He is not in the mood at all to answer his jokes" I'm dead

-"“How is everything? How did Fili manage as the temporary regent?” he asks seriously, looking at Dwalin." OMG FÍLIIIII

-"With a gesture of his hand, Thorin stops the soldier who is coming closer to help him take his things. He hates being helped with such trivial acts." Alright, 2 things. 1- the hand thing turned me on, especially considering he looks angry now. 2- this is so thorin core and I love it. I totally see him thinking like this

-"That strange feeling in Thorin’s still constricted throat moves now to his chest, causing a piercing pain that makes it difficult for him to undo his cloak" Oooh I'm loving thissss give me more ANGST

-"That is who she is, just a clever dwarven lady, who played him as if he were a foolish boy." NOOOO STOP ITTTTT😭

-"Dain has also surely told him about the bird that sang in his rooms every night." LMAO love this

-"So if Dwalin knows of all of them, why is Thorin unable to tell him about Ragna?" I WILL CRY

-"He was not subtle at all" LOL Not at all. Goddamn Dwalin. Love him

-"Ragna was gone, all was gone and she had to stay in the past" I have tears in my eyes, sTOP IT

-"looking at the tense back of the King, made only wider by his almost palpable fury and his huge fur-lined coat." it is NOT the time to turn me on!!

-Oh poor Dwalin. THORIN, APOLOGIZE IMMEDIATELY.

-"Silence, that friendly silence that calms him instantly and there is nothing he wants more than to have silence in his head and his heart." Same Thorin. Also, this is so damn sad

-"He is home." NO. HOME IS WHERE YOUR LOVED ONES ARE. GET YOUR ASS BACK TO THE IRON HILLS AND FIX THIS. CURSE YOU.

-AAAAH I LOVE ROAC AND THORIN

-“You have a white feather,” “You have some white hairs.” 😂Love them

-“I need to show you something, Thorin,” OH NO, WHAT NOW?

-Lol now everybody but Thorin has a wife. Who's next? Bombur?

-Thorin in his mind is surely like: Now even the damn birds get a wife before me

-"Surely he had chosen a mate with a very strong character, a character that was very familiar to him. Too familiar." I WILL CRY

-"Roac had had to remember it all and kept seeing it before his eyes." Oh... 🥺

-"Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe Thorin has to start thinking about that sentence." UGH MY HEART

-"Females" lol yes and get used to it

-"These are not only leaves and sticks, this is a nest." I SWEAR I *SCREAMED* OMG

-"Thorin smiles with the side of his mouth as he feels his heart full of sudden joy, a joy that it was weird to explain." OH MY HEARTTTTT

-"Soon the snow will fall, it’s surprising it’s not already here, but I can give you something to keep you, Arca and the eggs warm. A fur would work well, and a pillow,” ME. I WANT THAT FUR

-"A silent gratitude that took him back to several days earlier and to a sweet smile that had been given to him only a few days before. And that voice.'Would you like to stay for dinner?'” AAAAH NOOO STOP

-"It is true, it is hard, very hard. When he did the census last year, there were only six children born in Erebor that year and none of them was a girl. Not that he would blame anyone, he remembers that it had been similar when he was a child." I absolutely ADORE this descriptions of Erebor and its situation, the state that the dwarves are in, etc. Yes, give me more, take me to the world of dwarves. And yes it is sad but that's part of their reality, and I love to learn and think of it.

-“That piece will still be hers,” I SWEAR TO MAHAL, I SCREAMED! Why must you make me emotional like this??😭 THIS WAS SO GOOD

-MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS. POOR THORIN.

-"Then why is he, Thorin, the king of the greatest dwarven kingdom, feeling this way, as a beggar, as if someone has just taken every single organ from his body and cast them into the fire, forcing him to watch them burn." AAAAAAAAAHHHH💔

-"He is feeling empty and that silence that he used to cherish, now seems like a slow and terrible torture. The solitude he had searched for so long and created for himself now seems like a nightmare" I know the feeling and now I want to cry

-"trying to regain even a shred of peace , the peace he had not felt for weeks. There were so many emotions he felt in those days, but never the calm, the serenity, not since he had left the Iron Hills, not since he had left Ragna." SERIOUSLY, if we go on like this I might as well quote this ENTIRE chapter. It's so GOOD and SAD for Durin's sake😭

-"Was what she said back in his face the truth? He had offered her wealth, a life without worries, a life he had never had himself and yet she rejected it." I AM SCREAMING INTERNALLY

-He felt normal, he had felt normal for the first time he could remember, and he lived a normal life for the first time in a hundred years." I declare myself oficially dead (Bilbo core)

-THORIN'S DREAM ABOUT RAGNA AND THEIR CHILD. STOP ITTTTTTT MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT

-"A wedding bead." I'M GONNA BREAK SOMETHING

-"He has black hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky, but he doesn’t look like him, not at all. Those cheekbones, that nose, that sunny expression. He looks just like Ragna." I'm crying

-"Can you make it?" This is literally so cute and I can't believe I didn't think of this before. My hobbie would be to draw things and make Thorin craft them

-FRERIN II OMFG I'm crying

-"He hs to forget about her. For his own sake, and hers." This is taking years of life from me

-"Thorin lowers his gaze again at that, finding the veining of the marble table incredibly unique, incredibly interesting, much more interesting than the discussion around him." lol I feel you Thorin

-"Ragna, again, the woman that has just brought noise into his halls, and a deep silence into his chest." I WANT TO BREAK SOMETHING! What's the reason to play with my emotions like this, huh? WHAT WAS THE REASON?

-"It was like staring back into a mirror at times" AAAAAH JUST MARRY ALREADYYYY

-oh mahal, the paragraph naming Thorin's observations on Ragna. MY LITTLE HEART!! It was so cute, so romantic, so loving. Ugh, I want to melt onto the floor.

-"She has the same sparkle in her eyes, she loves things like these, he hates them." They complement each other!!! JUST MARRY ALREADY

-"She is in trade mode, and he knows he has to say anything she wants to know." they are so cute together. STOP

-"She studies it, holding herself closer to him, and he is looking to anything but not to the piece of parchment. All the words he can see are her exposed neck, the laces of his shirt she is wearing falling in between her breasts, and her upper thighs pressed against his waist. That woman is driving him mad. That clever and beautiful woman. In the name of Durin, he is feeling like a young boy again." I seriously need to stop quoting the entire chapter but FOR DURIN'S SAKE, THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL😭

-"Every single one of them stays silent, not believing what their king has just said. Thorin has never left the council room before, never said that one thing was more important than another and he never, ever walked away from his problems. Never." I AM SCREAMING

-I love how Thorin is just so done with everything and, it's not that he doesn't care, but he want's it all to be over so he just runs away.

-“Stop being a baby, you survived a stab in your stomach and much worse, you will survive me brushing your hair!" “I could always run away from my foes or fight against them, from this I cannot!” Lol I love them. Did I say that they are so cute together and should just marry already?

-“The same patience you showed with the seamstress today as she was taking the measures for your wedding dress?” I SCREAMED

-THEIR CONVERSATIONS ARE SO CUTE. I WANT THEM MARRIED NOW.

-"Thorin cannot move a muscle, watching her as if she were a vision, because she has to be, it has to be. Ragna is not there and could not be there." MAHAL KILL ME

-"Not being king of the seven kingdoms isn’t enough, he wants to be her king, because she makes him feel like a king without a crown again. And he wants her to feel a queen too, his queen, only his. Not queen of Erebor, his queen." I AM CRYING. This dream is making me rabbid.

-"if it is a dream, then he wants to enjoy every second of it, casting everything else away, into oblivion, even if it would mean that the whole world would burn to the ground." THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I SAID ABOUT THORIN RUNNING AWAY. I'M DEAD.

-"Oh, in Durin’s name, how he missed her, how he missed hearing his tiny songbird sing." I'M SCREAMING. This is so cute yet so sad😭

-THE PARALLELISMS WITH DRAGON SICKNES. I'M GOING INSANE!! lol I love how rabbid this story is making me

-Thorin is in such a fever dream at this point lmao poor dear

-He sees them. Just as he has seen him before. Kili’s face contorted in a grimace, white as the first snow that fell on that day, five years ago. Fili’s unseeing eyes staring into oblivion." WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO MEEEE?

-"His eyes are closed, he doesn’t breathe, his clothes are covered in his own blood. It didn’t happen like this! Or did it?" No, it didn't. They all survived and lived happily ever after😁

-AND NOW WE HAVE SMAUG TOO?? I'M GOING INSANE.

-I honestly need to catch my breath. This part was too much.

-"'“No,' he whispers to himself as he feels hot tears slowly trickle down his cheeks" NOOOO STOP ITTTT

-"The previous four days before them he couldn’t even lay in his own bed without thinking of her." RAGNA AND THORIN ARE TWO IDIOTS. Both of them can't sleep in their beds and need to overwork themselves to forget each other WHEN THEY COULD BE TOGETHERRRRR AAAAAHH

-"the lust that seizes him when he feels her so close to him, the same lust that had driven him mad in that treasure chamber" Äule and Yavanna, I can't. This is making me want to punch my desk. Did I already mention that I love these parallelisms? Mahal...

-Thorin having nightmares all his life except when sleeping with Ragna. NOW I UNDERSTAND. When he said that he sleeps better with her. HE MEANT THIS. OMG. THIS NEW PERSPECTIVE MAKES ME WANT TO CRY.

-"A drop of wine falls on his beard, trickling down to the middle of his chest and he hurries to wipe it off with one hand, putting it to his lips." I just got turned on in the middle of a serious scene and through my tears. Great

-"He fiercely crumples the drawing, no longer wanting to know, no longer wanting to give heed to those memories in his head. He had thought about it all the way home and now he can do something to forget her, to throw her figure into the flames and take her out of his body, and now he has the answer and the means to do it. But as soon as he approaches the fireplace to burn that piece of parchment in the flames, he is not able to." I LOVE THISSSS

-"and in his heart he knows he will never succeed" I'll cry. JUST MARRY ALREADY😭

-“You have beautiful handwriting and that’s not a compliment I often pay,”  IKR???

-"That place to which he wanted nothing more than to take her" OH DON'T DO THIS TO ME😭 PLEASE @lathalea THEY MUST GO THERE

-"'No, not at all. I was just sorting out some paperwork… nothing more,' he murmurs more to himself than to her, hiding the map on his desk slightly under his forearms."😭

-"'What’s the matter?' he asks, but Dìs doesn’t approach the chair or change her facial expression." I'M SCARED OMG THIS FIC WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME

-"It doesn’t take him long to understand. Forcing himself up with his hands on the table, he gets up from the chair, making it fall to the floor behind him, and glares at her." AAAAH I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE WHERE THIS LEADS

-"Then can you tell me her name?”  I SCREAMED, FOR MAHAL'S SAKE

-"But he realises too late that he has betrayed himself with his own words, he has admitted it." I CAN'T STOP SHOUTING

-"They don’t know the truth, none of them knows a damn thing other than sounds and moans and growls." So there's more than that, then. There's love and caresses and soft kisses and happiness besides just sex and pleasure 😭😭😭😭

-"It is a feeling he knows too well, the desire, wanting something until he can’t think of anything else," OOOOH I'm loving that reference

-"'You left her…' Dìs whispers, making him grit his teeth." I WILL KILL HER

-"clearly referring to the confusion that reigned in his rooms, but not only to it." Not only to it, but also to the love he felt for her 😭😭

-“I will treat you like a boy if you continue to act like one, whining because someone dared to tell him no!” I'M SCREAMING

-“Because she is not a battle, she is not a trade agreement! If she were, I would have traded half the wealth I possess now just to have her here!” I'm going to cry, seriously. THIS IS SO AAAAAH

-“How peaceful I felt when I was with her and how she took all the blood away from my hands and the ghosts and fire in my head that haunt me every night, she took it all away just by stroking my cheek…” I literally love this trope. I have tears in my eyes.

-Oh. Dís and Thorin. I love them 🥺

-"as when they were children." Awwww❤️‍🩹

-"Naked though clothed" AWWWWWWWW❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

-I literally forgot Dís' husband died and this brings me a whole new perspective. Damn, it must be hard to hear Thorin rambling about losing the love of his life when he at least still has the possibility to fight for her love. At least Thorin's lover is not dead, unlike Dis' husband.

-"There it is, the question, the real question, why hadn’t he done anything yet, why was he still standing there like that?" I DON'T KNOW. YOU ARE AN IDIOT, THORIN.

-OOOOH I am so emotionally drained, especially with that ending

-There were so many more things I wanted to highlight but oh well I can't make this an infinite post! Thanks again for such an AMAZING chapter. I'm loving this story, and every part that narrates the story of Thorin and Ragna makes me scream

-I WANT THEM TO JUST MARRY ALREADY

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 7/9

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: angst, smut, angst, long chapter

You can read the other parts here: The Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

This huge chapter was written by the talented @gwen-ever and is based both on her and my ideas. I had lots of thoughts about what Thorin's POV would look like, all of them living rent-free in my head, but without Gwen, this piece of "All Is Fair..." would not come into existence because originally I planned to write the whole work only from Ragna's POV.

Thank you so much, Gwen, for everything 💙

And now, prepare yourselves for angst, drama, and heartwrenching angst. And have I mentioned angst? ;)

Khuzdul phrases: A-mad - Mummy A-dad - Daddy Maralmizu - I love you Melhekhel - King of (all) kings

* * *

All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 7/10

The huge golden gate opens slowly, croaking against the green marble of the entrance to Erebor. Dozens of dwarves pause in their duties and look out from the suspended corridors carved into the rock as they watch the King Under the Mountain return home.

As soon as he crosses the threshold with his trusty handful of men, a metallic roar of pikes and shields cuts through the air, accentuating the reverence all the soldiers felt at that moment. Only one, however, does not even bend down but continues to grin with his arms crossed over his chest just at the beginning of the imposing entrance corridor, by the feet of two gigantic statues of warriors. His green and black armour clinks as he steps forward towards Thorin, his grin widening beneath his long black moustache.

“Ya finally came back, I was gettin’ worried! Two more days and I would have sent a group of soldiers to get ya ass from those hills!” Dwalin chuckles, taking the reins of Thorin's pony and waiting for his king to dismount.

Thorin doesn't answer, nodding only with his head, ignoring the mischievous glint in Dwalins eyes. He is not in the mood at all to answer his jokes, nor that he ever has actually been. Silently he gets off his pony, unable to hold back a grunt when after those long days of constant rising he touches the ground with his feet.

Balin behind him laughs lightly, patting gently his grey pony’s cheek. “Those were the hardest negotiations I have ever had to attend to, brother,” he admits, amused, shifting his gaze to Dwalin. “Our king here did not make them easy, especially during the last two days, but now we have a worthy arrangement and we are ready for the negotiations with Mirkwood.”

A shiver runs down Thorin’s spine. He tightens the straps he has been unbuckling to take his saddlebags.

“Ya will have to see if the pointy-eared wankers want to make it easy for us,” Dwalin retorts ironically.

“I am pretty sure they will behave, everything is perfectly clear, the star gems and silver for some of their produce and wine for both Erebor and the Iron Hills.”

At these words, another shiver runs down Thorin’s spine and then the feeling somehow reaches his throat, constricting his vocal chords, urging him to put an end to this pointless conversation.

"How is everything? How did Fili manage as the temporary regent?" he asks seriously, looking at Dwalin.

With a gesture of his hand, Thorin stops the soldier who is coming closer to help him take his things. He hates being helped with such trivial acts.

“The lad seems born for this, well, he really is. Everything is alright, nothing burned, no problems in the mines since your last order to talk with the miners directly, and no orcs invasions,“ Dwalin winks nudging him playfully with his shoulder “I heard about the battle. It seems like you attract them as if you were a flower and the Orc were bees.”

“I-It was very fast, less than a day,” Ori replies instead of Thorin. The scribe holds a large book of accounts in his arms, the book he kept with him every single day during their stay in the Iron Hills. “But my reports confirmed w-what Lady Ragna said when she had been visiting Erebor. The Iron Hills really needed that n-new w-weapons deal.”

That strange feeling in Thorin’s still constricted throat moves now to his chest, causing a piercing pain that makes it difficult for him to undo his cloak and hand it to a guard who has just approached him.

“Aye, I am pretty sure, brother, that she was the main reason why the negotiations took so long. She is a very tough negotiator, but she has her reasons to be so. First and foremost, she has to protect her home and controlling Dain is hard enough,” adds Balin, getting down from his pony.

A ball of ice begins to descend into Thorin’s stomach, triggering little images that chaotically appear in his head, one after another, and making all the sensations he hoped had left behind in the Iron Hills resurface with double force.

Damn it!

“Oh, so that Iron Hills ambassador from a few months ago is a strong lassie!” Ya did not tell me, I bet she is an interesting lady to meet if she can control two Durins!” he laughs, not noticing the shadow growing over Thorin's face while he stops taking the packs off his pony.

“Mostly one Durin, our cousin. I think that at one point he was more interested in the mugs of ale in front of him than in the negotiations!” Thorin says gruffly.

“Oh, so she had the nerve to shut your big mouth? How?” Dwalin glances at Thorin, crossing both of his arms on his chest as a guard comes and takes away the ponies. “This is interesting, very interesting…”

“She is intelligent, nothing more,” Thorin cuts the conversation short, answering coldly, not letting emotions nor words betray him. That is who she is, just a clever dwarven lady, who played him as if he were a foolish boy.

That is what he has been for two weeks, a fool, a dumb and terrible fool just by gigivng her the chance to grow close to him and letting himself grow close to her. Too close. Stupid, fucking, dumb fool. Shame on you Thorin, only on you.

Thorin looks down, his jaw set, and he throws the two light saddlebags over his shoulder, holding Orcrist's hilt to his side with the other hand.

“Dwalin, I’m going to my chambers to make myself presentable, get me all the documents that Fili signed and approved when I was away, I need to take a look at them,” he orders, looking at Dwalin. That is only partly what he wants to do, and partly he just wants to get away from what would soon become a ruthless interrogation. If Dwalin knows about the orcs, Dain has also surely told him about the bird that sang in his rooms every night.

He gives him a slight nod, remembering they are in public and gestures with his head to the handful of guards behind him to go and unload the rest of the luggage.

“No problem. I will accompany you for a bit then, so you won’t need an escort,” Dwalin says to him, moving to the side to let Thorin walk before him.

Damn.

Gritting his teeth, Thorin nods looking up towards the golden stairs that descend steeply into the heart of the mountain, thinking that now at least it is all over. Now he is in Erebor. He begins to walk steadily and the road to the royal quarters is very quiet. Dwalin does not say a word, but Thorin can hear his breathing behind him and he knows that the more his best friend is silent, the more he has to say but nothing comes out from Dwalin’s mouth until they pass the double door to the main royal halls.

Dwalin moves closer, starting to walk up the stairs next to Thorin. "Lady Siggy asked me about you the other day, she wanted to know when you were coming back,” he starts winning Thorin's attention. “I have heard she got engaged, you know, to Master Rollo. That poor bastard was following her for months, serenading her, showering her with gifts and doing all those silly things dwarves in love do. Finally he will stop talking about her every time we meet after the training or at the tavern!" he chuckles leaving him with no words.

Thorin’s eyes widen as this news starts to find its way into his brain and slowly become a reality. His steps slow down and the bags on his shoulder start to get heavier. Siggy, daughter of Kjetill, was about to get married and the news is hurting him more than it should. Siggy was his latest lover, the last he had before Ragna. Their affair started months ago. She was the daughter of his personal tailor and they would meet mostly during the day, before Thorin had to go to the forges. She was younger, a lot younger than him, and he felt the age difference in some way even when they were in bed, but she was ethereally beautiful and one of the sweetest dwarven maids he has ever the chance to meet. He has not seen her for over a month before he left and he has heard some rumours (spread mostly by Kili at lunch) about a guard gifting Kjetill’s daughter two emeralds as green as her eyes and Thorin slowly understood that their meetings were about to end. It hasn’t been the first time when he was to part ways with a lover, but this time he feels as if his whole world is crashing down on him.

"Is it official?" he mumbles, glancing at Dwalin.

His best friend nods, crossing his arms on his chest. "It pretty much looks that way. Her father is angry, he wanted her to pick a richer dwarf. A normal soldier brings honour but not jewels, and she moved in with him a few days ago,” Dwalin adds, giving Thorin a look that makes him feel even more miserable.

Dwalin knows about all the women Thorin had been with, as he knows about his friend’s private life. He knows because Dwalin can't shut his mouth about his conquests, and Dwalin knows because he is the one to organize the guards’ shifts. So if Dwalin knows of all of them, why is Thorin unable to tell him about Ragna? Because she wouldn't be coming to his chambers, and he won't need the guard to leave as soon as she arrives or just to take care of her, because she won't ever step into his halls. Ever.

As Thorin's silence becomes deeper, Dwalin clears his throat, getting closer to him.

"Do you want me to tell her to come to your chambers so you can tell her farewe-"

"I will tell her I am happy for her decision later at the feast tonight as I will tell Rollo,” he interrupts Dwalin’s whisper. “She deserves a happy marriage, he is an honorable dwarf, he truly is. She is a kind lady, and there is nothing I have to say to her in private," he says, barely controlling his tone of voice.

"She did not tell you before leaving, did she?" Dwalin asks, arching his eyebrow.

"We did not talk much and we did not see each other often in the last months,” Thorin explains, cutting away some information. “So no, she did not tell me, she did not have to tell me. She is free to do what she wants," he states seriously.

His seriousness is not, however, condoned by Dwalin who laughs as he runs a hand over his beard. “Well, the mountains are full of diamonds, aren't they?” he shrugs, making clear what he meant with diamonds but then he stops to chuckle and makes a long pause “Dwarven ladies who like us prefer work over marriage and prefer a different companion every night or for more than one night, maybe for even two weeks…”

He was not subtle at all, and Thorin feels those words ring into his head as he slowly feels the pain in his chest growing.

His worries were founded, Dwalin knows.

"No boundaries, no problems, no yells or fights, no nagging, no cold feet against your legs as you try to sleep, the double amount of dishes to clean…" he continues, staring at him.

Thorin stops to walk, clenching his jaw and looking straight into his friend’s face.

"What did Dain write to you?" he nearly roars, clenching his fists.

Dwalin climbs up two more steps before stopping on the terrace at the end of the ramp of stairs. “Two weeks…” he chuckles, putting his hands behind his back, glancing down at him. He definitely knows. “Most of the dwarven maids, mostly also by their choice, never lasted more than a night a week for a month! You had the same woman every night for two weeks, that's a record!” Dwalin nearly yells, not even caring that someone could hear them. And Thorin does not care either, he simply does not want to talk about anything about that matter, Ragna was gone, all was gone and she had to stay in the past, Dwalin does not even have to know her name, it would have been useless.

He remains silent, glaring at Dwalin, hoping he would just close his damned mouth, but his friend keeps talking, making him shake from anger. Thorin has to get away from there.

“Either she is Yavanna herself or you want boundaries, want yells and fights, want nagging, cold feet against your le-"

That was enough!

"Go to the council chamber!” he orders him nearly yelling, making Dwalin even jump slightly. “Tell Fili he needs to come to my rooms as fast as he can, we don't have time to lose on idle talk!" he roars starting to walk again and climbing the few stairs, not even looking at Dwalin who opens and closes his mouth with an unusual sad expression on his face.

The bald dwarf feels that something is not right, something is really not right and that Thorin has changed in some way, and that this woman was different this time. So for the first time in years he just nods, straightening his back, watching Thorin walking to the royal chambers.

“So do I still have to bring the documents?” he asks seriously looking at the tense back of the King, made only wider by his almost palpable fury and his huge fur-lined coat.

“All of them!” Thorin roars coldy, not even turning, still walking up the stairs, leaving Dwalin with a question that never leaves his mouth and a surprising sensation, a sensation that he will not be able to drown even in fifty pints of strongest ale.

Thorin lets his back rest against the closed door as soon as he gets inside his room, letting all his bags fall loudly on the floor, the only sound, beside his breath, into his empty bedroom. Silence, that friendly silence that calms him instantly and there is nothing he wants more than to have silence in his head and his heart. After days of hearing both of them screaming at him, raging at him, they are… silent. As silent as everything around him.

He passes a quick glance all over the room, from the glass window panes behind the dining table, to the embroidered tapestries hanging on the stone walls, to the dozens of furs and carpets laying on the floor, to the two armchairs in front of the already lit fireplace, to the empty table in the middle of the room, full of books and maps; from the the four bookshelves behind it, to the closed drawers on his right and to his empty, cold, canopy bed carved in rock on the far right of the room. He is home.

With a sigh, Thorin picks up the bags from the floor and walks to the table in the middle of the room, lays them on top of it, and opens them slightly. He takes off his cloak and his arm guard lay them down on the back of one of the chairs next to him. With an automatic movement his hands go to his belt and untie the Orcrist’s sheath, it has been easier to carry it hanging from his waist than on his back, and put it down on the wood table carefully. He is about to take off his shirt when a noise catches his attention, stopping his hands from pulling it up higher than his stomach.

The noise comes from the outside of the balcony that runs along his chambers and the ones next to him. It is a frantic pawing, as if something very little was jumping up and down on the floor. Understanding exactly what it was and who made these sounds, he does not put himself on guard nor even thinks of touching the sword in front of him. He just walks to the windowed wall with a small smile on his lips, noticing that the glass door is slightly open.

Thorin stands silently, observing the area outside and confirming his suspicions. He opens the door and leans against the doorframe, intrigued by what his old friend is doing with so much noise and he has to admit to himself that it is something he had never seen him do, not in a hundred and ninety years.

Roac is perched on the handrail, pawing at it, as he tries to balance a bunch of small dry twigs in his beak, but they slip out of his grasp every time. It takes Roac a few seconds to notice Thorin’s presence, not that attention is the best of his raven friend's virtue.

In fact, when Roac raises his beak towards him, he makes a jolt that causes all the small branches he had carefully managed to stack to fall to the floor.

"T-thorin," he stammers, casting a brief glance at the destroyed work beneath his feet before looking back at him. "Thorin, you are back!" he croaks in amazement.

Thorin nods, stepping out onto the balcony and, as he does every time, extends his arm forward, inviting Roac to sit on his forearm.

“Sadly for you, my friend," he jokes, chuckling softly.

The black-feathered raven soars.

"Oh, I am never sad of it" he replies, tilting his head to the side, with what could be interpreted as a slight smile tugging at the corner of his beak.

Smiling, Thorin stretches out his hand, making the gesture that after years had become something so natural that even Roac is already prepared for it, raising his head with his beak upwards.

Thorin runs the fingers of his hand gently down the side of the raven’s neck, caressing his glossy black feathers gently, noticing Roac's eyes close slightly in pleasure at that small gesture.

"Any news from the Forest, Dale or Laketown?" he asks, stroking the base of Roac’s wing, inquiring as he would have done under any other circumstances.

Roac moves his head sideways, opening his beak slightly. "Nothing, nothing changed, all is still moving the same and flying the same." he jokes, lifting up his wing so that Thorin can scratch it with his thumb.

Chuckling, Thorin strokes it gently and looks carefully at the feathers that have become more and more crumpled over the years, noticing one in particular, just under his friend’s beak that made him move his index finger towards it. "You have a white feather," he points out, gently touching it.

The raven lowers his beak not at all surprised by Thorin’s statement and then reaches out with his body towards his dwarf friend, moving one wing towards the side of his head.

"You have some white hairs." Roac jokes.

"You are younger than me," Thorin retorts, smiling.

"Only for your race," the raven remarks. "In raven years, I am as old as you, maybe even two years older... craaa!" he teases him, squawking as he used to do when he was just a nestling.

Thorin can't hold back a laugh, but the sticks on the ground catch his attention again and bring back the curiosity that was eating at him only a few minutes before.

"What were you doing? I'm sorry, I interrupted you," he points with his chin at the messily scattered pile of twigs on the ground.

Roac stiffens suddenly, and as soon as he notices what Thorin is speaking of, clamping his claws around Thorin’s arm. The raven starts acting strangely. He moves up and down Thorin’s arm, turns his beak away from the branches towards the dwarf, as if he didn't know what he is supposed to say.

The feathers on his back rise as his beak drops.

"I was..." he mumbles, still looking at him, and then croaks worriedly. "Thorin... I... " he tries again and then sighs deeply, letting his wings droop while he looks back at his friend. He waits a few moments but then he opens up his beak to speak and slowly releases the usual grip of his claws on Thorin’s arm. "I need to show you something, Thorin," he confesses, looking his friend straight in the eyes.

Thorin tilts his head to the side. He has rarely seen Roac so serious or seen such concern in his black eyes. He nods without a word and the raven soars up in the blink of an eye and lands on the ground, grabbing a couple of sticks with his beak. Then, with a movement of his beak, the raven invites him to follow him along the balcony. Thorin is not reluctant, but rather intrigued, all of this seems strange to him, and to an extent it worries him, since his trusty raven, the King of Crows, seemed calm until just a short moment before.

Cautiously he follows Roac who is fluttering ahead to the other end of the balcony, the part that used to belong to the now empty prince's or queen's chambers. There Roac lands, right at the far end of the balcony. Thorin looks around, even more confused than before, not noticing nothing in particular, but then, in a corner, he notices something attached to the low wall, something that makes his eyes widen. Sitting on a small pile of dry twigs and leaves carefully intertwined together, is a raven, a female. She is slightly bigger than Roac and her beak has a grey tip.

She is asleep now, with her wings tucked around her, the light of the setting sun highlighting the blue reflections on her glossy feathers. Her beak and neck rest on a pile of black feathers that are not her own. Thorin casts a glance at Roac's side and realises only then that several feathers are missing from that spot, all the way to his tail. Roac lands, slowly folding his wings, and puts the twigs he held in his beak down beside the sleeping raven. He gives Thorin a look of encouragement, inviting him to come closer and Thorin feels a strange sensation again, the same one he had felt only a few minutes before coming forward,and yet he still does not understand, or rather does not want to understand, because he is not a fool. He steps a few paces forward, remaining silent as Roac approaches the female, giving her a couple of gentle pats under the neck with his beak, and rubbing the side of his head against hers.

"My love..." Thorin hears the raven whisper and something grips his heart, along with the realisation of who the female is.

The female raven makes a few sounds moving her head slowly and nuzzling into Roac neck before opening her eyes carefully.

“W-what, Roac? What is it?” she mumbles looking straight at Roac and nuzzles her beak against his, as if they were kissing, and then she suddenly realises that they are not alone.

She looks up stiffly at once and quickly pulls away from Roac's side.

"Oh, by the Great Raven..."sShe whispers, staring at Thorin with her eyes wide “Oh, by the father of all birds…” she whispers again and before he can say anything, she looks to Roac, changing her expression completely, ruffling the feathers on her neck.

“Roac, you were supposed to wake me up before!" she nearly yells, lifting up her neck.

The male raven looks at her and jumps back a little, and then moves his wing towards Thorin, visibly scared of the female yelling.

"I did it just now!" he explains with an exasperated sigh.

"Now it's too late!" she retorts furiously in a high-pitched voice.

“But we… he arrived just now!”

"You should have warned me before!" she scolds him again, quickly shifting her gaze to her neck and back, pecking at some of the loose feathers with her beak. "Look at me!" she whines.

Thorin can't help smiling at that familiar scene and at Roac's apologetic expression as he is faced with the female's angry screams. Surely he had chosen a mate with a very strong character, a character that was very familiar to him.

Too familiar.

Roac lets out a sigh as the female continues to mumble. The raven turns to face Thorin and points at her with the tip of his wing.

"This is Arca, you never met... officially," he explains to Thorin and the king can almost see the his friend blush under his feathers.

Thorin knows who she is, yes. Roac spoke to him about her, once or twice, when Thorin was busy with checking some maps. The raven perched on his chair and told Thorin about this female raven. Arca. She lived in Erebor before Smaug, he said. Roac was close to her at the time, but then she vanished, along with her family, abandoning Ravenill. He met her again many years later.

A dark cloud mists Thorin’s heart. He believed he had lost much by leaving Erebor, his home, his kingdom, friends, his mother, his title, Roac, but the raven had also lost almost everything, and the worst part was that his winged friend had had to stay there, at Ravenhill, remembering him every single day. The moments, the words, the happy days spent together, the smiles, the touches. Roac had had to remember it all and kept seeing it before his eyes.

Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe Thorin has to start thinking about that sentence.

"Your majesty,” Arca bows her head at him, snuggling down into the pile of sticks. “I am incredibly sorry for my state. Roac was supposed to wake me up on time, I apologize,” she speaks again but then a few feathers of hers lift up again, making her glance again at Roac with anger. “Look at my feathers! Look at them..." she whispers, croaking sadly and fix again her black feather carefully.

Females.

Thorin smiles, shaking his head and carefully kneels down on the floor to find himself at the same height as them.

"They are perfect, Arca, you have nothing to worry about," he tries to comfort her, gesturing with his hand, "And it's an honour to meet you, Roac told me about you."

The raven female looks away in embarrassment, hiding a part of her head under one of her crumpled wings.

Arca looks at Thorin and then at Roac, tilting her head to the side and smiling shyly to Roac.

"You are too kind, King Under the Mountain,” she says in a serious tone, looking back at him once again. “But after… after... well, after this,” she emphasizes the word this, “I never look presentable after waking up," she explains.

At first, Thorin doesn't understand, lifting his eyebrow, but thenArca carefully lifts her wing and Thorin freezes, noticing what she was referring to.

These are not only leaves and sticks, this is a nest. Under the black feathers on Arcas belly, there were some little green and grey eggs, all well covered and covered by their mother body that gave them warmth. Thorins opens and closes in mouth in total shock, he expected everything, but not this. He turns to Roac with his eyes wide open and his friend just looks down, croaking quietly.

A father. Roac was about to become a father.

NoticingRoac’s expression, Arca looks at Thorin, quickly covering the eggs with her wings.

"H-he…” she whispers softly and Roac shakes his head, looking down. Her expression changes rapidly and becomes a mask of terror and she slowly starts to shake and pant. ”ROAC!" she yells at him, wiggling her tail.

"I was about to tell him!" replies the king of ravens, looking straight at her.

"Our eggs are on the King’s private balcony! He was supposed to know about it already!” Arca retorts in a high-pitched voice and then shifts her gaze towards the ruler of Erebor, worried. "Oh, king Thorin I am deeply sorry... I, I was... we..." she starts to stutter as her voice cracks. "I am sorry, I am sorry, I really am..."

"All of this is unacceptable. I know,” Roac says solemnly, looking up at Thorin a moment after he flies, up landing on the dwarf’s knee, protectively putting himself between Thorin and Arca. “She was supposed to stay at Ravenhill with the eggs, but there is always so much work and she cannot stay alone for too long to look after the nest. I had to stay in Erebor and I couldn't look after her…” he stops, glancing at Arca for a second and then back at Thorin. “She is still weak…” he whispers sadly. “Thorin, I just… We will leave as soon as we can, I pr--"

"Do you need something more?" Thorin says.

Shocked, Roac raises his beak again, "Thorin?"

Thorin smiles with the side of his mouth as he feels his heart full of sudden joy, a joy that it was weird to explain.

"Do you both have everything you need?” he asks again softly. “I can leave you food here so you don't have to look for it. Soon the snow will fall, it's surprising it's not already here, but I can give you something to keep you, Arca and the eggs warm. A fur would work well, and a pillow," he explains, thinking about all the things that can be helpful. “I would never tell you to leave…”

The raven looks at him even more shocked "We... Thorin, you don't need to-"

A small sob catches Thorins's attention, and he casts a glance towards Arca still huddled over the eggs. Tiny tears form at the corners of her eyes and there is a smile on the sides of her beak.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Arca interrupts Roac, touched by Thorin's words as she snuggles more against the eggs.

The King of Erebor lets a smile escape his lips and moves closer to her carefully. “There is nothing to thank me for, Arca,” he answers, bowing his head in gratitude.

Roac winces slightly in amazement as Arca extends her wing towards him in a silent invitation under Roac's cheerful gaze. Thorin reaches out his hand, brushing his fingertips against her wing, returning the gesture.

The female raven has an expression of pure joy; she is looking at Thorin with such gratitude that he had rarely been granted. Thorin had not done much, but she was able to make him feel something that made his throat constrict. A silent gratitude that took him back to several days earlier and to a sweet smile that had been given to him only a few days before. And that voice.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

"Come, let’s see if I have what you need," Thorin speaks to Roac as he carefully gets up from the ground, trying not to get too near to the nest.

The raven nods with his head and rests on his shoulder, snuggling into it as Thorin begins to walk back into his room, being careful to leave the door open.

With long strides, he moves towards the back of his chamber, kneeling down in front of the huge chest by his bed. He opens it an starts rummaging through his clothes, most of them from the Blue Mountains, digging deeper and deeper, searching for a specific garment.

“I don't know how to thank you, Thorin, I really don't...” Roac murmurs to him, resting his beak against his beard.

Thorin makes a quick gesture with his hand, asking the raven to help him and smiles at him encouragingly. “Keep them safe, it's enough,” he answers, finding what he has been looking for at the bottom of the chest. “A birth is still a birth, and must be celebrated as such, always.”

The words start to fail him, as an old sadness, a dark history of his people comes back to haunt him. “It's hard to celebrate it here… in this mountain,” he adds, pulling his old coat out.

It is true, it is hard, very hard. When he did the census last year, there were only six children born in Erebor that year and none of them was a girl. Not that he would blame anyone, he remembers that it had been similar when he was a child. Dwalin and Roac were the closest things to friends he'd ever had, if he excluded his brother and sister.

Roac cuddles more into his shoulder, nodding. “I will, I promise I will, and you are making it easier,” ha starts but then he suddenly stops, looking down. “When heard I would become a father, it was… strange,” he whispers, “It felt like I… I made something, but it was really something, as if I gave away a piece of myself, and gave it to Arca, but I know I will have it back as soon as all the five eggs hatch.”

Thorin stops in his steps for a second and without even thinking he looks at Roac, shakes his head.

“That piece will still be hers,” he speaks, unable to control himself and not knowing why he said so, but he knew it was real what he said.

Roac nods.

“I know and I want her to have it, Thorin,” the raven admits, giving a glance at the window before turning his attention back to him.

I know Roac, I know.

Smiling with the side of his mouth, he gets closer to the raven and lays his forehead gently against his, stroking his neck.

“I am very happy for you, my friend,” he whispers softly.

Roac nods, brushing his forehead against Thorin’s and wiggling his tail. They stay like that for a few moments before returning to the balcony.

Letting Roac leave his arms, Thorin wraps the coat around Arca and the nest, carefully placing the fur lining as close to her as possible.

Arca makes a little bow with her head thanking Thorin again, and touches his hand with her beak as a sign of gratitude before Roac comes closer to her.

She lifts gently her wing and Roac lowers his head, checking the eggs under her wing. He slowly strokes them gently with his beak. Arca looks at him and a glint of something Thorin doesn’t recognize passes through her black eyes. After a few moments, Roac jumps into the nest and pulls her close to his body by covering Arca with his wing protectively and letting her nuzzle his neck. Thorin moves silently back to his rooms, wanting to leave them a little space, feeling out of place.

But as he is walking away, he hears Arca’s last words, and he holds back a little chuckle in his mouth.

“You still didn't wake me up on time, Roac, son of Carc,'' she murmurs and Thorin hears Roac sighing loudly.

Smiling, he walks to his side of the balcony, as before, and walks through the door that leads to his chambers.

His room is silent, still, terribly silent, and empty.

He had just done something right, he had just learned that his oldest friend is going to become a father. Roac will have his heirs, his own children. Then why is he, Thorin, the king of the greatest dwarven kingdom, feeling this way, as a beggar, as if someone has just taken every single organ from his body and cast them into the fire, forcing him to watch them burn.

He is feeling empty and that silence that he used to cherish, now seems like a slow and terrible torture. The solitude he had searched for so long and created for himself now seems like a nightmare, one of the nightmares that keep tormenting him almost every night.

He runs his hand over his face wearily walking towards one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, sitting down with his legs stretched out and trying to regain even a shred of peace , the peace he had not felt for weeks. There were so many emotions he felt in those days, but never the calm, the serenity, not since he had left the Iron Hills, not since he had left Ragna.

No, he had not left her, she had left him. She had made it very clear to him what she wanted. There have been those wonderful nights, wonderful moments, but it had been just that, and then he stupidly ruined it, wanting to take her with him and make her his... his…

He places his hands over his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees.

Ragna. His... what? What exactly did he want from her on his last night in the Iron Hills? His concubine? Did he really want to keep her in a room away from the rest of the world and only see her at night? Was what she said back in his face the truth? He had offered her wealth, a life without worries, a life he had never had himself and yet she rejected it.

What does he really want her to be, what does he want Ragna to be to him? He felt normal, he had felt normal for the first time he could remember, and he lived a normal life for the first time in a hundred years. Everything around him is moving forward and yet he remains still, as if frozen in time. He feels like an ancient tree in the middle of a forest, watching the flowers die and wither and new trees sprouting up from the ground.

Ragna’s words echo in his head, the possibilities she had listed that night not far from reality, yet for him they had always seemed unreal.

“What would happen if you were to find yourself a queen?”

A wife? No, he had never thought of that and never opened himself to the possibility before.

“What if I were to give you a child?”

A child, a child of his own? A child with her.

Now that is a tangible possibility, one he would have to consider if he wanted to keep her by his side.

He looks at the old armchair from the Ered Luin in front of him, its emptiness lit up by the faint light of the fireplace and the final light of the sunset, and a path unfolds before his eyes, a possibility.

He sees Ragna sitting next to him, curled up in the armchair in his room. Her hair is loose and she is wearing that dressing gown she was so embarrassed about, the one, with the squirrels and the wolves wearing pink hats. In her arms, she holds a small bundle wrapped in a couple of blankets. She smiles at it, murmuring an ancient melody of their people while a light laughter of a baby comes from the bundle.

She leans forward, touching the inside of the bundle with her nose as she continues to sing. A pair of tiny hands rise from it, playfully grabbing the locks of her hair, and she lets out a laughter as light as the wind.

"I know I don't sing as well as your father, but there is no need to pull my hair like this!" she jokes, freeing her hair slowly from the baby’s grip.

She turns to Thorin and takes his hand, her fingers gently intertwining with his.

"And don't you look at me that way, Thorin, it's true!" she scolds him, blushing slightly probably seeing the grin on his face. His eyes pass over her face. She is older now, there are first silver hairs among her heavy locks, and he notices tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. In her hair, which he thought was loose before, there is a braid and a bead, or rather two beads, one on top of the other, one bears his rune, the other is covered in gems and there are their two runes intertwined on top of each other.

A wedding bead.

A third laughter echoes through the room, catching his attention. He turns slightly behind him and sees a boy, a bit older than a toddler. He is on his short and chubby legs, clutching a piece of parchment to his chest. He has black hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky, but he doesn't look like him, not at all. Those cheekbones, that nose, that sunny expression. He looks just like Ragna.

"A-dad! A-dad l-look!" he calls after him, passing by Ragna and practically throwing himself on his lap. "L-look at this! I just d-drew a sword, do you like it a-dad? Can you make it?" he asks him, raising the drawing to Thorin’s eyes.

It was a sword, or at least it looked like it, just two crossed lines, yet it was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen.

"In a few years, you are going to be able to make it yourself," Ragna tells the small boy, holding Thorin’s hand tighter.

"But I am this big a-mad!" the little boy whines, showing four of his fingers to her. "I can do it now!"

Ragna opens her mouth to retort, but the little bundle laughs again as soon as the boy raises his voice a little, fidgeting and showing two tiny legs coming out of the blanket. With an intrigued face, the boy moves closer to Ragna, carefully, on the tip of his feet, visibly nervous. Ragna opens her mouth, smiling gently at him and inviting him with a nod to come closer.

She says, "Want to see her, Frerin?"

Frerin.

Thorin’s heart makes a painful flip and the floor almost gives way beneath his feet.

Little Frerin nods and approaches Ragna. He stands on his tiptoes and carefully peels away a piece of the blanket showing a small figure hidden within its folds.

Her eyes are wide open and her fleshy mouth is distorted into a smile that shows him toothless gums.

Forcefully she grabs his brother's finger hovering just beside her face, and she starts waving it from side to side cheerfully.

"L-look a-dad she took my finger! Look! A-mad!" he giggles, looking at Thorin as Ragna’s hold on his hand becomes tighter and tighter as she smiles at him tenderly and her eyes slowly become glossy.

Thorin shakes his head, trying to erase that stupid vision, that impossible future, from his mind. What is wrong with him? Did he really think about that possibility, about the chance of having a family, a family with someone who barely tolerated his existence?!

No, it wasn't possible, none of that was possible. He is just tired, he just wants to rest, it has been a long day and tomorrow he will forget all about it.

Tomorrow will be another day and he will even forget about her. He hs to forget about her. For his own sake, and hers.

______________________________________________________

"We need more gold to finance this year’s Durin’s Day and the Reclamation Day! It’s going to cost more than it did last year, that's sure enough!” Gloin yells, slamming his hand on the stone table.

His red beard seems to curl on its own as the murmurs among the dwarves sitting around the table in the council chamber begin to increase, a wave of murmurs that started lulling the King Under the Mountain to sleep as he watches the marble veins before his eyes.

"Why is that?" Fili’s voice beside him rings out louder than the others, drawing Thorin's attention.

"Have ya paid attention, lad, to how much that elven wine cost now? It's unbelievable, and I don’t even want to think how much we will have to spend to get all the food from Esgaroth!” Gloin retorts, pointing to the scrolls under his arms. “Look at these numbers, look how much they are asking for just a bit of salted ham!” he emphasises angrily, pointing to the paper. “Master Dvallar had to take all of this into account!”

The ancient dwarf seated at the head of the table opposite Thorin raises his head when he hears his own name and puts away his quill next to some parchments in front of him.

“I did, master Gloin…” he answers calmly, bowing his head. “Here I have the letters from King Thranduil...” he mumbles, searching among the hundreds of papers in front of him, correcting his very small golden glasses on top of his nose.

He pulls a long, white as snow, iridescent sheet of paper out of the pile, bringing it so close to his face that his nose seemed to touch the surface.

“It says that he will send us thirty barrels of wine. Here, Bard of Esgaroth says…” Master Dvallar adds, pulling closer a brown parchment on the table, his hands covered with age spots. “He says he will send us twenty more. Fifty barrels of wine, do you really plan to drink more than this, Master Gloin?”

“Those won't be enough!” the red-bearded dwarf replies, glancing down at old Dvallar. ”Fifty thousands of dwarves live in this mountain, and two thousand more will come here in ten days, and I’m not even counting the ones who will be staying in the guests’ chambers!

"W-we still have some of the barrels from last year, don't we?” intervenes Ori shyly, raising his hand. “I-I have written it all down, there were two hundred of them left."

"It's all gone," a male voice with a strong Blue Mountains’ accent answers him bluntly.

Dori looks across the table in annoyance, his eyes wide with astonishment. "What are you talking about, Bofur?! How?!"

Bofur puffs out a little smoke, takes the pipe out of his mouth, and nods slightly. “That wine has been gone for months, since the Summer Festival.”

Thorin moves his gaze to the right as soon as Balin comes closer to him.

“That's a problem,” he whispers, worried.

“The negotiations with the Iron Hills and Mirkwood won't start until two weeks after the Durin’s Day, won't they?” Dìs, who sits on his other side,, places both hands adorned with golden rings on the table and notices the exchange of glances between him and Balin.

Thorin lowers his gaze again at that, finding the veining of the marble table incredibly unique, incredibly interesting, much more interesting than the discussion around him.

Balin, sitting next to Thorin, nods. “And we cannot ask Mirkwook to bring forward the date of the meeting, the same goes for Dain “We at least need Dain’s advisors if we want to get what we want from Thranduil.”

Thorin grits his teeth as his chest becomes incredibly heavy. As far as he is concerned, Dain's advisors could stay in the Iron Hills, every single one of them. No exceptions.“Like lady Ragna for example!” Dvallar raises his voice enthusiastically, making the veins in the marble surface in front of Thorin's eyes dull and repetitive again. He is forced to hear the old dwarf speak now and to hear that name again, that damned name. Thorin can feel Balin’s eyes on him, making him sick in his stomach, his old friend probably begging him with his gaze to not interrupt the old dwarf lord.

“I have heard she was able to get a profitable agreement with the king of Mirkwood! When she was only ninety nine she closed an agreement with Fengel of Rohan and you know what it was?” the old dwarf asks ironically, nearly yelling, as if youth had returned to his veins. “She made Rohan breed ponies for the Iron Hills for forty years and in return the Horse Masters would receive a payment of five necklaces, only five ruby necklaces, and that was it! And Fengel accepted!” he chuckles, taking away the glasses from his nose.

A series of "Oh's" and "Ah's" and even a few "What a woman!" leaves the mouth of some of the councillors around the table, while Gloin continues to mutter grumpily about how ridiculous it all is and how they really need more gold to pay for everything.

Ragna, again, the woman that has just brought noise into his halls, and a deep silence into his chest.

Ragna.

From the first time he saw her in that same room when she first came to Erebor, he was fascinated by her, he felt as if an enchantment fell upon the whole chamber, leaving him speechless. She was stunning, a beauty that was not perfect at all, but she had that confidence in her stare, in her words that could have wiped away every flaw her body of face could have, and after those weeks of taking off her clothes and running his hands along every inch of her body he realized that were barely none. She was one of the most intelligent dwarves he had ever met, he had to admit now to himself that she put him in a difficult position more than once and she was one of the very few who would dare to tell him he was wrong. Dwalin was right, he would have liked her, they could have even gotten along.

He had lovers, several of them. Not as many as Dwalin would speak of teasingly; six or seven since he retook Erebor. Sometimes he would get bored by his lover, sometimes they would. There were no strings attached and he liked that. But after he spent those passionate hours with Ragna in the Map Room, he didn’t feel bored, he didn’t want to find himself yet another lover, he wanted her again, and again, and again, every night or every other moment he would have the chance to. And he quickly discovered that he wanted more from her, more than just carnal pleasure, he wanted to talk with her, to spend the whole night with her even if only sleeping. It felt... weird. Weird in a way that none has ever made him feel, he needed her, he grew fond of Ragna, the dwarven lady whom he was discovering day by day in every little thing she did. She was strong, she was clever, she was determined, but she was also kind, funny, shy, and incredibly vulnerable when she thought no one watched. It was like staring back into a mirror at times, a dwarven lady that as him couldn't show to others some parts of hers. It all began with him noticinging her staring at him drawing with a sparkle in her eyes and since then he started to notice more things. Just before going into the council room she used to check meticulously if everything was alright, if her dress was worn correctly, if her rings were all there and she would fix her braids with trembling hands. He noticed she used to play with her fingers under the negotiation table as soon as the conversation started to light up slightly and he could see sometimes how hard it was for her to tell everyone to calm down. She walked always close to the handrail holding onto it as she was about to fall. She used to tremble every time he kissed her as soon as she arrived into his room and blush, even after all those nights she blushed every single time. As soon as they quenched their thirst for each other and she was always about to leave, she could have felt as an unwanted presence, but she didn’t. He had to keep there a few times proposing a bath. He would observe her fingertips as she would play with every single bubble that formed on the surface of the water. She used to sleep cuddled up to him, with every fur or sheet covering her up to her nose, and she would talk in her sleep. Sometimes there were words that made no sense, other times she spoke about lists of the things she had to do in the morning. But there was one night when he realized that it wasn’t only just lust, not any more, and that he wanted her to stay with him, for as long as Durin would allow him.

Thorin looks up slightly, watching Ragna fill a plate with the dinner that was brought to his room by the servants only minutes before she came in with a pile of papers in her hand. Those papers quickly ended up scattered on the floor. A night like any other, a night like the ones he has been living through for the past six days. It's hard to concentrate again on the piece of parchment in his hands, especially when a sleeve of his shirt, the shirt with which Ragna has covered her naked body, falls from her shoulder, showing him the purple bite marks he had branded on her skin only a few minutes before.

But he must focus now, or that letter will haunt him until he returns to Erebor.

He reads every line again, searching through them for a solution to his problem. He pulls himself up slightly to sit up, resting his back against the headboard, pulling down even further the sheet that only covered him from his hips to the middle of his thighs not caring about the cold and not even noticing that Ragna is returning to bed with a raised eyebrow.

"I think that today you worked enough, you know?" she calls back to him, pointing her finger at the paper in his hand. "If you forgot about some of the points we spoke about today I can repeat them to you." she tells him, smiling with the side of her mouth.

Thorin sighs, watching her as she crawls onto the mattress with the plate full of food in her hand, setting herself by his side.

"It's not about the trade agreement," he explains, shaking his head at her. "It's a matter I need to figure out before going back to Erebor."

"An important matter of state then," she clarifies more to herself than to me, bringing a pastry to her mouth.

Shaking off a lock of her hair that was about to fall onto her plate, Thorin nods. "Something like it, aye," he sighs before forcing himself to look down at the letter in his hands.

Several minutes of silence pass in which he feels Ragna's gaze on him as she studies his reactions. That dwarf-woman is an excellent politician, surely she can read his mind, or perhaps she is already doing so. If she is doing that now, she knows that instead of a brain in his head he now has a burning furnace fueled by desire.

He keeps on reading and re-reading, but he still can’t find a simple answer and he certainly hasn't expected to have to solve such a problem miles away from Erebor and with a sweet distraction who, as she eats her food, occasionally licks her fingertips or sucks them clean.

In the name of Durin...

"You seem concerned,Thorin," she tells him, licking her lips.

"I am actually, it's a type of business I don't want to get into, and I have to intervene this time, and as soon as possible," he explains, looking her straight in the eyes.

Ragna steps closer, casting a glance at the paper now in plain sight and then at him.

“What is it about? Maybe I can help you, unless this is some very secret matter that I’m forbidden to know,” she adds dramatically and he can't help but chuckle.

He looks on the paper and then back to her, and then back to the paper and then he takes his decision.

He points to his side with a glance and Ragna understands immediately.

She puts the plate on the mattress next to her pillow and comes closer to him and before he is able to speak, she sits on his lap as a child would when listening to a story. She has the same sparkle in her eyes, she loves things like these, he hates them.

Thorin wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and strokes her lower back with his fingertips showing her the letter with the other hand. “I have received words that the miners in Erebor are unhappy” he explains.

Ragna tilts her head to the side confused “Why is that so? It's pretty weird,”

“Smaug attack caused a lot of damage, some galleries are unavailable and to arrive at some of them miners have to dig new passages, but sometimes the rock caves in and some of them remain trapped for days. It happens several times a month.”

The confusion on her face, however, does not disappear; on the contrary, she presses her lips into a thin line and tilts her head on the side even more.

”Can’t you just tell them to stop, find another way, move to some other galleries?”

He thought about that, that would have been a great solution, but it would have been too easy.

“Those three galleries are the principal ones,” he continues stroking the side of her tight “from them the smallers ones branch off, if I can't find a solution I will have to ask them to dig deeper to find the gold and gems we need and so I will ask them to risk their life even more,” he ends by lowering his gaze to the letter again, feeling his chest heavy.

“Which are the causes of the falls?” Ragna asks him, more serious, lifting up her back.

She is in trade mode, and he knows he has to say anything she wants to know.

“Their zone chief told me that the mines are safe, but some of them don't take enough precautions and what happens it's only their fault.”

“So you are speaking to their zone chief, not directly with them?” she asks him concerned , crossing her arms over her chest.

“Is It that weird for you?” he asks, noticing her disappointment.

“Well if someone has a problem that needs to be fixed, I would speak directly to them,” she explains with a shrug and then glances again at the letter.

Before he can realize it she lays down onto him placing her hands on his chest and arching her neck to the side to read the letter.

She studies it, holding herself closer to him, and he is looking to anything but not to the piece of parchment. All the words he can see are her exposed neck, the laces of his shirt she is wearing falling in between her breasts, and her upper thighs pressed against his waist. That woman is driving him mad. That clever and beautiful woman. In the name of Durin, he is feeling like a young boy again.

“Do the mine masters in Erebor go personally to work in those galleries?” she asks looking up to him after reading the letter.

He simply shakes his head, refocusing on his problem.

“Then why are you listening to them!?” she blurts out, getting up and sitting on his lap again.

“This idea of theirs it's absurd and you are as big of a fool as they are if you think that something like this would work!” she scolds him, resting her hands on her sides.

At first, he looks at her in amazement, remaining silent. Has she just called him a fool? Has he heard right? He should be offended, normally he would have done that, but Ragna doesn't even give him time to do that and raises both eyebrows in annoyance.

“I am talking with you, your majesty! Are you a fool?” she asks again.

He doesn't know how to answer, he doesn't really know what to do, he just knows that he feels his world is upside down. A fool, he? A fool? She has a temper but he would never have expected such courage, such decisiveness, maybe asking her advice really was the right choice, maybe she was the only one in all Seven Kingdoms who would tell him the truth and give him honest advice.

“So what you are saying is…” he asks her as he gets up more, holding her to him.

“Speak with them, listen to them, go to the mines yourself, you are a miner too by the seven fathers, are you not?!” she nearly yelled pointing a finger to his chest. “Ask for their opinions directly and decide with them what is the best for them. Why do others have to decide for them, you are their king, they respect and love you, not them, you, they love YOU!” she repeats again pointign again and again to his chest as it was the most obvious thing in the whole Arda.

Without hesitation he let the paper fall from his hand back to the mattress and even without thinking, he grasps her chin with his fingers and kisses her.

He can feel her shiver and stiffen, she is clearly surprised by his gesture, but he holds her still while she wraps her arm around his neck, letting their tongues meet.

It is slow, and intense, different from all the other times. He just wants to feel her against his body, nothing more, and she lets him pull her closer, making their bodies lean against each other.

As he lifts his shirt she is wearing, stroking her buttcheek, she giggles against his lips, pulling back from the kiss.

“What? Did you give up?” she asks with a smile, rubbing her nose against his.

“You gave me my solution, why should I keep looking at that letter?”

Ragna looks at him surprised, pulling back a bit to look at his face.

“So... you agree with me?”

He nods, pecking her lips gently again, making her eyes open wider.

“Yes, I do, I know it doesn't always happen but I agree. You are right,” he reassures her, making her cheeks darken with a blush for a few seconds.

“Well, this is unexpected…” she giggles. “What is it? Your post-sex sweetness?

“More my post-sex hunger,” he answers and glances to the plate next to them, the food barely touched.

Thorins starts to shake, and clenches his fists. He needs to leave and he needs to leave now.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs and stands up from his chair. “Continue without me,” he orders looking directly to the table as everyone around it stands up too as soon as he does so.

His sister, still sitting, looks at him in shock.

“Thorin…” she whispers, blinking.

“I have some orders to write,” he stops her before she can say anything more and glances down to her “For two weeks I have been arranging trades and agreements, I need to work on serious matters now,” he says, seriously glancing at everyone at the table.

Every single one of them stays silent, not believing what their king has just said. Thorin has never left the council room before, never said that one thing was more important than another and he never, ever walked away from his problems. Never.

But now,he is doing it, leaving two of his problems behind.

He walks to the door, not turning back, with his hands crossed behind his back.

“Thorin, we need you just for another hour, you need to listen to some of the-”

“Send everything to my room, Balin!” he orders him, glancing behind his back as soon as he reaches the threshold. “I will read it all, you know I will. The only thing I am asking you to do is to finish this madness!” he growls this time, moving his gaze directly to Gloin. “Spend as much money as you need, Gloin, take them from the treasure chamber if you need!”

And without even listening a word from anyone, he leaves the room, not wanting to turn back again, not wanting to see anyone and not wanting to listen to them speak again, not wanting to hear about the Iron Hills nor that stupid agreement ever again!

“Thorin!”

He hears Dìs’ voice and her chair scraping against the floor, but he needs to sleep, he needs to sleep, and find silence, and get his damn terrible silence back.

______________________________________________________

The flames of the fireplace in front of him dance rapidly, twisting and untwisting as his locks of hair are being untanglef with such force that Thorin has to close his eyes and hold back a few moans of pain.This is the worst torture he had ever been forced to undergo and the dwarven maid behind him is only increasing the force of her yanks. He clutches the edges of the carpet on which they are both sitting, holding back another moan when she pulls his hair back with even more vigour.

“You can stop pulling if the damn brush does not loosen the knot,” he grunts between his teeth but Ragna is not of the same opinion.

He hears her sigh and then he sees in the corner of his eye, her legs spreading and her knees coming alongside with his thighs, as she is finding a better position to kneel down behind him.

“I wouldn't have to pull if you took more care of your own hair, King Under the Mountain!” she groans, hitting him playfully with her free hand on his uncovered back.

He can't hold back a light chuckle, feeling that her grip on his hair loosens. Ragna moves the comb again from the root of his hair to the ends, but it is still getting stuck in the same place.

This time he can't hold back a louder groan as the pain becomes more intense. By Durin! “Stop being a baby, you survived a stab in your stomach and much worse, you will survive me brushing your hair!” Ragna nearly yells at him and then tries again to move the brush from top to bottom of his hair once more.

“I could always run away from my foes or fight against them, from this I cannot!” he retorts between his lips.

“Then suffer in silence and let me finish here. I swear on the seven fathers that if you don't take off that crown slowly the next time, I will…” Ragna cannot even finish the sentence before a groan of frustration escapes her lips. “Alright, alright… one, two...” she whispers and then Thorin feels the brush. It pulls at his hair, but from a different angle, forcing him to arch his neck forward to not risk falling backwards. A groan of pain escapes between his lips but eventually Ragna’s grip weakens and the brush passes smoothly to the end of his still wet locks.

“Done!” she says triumphantly, “Was it that bad?”

His neck begins to hurt and he slowly stretches it backwards, massaging the back of his neck.

“In the name of Durin..” he whispers and then shakes his head “No, no it wasn't, it wasn't bad at all,” he groans, closing his eyes.

“I told you, you just have to have patience, a thing that's not in the line of Durin’s blood, I think,” Ragna jokes, stroking his back with her fingers.

“The same patience you showed with the seamstress today as she was taking the measures for your wedding dress?” he asks her mischievously, turning his head back towards her.

Ragna stiffens, stopping sto stroke his back and suddenly falls silent with her eyes wide open from the surprise. “How do you know?”

“I have my informants, I am the king after all, I need to know anything that happens under this mountain,”

“Roac?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Bigger.”

“Dìs?”

“Smaller.”

A shadow crosses her face as the truth strikes her full force. She sighs deeply, laying her chin on his shoulder.

“Kili… it was when he brought those papers to me, didn't he?” she murmurs.

Thorin pretends not to know, smiling at her with the corner of his mouth.

“I won't confirm or deny your suspicions,” he replies

Oh, he wouldn't, especially when his nephew begged him to not tell his “soon-to-be-aunt” that he was the traitor! Kili was sent only to bring her some more papers before the wedding, but he came back to the throne room with some interesting information. He spoke about a story of a future queen, who stomps her feet like a child when asked to remain still for the third hour in a row, or who whimpers when the twentieth pin pierces her skin and throws a tantrum when the measurements of the dress she had taken a few days ago no longer match the ones she had now.

Ragna puffs out her cheeks, poking his side with her index finger with an expression somewhere between fury and loveliness.

“Thank every ancestor of yours that Kili is your nephew and I like him or I would have sent him into the mines for a week!”

“I would approve if these are your intentions!” Thorin chuckles as Ragna hides her face into his back, in the hollow between his shoulder blades wrapping her arms around him.

“A long day with me in the forges as when he was a child will be enough, I thin-”

He never manages to finish the sentence because at that moment her breasts press against his back and he feels her lips kissing his naked shoulder and then his neck and then his back again, holding him closer and closer.

Thorin feels dozens of shivers running down his back and his stomach take flight in the high skies.

Confused, he grabs her hands intertwined on his belly and turns his face towards her.

“What was this for?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” she answers, looking up again at him and resting her chin again on his shoulder. “Well, there is a reason, to be honest…” she says, correcting herself fast. He narrows his eyebrows confused and before he can ask what she means, she pecks his lips and moves her mouth closer to his earlobe.

he whispers something to him, but his eyes are already closed.

All becomes dark and everything around him, inside him, disappears before he can breath again and a sea of furr presses against his back. He is laying down somewhere, and it's cold, much colder than before.

A sweet scent reaches his nostrils, so delicate, so familiar, so relaxing that his eyes struggle to open. He knows it is not an enemy and he knows it is not someone who can harm him. He wants to stay asleep, nestled between the furs he feels lying against his bare chest.

Suddenly the furs are quickly replaced by something much softer. Thorin slowly opens his eyes and feels the heart in his chest skip a beat. Lying above him, tucked under the covers of his bed in Erebor, is Ragna. The sun illuminates part of her face making her eyes glow; her lips are swollen and she smiles a smile that immediately relaxes the muscles in his arms, while those in his chest are brought to calm by her small hands, as well as her breasts,pressed to his chest.

"Goodmorning, melhekhel" she whispers softly, stroking the beard on his jaw with her fingertips.

Thorin cannot move a muscle, watching her as if she were a vision, because she has to be, it has to be. Ragna is not there and could not be there.

He is at a loss of words her small reddish lips distort into a short laugh.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost, I know I'm not beautiful in the morning, but if you keep staring at me with your eyes wide open like that, I might get offended."

"You're not real," he mutters, barely looking her straight in the eye.

Ragna bites her lip, moving her index finger from his jaw to his neck and then to his chest. "Yes I am, I am for as long as you want," she whispers, bringing her face closer to his, "Isn't that what you want, to have me for as long as you want, Thorin?"

Before he could even allow her lips to brush against his, he pulls back, grabbing her wrists that had begun to descend towards his abs....

All that had to stop, all of that had to stop.

He grips her wrists firmly and with a quick movement he reverses their positions, pinning her beneath him.

"No, you're not here, we're not here, you... you're far away from Erebor, you're just inside my head," he roars, like an order, an order that she has to answer, that his head has to answer.

"The fact that I am far from you does not mean that I am any less real than I was weeks ago. Has all that ever been real, Thorin, have I ever been real?" she asks him, smirking mischievously.

A shiver runs down his spine.

"You were real, now you are not. Get out of my head, Ragna, and get out now!"

"You said you slept better with me, what is it now? Are you going back on your words, King Under the Mountain? I'm yours, is it not what you wanted? Only yours, even if only in your dreams?" she murmurs and slowly moves her lips to kiss him but still he pulls back, clutching her wrists.

"That's not what I told you, I don't want you like this! You don't understand, you didn't understand what I told you!" he retorts, gritting his teeth as a furious anger mounts in his chest.

He didn't want her like this, he didn't want that, he just wanted her... no he didn't want her, he wanted her, but he didn't... he didn't know what he wanted.

He lowers his gaze slowly, unable to keep looking into those eyes that keep staring at him, that keep digging into his chest. Slowly, he lets go of her wrists and sits up, making the distance between them bigger. He is feeling helpless, just as he had felt when she hadn't come to him that night, when he had forced himself to pack his trunks and leave when he had to leave but didn't want to.

Ragna slowly wraps her arms around his neck, slowly sitting up on the mattress.

No it has to be a dream, but if it's a dream, can he say those words, can he even think those words? He wants her, he wants her since the first moment he has laid his eyes on her, but it is more, it is so damn much more and now still is much more. He wants her, every night, everyday, every second of his day. He wants her. And he wants her to... he wants her to want him to. That is the problem. He only wants her, all he has, everything he has gained all of a sudden feels empty and worthless and if he would just have her, it would have been enough. Not being king of the seven kingdoms isn't enough, he wants to be her king, because she makes him feel like a king without a crown again. And he wants her to feel a queen too, his queen, only his. Not queen of Erebor, his queen.

"I want you, Ragna... I choose you, Ragna," he admits, having the absolute certainty that he would never be able to say those words in reality.

She smiles at him with a corner of her mouth, slowly resting her forehead against his.

"Then hold me, please, hold me tight, don't let me go again," she pleads. "Don't let me go, please... stay with me," she whispers, still pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth, "Stay here, stay with me," she whispers, kissing his upper lip "And if you can’t, take me with you... please, please..." she pleads, now kissing his lower lip, "Keep me with you and don't let me go again, not again," she begs him again and kisses him slowly, holding her hand at the nape of his neck.

He can't respond to ner kiss, everything is so confusing, so different, so strange, he feels his chest split in two by an emotion he can't identify, but he holds her close to him, as close as he dares. He squeezes his eyes shut when her lips descend from his mouth to his jaw, and then to his neck, torturing his skin with kisses that barely touch him as now she is slowly straddling him.

"Ragna..." he grunts when her two hands descend down to his stomach and then feels one of them playing with the edge of his trousers.

He tilts his neck grabbing her buttocks and feeling the pressure of the fabric of his trousers against his skin, the familiar heat growing within him making him hard in a second.

He groans when he feels the touch of a small hand when it undoes the laces of her breeches but then a vibrant sparkle catches his gaze, making him open his eyes wide in disbelief. Between Ragna's enticing breasts, under her skin, the Arkenstone shines with its own light, casting its glow of hundreds of colours against her smooth skin.

He doesn't even wonder why the King’s Jewel is not placed above the throne but inside Ragan’s chest. His head suddenly feels heavy as Ragna's delicate hand wraps around his member.

"Don't you want it?" she whispers moaning into his ear, her sweet voice punctuating every word, every letter, entering his ears and reverberating in his head like an echo. She slowly moves her hand up and down pulling slightly her shoulders backwards, exposing the gem encased inside her body.

"Don't you want me, Thorin?" she murmurs again, biting his earlobe.

A wave of desire makes its way into his chest, a desire that is burning him alive.

She seems to notice it, because she eagerly places her lips on his again, kissing him with such intensity that he closes his eyes.

In that moment Thorin forgets everything, every pain, every affliction, every burden he has been carrying on his shoulders, every responsibility: if it is a dream, then he wants to enjoy every second of it, casting everything else away, into oblivion, even if it would mean that the whole world would burn to the ground.

Desperately he parts his lips, letting their breaths meet and melt into each other.

The kiss becomes deeper, more intense. His hands travel up her body, towards her breasts, down to her bare hips and then firmly grasping her thighs and spreading them apart.

While his grip becomes more and more firm, a soft moan escapes her mouth as her hands sink into his hair, pulling him even more towards her naked body... towards the cold stone glittering in her chest.

Soft murmurs began to rise in his head, hissing in the meanders of his mind, whispers of mad desire increasing within him with every kiss, every touch touch, every moan.

"Tell me I'm yours." Ragna murmurs against his lips. "Please..."

A growl makes its way up his chest and with a quick movement he pulls her close, pressing his now free erection against her stomach.

"You're mine, you've been mine since I saw you, you're mine and you're only mine, Ragna," he grunts, biting her lip and lifting her body slightly. "You are mine, you belong to me, not to the Iron Hills, not to any other dwarf, Ragna! You belong to me!"

And with that he slides with a single thrust inside her, making her eyes suddenly go wide and she moans into his mouth. Oh, in Durin's name, how he missed her, how he missed hearing his tiny songbird sing.

I will not part with a single coin, not one piece of it!

I will not part with her.

Thorin no longer understands anything, but he doesn’t want to, her scent and her slight tremors making him lose control. He begins to thrust into her, enjoying the feeling of Ragna’s nails scratching his shoulders, her shining eyes filled with passion, unable to focus on him, as he enjoys the feeling of having control over her. He kisses her again, violently, fisting his hand in her hair. A deep, terrible need begins to form inside him, a yearning that cannot be filled. She moans, asking for more, begging for his kisses and his caresses. The most enchanting song he has ever heard, the only song he wants to hear: her moaning for him and only him.

But the whispers in his head finally take shape.

One of them has taken it. One of them is false.

One of them will take her away from me.

He wants it. He wants her. Ragna is his. She belongs only to him.

It is the king's jewel, am I not the king?!

She is mine, am I not the king?

He runs his hands over her bare skin, savouring every single moment: from her thighs down to her hips and waist, their hips moving together in a steady rhythm, firmly, pushing deeper and deeper inside her, making her moan and scream in ecstasy as he had never heard her moan and scream before. Even breathing becomes unnecessary, and he no longer needs it, he would rather die than stop all of this.

"Th-Thorin," she whispers between the moans.

"Say it again, moan my name again, Ragna!" he orders her and lifts her up, finding that exact spot that will help him send her over the edge.

"Thorin! Thorin, please!" she moans, moving her hips with his, taking pleasure from him, as he is taking every piece of her, closer and closer to the edge.

Every single piece. Every piece she kept away from him, every piece he didn't have the chance to take before!

You cannot see what you have become.

She cannot see what she has made me become.

At the sound of these words the body pressed against his disappears, as well as that pleasant weight on his body. He suddenly opens his eyes again and looks around: he is no longer in his bed.

His hands fall on something cold. Ragna has vanished from his arms and everything around him is grey and cold. A terrible feeling rises in his chest.

“RAGNA!” he yells with all the strength he has in his body.

“RAGNA!!!” he calls her again, trying to stand up, but something keeps him kneeling on the floor. He tries to stand up again and calls her name again, but he can only hear the echo of his voice and feel an icy cold entering his bones. He cannot see anything, all becomes darker, Thorin grabs the air around him, scratches the floor and tries to stand up again. “RAGNA!” he calls her again screaming, but still no one answers. And then, like a fog that spreads, all the grey around him begins to disappear and his legs feel lighter but his chest feels heavier.

A sharp pain in his stomach makes him blink and he lets out a scream of pain that splits the air around him in two. He brings his hand to his side, but a second twinge, this time in his forehead, makes him lean forward again and in that moment he realizes where he is.

Dozens and dozens of coins, gold and jewels are surrounding him, mountains of gold stretching across the room. He is in the treasure room, and he is dressed in his ceremonial robes. The black and gold cloak covers his back, the black leather tunic covers his chest, there are many opulent rings on his fingers, he feels the crown pressing against his temples and the warmth of the black fur on his shoulders. He looks at his hands, and the pain stops, there is no blood on them… why does he expect to see blood on his hands? And then a strange feeling makes him look up and what he sees makes him forget to breathe.

He sees them. Just as he has seen him before.

He can barely believe his eyes. It is happening again. Kili's face contorted in a grimace, white as the first snow that fell on that day, five years ago. Fili's unseeing eyes staring into oblivion. His heir's lifeless hand still clutching a bloodied sword. No, it cannot be true, it didn't happen like this! Or did it? Blood, blood everywhere. Their wounds, the bloodied coins beneath him. Their chests are unmoving. The despair he feels. And the cold. Freezing cold.

Snow starts falling on the gold and then he sees himself from above, his body laying on a slab of ice. His eyes are closed, he doesn't breathe, his clothes are covered in his own blood. It didn’t happen like this! Or did it?

From behind him, hoarse roars echo through the room, something heavy brushing against the coins, a hissing sound so familiarly awful that he refuses to look behind him.

“I'd almost be tempted to let you take it, just to see how it destroys you, how it corrupts your heart,” Smaug roars in the shadows behind him, but Thorin can’t take his eyes off the faces of Fili and Kili below him.

He is not in his head, he is there in that hall, he had always been there, in that hall, in his chest, in his heart that keeps on beating and hurting and reminding him every hour how it all has been his fault, how everything before his eyes was his fault and would always be his fault.

"And drive you mad," the voice behind him hisses again.

Suddenly two arms wrap gently around him from behind, encircling his waist, and there is that familiar sweet scent in the air. He feels a pressure against his shoulder and then a pair of lips move close to his ear.

“Maralmizu,Thorin.”

"NO!" a desperate scream escapes his chest amidst the absolute silence of his bedchamber as his eyes snap open.

"No," he repeats, holding the fur close to his chest, his eyes staring at the ceiling in darkness.

"No," he whispers to himself as he feels hot tears slowly trickle down his cheeks and down his neck, soaking the sides of the pillow.

A nightmare, another nightmare.

His heart beats faster and faster in his chest as the anguish and terror grip his chest.

He pulls himself up and sits up, his nails scratching against the carpet in his study on which he had been sleeping for the last three days. The previous four days before them he couldn't even lay in his own bed without thinking of her. So he worked, he had to work, day and night, he had to be tired enough to fall asleep as soon as he closed his eyes, but it did not work, not then, not now. He can still feel Ragna's lips on his own lips, her moans, her touches, the softness of her fingers against his back, the lust that seizes him when he feels her so close to him, the same lust that had driven him mad in that treasure chamber, driven him into oblivion and back again.

His dream had now become his worst nightmare. Yet another in the long line of nightmares that have been tormenting him for years, night after night, until a small hand rested on his forehead one night and chased them away for a while. Until he returned to Erebor, and they started again, longer, stranger, and more painful than ever before.

Thorin passes a hand over his face and wipes away a layer of sweat from his forehead, which has slowly trickled down to his neck.

He looks up at the half-opened window, at the moon shining high in the sky, barely illuminating the room. It is not even dawn.

With difficulty, Thorin braces himself with his forearms on the carpet of his study, throwing the fur he slept under aside with a sharp movement. He pulls the sweat-soaked shirt off his neck, tossing it messily onto a chair near the table.

Maralmizu, Thorin.

Drink, he must drink, and he must drink now.

With his eyes misty and his head heavy, he approaches the table in his study, searching with his hands for the silver jug he had placed there, perhaps only a few minutes before. He focuses on his surroundings, and as soon as he sees a glint, he grabs the jug and the drinking horn next to it.

Maralmizu, Thorin.

He grips both objects firmly, but not too firmly, not wanting to feel the silver under his fingers bend and the horn bone creak. He pours himself some wine, a lot of wine, and as if he were a thirsty man in a burning forest. He sips the entire contents in one gulp, savouring the bitterness on his tongue and enjoying the dizziness that follows. A drop of wine falls on his beard, trickling down to the middle of his chest and he hurries to wipe it off with one hand, putting it to his lips.

He is already ready to pour the second fill when the pile of papers on his desk attracts his attention. They are all neatly placed on top of each other, yet one of them is crumpled, and more yellow than the others.

He places both the horn and the jug on the corner of the table and approaches his desk with curiosity: not that he would have fallen asleep easily anyway. He lifts the stack of papers and pulls out what seems to him to be out of place, using only his fingertips. But it is only when he holds it with both hands that he realises he is not going to sleep a wink, perhaps until the end of his days.

________________________________________________________

Yet another rumble of a thunder resounds outside the window, followed by a flash of light that already anticipates another thunder and that makes the fireplace in the study of the King Under the Mountain useless for a few moments.

With two movements of one hand he dips the quill inside the inkwell, while with the other hand he grabs the silver jug on his desk, pouring himself yet another horn of wine that will be his companion for the rest of the evening and the only companion he would have that night, just like on the night before, and the night before that.

Not a warm body against his, no, he doesn't even have the desire for that. He just desires another cup of wine that would at least allow him to manage to sleep for four hours, which with the amount of painstaking work he was still doing, would probably result in only two.

He had been working with those papers for hours, flipping through and through them, carefully reading every line and underlining them, throwing them on the floor and filling them with his writing, and giving his authorisation for the orders for a feast that, for the first time, he wishes would not come.

Nine hundred barrels of ale, six hundred casks of wine, sixty boars, forty deers, a hundred chickens and quails, fifty pigs, two tons of tubers and grain from Esgaroth...

Numbers upon numbers that keep on assaulting him and confuse his head, so much so that he drains the entire contents of his horn in a single gulp before filling it up again.

His eyes, on the other hand, struggle against a piece of parchment that sticks out visibly from the pile of messy documents to his right. For each signature he writes, for each note he writes, he is forced to pause for a few moments, lingering over that inconspicuous piece of paper, more yellow and more crumpled than others, yet he does not have the strength to pull it out to look at its entirety.

When he found it among the documents of the agreement, he was petrified as he had been a few times in his life. Those characteristic ink marks, those meticulously drawn trees, those lines, those rivers, those names of places he had seen and visited over and over again had quickly taken the form of a face, a pair of eyes looking at him as if he were the most beautiful being ever created by the Valar, of a mouth that kissed him as if she was in dire need to quench her thirst and his mouth was the fount of a clear stream, of cheeks that, though pressed against his chest, blushed with every of his caress, and of a body pressed against his so that it seemed to enjoy a warmth that could not even exist in the forges of the great Mahal.

Her body, her face, her moans, her words.

It was just an adventure, a treat to sweeten up the negotiations.

Those words resound in his head and that face disappears, leaving only the barely sketched banks of the Anduin and the borders of Mirkwood beside it, drawn on that sheet of parchment.

A blind rage soon takes hold of his body, he feels the muscles tighten under his shirt, a black fury darkening his eyes. He fiercely crumples the drawing, no longer wanting to know, no longer wanting to give heed to those memories in his head. He had thought about it all the way home and now he can do something to forget her, to throw her figure into the flames and take her out of his body, and now he has the answer and the means to do it. But as soon as he approaches the fireplace to burn that piece of parchment in the flames, he is not able to. Something blocks his hand, a sense of guilt, a melancholy that bears her name, Ragna, the only name he would ever know and remember her by. His hand withdraws on its own, forbidding him to throw the paper into the fire, and in his heart he knows he will never succeed. He finds himself unrolling it and sitting down on his armchair in front of the fire in his room, watching it in detail. He knows what she is capable of drawing, he has seen it. What he has in his hand is nothing more than a sketch that had somehow ended up among the papers she had given him that day, that last day, that last night, when he had been able to enjoy her kisses, her body, her voice, one last time.

Sighing, Thorin runs a hand over his face and reaches out for his drinking horn to take another sip of wine, drowning his memories. He returns to his work undaunted, ignoring those silly thoughts that weighed on his shoulders like lead bars, like the heaviest armour he had ever worn.

As soon as the sweetish liquid touches his lips, he grunts with pleasure, snapping his tongue noisily and his hand continues that heavy work, turning a page and continuing to write.

But the more time passes, the more the cup is filled up and the silver jug gets emptied, the more his head becomes light and the more memories resurface.

Like the one from one of those nights.

"You have beautiful handwriting and that's not a compliment I often pay," Ragna tells him with her cheek resting on his chest and her small fingers playing with his hand.

"I should be honored then," he chuckles watching her thumb study the calluses on his palm.

"You must, after all the times I've been forced to look at it, I'm very sure of my words," she stated firmly. "But..." she interrupts, raising her face to his as she propped herself up on her elbows "The greatest honour I could give you is to tell you that it is more magnificent than mine."

"And will you ever tell me that, my lady?"

She smiles at him with the side of her mouth, their noses rubbing against each other. "I may, one night… or when you return here in the Iron Hills again, your majesty, you might be granted this… prize," she murmurs, brushing her lips against his.

"You are my prize," he replies and eagerly intertwines his fingers with hers and kisses her.

At the end of one of his signatures he presses the quill so hard on the paper that it creates a clearly visible smudge, causing him to throws the quill across the room, snarling like a beast.

And at that moment, his hand moves on its own, and he carefully pulls the sheet of parchment that keeps on drawing his mind towards itself and the marks on it slowly begin to show before his eyes. The papers that were stacked on top of the drawing fall to the ground, but he doesn't care, not at this moment.

He puts it on the wooden surface of his desk, as if it were one of those documents to be signed. Only the tips of his fingers rest on the crumpled sheet, and a fear of tearing it apart with a single movement raises its ugly head inside him. With his index finger, he traces every drawn mountain, every sketched tree, every rune. His eyes follow the Gladden Fields and the river Ninglor and finally arrive at the gates of Khazad-dûm, where his journey stops at the edge of the sheet on the banks of the lake of Kheled-zâram. That place to which he wanted nothing more than to take her, to see how her face brightens up while she stands on those banks, to show her what he had seen, to show her all that the world could give her, all that... he could give her, just in exchange for… for... one more night? Only that? Just a night of her, of her body? No...

A gentle knock on his study door interrupts his train of thought and brings him back to reality. Still disconcerted, he presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose as the spinning in his head continues to increase.

What a stupid, terrible idea.

"Come in," he mutters, trying to maintain at least a measure of self-control.

He receives no reply but the dark wooden door slowly opens, gradually showing him an avalanche of black curls, and a pair of eyes as ice-coloured as the dress she wore: Dìs.

"Thorin," she greets him looking through the gap in the door with uncertainty.

"Sister," he replies, nodding, allowing her to come in.

Better that she comes into his study at that moment than anyone else in the Mountain, someone who could have interrogated him, someone like Dwalin or worse, Balin. Not that they hadn't tried to do that to him already, but he skillfully managed to ignore them by just giving them new (and plenty) orders to follow.

He couldn't talk, not to them, not to anyone.

"Are you busy, brother? If you prefer I can come over later," his sister asks him, still outside the door

"No, not at all. I was just sorting out some paperwork... nothing more," he murmurs more to himself than to her, hiding the map on his desk slightly under his forearms.

Dìs nods as she enters the room and closes the door behind her "I see, aye, it's just that these days you are very busy."

Thorin notices how the words become softer and how his sister's eyes wander quickly around his study and he notices how the wrinkle on her forehead becomes deeper all of a sudden when her eyes stop on the papers on the floor, on the quill on the carpet in the middle of the room or on the makeshift bed he had created for himself to rest on during those weeks in front of the fireplace.

His heart freezes in his veins when he notices how she begins to look at his arms, or rather at what was hidden under his crossed arms.

"The orders for Durin's Day and the Reclamation Day?" she asks him, pointing at the parchment with her finger.

Thorin nods and carefully covers the map with another set of papers he still had to read and sign.

"Hundreds of them, more than I have expected," he replies authoritatively, narrowing his eyes.

Dis remains silent again for a few moments, just nodding her head and continuing to linger towards the surface of her desk and a strange shadow appears on her face.

"I need to speak with you Thorin, officially," she states seriously, looking him straight in the face.

The grip around his stomach loosens and he nods, unable to control a sigh of relief. "Of course," he murmurs pointing to her with his hand at the chair in front of him inviting her to sit down. "What's the matter?" he asks, but Dìs doesn't approach the chair or change her facial expression.

She remains still, motionless, observing him, with a look that makes him immediately swallow the sigh of relief he has allowed himself. Her hands, covered with rings and precious stones, are crossed over her belly and she casts another glance at his arms.

"I have just returned from the Iron Hills… I had to speak with Dain about something," she informs him coldly.

The Iron Hills.

Involuntarily his palm closes in a fist and he feels the need to swallow another sip of wine. Glancing at his drinking horn, he fills it to the brim, noticing that the third jug he had prepared for himself that evening was now almost completely empty.

"I was not informed of this, I could have given you an escort or sent you there officially. The lads told me you were busy..." he scolds her, gradually starting to connect all the dots.

Fili and Kili had justified their mother's absence during the last several days, he lost count how many of them passed, with various excuses. He remembers the looks the two brothers gave each other during meals; he could now see how they had been lying to him for days.

"What brought you there?" he counters, wetting his lips with the sweet and terribly familiar nectar. "What was so important that you had to speak to our cousin in person and not via letters?"

Dìs glances at him as soon as he tilts his horn to drink and with a couple of quick strides she approaches the desk, yanking the cup he has been holding out of his hand with a tug and glaring at him.

"I had to speak to him about you, brother!" she snarls at him. "He told me about your two weeks in the Iron Hills, about the Orc attack, the trade negotiations, and about how happy you looked there, how younger you looked!" she scolds him again, slamming the horn full of wine at the other end of the table.

It doesn't take him long to understand.

Forcing himself up with his hands on the table, he gets up from the chair, making it fall to the floor behind him, and glares at her.

"There is nothing I could have not told you myself, Dìs, you could have just asked me without disturbing our cousin,” he bares his teeth, his nostrils flaring.

But Dìs does not seem to be frightened. She places her hands on her hips and raises her chin more assertively than ever.

"Then can you tell me her name?" she asks insistently, her back straightening.

Her name.

A twinge in his chest forces him to arch his back upwards. "I don't know who you are talking about," he lowers his voice.

"You know who I am talking about!" Dìs insists, pointing her finger at the wooden desk and raising her voice, "and from what I have heard every dwarf in the Iron Hills would know about who I am talking about! I'm talking about the same dwarven lady who reduced you to drinking wine from morning till night!" she spits at him.

The wine rises to Thorin's head and all his self-control crumbles under the weight of his sister's words.

He fists both of his hands but it's not enough to control himself and his words.

"Leave her out of this!" he roars back, slamming his fist on the table.

But he realises too late that he has betrayed himself with his own words, he has admitted it.

His sister's blue eyes flutter several times and her mouth opens wide in a hushed breath.

"You are protecting her..." she whispers but to his ears it sounds like a much louder scream than the one she spat out soon after. "So they are telling the truth!" she barks again at him, slamming her finger on the desk.

They are telling the truth, who are they? They don't know the truth, none of them knows a damn thing other than sounds and moans and growls.

The wine rises to his head again and that taste of raspberries and malt fills his mouth again taking possession of his thoughts and his lips... as it had always done.

"There is no one! Not anymore and there won’t ever be! That is my last word on this matter, Dís!" he thunders back at her, pointing at the door with his chin, just wanting her to leave and finally stop talking....

Exhausted, he lowers his gaze, turning it towards the glass of wine that in that moment was calling him, louder than ever. He wants to forget, he wants to sleep, and not remember the truth of the words he had just spoken, why wouldn't Dìs let him forget?!

Ragna will never be his! She has never been his and he has been reducing himself to a pile of rubble because of it! It is a feeling he knows too well, the desire, wanting something until he can't think of anything else, but it is different this time, he wants the one thing he can't have and won’t ever have.

The one thing that neither an army, nor gold, nor prayers won’t ever allow him to touch again.

Thorin closes his eyes and stretches his arm forward, and in one slow motion he budges the horn filled with wine from in front of him, removing it from his gaze.

"You left her..." Dìs whispers, making him grit his teeth.

"I did not leave her, I gave her a choice and she made her decision!" he stops looking as his fingers are still closed in a fist and in that moment his palm that clutches at nothing is covered with a hand bearing dozens of small golden rings.

"She picked her people and her life in the Iron Hills, the thing she wanted is not here," he concludes, opening his palm upwards and lhis hand is carried away like sand on the wind, just like his thoughts.

Dìs moves even closer to the desk, placing both hands on it and forcing him to look up, finding her face at a very short distance from his.

"So you left the Iron Hills, you left her there and you did not tell her about..." she spits at him. "About… about… Damn, about all this!?" she yells at him again and with a movement she spreads her arms, pointing at his desk, and then at the room they are in, clearly referring to the confusion that reigned in his rooms, but not only to it.

Thorin understands that she is referring to more than that, but he will never have the strength to say it.

"I'll call someone to clean it up later," he murmurs coldly, but his patience is beginning to wear thin.

"You'll clean it yourself! You've never left the papers on the table in such a mess before, you barely eat, and if you do, you eat in your room alone! You spend all night in the forges, forging nothing or melting down and reforging the swords you already made just to keep yourself busy the way you keep yourself busy day in and day out by loading yourself with-"

"You don't know anything, Dís!" he interrupts her abruptly, roaring "You don't know what happened so I won't let you treat me like a boy who can barely tie his boots!"

"I will treat you like a boy if you continue to act like one, whining because someone dared to tell him no!" she retorts, pointing her finger at him.

Slowly Thorin lifts his back and puffs up his chest, showing his teeth. "Watch your tongue sister! You have no idea what you are talking about!"

His sister takes a couple of strides bringing herself to the side of the desk. "Then explain it to me! Explain to me why I barely recognize you!" she yells as her voice cracks for a moment. "How someone is so important to you, so perfect for you that you keep tormenting yourself like this? Why are you so stupid that you won't even try to stand up for yourself like you have been doing your whole damn life!" she yells back at him and those words mark the end of Thorin's lies and set him free.

With a couple of strides he moves towards his sister, clenching his fists.

"Because she is not a battle, she is not a trade agreement! If she were, I would have traded half the wealth I possess now just to have her here!" he shouts at her angrily.

His heart beats in his chest at an unspeakable speed and everything in front of him turns black, but the twinge in his chest instead of stopping him, this time makes him open his mouth and pour out all the things he wanted to keep hidden from Dìs and everyone else.

His eyes sting, his throat becomes dry and his breath quickens uncontrollably. "She's an already lost case so I'm staying down. I will not get up and fight when the flames no longer burn on the battlefield! I hear her voice, I see her face when I close my eyes, Dís, and I can't stop thinking about what I could have done better and how one stupid sentence pulled me down like I was still a young prince in love and not what I am today!" he yells at her, making her eyes go wide with amazement. "How in those moments with her, I felt like a king, more like a king than I feel now, with a kingdom, and how I was more of a king then than I am now, how I..." he freezes for a moment, the shouts becoming a low growl, a whisper that only he wants to hear, but that Dís will inevitably have to hear too.

"How peaceful I felt when I was with her and how she took all the blood away from my hands and the ghosts and fire in my head that haunt me every night, she took it all away just by stroking my cheek…” he whispers, looking her sister straight in the eyes. “She managed to do it just by sleeping next to me for two weeks, just by talking to me for two weeks, just by making l-" he freezes, no that he couldn't say that, and he couldn't admit it yet.

He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat and takes a couple of steps away from Dìs who straightens her back little by little.

"Only by being by my side for two weeks.." Thorin concludes by casting a glance to his left, looking at the map and then back at the half full goblet. "And I don't want to feel that, I want to forget, those damned two weeks, those trade negotiations and her!" he admits clenching his fists again. "Is that enough of an explanation for you?!" he hisses to himself once more, giving her an icy stare, a look he hadn't been able to control. "Now go! Get out of here! Now!" he orders her, pointing at the door with his finger.

He sits back in his chair with a low growl, letting himself go, feeling drained and empty from his own thoughts and emotions.

It had been almost impossible to think and yet he had said them out loud, he had said everything out loud. Everything he felt, and felt for her, whatever it was. Sighing, he rests his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands, enjoying the ringing in his ears and the silence around him.

He wants to sleep.

Suddenly he hears a few little steps and Dìs' hand rests motherly on his shoulder, supporting him lightly and drawing little circles on the muscle of his arm with her thumb. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her kneel beside him and feels her breath at his elbow and before he knows it her lips and forehead are on his bejeweled arm guard.

A silence descends upon them, a silence broken only by their heavy breaths, by the pounding inside his chest that gradually grows lighter. Thorin moves an arm from under his forehead and places his hand on Dìs' ringed hand, squeezing it gratefully, as when they were children.

Naked though clothed, the only one who had ever had the chance to see him in his worst moments and who had often shared those worst moments with him.

He feels his sister's lips move into a grimace and her fingers tighten around his arm.

"When Vili died I was barely able to get up from bed, I know you remember," she starts in a calm voice. "I didn't even want to eat or even breathe sometimes, I just wanted to see him one more time and after that I ended up just focusing on Fili and Kili, for years… I lost someone I wanted to spend my whole day, my whole week, my whole year, my whole life with, and I can't even imagine how much I want his ghost to not stop me from my desires now, from what my heart needs now. I wanted him there with me and I did not even have the chance to tell him how much I needed him, how much I loved him, one last time..."

Shocked by those words, which she had never confided in him, Thorin looks up to his right noticing how Dìs looks at him with her eyes veiled in pain, with the truth and the reply on her lips distorted into a small smile. And then he recalls.

How much she loves him.

How much he loves her.

"You do, you do have the chance to tell her, Thorin," she tells him and gently pulls away a lock of hair that was caught between the obsidian decorations of his crown. "Only because you are not as young as Fili, only because you think you are too busy, only because you think you have everything and don’t deserve more, please don't close doors behind you like this," she murmurs, laying a hand on his cheek.

"She closed it, Dìs," he answers, looking back at the map in front of him "She locked it," he repeats.

"Then re-open it again, what do you have to lose?" she asks him, moving her thumb over his beard.

There it is, the question, the real question, why hadn't he done anything yet, why was he still standing there like that?

Thorin moves his middle finger over the paper, stroking the map, studying the lines that adorn it again and again in search of an answer. Then a sting in his chest kicks in as he notices a detail he'd never noticed before and it brings the world crashing down on him. Near the edge of the paper, next to the Kheled-zâram, there was a road, the road leading to the west gate and there, just there, her hand drew an ibex.

They used not to come down from the mountains, it was such a common animal there that she needed to draw it, but then their conversation in Ragna's rooms hit him hard, making his eyes wide open.

Well... perhaps. Some day.

"Her..." he finally replies all in one breath. This is what he would have lost.

"Have you not already lost her like this, brother?" * * * The Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

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[jade4956]

Now Go and Be a Superstar

The airport parking lot was nearly empty, the early morning fog rolling in like it knew what was coming—what this moment was. Jessie sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, staring out at nothing in particular. Next to her, Tahlia was silent, her suitcase sitting in the backseat, untouched. She hadn’t moved to get out of the car. Hadn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt.

The moment was stretching too long, but neither of them wanted to be the first to break it.

Tahlia sniffled, voice small when she finally spoke. “I don’t wanna go.”

Jessie’s jaw clenched. She turned her head, looking at her properly now. Tahlia’s eyes were glassy, bottom lip trembling. Jessie had expected this, had known this moment would be hard, but actually seeing her like this, actually seeing her break, made Jessie’s chest ache.

“I know,” Jessie murmured, voice low, because if she spoke any louder, it might crack.

Tahlia exhaled shakily, dragging her hands over her face. “Jess, I—I wish you stayed with me at Chelsea. I wish you never left.”

Jessie closed her eyes for a second before opening them again, forcing herself to stay steady. “I know, babe. But I had to go. You know I did.”

Tahlia turned to her sharply, frustration mixing with the hurt. “Did you?”

Jessie let out a slow breath, hands still gripping the steering wheel. “You know Chelsea wasn’t the right place for me anymore.”

Tahlia blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears. “But it was the right place for me,” she whispered. “And now I have to go back alone.”

Jessie reached for her hand then, fingers warm as they curled around Tahlia’s wrist. “I know,” she said again. “And I hate that. But we both knew this was coming, didn’t we?”

Tahlia shook her head, dropping her gaze. “First Magda and Pernille, now you…” She let out a weak, broken laugh. “Feels like everyone’s leaving.”

Jessie squeezed her hand. “I didn’t leave you.”

Tahlia’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. Jessie held her gaze, steady and unwavering.

“I left Chelsea,” Jessie clarified. “I left London. But not you. Never you.”

Tahlia sucked in a sharp breath, gripping Jessie’s hand tighter, like if she held on hard enough, Jessie wouldn’t let go. But she knew that wasn’t how this worked.

Jessie sighed and brought their joined hands up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to Tahlia’s knuckles. “This isn’t the end, okay? It’s just… different.”

Tahlia let out a shaky laugh. “It feels like the end.”

Jessie shook her head, her thumb stroking the back of Tahlia’s hand. “It’s not.”

Tahlia swallowed, nodding, but she wasn’t sure she believed it.

The car fell into silence again, the weight of everything settling around them. Tahlia could hear the hum of other cars pulling up to the terminal, people coming and going. Time was slipping away, second by second.

She sniffled again. “I don’t wanna leave you.”

Jessie’s grip on her hand tightened just a little. “I don’t want you to either.”

And that was the truth. Jessie didn’t want this. Didn’t want to say goodbye. Didn’t want to watch Tahlia walk through those doors and disappear behind security.

But this was the choice they had made. The lives they had chosen.

Tahlia wiped at her cheeks, letting out a deep, uneven breath. “This is so bloody unfair.”

Jessie nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

Tahlia squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but they wouldn’t.

Jessie sighed, letting go of her hand and reaching across the center console to tug her into a hug. Tahlia melted into it immediately, wrapping her arms around Jessie’s waist and burying her face in her shoulder.

They stayed like that, holding each other, breathing each other in, as if they could memorize the feeling before it was gone.

Eventually, Jessie spoke, voice low and gentle against Tahlia’s hair. “You have to go.”

Tahlia shook her head against her. “Not yet.”

Jessie let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Your flight, babe.”

Tahlia sniffled. “I don’t care about my flight.”

Jessie smiled, even as her chest ached. She pulled back just enough to cup Tahlia’s face, wiping at her damp cheeks with her thumbs. “Now go and be a superstar, babe.”

Tahlia let out a choked laugh. “That’s so cringe.”

Jessie smirked. “Yeah, but it made you smile, didn’t it?”

Tahlia rolled her eyes, sniffing again. But she had smiled.

With a deep breath, she finally unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

Jessie watched as she stepped out, grabbing her suitcase from the back. She stood there for a moment, hesitating, staring at Jessie like she was waiting for her to say something.

Jessie met her gaze. “You’ll be okay, TK,”

Tahlia’s lip trembled, but she nodded. “You better call me all the time.”

Jessie smirked. “Only if you answer.”

Tahlia exhaled a laugh. Then, with one last look, she turned and started walking toward the terminal.

Jessie sat in the car, watching her until she disappeared through the doors.

And only then, when she was completely alone, did she let herself break.

—————————————————————————

Hey guys thanks for reading, sorry I haven’t posted on schedule but i have been busy and haven’t had much inspiration to write or any requests but I’ll try to start up again so hope your enjoyed this one

[chandlersfuneral]

do right

daryl dixon x fem reader

based on do right by jimmies chicken shack listen

tags: daryl is a shitty boyfriend, angst, smut, rough sex, piv, unprotected sex, hate sex, degrading names, dacryphilia, kinda public sex, sadomasochism, choking, pull out method, no use of y/n.

season 1 daryl (i know this isn’t from twd but i need a cigarette scene)

"won't make the bed up straight

¡ always stay out late

i never take you out

ask what you're all about

i always smell like smoke

everything's just a joke"

you love daryl, of course you do. he's been your boyfriend since before undead beings were even a thought. the apocalypse is a main priority to everyone, sure. but daryl dixon is so fucking lazy when it comes to loving you. showing you he actually, truly loves you.

daryl reeks like cigarettes and doesn't cleanup after himself in the tent you both share at the quarry. but daryl is good at one thing, making you feel good.

"c'mon darlin, i wanna have some fun with ya." daryl grinned, he used both of his hands to grab at your waist with a sense of urgency. it was like he needed you right there, in the middle of the night. but you weren't interested in his advances. you put your hands on top of his like you were into the embrace but quickly threw his hands away.

"what? you don want me now?" daryl scoffed and tried to take another grab at you. "no, daryl, i love you. but you only show you want me when you wanna fuck me and i'm tired of it." you turn to walk away but with one swift motion, you felt a gruff, callous hand grab at your wrist.

"c'mon now, i'm sorry. you know life is tough right now. i don't have time for that lovey-dovey shit." daryl tried his best to make his apology sound sincere. it didn't come off that way, not to you.

you still gave in though. he had a way with his words, his body language. you missed the sex, you missed the intensity of it, the way he made you feel. "alright. let's go to our tent." you spoke in a nonchalant tone, you couldn't let him win by letting him know how much you actually wanted him.

"nuh uh, m' gonna have you right here." the giggle daryl let out shocked you. did he know you were going to give in this whole time? did daryl know how much you wanted him?

"what do you--" your words were cut off by his lips clashing with yours. his for-once moisturized lips felt so nice against yours. daryl's tongue wasted no time to slip between your lips to dance with yours. he placed his hands back to where they resided earlier on your hips.

"i want you right here, right now." daryl huffed as his lips traced from your lips, to your jawline, then stayed kissing on your neck. those sloppy, rough kisses earned a whimper from your mouth. the moans and whimpers turned him on. his cock growing bigger in his dickies pants.

"c'mon girl, don' go quiet on me." daryl encouraged you to be as loud as you wanted. in the dead of night, all that could be heard was wet sloppy sounds from daryl and faint whimpers from you.

"god, daryl. i just fucking hate your guts sometimes." you huffed with his lips still trailing all over your neck and collarbones. those seething words didn't stop him at all. frankly he just moved faster, he just continued kissing down your body from your breasts, to your belly, to the waistband of your shorts.

"you hate me, huh?" daryl just kept leaving sloppy kisses and hickeys on your body while his hands trailed back to your breasts, ignoring the words that you were using to try and hurt him. it was actually working though, daryl felt heat in his face and ears. but it didn't matter, all that could be seen was his silhouette in the still night.

daryl wanted to prove you wrong. prove that you adored him, that you were addicted to the way his cock and his personality made you feel.

slowly, he stopped kissing you and let go of your breasts. he replaced those hands and started to unbuckle his belt. the black dickies that hugged his waist dropped to the floor, his boxers falling with them. his painfully hard cock bounced up against his toned stomach.

daryl didn't drop his belt though. instead, he placed the leather belt around his neck. this rattled your brain. you've never seen this side of daryl. the times between you and him were fast and boring. no excitement, nothing.

getting down on your knees to give daryl head was something of muscle memory. you just sat there, in awe of the sight standing before you. daryl. standing cock out, with only a shirt on and his belt wrapped tightly around his neck

"why don't you show me how much you fuckin' hate me while my cock is down your throat." daryl spoke slyly. his tone laced with wrath but also extreme amounts of lust.

feeling nearly braindead from everything happening all at once, you wrapped your plush lips around his throbbing cock. your tongue danced around the tip, tasting his precum. the taste of him made you shiver around him. your lips stretched around him but it only made you want him more.

daryl had your hair in a ponytail with one hand to further push your head down on his cock, your nose touched his pubic mound several times from the excessive deepthroating. his other hand had a death grip on the belt. daryl extended his arm all the way out to feel that intense grip around his neck he so desperately craved.

moans escaped his throat that sounded like they were being choked out of him. this time they literally were. by his own hands.

then there were whimpers and choked-out cries coming from you, but the reason being daryl's cock was being shoved down your throat leaving you not much time to breathe.

"god, you're a dirty little whore. look at you choking up." daryl couldn't help but giggle and place two fingers on both sides of your nostrils to completely cut off your airway. of course, only for a few seconds, daryl would never physically hurt his whore.

"c'mon now, girl. get up." daryl took the belt off his neck swiftly and tossed it on the ground. now daryl's knees were being pressed into the soft, wet grass. while you were still searching for air, the masochistic man in front of you tugged your short shorts down. the pool of slick that had gathered in your panties made daryl's blue eyes go wide. did the fact that daryl was choking himself while you gave him a blowjob turn you on?

"you still hate me, darlin?" the chuckle that left daryl's lips made him sound nearly maniacal. he knew you didn't hate him, but he wanted to push your limits.

daryl threw his hand into your panties and gathered your wetness from your cunt and onto your clit. his fingers started making comically slow circles. daryl wanted to make you regret saying such foul things to him.

you too got down on your knees to meet his sinful gaze. looked daryl in his dark eyes and seethed a

"fuck you." you were also down to play dirty, but your pain-loving boyfriend was so much better at it.

daryl spun you around so your plush ass and sopping wet cunt were now perfectly in his view. he sat and took a good look at the beautifully wrecked sight in front of him. seconds later, the tip of his hard cock was pushed against your cunt. teasing you, the teasing was madness. daryl even pushed his own limits by how long he was playfully rubbing his tip against you.

the teasing came to an abrupt end when daryl heard your cries. genuine little sobs escaped your mouth. the overstimulation and the empty feeling in your cunt brought you to tears. those quiet little sobs brought joy to daryl's ears. with one quick thrust, daryl's cock was balls deep inside your cunt.

low grunts, sobs, and the sound of wet skin slapping skin filled the otherwise silent air. daryl's cock repeatedly hit that sweet spot in your walls

daryl could feel your climax coming the way your cunt squeezed his oversized cock.

"c'mon baby, let go." even though you didn't need permission, daryl giving you the go-ahead made your orgasm feel like ecstasy.

but daryl wasn't finished. you had came two more times and the overstimulation was really getting to you. your thighs shook violently against his. your quiet whimpers became full-on sobs from the overwhelming sensation between your legs. these tears streaming down your cheeks mixed with your violent cries and the hot wetness of your cunt finally brought the man to finish.

turns out daryl wasn't just a masochist, but a sadomasochist. your sobs were like music to his ears and it finally brought on the sensation he was doing everything to achieve.

quickly, daryl pulled out and stroked his pink flushed cock tight in his hand, unconsciously bucking his hips into his fist.

"yeah, baby. keep cryin' for me." these words left his wet lips as white ropes poured from his slit and onto your back.

daryl finally finishing brought a wave of relief over your body, causing your knees to give out. your body laid sprawled out onto the moist grass.

"are you okay, darlin?" daryl bent down and his fucked out eyes met yours. the familiar calloused hand swiped your tears away and brushed your sweaty bangs away from your face.

a soft 'mhm' left your mouth while daryl did his best to clean you up with his t-shirt.

n/a: okay i just wrote what came to me. this ended differently than i wanted because half the text got deleted. if you've seen that clip of norman reedus circling on here, ykyk.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Can you do one where reader is a 5th lord and also used to be in a relationship with Donna. Their breakup was pretty nasty between them and the tension is always thick at meetings or anywhere else but reader is still in love with Donna. One night reader decides to go Donna to talk but then it turns to makeup/hate sex and they decide to get back together.

P.a thank you for your Donna stories I love your writing so much!

Yesss!!! I'm sorry about the delay!! Thank you for your request and your support!!! I hope you like it, anon! Sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

I can't hate you

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, 5th Lord! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, fluff, angst, Donna being Donna

Word count: 6,890

Summary: You knew she hated you, but you still love her...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

“Damn,” you lamented, pushing away from the table and sinking onto the couch. “Great, a meeting is just what I needed.”

The afternoon light streaming through the window was sad, or so it seemed. Everything had seemed sad and empty since that day.

Living in that village couldn't be synonymous with joy and jubilation, but at least you saw some meaning, some harmony in the snow, in the black birds crossing the cloudy sky, in your own existence.

You never asked for mercy, pity, or salvation from the monotonous life you lived. Your family left a long time ago, leaving only the memory of their past. They were nobles, yes, charged with protecting and caring for the forest that kept the village a secret from prying eyes.

You'd heard stories of nobility, of a renowned family name associated with you, but you always knew that it wouldn't guarantee you a better life, at least not in a place like that. Of all that was once your family, only you remained, isolated in what was once a mansion, and now only partially habitable ruins.

You were happy; you didn't need help, but still, you got it.

Mother Miranda saw something in you, something she herself had overlooked for the past 20 years, something that, according to the witch, the Gods whispered to her. Well, you weren't particularly happy in your solitude, and the winter cold would eventually kill you.

How could you have refused the hand she offered you?

As in many fictional stories, it wasn't unconditional help; it was a pact with the devil, a silent agreement that would take much more than your soul. You remembered the pain, the sensation of watching life slip through your fingers… You remembered the Cadou writhing before entering your body.

Then, the light came.

As if it were a religious scripture, you rose from that old stretcher, disoriented but radiant, much stronger, different…

(Y/N) had died, but from her ashes Lady (Y/N) was reborn, a new servant of Mother Miranda, the Fifth Lord. Your family's noble past influenced the priestess's decision to include you in the village's decisions, to add a picture of you to the altar of the old chapel.

If it hadn't been for your family's past… what would have become of you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

A gift from the Gods, or so Miranda called the subtle changes in your appearance. Yes, you would remain 20 for the rest of your life, paying a price: marks on your face that resembled the roots of a tree, which you would make sense of soon after.

Around your dilapidated home, flowers began to bloom and the orchard began to bear fruit long before its time as well as the trees seemed to move, to twist as you passed by them. That was the power your new status gave you, the price of eternal life, and the tireless duty to protect the village and maintain the loyalty to Mother Miranda.

The Fifth Lord, the youngest of all, but not the strangest. Unlike your new “siblings”, you decided to use your gifts to help the poor villagers you had once been part of. Destroyed crops, infertile lands, vermin that fed on the labor of others... These began to be your responsibilities, and thanks to your skill, you managed to make the local inhabitants thank the Gods and Mother Miranda for their survival.

You tried, for a weak moment, to relate to your old friends like before, but nothing was the same, nor would it ever be. The excessive respect and fear towards you were unbearable, and you soon understood that your place in that world of darkness had changed irrevocably.

Of course, the rest of the Lords accepted you without question, teaching you your duties, accompanying you on this new path in your life. But as the years passed, those people you once feared became friends, almost family, as Miranda liked to say.

Everything would have been perfect if you hadn't fallen in love with one of them, with the lady in black who gave you nightmares as a child, the ventriloquist, Donna Beneviento.

The cold felt much more piercing than usual, and part of your young personality reproached you for not having given the priestess an excuse to avoid that meeting.

You knew Donna would be there, faithful, but cold as ever. The villagers bowed and greeted you respectfully, but your head was far from the road, right next to her, remembering everything you had experienced together, everything that had happened between Lady Beneviento and you.

But this wasn't the time to remember, but to act, to pretend that nothing that could alter the status quo in which the five of you lived was happening, nothing that could disturb the peace, the control that Mother Miranda had over you.

“(Y/N), it's been a while,” a seductive voice echoed off the stone walls leading to the underground cathedral. It was Lady Dimitrescu, the most senior Lord, and the one who enjoyed being so the most.

“Alcina,” you greeted politely, earning one of her dark smiles.

You knew she was speaking to you, that she was saying something, but you didn't listen. Your eyes fixed on the figure sitting at the back of the room, the black figure who had once been your beloved, Donna.

Your heart stopped for a moment as you walked to your seat, one next to hers, as if fate were laughing at you.

“Donna,” you sighed in a timid greeting, trying not to tremble, not to remember anything that had happened in the past few months and to appear serious and authoritative, something truly complicated when your senses recognized that scent of lavender, that scent that brought back so many memories.

The lady in black didn't move, although you knew that behind the black veil lay a gaze fixed on you. The fabric danced as she turned away from your gaze, denying you even the slightest greeting.

“Don't talk to us, silly,” the Angie doll, Donna's faithful companion, rested on her lap, directing those harsh words towards you. “You silly, silly…”

“Hi, Angie, you look well,” you said, making an effort to separate the doll from its owner, to make a distinction between doll and woman, believing maybe that way you wouldn't feel so hurt.

“Shut up, tree-hugger,” the doll replied as the lady shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What part of I don't want to talk to you don't you understand?”

“Ugh, okay,” you said, slumping into your seat and crossing your arms as you vaguely nodded to the rest of your siblings, who seemed very attentive, too attentive.

“Welcome, children,” Mother Miranda said, extending her arms at the altar, giving a silent start to that awkward meeting. “Reports.”

One by one, you gave reports of your work, of your discreet lives to the priestess. Surely she cared about nothing but knowing that no one would betray her. Sometimes you feared her, other times you hated her.

Over all those years, you had felt many things for Miranda: admiration, affection, fear... but it didn't take long for you to know her true heart, to discover that Mother Miranda only cared about Mother Miranda.

Of course, you weren't the only one with that point of view, something that made you befriend Heisenberg, but it was irrelevant. No matter what that woman looked like, she had given you those powers, eternal life… You should be grateful, right?

“Why don't you sit somewhere else? You're making me nervous,” a husky whisper reached your ears as the lady next to you moved.

It had been so long since you'd heard Donna's sweet voice that you jumped, a smile crossing your face before your brain could interpret her hurtful words. You opened your mouth to answer, but shook your head, sighing.

“Sorry, this happens to be my spot,” you said in a sour tone, a tone that was totally different from what you really felt, but that your pride couldn't suppress.

“Sciocchezze, you have much more room on that side,” Donna replied, looking away, as if looking at you was painful for her too.

“I'm not going to get up from my spot because it annoys you,” you whispered, with a haughty look on your face. “You should move instead.”

“No”

“Fine, then don't complain,” you said with a wry smile. “Shut up, you're not letting me listen”

“Are you telling me to shut up?” the lady in black said with a gasp of surprise. “You?”

“I don't know why you're surprised... Oh, of course, you were usually the one who has that right, weren’t you?” you quipped making the lady clench her fists in her lap and the Angie doll giggle discreetly.

“Chuidi il becco, I don't want to hear or see you, you're annoying me,” Donna protested, turning her head away from you again, visibly nervous, just like you.

“You started it,” you said in a satisfied whisper, ending this absurd argument, the last thing you needed. “If I'm annoying you that much, sit down there.”

“I'm not moving from here,” the dollmaker stated. “This has been my seat longer than you've been alive.”

“Well, we have a problem then,” you challenged, raising your eyebrows and crossing your arms, pretending to listen to Miranda again.

“Mannaggia...” the lady hissed, shifting in her seat, cradling Angie so her laughter wouldn't attract attention.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” the doll mocked, reprimanded by her owner, who moved as far away from you as possible.

You groaned and shook your head again, breathing increasingly ragged, nervous, and tense.

“…that's why we must make the villagers...” Miranda's speech entered your ears, but all you could think about was the lavender, Donna, that woman you once loved, and who was now just a stranger to you.

“By the way, stupida,” the brunette whispered again, leaning towards you mockingly. “You left a dress at my house, that pretty dress I made you.”

“Hmm,” you murmured, not paying much attention to her. “I'll go get it.”

“Don't even think about coming near my house,” Donna replied, her knuckles white from the pressure. “Don't bother trying to get it back. I burned it in the fireplace.”

“Great, how mature of you,” you said amused, with a sarcastic smile.

“Ladies... I can't believe it,” Miranda's voice sounded much closer, her tone warning, a warning, like her gaze, directed at you.

You both lowered your heads, realizing that every eye in the room was on you. Your argument hadn't been as discreet as it seemed.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” you whispered, bending down to show regret.

“You're like little girls,” the priestess complained, her gaze piercing and menacing. “If you're done arguing, may I continue with the meeting?”

“It was (Y/N)!” Angie shrieked, pointing at you accusingly with a nasty squeak. “She's bothering my Donna!”

“Gods...” Miranda whispered, resting her fingers on her temples.

“What? That's a lie,” you protested, standing up from your chair. “Mother Miranda, I...”

“Silence! Stop acting like irrational teenagers and pay attention... You're exhausting,” the witch shrieked. “Do I have to act like a mother? You, (Y/N), sit over there,” she ordered, pointing at the bench Alcina was occupying.

Growling and giving Donna one last furious look, you obeyed, ignoring Angie's taunts, who seemed pleased with her absurd victory.

“Mm, dear...” Alcina murmured when the tension dissipated, lighting a cigarette. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“What? I didn't do anything,” you protested, paying more attention to Miranda to avoid another reprimand. “She's the one who...”

“What a pity,” sighed the lady in white, shaking her head. “You two made such a lovely couple...”

“Yeah,” you said dryly, unable to avoid glancing sideways at the lady in black, who seemed, only seemed, to be doing the same.

“You tarnish the name of love with your childish behavior, my dear. Can't you give each other a second chance?” Alcina whispered, much more discreetly, taking advantage of Miranda's distraction with Moreau. You shrugged, not taking your eyes off that black veil.

“I'd love to, but it's impossible. She... she doesn't want to listen to me,” you confessed, revealing that those feelings you had for Donna were still there, that they had never left.

“Poor Donna, I still don't know what you did to her...”

“I didn't do anything,” you protested immediately, clenching your fists in the same way as your former lover. “It was all because of her stupid jealousy.”

“Um, of course, your lack of patience with someone like her had nothing to do with it, right?” the lady in white chided you, pretending to listen to the priestess.

“Uh, it’s not...” you said, frowning, but falling silent when Miranda's gray eyes fixed on you again.

“Well, there's always a place in my castle for a beauty like you, my dear, but I wouldn't want to take away from Donna what she considers hers; that would be very wrong, wouldn't it?” the lady of the castle suggested, making a blush spread across your cheeks.

“I wish she would still consider me hers,” you murmured in an imperceptible tone, feeling a pang of pain as you looked again at your beloved, who seemed to be ignoring you.

“Then do something about it, my dear, before your stupid arguments upset Mother Miranda any further. I couldn't bear to lose you both.”

After what felt like an eternity, the meeting came to an end. Of course, you didn't hear any of Miranda's words; all you could think about was your feelings. Maybe Alcina was right, and it was time to fix this mess.

You couldn't think of anything else. You dreamed of Donna, you thought of her every moment, of the day you could feel her skin against yours again, the day the whispers of love would once again flow from her lips.

“Donna, wait,” you said, grabbing the lady who passed in front of you, holding her in place.

With a furious gasp, Donna pulled away, scorning your approach, making you swallow your pride and your words sound like a plea.

“Lasciami,” she whispered, turning her back on you while Angie made mocking gestures in your direction.

“Oh, come on, I want to talk to you and...” you insisted with that pathetic, pleading tone, chasing the lady outside.

“I don't want to talk to you, do you hear me?” she said in a cold tone, causing the rest of the Lords to look at you curiously as they walked. “You're lucky you're a Lord, and that my powers don't affect you.”

“Are you threatening me?” you asked incredulously. “Donna, please, I just want to talk.”

“I have nothing to talk to you about,” the lady said, ignoring you again and starting to walk away.

“Donna…” you sighed, exhausted, watching her figure disappear into the snow.

At least she'd talked to you, and that was much more than there had been in the last few weeks, but it wasn't enough.

When you met Lady Beneviento, everything was different. Donna was a strange woman about whom you'd heard terrible rumors, but she was still intriguing, interesting.

Your skill with plants had formed a kind of bond with that strange dollmaker, working together on an experiment, on Mother Miranda's orders. Until that moment, you believed what the villagers said about her was true, but little by little, you discovered that those claims were far from reality.

Donna was sick, yes, her mind had been damaged since birth, and it worsened after losing her family in a terrible way, but… But the word "monster," with which your old friends defined her, differed quite a bit from what you could see.

Intelligent, elegant, sweet… Those were the adjectives your mind formed every time you saw her, spent time with her. Her shy laugh became an addiction for you; her hands were the only thing you could think about when you returned home.

Like a romance book, a movie that spoke of an impossible love, that curious friendship you developed became a need as pressing as breathing. You discovered the true woman hidden behind that black veil, the beautiful woman that was Donna Beneviento, learning about her concerns, her story, her tastes…

Afternoon tea was almost obligatory, and a wide smile spread across your face as her voice seduced you with beautiful words, with a honeyed accent that stirred your whole body. Donna was sick, yes, she had problems, but you were always there to solve them, to calm her madness with words of affection, with love.

And finally, you managed to see her face, the beauty hidden behind that horrible black cloth. The deformity that adorned her skin was a trifle compared to the delicacy of her features, the brilliance of her single eye.

She was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen.

Then, one day, a day you couldn't remember since time ceased to have meaning for someone immortal like you, your lips tasted the softness of hers, melting into a kiss, a first kiss of love.

You thought love wasn't meant for someone like you, but you were completely wrong. No one stopped you from loving each other, no one stopped two Lords from finding solace in eternal kisses, in promises of love, of affection, in nights of passion.

She used the flowers, you made them grow. If it weren't for your sad past, you'd think you were always destined to be by her side. The roots that ran through your face were a reflection of her scar.

Everything was perfect; your life was full of love, affection, lavender... But it didn't last forever. A few months after leaving your old mansion and moving in with her, the problems began.

You knew her madness, her sick mind, but the more time you spent with her, the more evident her problems became.

Your duties as a Lord still existed, and that included visits to the castle and the factory. Being a sociable girl, you always offered to be a sort of messenger for Mother Miranda, and you never paid attention to it. Donna did.

You knew about her jealousy, even before a romantic relationship, but it reached limits that became unbearable. No matter how many times you said nothing had happened at the castle, that the three Dimitrescu sisters were just playing at seducing you.

Donna never believed you, and that began to take its toll. It was the beginning of the end.

An argument, an absurd argument, led to the end of the love of your life. You tried to reason with her, but you couldn't, and that drove you to despair, forcing you to do something crazy: to leave the Beneviento estate forever.

Your breakup was widely reported in the village and among the rest of the Lords. No one said anything at first, but you could feel their glances, their accusations that you were the one to blame. Donna never spoke about it, but as time passed, the tension seemed to grow even more intense.

That meeting wasn't the only one in which Mother Miranda had to reprimand you; there were many more, many Masses cut short because of the lady in black's irrational hatred for you. It was an increasingly untenable situation, and the worst part was that you had always, always loved her, and you continued to do so.

“I don't know how to dance; I'll be terrible at it,” you said nervously, taking the hand she offered you.

“Relax, tesoro, I'll show you," she whispered, gently grabbing your waist, moving you to the rhythm of a beautiful song.

The memories continued to haunt your mind when you got home; the flowers that adorned your old mansion were beginning to wither. All of nature seemed to take pity on you, and you couldn't, and wouldn't, do anything about it.

“Hey!” you protested, wiping the flour from your face. “I thought you were going to teach me how to cook!”

“It was Angie,” Donna said amused, starting a flour fight full of kisses, laughter, love, passion...

“Shit, Donna,” you complained, clutching one of her many love letters that she sent you through her doll, one of those small joys that always waited under your door.

Your thumb ran over the ink, the elegant handwriting of those old-fashioned letters in a language you didn't know. Sadness affected the trees, the plants; your heartbeat seemed like echoes of a better time, one where her lips could soothe any sorrow.

“Alcina's right,” you murmured to yourself, folding the note and putting it in a small box filled with all those painful memories. “I can't forget her, I have to do something.”

It was risky, but you had to try.

The dark forest shuddered with every step you took toward the path, as if aware of your intentions, of the love you hoped to feel again. You had to talk to her, try to reason with her sick mind so she'd understand that you loved her long before you met her, before you kissed her, and that you would always do.

“Okay, let's see...” you said to yourself when you arrived at the waterfall mansion, wondering what you would say, what words you would use in your defense. “No, not that...” you denied, going down the front steps, unable to concentrate.

The sound of the water brought new memories to your mind, clouding your judgment even more, making the idea of ​​returning home sound better and better in your head.

“I don't know what I'm doing. She'll never forgive me,” you whispered, rubbing your eyes, going back down the steps. Maybe the next day you would try again.

A beam of light stopped your steps, along with a creaking sound you knew too well. The mansion door opened slowly, forming a dark figure in the snow, a terrifyingly recognizable one.

“(Y/N)” Donna's voice reached your ears, causing you to turn around, going completely blank.

“Donna...” Was the only thing you could say, nerves preventing your voice from coming out naturally. “Donna, I... How did you know I was here?”

“Fiori...” she whispered, crossing her arms and turning around.

“Flowers?” you asked confused, to which Donna stopped, turning her veiled head and making an unexpected gesture for you, one that seemed to indicate that you should follow her. “What...?”

“Are you just going to stand there? Vieni,” she demanded when you didn't respond.

“Fine,” you said, shaking your head and following your former lover into the mansion.

Everything was just as you remembered. The musty smell brought memories back to your mind and the portrait on the stairs stirred your nerves, sending a familiar warmth over your skin. You felt at home, but the most painful thing was that it never would be again.

“There,” the lady murmured, pointing to a vase in the entryway, one with flowers that shone brightly, as if they had just sprouted. “Those flowers were dried, and their revival could only mean one thing: that you were nearby.”

“Oh,” you nodded, rubbing your hands together. “I guess knowing I was coming kept you from kicking me off your property, huh?”

“Hmm, I've had a few minutes to get ready,” Donna replied, crossing her arms. “I guess you're here for your dress.”

“I thought you burned it,” you whispered cautiously, studying the posture of the woman in black, approaching slowly.

“No,” she said, her voice cold and dry.

“Um, okay... erm...” you stammered, scratching the back of your neck, unsure of what to say, how to bring love back into those walls. “Donna, that's not necessary,” you said, approaching her, ready to remove the black veil, something she rejected by moving away from you.

“Don't touch me,” she growled, making you grit your teeth.

“Oh, come on, you're a beautiful woman, Donna. I've told you a hundred times. Do you really have to put on that hideous thing to talk to me?” you said, trying unsuccessfully to push the black fabric away.

“You also told me you'd never leave me,” the woman replied, moving further away from you, her tone spiteful. “You lied to me, (Y/N).”

“Ugh,” you gasped, opening your mouth but unable to find the words. “I wish I could talk to you like two normal people. Do you think you can do that?” you demanded, insisting, finally managing to pull back the black fabric and see her beauty once more.

“Lasciami!” Donna squealed, her one eye shining, red from crying. “Have you come to humiliate me?”

“No!” you squealed back, pushing the veil out of her reach. “I came to talk to you, Donna.”

“Parlare? What do you want to talk about, (Y/N)? I have nothing to talk to you about, I told you... give it back to me,” she demanded, reaching out her hand, starting a pointless fight over the veil.

Patience...

The lady of the castle's words, those accusatory ones, made you give up, returning the veil to Donna just as the situation was starting to get out of hand.

“Ugh, you're insufferable,” you protested, shaking your head as she pondered putting her veil back on. Finally, she decided to leave it, even though her gaze hurt you, the hatred in her eye piercing you mercilessly.

“So, why did you come to my house? To tell me how insufferable I am?” she asked ironically, dropping the fabric to the floor and kicking it nervously.

“Ugh, can't you forget your stupid pride for a moment? I'm the one who's come to talk to you,” you complained again, chasing the lady, who seemed to be comically running away from you, around the mansion. “Unbelievable, now you're running away from me?”

“Do you think I would run away from someone like you?” the lady said, a sinister smile on her face, leaning against the dining room table. “I could have you throw off the cliff, (Y/N)”

“That's funny,” you said haughtily, walking toward her in a petulant manner. “I'm not some villager you can manipulate at will, Donna. We're on the same level, remember?”

“Hm, I don't know what Mother Miranda saw to name you a Lord,” Donna murmured in a low but arrogant tone. “You would have been better off as a concubine of the castle.”

“And you would have been better off as the lunatic dollmaker you were before Miranda took pity on you,” you replied, hurt by her words, slightly regretting it, but standing your ground, taking a breath. “It's absurd, Donna, it's absurd that we continue arguing like this.”

“No, (Y/N), or rather, Lady (Y/N),” Donna said, raising her eyebrow. “You are Lady (Y/N), I am Lady Beneviento. You better respect me.”

“Yes, of course,” you said in a mocking tone. “Excuse me, Lady Beneviento, but you didn't call me that way when we were making love, remember?”

“Oh, you mean before you betrayed me? Stupida...” the lady hissed, clearly offended by your comment.

“I never betrayed you,” you whispered in a dark tone, glancing sideways at some plants that seemed to be ruffled by your nerves, making you take a deep breath and try to relax. “I've told you every way I could, but you never listened.”

“You mean you lied to me every way you could,” Donna corrected.

“Ugh, you're...”

“Hey, you two!” Angie interrupted the argument, comically walking over to the dining room table. “Will you all just shut up? You're annoying!”

“Get out, Angie!” you shrieked in unison, causing the doll to flee in terror.

“How dare you address Angie in that tone?” Donna snarled, approaching you and grabbing the collar of your dress. “Show more respect. You may be a Lord, but you don't want to make me angry.”

“Mm, I know,” you said, removing her hand from your clothes with a gasp, but remaining calm. “I know you, Donna, better than you think.”

“Congratulazioni, (Y/N)...” she hissed, pulling away slightly, but maintaining a furious glare.

“Yeah, whatever,” you sneered, straightening your clothes. “Oh, where did that Lady (Y/N) go?  Who's disrespecting me now?”

“You don't deserve my respect, stupida; you betrayed me, you cheated on me!” the lady shrieked, stamping her foot again, echoing off the mansion walls.

“I never cheated on you! You were the one who imagined it all! You and your stupid paranoia!”

Donna fell silent, but soon after, she laughed mockingly, nervously, shaking her head.

“You still have the nerve to deny what happened at the castle. You're bold, I'll give you that,” she murmured, turning her back on you with a tired sigh.

“Nothing happened at the castle,” you said, lowering your tone as well, approaching the lady slowly. “Nothing happened between Daniela and me.”

“I saw the way she looked at you! How she tried to seduce you!” the lady in black exclaimed, turning around, making you back away again. “I may be sick, but I'm not blind, (Y/N).”

“You only saw what you wanted to see, Donna,” you said, trying to calm down, trying not to get intoxicated by the lavender. “You know exactly what those girls are like. I'd never...”

“You'd never what?” she interrupted, without moving away from you, facing you directly. “You'd never leave me?”

“If I left, it was because you didn’t listen to me,” you defended yourself, easing the argument a bit, but maintaining the same tension. “It was impossible to reason with you.”

“You broke my heart. I guess I should have made you a hot bath to clean your filthy body, filthy with your betrayal, vero?” she said in a sour tone, leaning closer and pointing at you.

“You still think I cheated on you,” you said, unsure if it was for Donna, or for yourself. “You never trusted me, Donna.”

“How can I trust you?” the lady asked, waving her arms wildly. “You're... you're a beautiful girl. Everyone wants you. I-I can't stand the way they looked at you, wanting to taste you, to steal your warmth from my body.”

“You're beautiful too,” you said, bringing your hand to her cheek, a gesture she, of course, rejected with a sad moan, looking at you with a moist eye. “And that doesn't mean I think every person who comes near you wants to sleep with you, Donna. Your jealousy was completely irrational.”

“Irrational... che divertente...” she whispered, frowning, unable to meet your gaze. “That stupid girl tried to kiss you. Do you really think that's irrational?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, seeing some light in that dark argument.

“I'm not one of your dolls, Donna. I can act on my own, you know?” you stated, your voice confident. “Did you not think for a moment I'd pull away?”

The lady in black hesitated, speechless, and quickly approached, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate, unpredictable kiss, but one that gave you the warmth you were missing.

“Donna...” you sighed, placing your hand on your assaulted lips.

“See? You haven't pulled away,” she said with a satisfied smile, leaning back on the table.

“Sure I haven’t,” you said, moving closer again. “I haven't pulled away because... because I wanted you to kiss me.”

“I don't believe you,” Donna whispered, your lips very close to hers again, her eye closed and a tear running down her cheek.

“I don't need you to believe me, just for you to kiss me again,” you sighed, now attacking her lips, kissing her passionately, letting yourself be carried away by that spark her accusatory kiss ignited in your heart.

“You just want to... tempt me,” she said among kisses, grabbing your waist, your dress, your face... running her fingers along the roots of your cheeks while your tongues played tirelessly, reaffirming how much you had missed each other.

“Did I succeed?” you asked, amused, moving your hands to her black hair as your bodies danced, wanting to mingle.

“No,” she said, pulling away so she could unbutton your dress, gasping at the effect of her teeth on your neck, her hands beneath your clothes.

“Whatever you say,” you said, shaking your head as your fingers played with the buttons of her black blouse and your leg was manipulated by her nails digging into your skin.

There were no more words, just kisses, just hands roaming over a body they thought they'd lost. The caresses of her soft hands on your skin made you moan, deepening your work on her lips as your legs unconsciously moved toward the sofa.

“You're disrespecting me,” Donna accused you among gasps as your playful hand pushed her onto the sofa, while hers pulled your body to rest on top of hers, your legs on either side of her hips.

“Good,” you said contentedly, cupping her partially exposed breasts, pushing the black fabric of her blouse away from the perfect view of her skin.

She looked at you, but couldn't suppress the instinct to devour you again, to move her hips with yours in a hot, tense dance filled with hate, love, and passion.

“Y-You've always been the weakest Lord, (Y/N),” Donna said, pushing you down from her body as she ripped off your bra with her hand, positioning herself on top of you, dominating you.

“That's not what I think,” you whispered, biting her ear, causing her to protest with a moan as you squeezed one of her now-exposed breasts, throwing the fabric that protected them across the room. “I bet you're dying for me to do it.”

“You're dying,” she accused you, hitting the couch as your hand slid up her skirt, touching the soft skin of her legs, making her even more nervous. “You tricked me into being at your mercy, and it's the opposite, (Y/N).”

“Mm, I suppose you're saying that because you're on top, right? I know it's not what you like, Donna,” you challenged, placing one of your legs between her thighs, making the lady in black falter, shivering at the contact. “I think you like being at my mercy...”

“Maybe in your dreams,” Donna said, moving quickly to remove the friction and tearing off your underwear with a sharp tug, sinking her hand into your already damp folds. “But they're just dreams, (Y/N)”

“Donna...” you moaned helplessly as her slender fingers skillfully ran over your body, circling your clit, making you lose your composure, forcing you to moan.

“Così bagnata...” the dollmaker whispered, sinking two fingers into your entrance without warning, still looking at you, letting you know she was in charge. “Now you realize what you lost.”

“Oh,” you moaned, fighting to keep your legs from moving too much from the contact, pulling the brunette into a sloppy kiss as she worked her fingers inside you, caressing your walls, curling when she knew you needed it.

“Are you enjoying this, stupida?” she asked, pulling your hair angrily, but not hurting you, forcing you to nod, to focus on her when in reality, you were too immersed in the pleasure you were receiving.

“Shut up,” you said after a deep moan, forcing your body to calm down, making Donna giggle with satisfaction, speeding up her work between your legs. “Have you been practicing since I've been gone?”

“Stupida...” she hissed, tugging at your hair again, sinking her teeth into one of your nipples, making you cry out in pleasurable pain coupled with her almost perfect movements. “I can feel you, (Y/N). I know you're close…”

You shook your head, but your face and your moans were unable to deny her words. Your hips bucked with every movement Donna made, and your lips claimed hers wildly, biting, licking, devouring everything within reach.

Sooner than you would have liked, ecstasy hit you, making your entire body tense, wrapping your walls around her fingers as you cried out in pleasure, squeezing your body against hers, kissing that wonderful lover you had.

“Just like I said, weak,” Donna whispered, sitting up and removing her fingers, forcing you to taste your orgasm, your pleasure.

“Do you think this is over?” you threatened, crawling across the couch before pushing the lady in black back and pinning her with your legs. “No, Donna, this has only just begun.”

“Dare to lay a hand on me...” the lady hissed, as your lips began to caress her skin, your nails scratching her legs, and your ears ignoring her words.

“I won't lay a hand on you,” you said, amused, tugging her panties down her ankles, keeping a firm hand on her chest, making her eye flutter closed.

Your teeth scraped the skin of her thighs, and her hands seemed erratic, tugging at your hair with barely any strength. Your mouth moved up and up until it reached its destination, her wet, intoxicating scent you soon tasted.

“Cazzo...” Donna protested as your lips brushed her skin, as your tongue mercilessly traced her folds, circling her clit, absorbing, enjoying every shy sound her mouth made.

“You're so wet... you're delicious, Donna,” you said in a moment of lucidity, leaving hatred and anger aside, remembering how you enjoyed her body, how you enjoyed nights of passion with her.

“Bugiarda...” the lady accused, pushing your head towards her again, forcing you to continue savoring her essence.

“Am I a liar? Well, then you won't want me to finish you,” you said amusedly, switching your mouth for your hand, stimulating the brunette in a way you knew was irresistible to her.

“If you stop, I'll kill you,” she said in a dark tone, pulling at your hair with a furious look, embarrassed by the pleasure your lips were giving to her.

You pretended not to want to kiss her again, to make her taste herself, to realize there was still something very strong between you. You doubted if it would have served any purpose.

“You can't kill me,” you said, stimulating her clit again, looking over her body, analyzing her expressions of pleasure.

“I advise you to use your mouth for more than just talking, stupida... it's not good for you to defy me,” she told you, pulling at your hair, burying your head between her legs.

“You can't kill me because...” you said, stopping again, caressing her delicious wetness with your fingers, inserting them slowly in her eager walls, making her moan shamefully. “… Because I know you still love me.”

Without waiting for a reply, your tongue ran over her wetness again, forming a subtle rhythm with your fingers, making the lady in black lose control of her language, whisper words you didn't understand, and moan uncontrollably.

“Sto...Sto per...” she said, pushing you away before her back tensed and her thighs squeezed your head tightly, feeling the embrace of her insides, the explosion of pleasure you could feel on your lips.

Neither of you said anything after that. There weren't a word of love, just silence as the two of you dressed slowly, unsure of what had really happened, how that involuntary act of passion had occurred.

“You've got what you wanted, you can go,” Donna said, buttoning her blouse and tucking her skirt into place, without looking at your face.

“You don't understand, Donna, this isn't what I came for,” you said, covering yourself in the same way, walking behind her.

“Oh, you came to talk, didn't you? And get fucked... that's what I've always been to you,” she said in a bitter tone, pushing your lost bra against your chest. “Go, per favore...”

“Donna, please, don't... don't make it so difficult,” you protested, chasing after your elusive lover again. “If you think I'm that way, you don't know me.”

“I thought I knew you... I thought I knew you, tesoro," Donna murmured, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I-It's of no use pretending to hate you. I'd like to hate you, but I can't.”

“Then don't hate me, my love...” you sighed, cupping her face in your hands. “We were both wrong, but...”

“I was wrong about you.”

“Ugh, Donna, please… Stop being so stubborn and listen to me,” you insisted, wiping away your tears as well. “I never, ever cheated on you. I rejected Daniela as soon as I could. That day I just wanted to be back with you. Every time I left, I wanted to be back with you, with the woman I loved and... and still love.”

“You... do you still love me?” she asked, with a different look, gently grabbing your wrists.

“Every day that passes without you is hell, Donna. Eternal life isn't worth it without you,” you confessed, making Donna lower her head. “And I know you feel the same.”

“Io... Io..." she stammered, blinking erratically. “Th-those things I said while we were making love, I'm not… I'm not like that.”

“I know…” you sighed, very close to her lips. “I would have preferred for you to love me like before, to hear you whisper in my ear while you take me…”

“Sono d’accordo,” she sighed, caressing your face, the roots of your cheeks, brushing back your hair, sticky with sweat.

“You agree? Do you mean about sex?” you joked, making her smile as she shook her head.

“No, tesoro… Eternal life is hell without you,” she whispered, before placing her lips on yours, in a different way, salty with tears.

“Let's try again, Donna… I love you.”

“Please, amore mio…”

[mysteriousxgirls]

Harmony gave Nate a soft, reassuring smile. She could see the worry etched into his face, and she couldn’t help but ache for him. She would be fine. She would do whatever it took to show his parents just how deeply she loved their son. She would fight tirelessly to earn their trust, because she owed him that much. There was no way she would hurt him again, not when he meant everything to her. But as much as she cared about her own redemption, it wasn’t about her. It was about them—the little life they’d created together. Their son. Even if his parents never accepted her, even if they hated her, she hoped they would accept the little baby inside her stomach, that was her only fear. But she had to believe Nate’s words, that he was ready to fight for them—for their son. That thought steadied her, brought a calm she desperately needed. She wasn’t in this alone. As long as she had him by her side, she knew she could face anything.

When they finally arrived at his place, Harmony allowed him to help her out of the car, her eyes meeting his with a tired but loving gaze. “Baby,” she murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “we’re fine. You’re still too worried. It’s going to be okay.” She sighed, trying to fight the exhaustion that was settling in her bones. “And besides, it’s past 5 a.m. We have to be up in what? Two hours?” She chuckled lightly, though the weariness in her voice was impossible to mask. “We still have to film today.”

She shook her head, trying to smile despite how drained she felt. “I need you to catch some rest before we head out, okay? Please. You’ve got to take care of yourself, too.”

Nate’s chest tightened as he listened to her, his grip on her hand instinctive, firm yet gentle. He had known she was scared—how could she not be? But hearing the raw emotion in her voice, the unshaken love she had for their unborn son despite everything, sent a sharp pang through him. "Hey, hey," he murmured, shifting closer, his free hand coming up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears she tried to hide. "Don’t say that like it’s even a possibility. They’ll accept him, Harmony. He’s their grandson. And you?" He exhaled softly, eyes searching hers. "I wish I could promise that they’ll come around, but I swear to you, no matter what, you’re not alone in this. You still have me."

His jaw tensed, his mind already racing ahead to what lay in front of them. He wouldn’t let his family make her feel like an outsider, not when she carried their child, not when she had already given so much of herself. "I’ll fight for this—us, him, everything. I don’t care what it takes." He let out a quiet breath, squeezing her hand. "But right now, all that matters is that you and our son are okay." His throat began to close up as the Uber slowed to a stop in front of his house, a silent witness to the nightmarish spiral that had begun within its walls. A memory clawed at the edges of his mind, dragging him back to one of his most hellish hours. His voice, when it came, was quiet but edged with urgency, "I need you to stay with me." With that, he stepped out of the vehicle and moved around to the other side to help her out.

[purinbunnii]

Without a Trace

Satoru never thought he’d see him again.

Not after that day, not after the blood dried on his hands, not after he made that choice.

Yet here he was.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the empty shrine, where incense burned in quiet curls of smoke, where time seemed to settle like dust in the crevices of the past. His hair was shorter now, barely brushing his shoulders, but his eyes—God, those eyes—hadn’t changed at all.

They still held everything Satoru had once known. Everything he had lost.

“Satoru,” Suguru said, his voice soft, almost reverent. It had been ten years since they had spoken, but his name still sounded like something sacred on Suguru’s lips.

Satoru clenched his fists. “You’re alive.”

A huff of a laugh. “Disappointed?”

“Don’t,” Satoru snapped. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like this is normal.”

Suguru tilted his head, eyes tracing over him as if mapping out all the ways he had changed. “Maybe it could’ve been.”

Satoru swallowed hard. Maybe.

Maybe if he had reached out, if he had tried harder, if he had chased after him instead of standing in the rain that day, watching his back disappear.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

“You didn’t even let me bury you,” Satoru said, the words like a blade scraping raw against his throat. “Not even a body. Just—just rumors. Whispers. Like you wanted to disappear without a trace.”

Suguru exhaled, gaze dipping for a moment. “I thought it would be easier that way.”

“For who?” Satoru demanded, stepping closer, the storm in his chest swelling. “For me? For you? I spent ten years looking for a ghost, Suguru. Ten years thinking maybe—maybe if I had—” He cut himself off, throat tight.

Suguru didn’t move. Didn’t reach for him, didn’t step back either.

He was always like this. Silent in a way that made Satoru’s bones ache, like he carried all the answers but would never say them aloud.

“Did you miss me?” Suguru asked, quiet, careful.

Satoru almost laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind I need to hear you answer.”

Satoru’s breath trembled as he exhaled. He let himself look—really look—at Suguru. At the face he had memorized a thousand times, at the ghost of a smile that never quite reached his lips, at the longing mirrored in his eyes.

God, he hated him for this. For leaving. For returning.

For still being the only thing Satoru had ever wanted.

“Of course I did,” he admitted, voice breaking. “Every damn day.”

Suguru’s eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering behind them. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Like he wanted to say something that would ruin them both.

Maybe he did.

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

Satoru took the last step between them, his fingers curling into Suguru’s sleeve, desperate, unsure. “Tell me why you came back,” he whispered.

Suguru’s hand covered his, warm and solid and real.

And then, softer than breath, he said, “For you.”

[m0nnypie]

A thief and a Fish

Percy Jackson x Hermes!Reader

Summary: You and Percy are always at each other's throats. But maybe this time he's gone too far...

Words: 918

Warnings: a little angst

Percy had nothing against you when he first met you, until later, he really had everything against you. You were an annoying person, and stupidly beautiful, not that he would admit something like that.

When he first saw you, you were just another person in Hermes' cabin. A face that he would probably forget soon. He just didn't expect you to invade his life, like a thief invades a house. I mean, it was ironic to say that, thinking that you were a child of Hermes.

Exactly, you were Luke's sibling, well, half-sibling. Luke always portrayed you as someone sweet, and who cared about your friends. But he didn't see it, not only as he didn't saw it, but as he lived it, every miserable day of his life.

It's not news to anyone that you're always bothering him. Whether it's with stupid pranks that he hates, or when you steal from him. He hated your face, your voice and how you could irritate him like no one else, sometimes even surpassing Clarisse.

 At that exact moment, he was leaving his cabin covered in glue and feathers stuck to him, a classic. Everyone he passed laughed and whispered stupid things. He was angry, if it were any other day he would simply ignore your existence (he says he tries), or he would complain to Luke. But not today.

He was tired of this, tired of you always tormenting him. He couldn't let you always do whatever you want with him. No way.

As he was getting close to Hermes' cabin, a familiar blonde stopped in front of him. Holding back a laugh.

"What happened to you? Did you fight with some chicken?" It was funny how Annabeth was usually someone who didn't see the pranks of Hermes' children funny, but when it came to you she always laughed. Probably because you had known each other for a long time and were extremely close.

Which he found a little strange, since you were complete opposites in Percy's opinion.  He could see in those gray eyes the huge urge she had to laugh. But he decided to ignore her and move on.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

He could hear her following him and laughing softly. As soon as he reached the cabin, he opened the door with everything. A bit dramatic he would say.

Everyone looked at him, completely quiet. Until only laughter settled in. Even Luke was hiding a laugh, and you were by his side. Laughing.

“Hey Jackson! Did you fight a chicken?” And “Wow Percy! I like your new look! Where did you get it!”

He just rolled his eyes at what everyone was saying, going straight to you. Today would be the day he would put an end to this, he was tired of it.

“Jackson! What are you doing here?” your voice was completely cynical.

“Are you serious?! You break into my cabin, then steal half of my clothes, stain them, and then get feathers all over me?! Don’t you get tired?”

“Hey! I didn’t steal your clothes! They’re all yours!” You said between laughs. He was starting to get irritated, tired of your sarcasm and jokes.

“Look, it’s not my fault you’re a horrible person and your father doesn’t give you enough attention!”

At that moment the entire cabin fell silent. You could hear a needle falling in that silence. And for the first time in a while, he saw you with an emotionless face.

“Fuck off, Jackson!”  You said, bumping into him and leaving the cabin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Annabeth glaring at him and then leaving to go after you.

As soon as he turned to whoever was in front of him, everyone was staring at him. Most of them with a look that didn't say much, some contained anger. Even the Stoll brothers were quiet, something that never happened. But what sent shivers down his spine was the look Luke gave him.

Those unmistakable blue eyes looked at him with silent anger. Everyone always said how cool and amazing Luke was, but not when he was training. He always had a menacing look that made anyone's legs tremble when they looked at him. And before he could say anything, Luke spoke up.

"Get out of here, Percy," he said as if he was holding back his own anger, and Percy knew it. He knew he wouldn't do anything in front of so many campers. He turned to leave, he could feel every look weighing on his back.

As soon as Percy left the cabin, he felt like the biggest idiot on earth. He knew how sensitive the topic of gods parents was. Even he hated bringing it up sometimes. He decided he would go to the cabin and clean up the mess he was in, and then he would fix things.

As soon as dinner time came, everyone gathered. No one. I mean no one looked in his direction, not even Annabeth who was one of his friends, or Luke who seemed to like him a lot. Even Clarisse, who used to try to intimidate him by glaring at him 'n throwing threats, was ignoring him. He felt several shoulder shoves during dinner, with sarcastic apologies coming out of everyone's mouths.

And all the while, he tried to look for you, but there was no sign of you. You didn't show up the whole night, and that somehow worried him. Fuck. He really screwed things up this time.

FUCK. Before anyone asks why most people start ignoring Percy, I think it makes a lot of sense for this to happen. Because fuck. Luke is technically respected and feared. So I think that after someone hurt his sibling like that, people would probably take their side. Not to mention that Percy being Poseidon's son only makes things worse for him. Poor Percy lol. 'n tell me if u guys want part 22222.

[m-jelly]

Hello jelly! How are you, I've got a request (it has been awhile as I am sick, but here we go) Could you write a one shot about Levi watching his SO, who is the one that helps him through his boughts of insomnia, getting attacked by a titan and losing her leg. How would he help and stuff?

Pain, loss and love.

Levi x fem reader

Canon world, married, angst, fluff, caring Levi, mentions of blood, healing.

Where were you? You had to be around somewhere. The last time Levi had eyes on you was only a few minutes ago, but now you were missing. Panic was setting in. You couldn't have gotten far; there weren't many titans left except for an abnormal.

It then clicked in his head. You were facing that beast alone. Levi trusted you, he believed in your strength but there was a lot of young blood about. He was concerned that others would put you at risk.

Levi flew across the broken village and spotted you ahead. He felt happy just for a moment until everything went wrong. A young kid flew in the way of the titan's jaws. You shoved them out of the way, saving their lives. Horror consumed Levi as he watched the titan launch up and bite down on your leg.

Blood sprayed from you and the titan towards Levi. He flinched a little as the blood hit his cheek. It took a few moments for his brain to process what he saw. Before he knew it, he was screaming your name and flying towards the titan and slicing into it over and over until there was nothing left.

He panted as his senses came back to him, he looked for you again to see you'd managed to escape and you were lying on the roof in pain with the lower half of your left leg missing. He flew over to you as blood oozed out of your torn wound.

You panted and gripped at Levi. "I'm okay. Levi, I'm okay."

He yanked his cape off, tore it up wrapped up your wound and pulled tightly to stop the blood flow. "We need to get you back to base."

You gulped hard. "Am I still pretty?"

Levi welled up as he chuckled. "Stop joking at a time like this."

You reached over and poked his bloodied cheek. "Got you smiling though."

"You did." He scooped you up. "We need to get you back." He flew off with you. "And for the record, I think you're sexy and hot still. I'll make sure you have the best wheelchair as well."

"I know you will."

Levi didn't stop until he got you to safety. He hated having to wait for the medical team to fix your leg. He hated that you had to be in hospital. He hated that he didn't protect you like he promised in his vows. He felt like a mess, like he'd let you down, like he was a bad husband but he knew you'd give him so many kisses and praise him.

"Levi." Erwin walked closer with a smile. "I can see a small smile on your face meaning you're thinking of your wife telling you off, right?"

Levi hummed. "She's too cute for her own good."

"You should clean up. Your wife won't be available for a while."

Levi released a long sigh. "Can't believe someone else has had to tell me to be clean."

"It's understandable, this is your wife we're talking about. The only woman you've ever loved got hurt in front of you. You broke." He patted Levi's shoulder. "A quick shower will do you good."

He did just as Erwin suggested, he washed up and changed into the comfy clothes he knew you loved. He returned to your hospital room and was allowed to sit next to you. He played with his wedding ring as you slept peacefully. The doctors explained you were fine, you were strong and you were impressive. They let him know that once everything was healed you could get a nice wooden prosthetic to help you walk.

"Levi?"

He flinched and looked over at you. "Hey, beautiful."

You giggled when he sat on your bed and began kissing your face. "Hey. You look good."

"Thank you." He held your hands and began kissing your fingers. "You are so stunning, brat."

"Thank you." You winced a little. "I guess no more being a scout, huh?"

"You can still be a scout, brat. You can help with paperwork."

You said your full name. "Slayer of paperwork instead of titans."

He bit your finger. "Deadly."

No matter what you needed, Levi got it for you. He was there every single day. Normally, you helped him with insomnia and soothed him, but since he started taking care of you he didn't need much help he just slept easily because every day and every minute was all about you. Erwin gave him less missions at work so he could dedicate time to you, plus you did paperwork for the scouts and enjoyed the new role.

The big day for you came and Levi was nervous, today you were finally having your finished and perfected wooden prosthetic fitted and checked. While Levi was nervous you were incredibly excited about it all. Levi watched as the doctor talked you through everything, he had to admit he was a bit possessive of you and felt slight irritation when the man touched your thigh a lot as the leg was fitted on. However, Levi behaved because you were so happy and excited.

You grinned at Levi. "How does it look?"

Levi rubbed your back. "Gorgeous like you."

The doctor moved back. "Let me help you walk."

You shook your head. "I want Levi to help." You opened your arms out. "Levi?"

He rushed to stand in front of you. "Yes." He held your arms and pulled you to your feet. "Careful. Nice and slow, okay?"

"Got it."

Levi looked down. "Okay, step forward with your left." He pulled you closer. "Good, now the right."

You breathed a few times before stepping forward. "Ah, I did it!"

"Any pain?"

You shook your head. "No, it's good. It feels weird, but good."

"You want to keep going?"

"Yes." You walked with Levi before the aching started. "I need to stop."

Levi picked you up and took you to your chair. "You did so well."

The doctor smiled and noted on his pad. "Well done. Just keep practising with your husband and you'll be running in no time."

You grinned at him. "Thank you!"

He handed over a letter. "Take these meds to help with the slight pain."

"Got it."

Levi pushed your chair along. "Thank you again." He kept moving and clicked his tongue where you were away from the doctor. "Asshole kept flirting with you."

You giggled. "He was just being nice."

"He touched you a lot."

"Well, you can touch me a lot when we get home to replace his touch."

Levi smiled. "I like that." He leaned and kissed the side of your head. "I love you."

"Love you always."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @dreamerofthewest @abiatackerman @minminroie

[delulu4anime]

Maniac

Ch 6 ➧A Missed Call

Parings ➧ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ!ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary ➧ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ɪᴛ ᴜɴᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴀʙʟᴇ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴɪᴀᴄ ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

Trigger Warnings ➧ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ.

Word Count ➧2.6ᴋ+

Taglist ➧@lady-of-blossoms @dekusdante @fortunatelyfurrygiver @birbwithhat @whippedbyikemen @sleepykittyenergy @i-love-ateez @choppersworlds-blog @emochosoluvr @linaaeatsfamilies (ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟᴍᴋ❣︎)

After trying to keep your impending break down at bay you finish your breakfast with Kento and Emi in a rush; you apologized for having to leave in a rush but you had a few things you needed to get done. Emi asked you to call her once you got home and you nodded your head as you closed the door behind you. Your drive back to your house was unusually quiet compared to every other time where you jammed out to all the songs you were currently obsessed with. Now the only thing that filled the silence was the traffic around you and the unsteady breaths you were taking. You soon arrived to your apartment complex and you quickly got out of your car and practically ran to your apartment with tears running down your face.

"Shit." You mumbled to yourself as you struggled to get your key to function but soon were able to make your way inside. You slammed the door close and slide down your door till you were sitting down on the floor.

The tears flowing nonstop now that you were alone to be able to fully process what you had gotten yourself into. You had tried for a decade to talk yourself out of those feelings especially after everything that happened; you think back to that time ten years ago, the memory so vivid, as if it happened yesterday. You knew Hina and Satoru had been having relationship problems like they always seemed to but you never thought he'd actually dump her. Half the boys at the school had a crush on her and you could understand why if it was just based on solely her looks. She had long black hair that seemed to imitate silk that fell to the middle of her back; her make up was always done every day flawlessly and her nails were always manicured.

Although we had uniforms she showed off her parents had money in different ways. From the shoes she wore to the bags she carried her school supplies in; it all seemed to be designer name brand things. She was a second year that seemed to be on the honor roll, participated in clubs that helped out with the community, and at one point was vice class president. By all accounts she was the dream girl any parent would want their son to date. However, because she sat behind you for a whole year you knew that she could be really nasty when no one was paying attention and soon you'd get your own taste.

"Can you believe he dumped me?" You heard Hina say to her friend one afternoon in an extra curricular class you needed to make sure your transcript looked good for college.

They always sat behind you and you never paid them much attention until they talked about Satoru. You hated yourself for becoming that nosy but what she revealed about him to her friend was just too hard to pass up on. Before the break up she talked about all kinds of things like what he liked to even the more intimate details of their relationship.

"What happened?" Her friend asked and she huffed.

"He said I don't treat him like a person. That he's just arm candy to me. Which is total bullshit you know?" Hina said as she filed her nail. "I mean do you know how many times I pretended to like kikufuku because he loves it so much. Or that one time I admitted to kissing his best friend Geto at a party but I was totally drunk." She said and her friend agreed.

"I remember that! He asked me about it too and I totally had your back though. I mean you were drunk and it was dark." Her friend said.

"Exactly. I feel like if he was just arm candy then I would have lied to him but I didn't. Why? Because I love him but of course he doesn't believe me." Hina whined.

"I'm sure you guys will be back together by next week. You both were practically made for each other." Her friend said and both girls giggled as they turned to work on their class work.

After hearing the news that they were broken up straight from the main source and on top of that under the allegations of cheating you tried talking yourself into saying something to Satoru. You knew Kento had known him for as long as you could remember but every time he talked about Satoru it was about how much of a nuisance he was. You tried to sound casually, you really did, that fateful day during lunch to see if Satoru had mentioned the break up. You were hopeful in spite of the display in front of you. He seemed to be talking and joking around with not only Hina but Geto as well as if he didn't find out his best friend and his girlfriend had gone behind his back.

Your heart sank when Kento couldn't confirm the status of their relationship but you didn't miss the way Hina slide her hand along Satoru's thigh to get his attention. He leaned down so she could whisper something in his ear as she stared in your direction and you knew you were fucked as soon as you saw his blue eyes land on you as well. When you averted your gaze and tried making small talk with Kento you never thought Satoru would've made his way over to you and over hear what you had been talking about nonetheless. But listening to him utter the question for you to meet him after school shocked both you and Kento. Not that Kento didn't think you could get someone like Satoru's attention, far from it, but that you'd give someone like him the time of day.

Soon the end of the day came and you eagerly waited by the koi pond like he instructed as you watch students pour out of the school as they headed home, hung out with their friends, or to their after school jobs. You sat on a stone bench as you kicked your legs back and forth; you hummed a tune that had been stuck in your head when you looked to see Hina and her friends making their way towards you. You shrank under their judgmental glares as they walked passed by you but not without you being able to catch certain words like fat, ugly, and bitch.

"Enjoy your date." You heard someone call out and you looked up to see Hina smiling at you condescending as she spun around to catch up with her friend.

The butterflies that fluttered from excitement in your stomach quickly turned into hornets that brought nothing but dread in their wake as they stomped on all the butterflies in sight. She's just jealous you tried to tell yourself. She made choices that caused her to get dumped and she hated to be losing to the competition. You slowly were able to bring yourself down from the anxious journey you were trying not to embark on. However, after an hour passed by then another and another those hornets of dread started their reign of terror again.

The sun was starting to set and there was still no sign of Satoru showing up. You chewed on your lip nervously as you tried coming up with a reason, any reason, for why he'd be late. You remembered that Kento mentioned that he did tutor a few students after school so that could be a reason he could be running late. Yeah but he only does that every other Wednesday and it's Friday. The voice of doubt rang out through your head and you shook your head. Stay positive.

Maybe he had to reschedule last minute and was unable to let you know. Yeah, that's it. You decided it wouldn't hurt to a wait another thirty minutes and if he still didn't show who would know? You could go home and cry yourself to sleep after being stood up. If anyone asked you could lie and say you didn't know if he showed up or not because you had a emergency at home.

If he showed up then you were sure he'd apologize and there was still just enough daylight left that you could spend a little time at the bakery with enough time to walk home together. You looked down at your phone to see you had gotten a message from your mom and Kento; both were asking how things were going with Satoru. You hovered over the keys to figure out what to tell them because you still hadn't made up your mind on what you wanted to do. Suddenly there was a bright flash. Then another and another and soon it felt like it was nonstop.

There was laughter that roared out and you lifted your hand to hide behind the flashes to see what was going on. That's when you felt your entire body run cold at the display in front of you. Hina and her friends had come back to see you still waiting obediently by the koi pond just like the Satoru had asked you to do.

"Oh my god! She's still here!" Hina squealed.

"Ew, how desperate can she be?" One of her friends mocked as she looked at you through her phone screen.

"Who would wait this long for someone that isn't coming?" Another friend said and you started to feel tears stream down your face.

You don't remember when you had gotten up and ran past the girls or what your mom had said to you when she found you crying on your bed once she got home from work but you knew one thing you'd never forget. No matter what you'd never let him hurt you like that again. You knew you couldn't promise yourself to let the feelings you had for him fade if they ever would but you could keep the promise to never to tell and never let him back in. You opened your eyes and you were back to the present except nothing seemed to change. You didn't know if you were crying because he knew that you never stopped having feelings for him or if you couldn't handle getting rejected again by him.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and you frantically tried to get to it to see who was calling you; part of you hoping it was Satoru so you could apologize profusely. But you were met with disappointment when Emi's name and contact picture popped up. You took a couple deep breaths to try and calm yourself because if she knew you had been crying she'd rush over and crying in her company was the last thing you wanted. You felt selfish letting this effect you this way especially when you and Satoru were in her wedding. A day that was suppose to be special for them and not about your mixed feelings for the best man.

"Hey." You said as you stood up and made your way to your counter to see all the invitations to said wedding that you offered to put in envelopes, stamp, and send off for Emi.

"Are you okay? Don't you fucking lie to me either." She sternly said and you sighed.

"I'm sorry Emi. I shouldn't have just left like that." You say.

"You think? Look Kento and I care about you. We don't want to make things anymore complicated then they already are so we've decided to tell Satoru he isn't invited to the wedding anymore." Emi said and you looked up abruptly.

"What? No. No, no, no. Please don't do that. This is suppose to be a special day for both of you and if making your day perfect means having Satoru be apart of the celebration then that needs to happen." You say.

The thought of your best friends having to decide not to invite someone who was suppose to be in the wedding because you can't keep your promises to yourself is more embarrassing than Satoru finding out you still feel the same way about him after all these years.

"If it came down between you or Satoru with no hesitation we both picked you. Satoru hurt you then and its clear it still hurts you now." Emi said and you wanted to cry again because you didn't feel like you deserved Kento or Emi in your life but here they were always being there when you needed them.

"I love you both so much," You say not being able to the tears falling once again. "But I promise you I will be fine. I want him to go and I want things to go according to the plan. I'm putting this all behind me and I'm determined to out dance you and Kento at the wedding with Satoru watching." You teased which caused Emi to giggle into the receiver and you were glad to hear it.

"In your dreams! I dance laps around you and Ken any day." She says but then you can hear shuffling and Kento say something you couldn't quite make out. "Hey, I gotta go but please let us know if you change your mind. Love you." She says.

You both say goodbye and hang up the phone; you look at the wedding invitations and it hits you that there is one thing you need to take care of. You take a deep breath and type in Satoru's name into your phone. You had talked yourself into finally saving his number but unlike everyone else in your contacts you skipped on putting an emoji beside his name. In your mind it helped you signify that you weren't really saving his number if there wasn't an emoji beside his name. You hesitated for a moment then your thumbs danced across the keys as you texted out your message.

You:

Hey, I'm sorry to bother you. Kento ended up telling me what happened. Please don't be upset at him if it was suppose to be private I bugged it out of him.

You:

Anyways, the reason I'm texting you is to let you know I don't want things to be awkward between us so I'll be going to the wedding alone so the next girl in line can have a turn.

You:

Yikes that came out worse than I intended. Again I'm sorry.

You sent the message and set your phone down as you rubbed your hands together as you looked at the nearly two hundred invitations you needed to work on. You decided to hook your phone up to your speaker, put your playlist on shuffle, and let the music take you to another place while you worked. After a few hours of steady work and a few glasses of water after licking so many envelopes you only had twenty more invitations to get done. You decided to take a break and order take out while you watch your favorite tv show to unwind before finishing. Soon you found yourself feeling better that you had gotten what you need off your chest and you knew with time that you would be able to be around Satoru long enough to make their dream wedding happen.

You got up after the end of an episode as the credits rolled and you took your dirty dishes over to the sink before the next episode started. You looked over to your phone that lit up with a notification and your heart stopped at what you saw. You had a few missed calls from Satoru followed by a text message.

Satoru:

Are you free tomorrow after work? I've got a few things to do tomorrow and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.

You:

I'll be off around five tomorrow. I'll meet you at the cafe.

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2025 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɴɪᴀᴄ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ

[dragonmasterhiccup]

Hiccup hugged Lyra tightly, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind saying it would be for the last time.

No, he told himself, I won't let it end. We're going to succeed...we have to.

As she pulled away and took his hand, he gave it a light squeeze, giving her a reassuring smile.

Listening to Kiara, he nodded, "Right. That's good, I just, I had to make sure..." He hated being nervous, and that was all he felt in that moment.

Astrid came up beside him, taking his other hand. "It's going to work out fine," she told him, "you have a habit of defying expectations, Hiccup."

Swallowing, he walked into the circle with Astrid and Lyra beside him, Toothless just behind. The warmth enveloping him helped to calm his nerves, but only a little.

All his life, he had wished he wasn't an only child, that he'd have a brother or a sister to talk with. He did have Dagur, but it was short lived, and while they kept in touch, it wasn't the same. Now, he had three sisters in these fae.

He wasn't going to let this tribunal take them away, not without a fight.

Looking at the chairs, he and Astrid nodded, though Hiccup felt that there should be three more so the girls could join them.

Seeing Lyra's shaky smile, he gave her hand a light squeeze. "Hey, it's going to be okay," he said to her quietly. At her request, his smile softened, "Absolutely. Our dragons included."

He still held firm to Astrid's hand, and she held it back. Toothless sat beside Hiccup, head held high.

Hiccup turned to look at the three of them, about to say something when a flash of light caught his attention.

Despite the situation, Hiccup couldn't help but marvel at all of the different types of wings. They were incredible.

Following the fae's lead, Hiccup and Astrid bowed respectfully as well, welcoming each of their guests. Even Toothless did the same, knowing how serious things were.

When the Emerald court leaders arrived, Hiccup knew why Kiara spoke the way she did, but they had to be better. They had to show they were not afraid , and not to be trifled with, but we're willing to work with the other. It was a delicate balance. "Welcome to the Berk Clan territory," he said respectfully.

As they were ignored, Hiccup and Astrid exchanged a subtle look. This was going to be eventful.

He tried not to stare at the wings of the Fire Opal court, doing his best to be as respectful as possible. They were eye-catching though, but then again, anything dragon related sparked his interest. The couple bowed with the fae sisters, welcoming the final clan leaders.

Taking their seats, Hiccup took a deep breath. Then, he put everything his father taught him to use.

"Thank you all for coming today. I understand you each have concerns involving our clan, and I'm more than happy to discuss and address them with you accordingly."

The Berk Clan @thethreefaes

Since that day in Kiara's circle, some time had passed.

Things were going well. The additions to Lyra's hut had been completed, and she was steadily recovering.

Hiccup was excited to show Rose all of his creations, and had already begun work on fae-friendly iron.

Today, they were in the forge again. Gobber had left, telling Hiccup, "If the forge blows up, I'm holding you responsible!"

There was ash smudged on Hiccup's cheek and leather apron as he bent over to get a closer look at what they were working on.

"Do you think it's strong enough? I just, I get the feeling it wouldn't hold up a Terrible Terror, let alone a person..."