#and ofc just as he feared. fucking in the bushes

[eruhamster]

was thinking about how hua cheng was a violent menace to society pre-3rd ascension - like the rumors weren't wrong or just about the 33 gods, cuz even just in the early reverend of empty words arc as he's going through the list sqx gives xie lian, he's like 'oh no yeah i killed this guy, this guy, this guy, he xuan killed this guy, i killed this one too... ....like they deserved it tho gege. you'd get it if you were there'

and he's always been a little psychotic, like he as a small child survived a whole assault on the battlefield -in front of xie lian, ie didn't just survive by basis of xie lian being so strong- and was like, slaughtering what had to have been grown men. he killed people(and we know he did, he never got the face disease despite coming in direct contact with the first victims and also becoming a nurse) and didn't even seem fazed by it, even while xie lian himself was trembling afterward about having killed people for the first time, 7 years his senior and having grown up with a sword in his hand.

so like. do you guys think he ever gets like that now. like after the honeymoon phase ends and xie lian insists on going back to scrap collecting because he can't just stay idle forever (and we know he still does this given the bedtime story extra), hua cheng starts causing trouble if his gege's not around.

half of me feels like he wouldn't wanna make his gege disappointed in him so he wouldn't get too bad but i can't shake how funny it would be if the heavens have to beg xie lian to take hua cheng with him on scrap collecting trips, like an unruly child that cannot be trusted alone and won't react well to babysitters

[alluraswifey]

Here you go gremlins some Shiro,Adam and Keith fluff:

#1 Them meeting Lance(If the whole space war and shit didn’t happen)

Keith:Soooo dads I’ve got some for you to meet*pulls Lance it the room*

Lance:H-hello Sirs!

Shiro:….

Adam:….

Keith:Anyway and Lance and dating…surprise!

Shiro:…

Adam:…

Lance:…

Keith:Guys you ok…?

Lance:*Shaking in fear*

Both:*Bursts out laughing*

Keith:What’s funny?

Adam:N-nothing!

Shiro:We’re just surprised anyone would date you!

Lance:*Laughing*

Keith:GUYS C’MON!

#2 Lil Keith 🥰

Keith:Dad!Dad!

Shiro:Yes bud?

Keith:Look what I found!*Pulls out a big spider*

Shiro:AHHAHAHOJHA WERE DID YOU FIND THAT-

Keith:In a bush!

Adam:What’s all the screaming about?*Sees the spider*

Shiro:Adam it’s ok.

Keith:Papa look!

Adam*Faints*

Shiro:ADAM?!?

Keith:PAPA?!?

Adam:…

Shiro:…

Keith:…I’ll go put it back outside.

Shiro:You do that bud.

Adam:Is it gone now…?

#3 Keith being a crazy bitch.

Shiro:Guys what happened?!Are you both ok?!

Adam:We’re fine babe don’t worry.

Shiro:Don’t worry!You told me Keith beat up a grown man!

Keith:I did!

Shiro:Why?!

Keith:Well when me and Papa were in the grocery store this old guy yelled at Papa to “Go back to Mexico!” So I pushed him of his wheelchair and kicked him!*Grins*

Adam:…

Shiro:…

Keith:..:)

Shiro:Did you get him good bud?

Keith:Yes!

Adam:Well I mean I wouldn’t have handled it like that but you got the job done so well done bud!

Keith: ….:D

#4 Keith’s first crush(On Lance~)

Keith:GUYSSSSSSSSS

Shiro:Woah Keith what’s wrong?

Adam:Yeah you ok hun?

Keith:NO IM NOT OK MY CRUSH ASKED ME OUT?!?WTF DO I DOOO??

Adam:*Squeals in Spanish*

Shiro:Ohmylordkeithwhatshisnameisheinyouryearwhatshelooklikewhatshisname???

Keith:His names Lance and yes he’s in my year and he’s tanned with brown hair and blue eyes.NOW WHAT DO I DO?!

Adam:Well do you guys have a date?

Keith:Yessss this Fridayyy*Happy keef*

Adam:Ok I’ll help you pick out an outfit.Shiro you good babe?

Shiro:Yh but now I have to go beat someone up.

Keith:Dad!Why?!?

Shiro:NO ONE DATES MY BABY!

Adam:Shiro we’ve been through this…

Shiro:*Grabs a frying pan*I’ll be back by dinner.

Keith:DAD NO-

#5 Keith’s first day of preschool(If Shiro and Adam adopted him earlier ofc)

Shiro:*Sniff*Bye baby…

Adam:*Rubbing his back*He’ll be fine hun.

Keith:*Waves* Bye Bye Daddy’s!

Shiro:AHHAHAHHAHAHA WHY IS HE SO CUTE?!?

Adam*Sobbing*BE CAREFUL BABY!

Keith:*Running inside*

Adam:*Sniffing*Lets just go home…

Shiro:*Wailing*

*Later at pick up*

Keith:Daddy’s!*Shows them a drawing of a hippo*

Shiro:Ohmylordbabydidyoudrawthisitssogood!!!

Adam:That’s so good hun does the hippo have a name?

Keith:Yesw it’s called hippo!

Shiro:Hippo?

Keith:Yesw.

Adam:*Chuckling*Ok hun let’s just go home…

#6 Late night cuddles 🥰

Keith:*Coming downstairs*Can I stay down here for a bit…

Adam:Oh hun you scared me!Ofc is something wrong?

Keith:*Tears in his eyes*

Shiro:Come here bud…

Keith:*Walks over*

Adam:*Leans over to Keith*You wanna talk abt it bud..?

Keith:I just feel sad…

Shiro:Aw that ok bud sometimes we just feel sad.

Adam:Yh you don’t have to now why sometimes it’s ok to cry for now reason.

Keith:*Sniffs* ok…

Shiro:Now do you wanna watch a show?

Keith:*Nods*

Adam:Ok you two move over a bit I’m joining!

{{This one was inspired by my parents!I had this conversation so many times with them more times than I can remember 😅}}

#7 Keith’s birthday!!🎂

Adam:Keith hun wake up!!

Keith:*Groans* Pape it’s to early…

Adam:But it’s your birthday c’mon!

Keith:What?That’s today?

Adam:Yes c’mon I trusted Shiro to make pancakes and I don’t want him to burn the house down!

*Downstairs*

Shiro:Well fuck.

*Theres pancake batter literally everywhere*

Keith:Dad…?

Adam:Takashi!

Shiro:In my defence the presents are unharmed!

Keith:All those are for me…?

Adam:Ofc bud!

Keith:*starts crying*

Shiro:Bud what’s wrong..?

Keith:N-nothing I’m just rlly happy is all….

Adam:Ohmylordyoursocuteyourverymuchwelcomecomeonletsgoopensomepresents!!

Shiro:*Dying of cuteness*

{{That’s all for now if you want me to do more just ask!! Xx}}

[sunnysssol]

At long last, here's a personal analysis of La Squadra's MBTI and Enneagram, brought to you by yours truly 🥴💖 I believe I should also preface this by saying that I'm no expert, I just enjoy MBTI/Enneagram and psychoanalysis, and applying them to fictional characters. This data (with the exception of Sorbet and Gelato, ofc) were taken from Personality Database!

Risotto Nero

INTJ, 8w9, 853 

- As an INTJ, Risotto is an introspective and ambitious person. He has immense drive and is very dedicated to his goals. He is usually reserved and honest, often to the point of bluntness. He is a planner, and often prefers to observe extensively before making a decision. He sees details and draws up plans and strategies based on what he perceives to be the bigger picture. He usually has trouble in situations that require his focus on the "now" rather than a premeditated plan (i.e. social situations). He does not trust easily, but he is loyal and honor-bound. Once someone is in his good graces, they are there forever until they mess up very, very badly.

- His type 8 enneagram placement is somewhat uncommon for an INTJ. He is confident, patient, and protective of his own. However, due to his 9 wing, he is calmer and more composed than, say, an 8 wing 7. His 8 placement also makes him more confrontational than other INTJs with other enneagram placements. He dislikes conflict and indecisiveness, and likes strategic action and harmony. He is prone to letting his emotions fester. Despite his stoic front, he is protective and compassionate towards those in his inner circle. His core fears are losing power, being betrayed or losing connection to those around him, while his core desire is protecting himself and his inner circle, and peace of mind.

- His enneagram tritype is 853. I stated that the 8 placement makes him quite assertive and self-sufficient, but his 5 placement makes him isolated and independent from others and established systems, basically painting him as one of those "Lone Wolf" types. The 3 placement makes him ambitious, future and task oriented. When stressed, Risotto goes on the defensive, making sure the important people around him aren't affected. He also tends to withdraw within himself and may revel in his anger. Feeling exposed or vulnerable brings him stress.

- Overall, Risotto is an observant, dedicated and cautious person. Due to his drive and ambition, Risotto can be prone to obsession and tunnel-mindedness. He is also prone to dedicating himself to his cause and goals to the point of self-destruction. He often does not know what to do with his emotions which leads to bottling up and letting it all out in a (usually) angry burst. Risotto is also prone to "ghosting" someone if they hurt him deeply.

Prosciutto

ENTJ, 8w9, 836 

- As an ENTJ, Prosciutto is honest, decisive and strong-willed. He is strategic and innovative, but quite forceful in implementing his ideas and opinions. He is image-conscious and is concerned about the performance of the group in most situations. He is also efficient, straightforward and logical, preferring to say it as it is rather than beat around the bush. He is cultured and well-read, and enjoys teaching people things whenever he can. He does not trust easily– not completely, at least. He places a superficial amount of trust in someone upon first meeting (i.e. "I trust you not to fuck up."), as a test of some sort. His trust will build up over time. He does not tolerate incompetence and will not hesitate to tell someone off for slacking.

- His 8 wing 9 enneagram placements are quite common for an ENTJ. Enneagram 8 makes him assertive, confident and intense. Beneath it all though, he is rather compassionate and big-hearted. His ENTJ and enneagram 8 placements make him an ambitious mentor type that resorts to tough love often. His core fears are being betrayed, being in unnecessary conflict and becoming overlooked. His core desires are stability and security in his life, be it financially or otherwise.

- His enneagram tritype is 836. His domineering, assertive personality (type 8) combined with a 3 placement makes him very ambitious and quite focused on his (and the team's, by extension) achievements. The 6 placement makes him committed and responsible, but distrustful. When stressed, Prosciutto's anger and control issues heighten. He snaps easier, and becomes borderline uncompromising. Vulnerability and the possibility of failure brings him stress.

- Overall, Prosciutto is quite a stereotypical/textbook definition ENTJ and 8 enneagram placement. He fits into the "CEO" or otherwise domineering stereotype of ENTJs as well. He is very no-nonsense as he wants people to do well. He is also the type to keep hanging around even if someone goes against his wishes (i.e. in a situation where someone asked for his advice but ended up not taking it), but he will become harsher and harsher until the end of his patience is reached. In comparison to Risotto (who will most likely start ignoring the person who asked for his advice but did not do it after the first time), Prosciutto is more understanding in that regard.

Formaggio

ESTP, 7w8, 793 

- As an ESTP, Formaggio is enthusiastic, resourceful and tolerant. He is curious and focuses on immediate results, bored easily by long, drawn-out explanations and plans and prefers to just go out and do things hands-on. He is spontaneous and pragmatic, preferring the "practical" over the "theoretical". He is confident and outgoing, but lacks finesse with regards to more delicate issues. He is prone to easily offending people who may be a bit more conservative or sensitive than him. Despite this, he has a gift for negotiating and persuation. He dislikes routine and schedules, and prefers to have the freedom to do whatever he wishes whenever.

- His enneagram 7 wing 8 placements are quite common for an ESTP. Enneagram 7 makes him playful, optimistic and easily excitable, while the 8 wing makes him confident and compassionate. His ESTP and enneagram 7 placements make him a resourceful people person who enjoys going out and doing things that make him happy. He is quite hedonistic in this regard, and is prone to dropping things once they start to bore him. His core fears are being in emotional pain, missing out, and being betrayed. His core desires are contentment, happiness and security.

- His enneagram tritype is 793. His optimistic, excitable personality (type 7) combined with a 9 placement makes him more laid-back, amiable and accomodating. The 3 placement makes him motivating and somewhat image-conscious, as we see him taking offense when others pick on him and his abilities. When stressed, Formaggio becomes insecure of his abilities and starts comparing himself to others. His underlying issues with his temper and control might show themselves as well due to his 8 wing. Being spoken of negatively and overbearing people bring him stress.

- Overall, Formaggio is a laid-back, optimistic and amiable person. He is confident in himself but is prone to seeking validation from other people. Despite his lack of tact and (ocassionally) laziness, he is still quite driven and once he's found a goal to focus on, he won't stop until he's accomplished it. He also possesses a strange yin-yang energy, wherein he's friendly and outgoing but can be stormy and intimidating when angered.

Illuso

ISTP, 6w5, 682 

- As an ISTP, Illuso is introspective, practical and logical. He organizes facts in a logical and efficient way in order to paint a comprehensive picture. He is observant and hates feeling ignorant or otherwise left out. He can be somewhat vain or self-absorbed, stemming from his inherent self-suffiency and confidence. He is quite adventurous and does not mind experimenting to see what works for him to accomplish his goals. He is rather spontaneous and has no problem building on top of an existing but somewhat vague plan.

- His enneagram 6 wing 5 placements are somewhat common for an ISTP. Enneagram 6 makes him a dedicated but anxious problem-solver while the 5 wing makes him perceptive but detached and isolated. His ISTP and enneagram 6 placements make him a practical, introspective person who pursues their goals with dedication and drive, all while constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure he still has the upper hand. His core fears are being unsafe, targeted, and taken advantage of. His core desires are security, being competent and being supported.

- His enneagram tritype is 682. His dedicated and committed personality (type 6) combined with an 8 placement makes him confident, assertive and self-sufficient. The 2 placement makes him thoughtful but possessive and somewhat people-pleasing. When stressed, Illuso's paranoia increases and he begins to doubt himself. He prioritizes his pride over a lot of things and failure in his endeavors wound him. Other things such as pre-conceived worst-case scenarios bring him stress.

- Overall, Illuso is a reserved, practical and self-sufficient person. He is resourceful and logical but can be arrogant and somewhat disingenuous. Despite his belittling of Formaggio, he himself displays the same image-conscious and validation-seeking tendencies. 

Pesci

ISFP, 6w7, 649 

- As an ISFP, Pesci is amiable, loyal and sensitive. He is grounded in the moment and enjoy working at his own pace. He dislikes conflict and disagreement, and tend to be a bit timid in comparison to the others. He may be slow to express himself and act as a consequence. He is creative, flexible and practical, ready to explore new possibilities. Being in a new environment makes him somewhat oblivious to the know-how of assassination, but not entirely to what the job entails. He is easily swayed and somewhat impressionable.

- His enneagram 6 wing 7 placements are somewhat common for an ISFP. Enneagram 6 makes him an anxious but committed, practical person while the 7 wing makes him enthusiastic but scattered and in need of an out when things go wrong. His ISFP and enneagram 6 placements make him a sensitive, dedicated person who can be motivated to be committed to his goals until the very end with a stern reminder. His core fears are being abandoned, being without support or guidance, and being left out. His core desires are security, support and happiness.

- His enneagram tritype is 649. His dedicated and faithful personality (type 6) combined with a 4 placement makes him authentic, expressive but a bit temperamental. The 9 placement makes him receptive and accommodating but easily discouraged. When stressed, Pesci's fight or flight sense is triggered. He becomes more paranoid and anxious, and may turn to authority figures to know what to do next (i.e. Prosciutto). Unclear guidelines and failure bring him stress.

- Overall, Pesci is a curious, loyal and observant person. He is flexible and accommodating but this is often at the cost of his own opinions and boundaries. However, despite his more timid personality, we can see that he is loyal to the team and their goal, and has taken Prosciutto's teachings to better reinforce his weaknesses.

Melone

INTP, 5w6, 513 

- As an INTP, Melone is reserved, abstract and flexible. He is a skeptic, but is interested in many things and possibilities regardless. He is analytical and innovative, consenting to pushing the boundaries often to the point of receiving judgement from others. He may be slow to act, often preferring to plan out possible scenarios before choosing one that works for him. He is somewhat ambitious and hold himself and his pursuits to a high standard. He is precise and logical but does not shy away from theoretical concepts or scenarios.

- His enneagram 5 wing 6 placements are somewhat common for an INTP. Enneagram 5 makes him perceptive and insightful, but detached and calculating, while the 6 wing makes him responsible but prone to becoming anxious. His INTP and enneagram 5 placements make him an extremely capable and intelligent individual who is more prone to obsessing over his work and becoming anxious over details than most. His core fears are being targeted or alone, being thought of as incapable or ignorant, and being helpless. His core desires are being capable and competent, and support.

- His enneagram tritype is 513. His detached and calculating personality (type 5) combined with a 1 placement makes him conscientious and orderly, but somewhat judgemental. The 3 placement makes him ambitious and efficient but prone to seeking external validation. When stressed, Melone becomes hard-pressed to stick to his goals, tense and feeling overwhelmed. He becomes anxious and may shut the present out, resorting to more extreme or "out there" methods to attain his goal. An influx of too much information at once and things becoming too chaotic, exceeding his controlled expectations from repeated trials and experiments give him stress.

- Overall, Melone is an analytical, calculating and detached person, with a sort of manic and obsessive streak to him. He regards the present with a degree of coldness, until something piques his interest. He is curious and committed to his goals, and is unafraid to be unconventional or push the boundaries.

Ghiaccio

ESTJ, 8w7, 863 

- As an ESTJ, Ghiaccio is a decisive, straight-forward and logical person. He is blunt when expressing his opinions and can be a bit forceful when it comes to implementing his plans and ideas. He is focused and determined to accomplish his goals as swiftly and as efficiently as possible. He tends to be moody and callous. He is outgoing, systematic, and can be stubborn about his ideals and principles. He dislikes abrupt changes and prefers to have concrete plans in response to the present. He is practical and tends to say things as they come to him.

- His enneagram 8 wing 7 placements are somewhat common for an ESTJ. Enneagram 8 makes him an assertive and self-confident but confrontational person while the 7 wing makes him resourceful and versatile, but easily distracted. His ESTJ and enneagram 8 placements make him an ambitious but practical go-getter type, who is perceived to be efficient but controlling. His core fears are being controlled or otherwise limited, and being vulnerable. His core desires are certainty, satisfaction and security.

- His enneagram tritype is 863. His responsible and assertive personality (type 8) combined with a 6 placement makes him also committed but anxious. The 3 placement makes him action and goal oriented, but a bit insecure of his image. When stressed, Ghiaccio's temper and control issues show. He becomes aggressive and forceful with his ideas and plans. Inconsistency, vulnerability and nonsensical contradictions bring him stress.

- Overall, Ghiaccio is a proud, headstrong and practical individual. He's got places to be and things to do, and wants them all done in an orderly fashion. He is a hardworking traditionalist who dislikes change. He can be impatient if things are not quite up to his standard. He prefers to take on problems head on, disliking procrastination. He is also protective and encouraging in his own way. 

Sorbet

ISTJ, 1w9, 146 

- As an ISTJ, Sorbet is an efficient, analytical and withdrawn person. He appears aloof and disinterested in most issues if they are not of direct interest to him. He is hard-working and a bit sentimental. Sorbet is also honest to the point of bluntness, and maybe a little harsh, but only because detests hypocrites and like to do as he says. He can be a bit defensive when in the wrong, and can be very private to the point of shutting everyone out.

- His enneagram 1 wing 9 placements are somewhat common for an ISTJ. Enneagram 1 makes him an organized but judgemental person while the 9 wing makes him resigned and a deep thinker, but prone to getting defensive over his principles, however "unethical" they are. His ISTJ and enneagram 1 placements make him an assertive, logical and practical person with a rigidity to him. His core fears are failure to achieve his goals, and being unsafe. His core desires are being right (according to his standards), and peace of mind.

- His enneagram tritype is 146. His logical and orderly personality (type 1) combined with a 4 placement also makes him deep and temperamental. The 6 placement makes him dedicated and focused, determined to see his goals to the end. When stressed, Sorbet gets angry, and he becomes compulsive towards his goals, afraid that his personal flaws will be revealed, and may begin doubting himself. Opposition, inconsistency and humiliation bring him stress.

- Overall, Sorbet is a blunt, highly analytical, and rigid person with an incredible eye for detail. He can become stuck in his own ways and have a tendency to do things as he sees fit. He can be judgmental and harsh if things are not up to his own personal standards (of which he often doesn't make known). He is efficient and independent, usually preferring to do things by himself or with Gelato.

Gelato

ESFP, 7w6, 784 

- As an ESFP, Gelato is an enthusiastic, gregarious, and hedonistic person. He is friendly and accepting but has a strange, dangerous energy to his persona. He is flexible and spontaneous, and thrives on the company of other people, making him a "life of the party" type of person. He is sympathetic and thoughtful, but tends to be a bit scattered and easily distracted. Incredibly resourceful, he relies on his past experiences and what is in front of him to solve problems.

- His enneagram 7 wing 6 placements are somewhat common for an ESFP. Enneagram 7 makes him a spontaneous and enthusiastix person while the 6 wing makes him self-assured and dedicated once his attention is captured. His ESFP and enneagram 7 placements make him happy-go-lucky, but hedonistic and two-faced. His core fears are being trapped, losing support and missing out on something fun. His core desires are inclusion, happiness and freedom.

- His enneagram tritype is 782. His versatile and fun-loving personality (type 7) combined with an 8 placement makes him also assertive and confident. The 2 placement makes him sensitive to changes in others' demeanor. When stressed, Gelato's emotional control issues start to show. He becomes disorganized, unhinged, and may start lashing out. Betrayal, and harming those he loves bring him stress.

- Overall, Gelato is a shrewd, spontaneous type of person, whom no one really knows how to read properly. He's flexible and practical, and it takes a lot to earn his ire but he can quickly become very intimidating when it happens. He's creative and resourceful, with little inhibitions to hinder him from indulging his desires and impulses. When truly engrossed in something, he tends to be a bit reckless and insensitive.

[twstoric]

this game of ours

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: Request: Fem!Dom reader// They notice Rook's been very... /attentive/ to them lately. When they realize he's been half stalking them in his infatuation, they turn the tables on him and suddenly, /he's/ the prey and doesn't realize until they have him /pinned/ against a tree, a good ways from the main building, teasing him into a begging mess for more with just their words and a few good touches. (teasing, begging, outdoor bangin) 

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅: Oh the requests are open 👀. Could I ask for some really rough nsfw w Mr Rook? It's consensual ofc, but like.. I wanna fuck this man so bad-

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: rook hunt x f!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: The prized hunter of a distant land is known to be quite eccentric in his methods when cornering prey but to the misfortune or perhaps fortune of so called hunter, his next target is you

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): KINGDOM AU KINGDOM AU KINGDOM AUー stalking (mentions), obsessive behaviours, servant!reader, hunter!rook, may-or-may-not be set in twst universe, dom!reader, use of weapons (self-defence), semi-public sex, riding, light hair-pulling, biting (minor)

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.9k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: i love rook very very very very vvvv much and these requests resonated with my soul unfortunately so here we are 😔

Over the peak of the highest snowy mountain, beware of a forest shrouded in white. The eerie silence may just freeze your lonely heart. 

Up the river flowing with heavy streams, beware of the shards of crystals hanging from the trees. The air may waver your soul.

Close to the hill, far from the trees, layered under thick powder of snow, the Castle of Beauty greets but does not welcome. 

In the territory of pure colour lingered with sinful desires, you may want to watch your back. 

For you could be the next prey to fall in these lands.

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

Part of the first things you’ve found since working in the walls of decorated perfection, the outfits you’re equipped with is not helpful against the weather. It's a complicated piece with too many knots and loops to efficiently get into first thing before the sun rises but it’s a custom; the silent law when you work in the very palace you’re in.

The wind isn’t kind that morning. Carrying snow into your hair and each puff of breath you let out crystalizes in front of you. For such a land only painted with white as far as the eyes can see, the Queen is very strict when it comes to tending to the gardens. 

Along with the few handful servants tending to the growing flowers, you busy yourself with cutting the stray leaves growing over the symmetrically cut bush. The freezing air threatens to freeze your lungs as you work steadily through each bush. Behind you, a servant lets out a loud gasp. 

"M- Master Rook…”

You pause at the name, mind blanking for a moment before you snap back to the loud laughter of the infamous hunter behind you. “Such formalities you’re saying!” He hums and you continue cutting the leaves. “Is my Queen in the chambers?” 

A chorus of flustered confirmation greets your ears as you blow the top of the bush. You hear another round of shy pleasantries from the other servants, the hunter among them amusing their chatters. 

Feeling satisfied with your work, you wipe your hand down your dress, somehow clammy from the cold air. You straighten up, snow crunching under your shoe as you turn aroundー only to be met with the chest clad in dark fabric and you jerk your hand back in panic. 

The pruner in your hands risks injuring the man in front of you before you back off in a hurry, hands held high to make sure you won’t swing it in another dangerous direction. 

Your heart pounds in your chest from the near miss, blood running colder not from the temperature at the prospect of hurting someoneーlet alone a prized hunter of this kingdom. “M- Master Rook,” you call out timidly, the air stilling and nervous glances directed at you when you force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I apologise. I wasn’t.. I didn’t hear you come near me- My deepest apologies!” You hurry to bow your head but an amused chuckle greets your trepidation. 

You feel fingers grasp your shoulder before trailing down your arm and the smooth glide of gloved fingers grasping your fingers, easing the tight hold you have on your gardening tool. Rook takes the small device away, clasping it between his hands and trailing a finger over the exposed blade with a sweet smile. 

“You have very fast reflexes, madame.” He murmurs softly, voice carried by the wind only for you to hear. There’s a glint of something you’re not familiar with when Rook shifts his eyes to look at you, a smile twisting his lips. Just as the expression settles on his face, it’s instantly replaced with a bright smile. “Do be careful next time! It would be a shame if you were to hurt these beautiful hands.” He takes your hand as he speaks, placing the pruner back in your hands.

You’re unable to say anything as he takes a step back, lifting his hat and giving you a bow. “Then if you would excuse me.”

You don’t see him again for the rest of the day.

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

Seeing Rook Hunt is perhaps akin to observing the steady trickle of water into a pot. You’re fully aware the goal is to fill that small container but because of the irrational pace, it stays in the back of your mind until the water eventually overflows from being left alone too long. 

You’re fully aware of his presence but waiting to see him is unnecessaryー nothing will change if you keep waiting but when you finally look for him again, his presence can be overwhelming. 

The guilt is present in the back of your mind from the near accident; a proper apology feeling like the only remedy to your nagging feeling. But being the trusted aid to the Queen, he doesn’t hang around the castle for long; going in and out like the changing seasons. You find yourself always thinking about a way to properly apologise and… a little curious to the expression he was wearing. 

You don;t think you’ve ever seen someone look so noticed with such a sharp object beforeーmaybe hunters think differently about weapons..?

At the start, your mind would only shift back to the blond whenever you weren’t busy but lately… you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. As if his mere existence has taken a spot inside your head and made itself comfortable to plague your dreams. What used to be the few fleeting thoughts turn to lingering ideas; somehow always imagining his presence near you. 

It feels like you can’t see him when he’s there but you can’t exactly.. dictate yourself for being paranoid when the reason the garden accident happened was because you couldn’t feel him sneak up on you either. 

You pause.

Thinking back on the matter, it feels as though… you really can’t tell his presence when he’s around. The garden wasn’t even the first time. Suddenly the thought of all the times he’s walked near you without you noticing race in your head like a poorly timed cut scene. A shiver runs down your spine.

No one knows when Rook will return from his hunts. He’ll leave when ordered but when he’ll return is always random.

Your hand tightens on the basket you’re holding. There’s the rush of fear in your chest when you hurry outside. You need to confirm something. 

The outside isn’t as colder as it normally is (fortunately) and you hurry yourself towards the river a little further in the woods. The air thins the faster you go, basket feeling a lot heavier in your arms despite only filled with sheets. You can’t feel the twitch of your fingers, the only sound registering in your mind is the crunch of snow. 

The familiar view of the old tree bark greets you and you’re running the best you could towards it.

The echo of footsteps follow you until your back presses against the tree and you throw the basket to the side. A small noise of surprise spurs you to round the other side of the tree until you see blond tufts of hair and you lunge at the perpetrator in time to grab the dagger sheathed to his side. 

You breath heavily, trying to steady your breath as you hold onto the blade and point it in front of you. Unlike what you expected, you’re met with a look of confusion. 

“Master Rook,” you breathe, unable to take the silence and lifting the weapon higher when he steps closer in return. Seeing the display, the blond chuckles before a full blown grin stretches his lips and he’s clapping his hand like a spectator watching a performance. 

“Mh, you indeed have fast reflexes don’t you?” The question is phrased like a praising lord to his disciple and you feel unnerved at the smile on his face. 

You step closer, tilting the tip of the blade to his chest. Rook doesn’t move. “Why were you following me?” He stays silent at your inquiry, head tilted as if he’s unaware of your accusations and you dig the tip of his blade to his chest, not enough to touch skin under the thick layer of his coat. “How long have you been following me?”

“Oh?” he inhales, hands held up in surrender but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “I see you’ve noticed. Tell me, since when have your suspicions aroused for you to think it was me?” Rook blinks slowly at you, lashes fluttering against his cheek and glinting with the very same look you’re unable to stop thinking about.

Your fingers tighten on the hilt of the blade, biting down on your bottom lip to hold in your confusion. You almost can’t fathom how this is happening. “Lucky guess,” you settle on instead and you feel your eyes widen when Rook takes your wrist and presses the weapon in your hands against his neck. 

“Do you want revenge, ma chérie?”

As if incited by the look in his eyes, you feel a bubbling annoyance in your chest. He’s playing with you despite always unsettling you and he knows yet chose to turn a blind eye to your comfort. You grab the front of his attire, his eyes blinking in surprise before you’re yanking him roughly and using your weight to push him against the tree. 

Rook’s lips part soundlessly and you don’t allow him to speak when you lean close, lips barely brushing against his. “It would only be fair, wouldn’t it?” Your voice rises in pitch, from excitement or something else you’re not sure but you dig his dagger on the tree against the side of his head with a hard stab. “It’s only fair if your head’s filled with me as much as mine is with you.”

Your lips crash against his afterwards, flinching at the cold touch of his skin but melting soon enough when Rook wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You make a sound of protest, unhooking his arms around you and roughly holding them up on the tree. 

Rook eagerly chases after your lips when you pull away and narrow your eyes at him warningly. He’s smiling when he starts unbuttoning his coat, hands held up against the tree obediently as you work his clothes open. He shivers violently when you push his shirt open, exposing the hard muscle of his chest against winter air but Rook isn’t shivering from the coldーhis excitement for you makes a drunk smile appear on his face. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite awhile,” he sighs blissfully and you hum, moving on to the knots on his pants. “There was.. something about you. I didn’t know what it was but the urge to know everything spurs me to action.” You listen to his confession, impatiently tugging at his pants as Rook leans his head back. “A beautiful flower among a garden of edith. It was almost extinct, ma chérie, to find everything about you.” His voice turns giddy and he bites his lips excitedly when you free his cock, already hard and twitching against cool air.

“You talk a lot, Mister Rook.” Your fingers wrap around the hard flesh, Rook whining at the freezing touch of your finger and you squeeze harder. The small gasp he lets out makes you warm. You steadily jerk his cock, smiling at the crumbling expression on the hunters face. “Mister Rook,” you whisper against his lips, catching his attention. “You’ll get tired from standing up too long. Why don’t you lay down?”

He visible tenses at that, lips pursed in a thin line but the blush on his face is still present when you give another encouraging squeeze. “You want to find everything about me, don’t you? I can be a little mean, you know?” The tone you use breathes an air of innocence and you feel the cock in your hands twitch. You smile. “Just kidding~ You should lay on the sheets in the basket. I’ll clean them up later.” 

You’re thankful the sheets in question were your own. 

Rook complies to your wishes easily, movements rushed when he pulls away from you and folds the sheets into a thick enough layer and pacing it on the ground. You pat his shoulder to get him to lay down and it’s enough for him to sit on, his back leaning against the tree.

There’s a fleeting look of discomfort on his face when he sits down but Rook is instantly reaching out to you. He breaths a string of sentences you don’t understand but it doesn’t seem to matter when you settle yourself on your knees, straddling his legs and Rook waits patiently. 

“You’re very pretty Mister Rook,” you place your hand on the side of his neck, fingers pressing against the back of his ears and Rook leans into your touch. His hands hurriedly bunch your dress over your hips, exposing your legs but you don’t seem to shiver from the cold. Not when you’re focusing on your source of fire in front of you.

“Touch me,” he breaths, bucking his hips up and you see the flicker of frustrations in his eyes when you raise yourself higher. “Mon ange,” his eyes gloss over and you watch, unable to look away, as Rook circles his hips up in slow motion, bottom lip sucked into his mouth. “Won’t you bless me with your touch? I need you. Please, mon chérie.”

It snaps you out of the little game you’re playing and you’re angrily tugging at your undergarments, ripping the soft material but unable to care when you feel frustrated at the power this man holds over you. “You’re so pathetic,” you bite out in irritation, no bite in your words as you grab the base of his cock.

Rook gasps, knees trembling as you press yourself against him. He watches, careful, calculating, burning the image before him in his mind when the head of his dick breaches past your opening and you moan softly, sinking yourself on his cock. 

The tight heat wrapping around him is delicious and Rook feels like crying out from joy. Your hands tangle in his hair, steadying yourself as Rook bottoms out and you take a moment to appreciate the stretch of his cock in your pussy. 

Every little thought melts away in your head and all you can focus on is the press of each rigid vein against your walls rippling pleasure into your blood. You curse softly, finally finding the strength to move and the sound of harsh slap of skin against skin fills your ears when you set a fast pace. 

Rooks fingers tighten around your waist, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as you pleasure yourself on his cock. The tip of his hard length kissing your insides perfectly with each descent. You feel the spreading heat in your stomach, sharp gasps leaving your lips whenever Rook bucks his hips up to meet you. 

His fingers grasp the snow besides him, skin protected by gloves but he can’t focus on the prickling coldness when you tighten around him. A sharp yank to his hair makes him gasp, a loud moan spilling from his lips and you slam your ass down timely, raking a shudder down his spine. 

Rook chants your name like a devoted worshipper and feels the sudden urge to litter his skin with your mark. So you do; lips planting against smooth skin and you bite and suck at every inch you kiss, drawing out whines from the blond. 

His thighs twitch uselessly, feeling the building heat close enough to burst. The small jerk of his head is enough to tell you of his impending orgasm and you grin, trailing your cold fingers on his chest and flicking a pert nipple. Rook’s breath hitches, eyes hazy as you bounce on his lap, movements becoming uncoordinated from your own approaching climax. 

Your hand cups his face gently, contrasting your brutal desperation, and you smile at him as if revealing a glimpse of paradise. “Cum for me,” the whispered command is enough to make Rook tense and he’s cumming with a violent shiver, hips bucked up into you and his hand holds you down as he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. 

You gasp, coming soon after. Your thighs twitch and jerk, body reduced to a quivering mess as you hug Rook close to you. His face buries into your soft breasts, hands no longer bunching up your dress and letting the material fall over your legs. It almost seems like you’re only sitting on top of him like this. You can still feel his cock inside you.

“Good boy,” you praise and Rook nuzzles closer to you. As if natural, you stroke his head, looking around to see that his hat had fallen off somewhere along the journey of your wild cat and mouse game. “Should we get going, Rook?”

The blond suddenly snaps his head up, wide eyed and looking at you in awe. He mumbles something under his breath, arms wrapping around your waist tightly. Clear excitement with the building pitch in his tone when Rook holds you close, peering up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Mon amour, marry me?”

You blink, lips parting before a blush settles on your skin but rather than from embarrassment, you feel more confused. “Um. W- we’re sorta doing all the wrong steps here, aren’t we?”

He grins in response. 

[foodieforthoughts]

Show Me the Light

Summary: She recently moved to Minneapolis and is a newly appointed sports teacher at Southern Cross High School, wanting to live life away from the big city of New York. On the first week of her arrival she (almost) crashes into Detective Walter Marshall which leads to his and her life being intertwined there on. It is not your regular meet-cute story but rather a tug of war between two people from opposite spectrum of life.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Myra King)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: A slight description of a possible accident, smut in the future chapters.

A/N: Hello! After watching "Nomis" for the second time, I really started to feel the urge to write about our grumpy Detective Walter Marshall. I don't want to make it all angst, so bear with me if the OFC seems too cherry to be in the movie. Also, I do not want to face tag her, so let your imagination run free.

**Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist**

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

Title: Show Me the Light

Walter slammed the manilla folder on his desk, exasperated with the dead ends to the present case at hand. He stretched his arms in front of him, feeling his neck become stiff with the cold and his goddam posture was killing him.

"Dad?" Faye peaked in, draped in a shawl with her toothbrush in her hand.

"Are you going to bed now?" Walter's voice came out sterner than he intended to.

"No, I'm getting ready to go to school." She pointed towards the window in his office. Faint light of the rising sun was casting a glow from behind the curtains. "Did you stay awake the whole night?" She innocently asked.

Walter rubbed his eyes. He hadn't even realized how much time had passed since he had grabbed the case file last night. He had become so invested in it, he had completely missed bedtime. 'Not that sleep is important anyway.' He grunted, feeling the sore muscles in his back stretch as he stood up.

"I can call mom to drop me to school." His daughter offered. Her small frame looked tiny enveloped in her grey shawl, her nose pink with the cold.

"No, I'll just get some coffee. Have to go to the station anyway." Walter grunted again as he stretched his neck, rubbing a tender spot. "Go get ready."

He watched as his daughter retreated with a concerned look. Walter loved having his daughter around but it was mostly because he could keep one of his concerns at bay by keeping an eye on her. Grabbing his gun from the drawer and his badge lying on top of his table, he made his way downstairs to fix himself some strong coffee. He could feel the tiredness lingering in his muscles, but he had a job to get done. When he took the pledge to serve the public, he wholeheartedly meant it.

"So we got a new sports teacher." Faye pulled on her seat belt and buckled it over her body.

"What happened to the previous one?" Walter started the engine of his truck, the hunk of metal humming and warming in the cold. He let it run for a couple of seconds, rubbing his hands together as it touched the cold steering wheel.

"I don't know. He got old?" Faye chuckled.

Walter spared a smile. His daughter, the light of his life, made it a little less harder to live in this cruel world. They pulled out on the street and made their way towards the school.

It had snowed heavily last night. The sun shone brightly on the white landscape, making the snow twinkle like crystal. It was already peak office hour and thankfully Faye's school was not deep inside the city. Walter took out his sunglasses from his glove compartment, as the glint of the sun on the snow and the car windows were making his head hurt.

"Um... Dad? Is that coming our way?"

Walter looked up, squinting at the road as Faye pointed out in front of her. A black figure on a bike, the sound of its exhaust rumbling through the street and the metal parts shining in the sun, was making it's way towards them. The speed at which they were travelling and the slight tilting of its wheels from side to side hinted that the rider was losing it's balance.

"Oh, fuck!" Walter gripped his steering wheel tightly as the bike zoomed past his truck, barely missing the edge of the hood, and skidded along the slippery road to crash against the mount of ice gathered on the side. His truck made a grumble, the tires screeching as it tried to get a grip on the asphalt, coming to a jolting halt.

"Dad!" Faye had gripped her seat belt bracing for impact. "Oh my God! Are they alright?" She turned to look behind, watching the rider on the ground a few feet away from the bike.

"Are you okay?" Walter looked at his daughter. A whiplash injury was the last thing he wanted his daughter to suffer from. When Faye hurriedly nodded at him, his anger grew as he growled and opened his door to jump out and catch a hold of the irresponsible person who nearly crashed into him.

***

She was running late. Her second day on her job and she was freaking late.

Myra had hopped on her bike, chugging the last of her veggie smoothie and placing the bottle on the side pocket of her bag. Her brilliant black Benelli 900 SEI had looked stunning as always. She had dusted the few sprinkles of snow laying on it's tank, before kissing the cold metal handle bars.

"Don't disappoint me today, okay? You have been good so far." She had smiled at her bike dearly, remembering she still had to get it checked by a professional because of all the transportation it had had to go through. The sweet sound of its powerful engine coming to life, the exhaust emitting a rumble as she had revved it up a little, had made her heart swell.

Everything was working out fine. The city roads had been bustling with cars, but she had zoomed past them. Even though her bike belonged from the 70s, it still worked like a fine piece of metal. She had worn her faithful leather jacket, her biking gloves sat snuggly against her skin providing warmth in the cold weather.

Somewhere around the suburban part of the city, nearer to the school she worked at, her bike started to give off a clicking sound. Myra pressed on the breaks, feeling her speed coming down a little and her tires beginning to wobble on the road.

"Oh, fuck. No, no... " She prayed as the braking system seemed to be giving up on her. Her accelerometer showing her speed still above 20 mph. She was already crossing the speed limit inside the suburban region and was unable to do anything about it.

Her eyes widened as she spotted a big truck coming her way. She pressed down hard on the breaks, but she knew a crash was imminent now. Her eyes scanned about trying to look for an escape bay, spotting a heap of snow on the side of the road.

"Oh, God!" She turned her handle abruptly, missing the oncoming vehicle by mere inches, and let go of her bike as it skidded along the road and crashed on the snow. She slipped on the gravel for a couple of feet, trying to hold onto something to stop herself but failing miserably.

Myra groaned as she came to a halt, her head bumping against the road but saved by the helmet. Her heart raced like it was going to come out of her chest. Her feet and hands had gotten cold from the fear of crashing into the car, her breathing coming out ragged. She blinked several times, looking up at the sky through her black tinted glass hood of her helmet, swallowing the dryness in her throat.

"Hey!" Myra felt herself being yanked up by the collar of her jacket and came face to face with an angry, curly haired man. His eyebrows were scrunched together tightly and his lips, under the bush of his beard, was upturned in a sneer. "What the fuck just happened there?"

The zipper of her jacket dug at her throat, her feet dangling from the ground. The man was huge and powerful to have lifted her body up like she was nothing but a ragged doll. Myra placed her hands on his, trying to choke out a word. The insulated cover of her helmet and the air getting blocked from her throat was making her difficult to form words.

"W-wait... " She tried to speak but felt her lungs were straining for oxygen. The sound of the police siren made the burly man finally let go of her. She dropped to the ground on her knees, gasping for air and pulling her helmet off. She coughed as she leaned on the ground, placing her hands on the road breathing in through her mouth.

"Miss King?"

Myra looked up at the tiny voice of a girl coming from behind her. She recognized the girl from her class yesterday. Myra had helped her correct her posture while aiming for the goal when they had played soccer.

"You know her?"

The bearded man from before who had held her by the collar asked angrily. Myra looked over at him, his arms crossed over his chest, straining the fabric of his sweater over his muscles. She looked down at his waist and noticed the police badge clipped on his belt, his gun cocked in it's holster. She sat back on her knees, looking from one person to another.

"Yes! She's our new sports teacher."

Myra felt her cheeks heat as the grumpy man and the two police officers that had arrived later, looked down at her. Her gaze fell on her bike some few feet away, the hazy grey colour of smoke emiting from it, contrasting against the white sheet of snow.

"Take her to the station. Keep her there until I come back." He grumbled to the other two officers, throwing her a look of disgust and walking away with the girl behind her.

"Come on, Miss. Inside the car."

With a grunt from her aching muscles and joints, Myra stood up clutching her helmet in her hand and followed the men as they lead her to the police cruiser.

'Bloody fucking great!' She silently mumbled to herself as she sat on the backseat of the cruiser and watched the black truck she was going to crash into, drive away.

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[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 22

Previous: The Final Notice 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Abortion

Summary: Black Panther, Cricket and OT7 finally meet. 

Cricket & OT7: Return to Sender

Present Day

           “Why are you following me?” I ask, hands bound together, eyes blindfolded. The car has stopped, and whomever was driving has exited the vehicle in favor of opening my door and yanking me out. It’s silent, apart from my breathing and unavoidably stalky footsteps. I’ve never been able to walk on eggshells, perhaps it was my mother’s direction that stomping on them was far more impactful, that has led me to wear through every heel of every shoe I’ve ever owned. Now, it isn’t my saving grace, rather a rude awakening that I must sound like an ogre to the people who live below me.

           I arrived at the designated location, Jungkook trailing behind me. He refused to let me go alone but did compromise and stay in the damn car. He could see me, and I could see him. I was waiting for no more than a minute before promptly kidnapped. Not even chloroformed, just fucking grabbed and taken. Kidnapped, blindfolded and bound. Bound! Some knot a boy scout or aspiring I’m tossed in the back of a car, which, is how I’ve found myself willfully dragging my heels as they ever so gracefully force me in their desired direction.

           “Black Panther, why are you following us?” The voice asks. I know that voice, I’ve heard it before, I’ve heard that code name. Had it been referring to me this entire time?

           “Us?” I ask again, tossing my voice to see if it reverberates against anything, any sign that furniture or people are nearby.

           The man guiding me stops abruptly and peels off my blindfold. Empty spaces are their own kind of hell, and this is no exception. The panic of darkness arises as I close and open my eyes, ensuring they’re really open and not a trick of the mystery man’s charms. I jump softly as seven lights are dropped, one in each spot in front of me, a delicate row of halos waiting to be adorned. Five men step out of the shadows, the one holding me in place making number six.  Their pressed suits, cut from the finest cloth, each distinct in their pattern and style, garnish their bodies. As if on cue they cross their arms over their chests and glare openly at me.

           “Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I rattle off, each man nodding as I speak their names.

           I know them all, tailed them, surveyed their homes, run into them at the grocery story and Mexican restaurants. All except fucking min Yoongi, but I know them. I know these men. I’ve spent the better part of what, two years, trying to understand them, trying to figure out how they’re related, and here they are. There’s space for another, and it takes me a minute to realize who it is that occupies that is supposed to occupy that spot.

           “There’s only six of you… where’s -

           “Jeon Jungkook,” His voice comes from behind me, goosebumps running up my spine as the heel of his boots hits the concrete. My body is awash in shock, anger, comfort and hope. My Jungkook. My, I have to come home to him, my north star, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my Bunny.

           I was fucking right all along, wasn’t I?

           “Welcome to the party.” Seokjin says.

           “Is this where you tell me that Euna is Hans Gruber and somehow I’m Sergeant Powell?” I question, by tone delicate against their stone expressions.

           “If anything, you’re Harry Ellis,” Yoongi says.

           “That’s so rude,” I retort. “At least let me be Holly Gennaro.”

           “Then who are we, McClane?” Yoongi snorts, the absurdity of my statement causing a brief moment of joy. “Bunny wishes.”

           “You’re interrupting our mission,” Namjoon states, pulling my attention to him. His broad shoulders give way to a tapered waist, round golden spectacles are situated against his face, and his jaw is locked tight.

           “Me? How the fuck – oh,” My eyes move towards the bulletin board against the far wall, in quintessential fashion there are pictures, string, maps and enough thumbtacks to secure the list of vets from the Vietnam Memorial. I can’t read it, but I can see it. “You guys aren’t the bad guys.”

           “No, we’re not,” Namjoon says.

           “The Lee family is,” Taehyung says. It’s odd seeing him this quiet and stoic, after all he’s the hottest librarian in the damn county. He comes alive within the confines of his books and stories, he comes alive. He has voices and characters and gestures to match each. Looking at him now, it’s wild to imagine him doing a full interpretive reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, or his most famed retelling, Peter and the Starcatcher, when he’s glowering down at me.

           “They are poison, seeking revenge on anyone who has worked on cases to bring them down,” Hoseok says.

           “So, you all, how did she find you?” My mind is moving too fast for me to form coherent sentences.

           “Cupid didn’t find us,” Jimin tells me, eyes still boring holes into mine.

           “You did,” Namjoon answers.

           “I did?” I ask, eyes wide.

           “Mm, your little stunts, your run ins, your photos. She gave you our real names and you-

           “Gave her our locations,” Taehyung finishes the sentence, eyes still trained on me.

           “You left the notes, and the photo for Euna to find,”

           “Yes, but unlike you, our move was intentional,” Yoongi says.

           “Codename Cupid needed to know there were higher stakes at play,” Hoseok tells me.

           “How was I supposed to know this was some larger conspiracy?” I demand, temper rising.

           “Did you not receive notes?” Hoseok asks, by his expression I can tell that he’s responsible for the code breakers that have arrived at my apartment and office over the last nine months. “Strange packages arriving out of nowhere, sent to your office, on the driver’s seat?” Hoseok pushes.

           “Yeah, but I’ve had some really sketchy clients in the past, though none of them preferred an ABA rhyme scheme,” I retort.

           “Do you know how we found you?” Yoongi snaps.

           “Yes?” I ask, genuinely confused, “Google my name and my office pops up. Anyone can find me.”

           “Your tactics are fucking bush league, Black Panther. They’re embarrassing,” Yoongi tells me.

           “You’re a P.I., not a cop, not an agent, you’re not in the Bureau, yet you’re overstepping into situations that you have no grounds being involved in. You are fucking playing with fire and we were about to be burned if we hadn’t –

           “Seokjin,” Namjoon’s voice is biting, harsh, a belt to the back as it cracks in the hot air.

           “She needs to know,” Taehyung responds for his hyung.

           “Cupid has been lying to you for months, leading you on, paying you over your asking to track us down for what? A few lies you don’t even believe to be true?” Jimin asks.

           “We embezzled funds from their charity organization? We reported her family to the IRS?” Taehyung asks.

           “We stole jewelry from her famed collection to sell on the black market?” Seokjin adds.

           “We’re trafficking high quality cocaine from Colombia into the upper echelon of society?” Jimin rattles off more lies.

           “We fucked her, broke her heart, and god – the worst one – we made her abort our child?” Yoongi spits on the floor, disgust flowing through his saliva like blood in the Nile.

           I stare at them, mouth agape as they recite words I’ve only spoken to one person. My vision becomes blurry as I try to breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, but my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t breathe. The tears always sting before they fall, and my eyes land on him, tall, blonde hair, clear framed glasses, doe eyes.

           “You told them?” I whisper, the end of my sentence curling up into itself as the first tears start to fall.

           “I had to,” A whisper, feet frozen to the ground as he refuses to make eye contact with me.

           “You were using me?” I ask. “Look at me.”

           “I wasn’t using you,” He says, soft eyes meeting mine, the fire scorching the earth.

           “So how do they know?” I spit, the little droplets doing nothing to squelch the flames.

           “I had –

           “You told them information that I shared with you, in confidence, in my fucking bed, in my fucking homeJungkook!” I yell.

           “Cricket, can we talk about –

           “How dare you use my nickname to get me to calm down, I’m not a fucking child,” the sound of my cries reverberates against the warehouse, echoing violently.

           “I can exp-

           “There isn’t time for you to sort out your fuck up, Jeon. We have real problems to discuss,” Yoongi snaps. I can feel the tears dripping from my chin, falling to the concrete beneath my feet. The adrenaline pumping through my body as both a reaction to fear and a telltale sign that I’ve been embarrassed beyond repair. Not just embarrassed, eviscerated, betrayed. An hour ago, hadn’t I been deeply in love, terrified I wouldn’t return home to him?  

           “What do you want from me?” I ask. Jimin hands me a tissue, which I am grateful for as I attempt to gently blot my soaked skin. My mascara, never waterproof, comes off my eyes in dark splotches. How poetic.

           “Come, have a seat, Jungkook, get her a water,” Namjoon instructs. He strides towards the bulletin board and pressing a few buttons, the board sinks in the floor to reveal a hallway. The gasp that echoes through the warehouse is audible, and louder than I intend.

           “Sorry,” I say, feet guiding me past Jungkook, towards the corridor. There are no pictures on the walls, no signs that this space is used by anyone. The industrial style gives way to a door, bulletproof.

           Namjoon pauses, inserting his thumb into a scanner that gives way to a retina display, where he gently places his chin against the base. The machine works quickly before giving him entrance. I watch, amazed. Who knew in the 21stcentury that covert ops and me, a lonely P.I., would intersect?

           “This is, headquarters,” Seokjin says. He takes a seat at the long table in front of us and points to the chair next to Taehyung. I sit quickly, my eyes adjusting to the surprisingly bright space.

           “Oh my god the view,” I say, composure slightly recovered as I take in the expanse of greenery.

           “Yeah, benefit of being in the middle of nowhere,” Yoongi says.

           “Read your file,” Namjoon instructs.

           The file in front of me, manilla of course, is packed. “Why paper copies?”

           “Easier to burn,” Yoongi mutters. He’s taken out his computer and is busy typing away, no doubt pulling up a list of my infractions. Undoubtedly fucking an undercover operative is number one, though falling in love is objectively far worse than sex.

           Jungkook brings me a water and deftly cuts the zip ties around my wrist. His hand moves to sooth the indentation and redness from their grip, but I pull them away before his thumbs graze over the skin. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him retreat to his seat at the end of the table.

           “If you’re the top of the line, 007 should be shaking in his oxfords, can’t you encrypt it?” I ask.

           “Your encryption is only as good as your worst coder. We can’t take that chance,” Namjoon tells me.

           “First, I don’t think that’s the saying. Second, the government, who I’m assuming you work for, Interpol, MI6, etc. all use computer systems,” I counter.

           “Do you remember the election of 2016?” Yoongi retorts.

           “Point taken,” I nod. Of course, Russia. No one was ever safe. “But can’t you blame a lot of that on Zuckerberg and the higher ups at Twitter?”

           “Read your file,” Namjoon instructs again.

           I open it to find a rather aggressive breakdown of my work as a PI, both items that were on the internet and ones that only top-level government agents could have accessed, that is, unless the NSA has been tapping my phones. Details of my family life, my past relationships, my driving record, it was all here.

           “Why isn’t Jungkook on the list of romantic partners?” I ask, eyes looking from Seokjin to Namjoon.

           “Are you in love?” Namjoon asks.

           I don’t wait for a response from Jungkook, or to find the courage to say the simple three lettered word, yes. Instead, I busy myself by clearing my throat and loudly moving the pages about my life to a separate pile. Underneath is all my evidence, print outs of my documents, surveillance photos of me working. I stare at them, horrified.

           “How long have you been tailing me?” I question.

           “How long have you been working with Euna?” Taehyung asks.

           “Sixteen months,” I reply.

           “Ten months.” Taehyung answers.

           “You hacked my computer? Is that legal?” I inquire, knowing full well that it isn’t.

           “I can tell that you don’t understand who you’re dealing with, so let me put it this way. We’re the ones who knock. We’re the ones who cause dignitaries, presidents, whole countries to quake in their boots. It’s us.” Namjoon’s voice is calm within the storm, its resolute and baritone and every word that he utters is meaningful, impactful. He means what he says, and he fucking says what he means. In every interaction I’ve had with him, which frankly have been maybe more than he realizes, he’s been measured in his speech, only speaking when he has something worth saying. He is patient with himself, kind to others, except for today, when he clearly does not want to deal with me.

           “How very Heisenberg of you,” I roll my eyes.

           “You don’t want to be Jane,” Namjoon urges.

           “Okay first of all, in a Breaking Bad scenario, I’m clearly Jesse. Second of all, Krysten Ritter has had a very lovely career. Finally, this cannot be overlooked or underestimated, I’m Veronica Mars, bitch.”

           “Read. Your. File.” Namjoon’s teeth are clenched, his fist resting on the table, his patience going.

           I glance at Yoongi who is sniggering, Seokjin who is making eyes at Jungkook, and Jimin who is busy doodling along the margins of his file. These glimpses, these little hints at the weight of their souls, these are the men I’ve been following for nearly two years.

           It’s in staring at the remnants of my evidence that it hits me. “Jungkook gave you these photos.”

           “Yes,” Seokjin answers.

           “Everything you told me was a lie,” I say, eyes burning holes into the stolen images of my work.

           “Crick- Y/N, that’s not true,”

           “I knew you were connected, that day in the dog park, I knew,” I should’ve trusted my instincts, though they told me to trust him, maybe I should’ve run.

           “I didn’t lie, Cricket, I -

           “Look, I’ll work with you, whoever you are, but I’m not working with Jungkook,” I look at Namjoon.

           “That’s not an option, Black Panther,”

           “How did I get that nickname?”

           “Can you focus for ten minutes? Read your damn file so we can discuss the next course of action before you have to go meet Codename Cupid for your weekly meeting,” Namjoon bites.

           “Fine, do I have to go to that meeting if you’re, doing whatever you’re doing?” I question. “Seems a bit redundant.”

           “If you don’t meet with Cupid, she will know we found her, and our decade of work is completely useless.” Seokjin says, stepping in to mitigate the anger erupting from Namjoon.

           “What am I supposed to say to her? She knows too much already,”

           “She doesn’t know what she knows,” Yoongi answers. “Looking through her emails and texts, it’s clear that her family wants the seven of us dead for espionage, and for attempting to bring them down. All Cupid knows is that you found us, which she assumes is a fatal flaw in our plan, though she has yet to understand the plan at all.”

           “It’s completely intentional,” Hoseok adds. “Cupid only knows that we either worked for her company or dated her or a sibling. She knows our fictitious careers and lives but has no clue about who we truly are.”

           “Her brother, Dae-Seong, Codename Archer, is the one who wants us gone, eviscerated, eradicated. He’s the one driving this whole thing. Archer’s convinced Cupid that vengeance will solve her romantic woes,” Jimin tells me.  

           “But what about Jun-Seo? You left him the night of your engagement party, and Kwan-Min, you went on a few dates… Couldn’t this be about them?”

           “Codenames Bow and Arrow are less of a threat than Cupid and Archer,” Taehyung answers.

           “Cupid has been kept in the dark for the past, fifteen years, in regard to their business. The dark dealings of her company reside solely with her siblings and their parents. We want them,” Namjoon finishes.

           “Why not use Euna, sorry, Cupid, as the patsy?” I ask.

           “Who will run their company?” Yoongi asks.

           “Someone else?”

           “There’s too much evidence, nearly the entire company is dirty,” Jimin tells me.

           “So, you’ve been spying on them from the inside?” I question.

           “Sort of,”

           “It’s Nixon, Watergate extreme?” I ask.

           “What does Cupid know, and when did she know it?” Yoongi answers, his annoyance completely dissipating at my Watergate mention.

           “Why do you think she’ll believe me? She doesn’t have much faith in me as of late,” I question, the lilt of insecurity in my voice. Jungkook glances at me, eyes soft at the familiar tone, he tries to offer a smile, at least, it looks like he’s trying.

           “Yeah, because you fucked Jungkook and she found out. Before that though, she couldn’t sing your praises enough,” Namjoon’s calmed down, his frustration settling like sediment at the bottom of a pot. Adding an eighth person to the group was always going to shift the balance, move the power around and rattle nerves. But me? I’m burning it down. Though I can’t completely be to blame - Jungkook is also at fault.

           “Fine. What do I say to her?”

           “Haven’t we gone over this before? Lie,” Yoongi says.

           “Yoongi, if you’re going to be an ass, can you please direct it at someone else?” I snap.

           “Feisty,” He nods approvingly.

           “Black Panther, you have notes in your file about what we need from you,” Namjoon instructs.

           “You want me to end my relationship with her?” I question.

           “Yes,”

           “What about –

           “Either you end it first, creating an enemy, or she ends it with you which will not be helpful for us,”

           “I just,” I look at them, eyes finally glancing to Jungkook. He looks exhausted, and sad, so sad, his irises choppy waves searching for harbor. “Do I have a choice?”

           “No,” Namjoon answers, but Jungkook’s eyes tell me exactly what I need to know. I don’t have a choice, and somewhere along the line, he stopped having one too.

           “Fine, tell me what to do,” I flip to the page in my file, eyes scanning the words, mind no longer full of Jungkook my boyfriend, but of Jungkook, Operative, member of OT7. This is a job, a job that seemingly could make or destroy my career. I don’t have time or the emotional space to navigate his crashing midnight eyes. All I have now is focus, drive, determination, and hints of stubbornness. This is the same drive that in a weird twist of fate, has led me to this very conference room, with these seven mysterious men.

           I cannot fuck it up.

           I will not get a second chance.

Next: Black Panther Meets Codename Cupid  

[tanoraqui]

please write more for that au its SO CRAZY GOOD i need more... youre such a brilliant write

no knowing what this was about. Please enjoy character sketches of six generations of Watsons + a couple Holmeses, courtesy of this bit of technically-original-fic-because-of-public-domain. Still not sure what I’m going to do with all these people!! 

Mycroft Holmes, 1830 - 1901

Original incarnator and namer of Sherlock Holmes

Basically to see if he could. Incarnator and academic studier of spirits. Spark, and good at it.

(Death spirits aren’t very stable bc they tend to. Um. Kill the host. Only so much you can do to restrain the nature.

Mycroft concluded that that’s bc it’s always polluted by the fear of death - pure death would be more directable

He was right? Also, I guess mildly suicidal? And did a lot of trial and error in brief experiments in hospices, even a war zone or two, over a decade or so. Personality developed based on Mycroft’s, ofc, cool-emotioned but ever-curious, and an ego the size of imperial India

So Holmes was substantial enough to manifest more or less as we know him when Watson had a panicked moment on that battlefield

John Watson, 1867 - 1891

Bearer of Sherlock Holmes, 1886 - 1891

Dutiful, mom friend, selfless, kinda all or nothing, quick decisions - good in medical emergency, sometimes impulsive/reckless, mediocre shot except at snooker, reads for fun - especially once he picks up a bookwormy demon

Trained incarnator-physician

Summoned him in a terrible moment in the war in Afghanistan(?) in 1886

The field hospital was under attack, evacuation having been interrupted by unexpected enemy maneuvers, and Dr. Watson was torn between shooting on the enemy and trying desperately to tend to patients, but there was no way out and nothing but death all around. Nothing at hand but death.

So he figured “what the hell” and summoned a spirit out of that, bound to his own body ofc, and had him kill all the enemy. Holmes offered to take some of the death out of the British wounded as he did. A friendship began.

“Listen here, Watson - war is no place for pure death!” -some discomfitted superior officer, dismissing him from the service

John didn’t fully disagree, the easiness felt wrong - but it all felt wrong. And the medical applications…

But no hospital would hire him, with a death demon and the way he flinched at sudden noises still, hands that still shook 

Holmes scented a recent death, they interrupted a police investigation, impressed them with medical knowhow + death sense (passed off as medical knowhow for the moment?)

And That’s How We Ended Up A Consulting Detective 

Died in 1891 in the course of dispelling Moriarty, a life demon and criminal mastermind - fell off a cliff, on top of him, to injure the body so bad Moriarty had to vacate

Mary Watson née Morstan, 1876 - 1929

Bearer of Sherlock Holmes, 1891 - 1914

Sensible, dutiful, decisive (good in crisis, sometimes bad choices, esp. in anger), more aware of her own faults than John but also must work harder to overcome internalized prejudices

Took up Holmes after John’s death, to (vengefully but well-intentionedly) scour any trace of Moriarty from Earth.

Often did so with Young John on her hip, bc what else are you gonna do. Could’ve gotten a nanny but didn’t have too much money and (along with Holmes) was more worried about him out of her sight than chasing murderers with them

In the early 20th centuries, she started getting overtures from the British government re: taking Holmes to war and just, you know, fucking shit up. When WWI started, she and Young John quickly devised a Plan™

Young John Watson, 1891 - 1939

Bearer of Sherlock Holmes, 1914 - 1939

Eminently practical but secretly romantic, nay, Romantic™, drinks hella respect women juice, quick-thinking

His mother started calling him “Johnny” instead of “Young John” when he was 2, but Holmes never picked it up - to Johnny’s annoyance, bc he wanted to, you know, not just be his father. They had a full argument about it, Holmes refused the juvenile nickname, but did his best to use “John” for like a week before reverting. It grew on him a little, though.

The Plan™:

Basically, the govt had slowly come around to the idea that a weak and feeble woman was in possession (ha) of one of the strongest demons in England. They (she and Young John) were sure she’d be summoned once war broke out - indeed, perhaps she was, but it was more like sounding her out and she put them off. Can’t draft a woman after all.

But clearly they’d escalate, so…fortunately, John had fallen thoroughly and mutually in love with a young American woman, who didn’t mind taking him home at all - they’d probably beaten it around the bush a little, hypotheticals, and then this…there was a bit of a tizzy tbh. John nearly fucked it up, emphasizing that he was immigrating for Holmes and not for her, no pressure on her whatsoever. Possibly they didn’t sort it out until they arrived in New York - though this did have the boat ride to do it.

But yeah: Mary released Holmes, John took him up and left the country with the govt none the wiser, Mary continues putting off the govt until the passports were thoroughly stamped…

And then America stayed out of the war long enough, and idk if “conscientious objector” was a thing but I’m sure he found some way to put it off. 

Holmes did well during the Great Influenza, at least.

Buuut they ended up consulting detecting anyway lbr. 

Shot in 1939, possibly by sniper in crowded area or at least by gunmen in unexpected attack, on a case set up by Moriarty…

Gave Holmes his death, final order to get Jillian out of here alive. 

Amelia Hunter, 1896 - 1966

Moderately wealthy New York family

Visited her second cousin in London in 1913-1914, as well as the English suffragette movement (herself a part of the American movement)

Met and fell quite in love with Johnny Watson, with a cheerful dose of “your mother is so cool.” Cheerfully helped him and his mother con the British government out of a death demon, married him once they both got their heads a little straight

Jillian Watson, 1920 - 2019

Bearer of Sherlock Holmes, 1939 - 2019

I’m not saying she swore vengeance on not just Moriarty but the entirety of Nazi Germany whom he was supporting (for fun a profit, per usual), after they killed her father in front of her - for almost certainly the express purpose of keeping Holmes out of the incipient war - but I’m also not…not saying that

Nor am I saying that she was part of the inspiration for Captain America in this ‘verse, or at least for Peggy, but I’m not not saying that either

Slightly rogue incredible combat fighter who volunteers to go fight Nazis before it’s even cool? Yeah. Yeah. Some Peggy art just straight-up looks like her, once Kirby&Lee somehow met her

Jillian Watson. How do I begin to describe Jillian Watson

Jillian Watson is a superhero. Jillian Watson is a spy. After WWII, once someone in the army decided it was better to work with her than against her, she ended up in…whatever proto-CIA they were forming at the time

Also, got married and had a kid while still on semi-desk duty

Jillian Watson is known as “Angel of Death” in 40 languages in 95 countries. Jillian Watson liberated at least one Jewish concentration camp. Jillian Watson stopped the Cold War from getting Hot at least twice - and neither time involved Cuba. She was on vacation that month.

And Holmes, obviously. They had a very solid hot/cold balance - only one was ever emotional at once

Jillian Watson has kissed a KGB agent, killed a king, and met nearly every US President from Truman through Reagan. She liked Eisenhower best. Carter downright annoyed her, and she nearly had a shouted argument with LBJ, though they also exchanged a handful of letters

Jillian Watson probably helped bring down the government in Iran in the 70s

Jillian Watson was probably not a great mother. She was too busy chasing adrenaline and maybe glory. 

They liaised with the FBI, too, as it grew, and shifted to their Spiritual Crimes Division completely in the late 60s/early 70s, when age was starting to really catch up with her - a death spirit can keep away infections and viruses, but not the simple wear and tear of age and adventure

When the AIDS crisis hit, Marcus put them in contact with people and Jillian Watson once more became known as the Angel of Death, this time for bringing mercy

Retired age 80 (2000), under duress. Still did some consulting. 

Liz was an option, but she was already getting on, and maybe irritated not to have gotten Holmes before (and/or maybe growing out of that desire anyway?) Manuel was a candidate, but Holmes needed a lot of talking around - and it didn’t matter yet, bc neither of them wanted to be parted. Neither could quite forget losing her father (or hte original John Watson) and Holmes meant to stick it out, and Jillian had no intention of retiring that much

Eventually got some quite contacts - nay, friends! - among elderly in her area to engage in consensual euthenasia now and then. Supplemented by hanging out in morgues and cemeteries and buying and killing a TON of plants, and sometimes mice.

Went on a lot of protest marches in retirement

Marcus Watson, 1920 - 2005

Twin of Jillian

Gay

Settled down with a lovely partner (Henry White) sometime in the 50s in NYC, where they lived for the rest of their lives

Not particularly interested in the life of a consulting detective/incarnator. Didn’t mind, but got squeamish, and just…didn’t enjoy being in danger. John took him on a couple cases but Jillian was the one who wanted to go, to know, even when they were kids, and he was happy to let her. Born to be a house husband.

He and his Henry were fully exclusive, neither got AIDS - but they lost a lot of friends. Practically, he turned Jillian and Holmes on to the crisis, connected her with people who knew people

Jeremiah Fletcher, 1918 - 2000

Married Jillian Watson in 1946

Fell in love when she broke him out of a German prison in 1942

African-American

Elizabeth “Liz” Watson, 1949 - 2009

Free spirit, adventurous, thought her mother (+ Holmes) was the coolest person ever, wanted to be the same. 

Legitimately badass in her own right. Joined…same service probably? They didn’t want another woman but someone intelligent resigned themselves to at least having a Watson in reserve, in case they couldn’t convince the demon to accept another host

Though, why “convince” when you can bind?

And if there’s no alternative, maybe he’ll be happy with a proper agent…

Or there was one person hiring who wasn’t a total ass, eventually

Though possibly by that time she’d decided “fuck it” and set out on her own

Basically a mercenary. Expected to inherit Holmes when her mother retired. There were some awesome mother-daughter expeditions

Got having children out of the way early - one child, at least, via a random French man in the summer of 1970. Donna from Mamma Mia energy. Jacques SomethingFrench

Tension with her mother (and Holmes) grew as Jillian continued to not retire and Holmes…tried to look after them both tbh. Liz hated being cosetted

Heart attack age 60, slightly adrenaline-induced but relatively tame - hiking or something; maybe surfing. Died quickly in hospital

Therese Marquéz née Watson, 1971 - present

Resented being left behind with her grandfather (Jeremiah) or great-uncle or just nannies while he mother gallivanted around the globe, but nor did she personally enjoy gallivanting

All but refuses to carnate even a light or luck spirit

Ran away several times, permanently at age 18

Met a nice young man in police training, (him), married him quickly, had twins, happy for a while…until she got furious at him for working long hours, risking his life, not giving her the domestic bliss and picket fence life she’d imagined 

Also, he got along with her family, which she couldn’t stand

Didn’t even wait for him to come home, just left the twins with Manuel’s sister’s family and left

Has come to see them a couple times, called on birthdays usually, but in general is a mediocre person

Manuel Marquéz, 1970 - 2012

Husband of Therese

A Good Man

V aware of how the world is shitty but wanted to make it better anyway

Whirlwind romance with a beautiful but mysterious girl while he was in police training, had twins, thought he was achieving the American Dream until it turned out his wife was bristling with resentment and straight-up left one night while he was on shift

Prior to that, Jillian and Holmes randomly showed up at least once to see the twins, having heard from Marcus that they existed (the only family member Therese told; the only one she stayed in much contact with)

They got along great - he took her snappishness in stride, they shared a slightly cynical sense of humor and desire to do good nonetheless. Got talking about police investigations and procedure, he wanted to invite her back except Therese couldn’t STAND it, so they didn’t

But when he lost Therese, he reached out - because fuck you, but also, so the kids could know that side of their family, and by then Jillian had also settled down in southern CA probably? 

Dog person

Shot on the job when his kids were a year into college

David Marquéz, 1991 - present

Twin of Vanessa. Normal. Down-to-earth, B or B+ student, liked some sports, had friends, went to state college - Jillian offered to help pay for both twins, Manuel accepted bc that shit’s tough, especially two at once

Amiably disinterested in spiritual stuff - doesn’t mind, is more or less blasé about the whole Death Spirit thing - acts blase, at least; is actually kind of uncomfortable. But doesn’t want to be his mother, and so habitually doesn’t make a big deal of it, or of anything. Mediator.

Met a nice Jewish girl in college (Hannah Steinbeck) (himself tentatively, idly Catholic from the Marquéz side), dated her all through, followed her back to Boston to get a job…idk, something on computers. Coder?

Loudly insists (technically factually) that he’s the older brother, but to his credit has solid energy for it: responsible, stolid, reliable, Will fight if given cause. 

But also, DID cheerfully leave his sister to be primary local caretaker to their elderly great-grandmother and her death spirit, not long after their father’s death. Will put his hands over his ears and talk loudly while walking away from stressful situations

Strong-ish but apathetic carnator

Vanessa “Vinnie” Marquéz/Watson, 1991 - present

Bearer of Sherlock Holmes, 2019 ongoing

BSN from idk

Thinks SHE’S the responsible one, particularly after David moved to Boston

Got along well with her father; he always supported her desire to go into medicine to help people. Really looked up to him, considered that career - but he urged her to be more actively helping life than just stopping death/crime (wanted better for his kids)

Always fully aware that good cops like her dad are rare; kind of illogically despises the whole institution since his death

(WAS that, too, arranged by Moriarty? Question for another day)

Likes Great British Bake-Off but CANNOT bake; likes Project Runway and other fashion shows and does, actually, have good fashion sense (just insufficient money to fulfill it). Sews well. Talks to cloth like it’s a patient

Lesbian! 

Roommate is Darby, also a nurse, they/them. Together they’ll totally be like, *Leslie Knope voice* “Tragically, we are romantically incompatible*

First case happens literally in the apartment 3 stories down

I’m not saying she’s gonna kiss that FBI agent before it’s over but i’m sure as hell saying she’ll THINK about it

Also will get ⅔ of the way to telling Holmes to kill her and get the civilians out before backup arrives

[unikornu]

Page 1 - Career Change - Pre-war memories of Lucy Feit,

- Hey sweetheart, you okay in there? Ian knocked softly on a bathroom door as he heard Lucy coughing a bit too much than she should.

- Yes, im fine, don’t you worry. I’m probably just catching a cold after we got washed by that rain last evening. Lucy washed the blood droplets from the bottom of the sink and wiped her mouth with towel. She lied. It wasn’t a cold, but an irritation and small wounds that still remained after an incident in the cellar with court mobsters.

-There she is, all formal but still beautiful. Ian commented as she left the bathroom, putting the black leather jacket on and sweeping the dust from her pencil grey skirt.

-Have to make a good first impression at new job eh? I mean from a national court to an private low investigator office, that is quite a drop. She laughed and threw her hands around Ian neck kissing him in the lips.

She met Ian at the practice shooting center where she was having her first experience with a pistol. He was working there during day time and taking some evening shifts aswell as a bodyguard at the local club. Ian was tall, well built, with a bush of messy short black hair and always slightly unshaved, rough at the lower bottom of his face. Felt good for Lucy to brush the palm of her hand through his chin. He had a weakness for mysterious petite beauties like her and she couldn’t resist the charm flowing from his smile and shine of misty grey eyes as he offered her help that day and a coffee.

Lucy was living in a one big room apartment in tenement house. Walls were filled with red-orange bricks, a few plants placed in a corners and on the window to make it more friendly for the eye and her clothes and papers scattered all over the desk and bed. It wasn’t good for both of them to live there but it was good enough to spend a night together. At least there were never tired of seeing each other too much as both of them were busy on daily basics but at the evening they were always coming back to meet either at his or her place.

- I still don’t know why you dropped such a good position. I mean from a court office to some assistant investigator for this weird old guy. That is indeed quite a drop hon. Ian chuckled and gave her one more kiss on her forehead after she pulled off.

- Well, i hate the amount of responsibility i had there and this is gonna be more thrilling than just sitting in the office, i mean cmon, i’m gonna see the actual crime scene, not just stupid papers. She smiled and grabbed her bag from the counter shoving some papers in and hiding her worried face behind the blond hair after reminding herself why she actually almost ran away from there.

-Don’t forget, at eight at our bar. Ian poked her shoulder and winked at her before she left.

-Oh i won’t. Love you. She winked back at him and closed the door behind her.

As she arrived to slightly older building she checked double the location written on the paper for her new work place directed by the new boss before entering. She stepped up towards the big double winged door and approached a woman sitting behind the desk, all busy with a newspaper and sharpening her nails.

-Uh..excuse me..is this Mr. Harrison’s office? She asked looking around pondering if its the right place. The building looked almost like an abandoned type but still good enough for a living conditions.

-I would not call this an office but yes, Harrison is waiting for you, through hallway, first door to the right. She could only see a clump of black waved hair sticking out of the paper responding to her.

The building felt empty, almost like there only Mr Harrison and his secretary. She stopped at the door having a gold plaque with his name and knocked.

-Come in! A firm voice responded. Lucy dropped the bag from her shoulder and entered.

-Mr Harrison? I’m Lucy Feit...from the..court. I got directed by the....

- I know, i know it all, just come and grab a chair, kid. He was sitting backwards in a big black chair. As she took a sit in front of his desk he spun back towards her.

Harrison was a retired black policeman around at his 50′s dressed formally in a white crumpled chemise, hell of a good one in his career at the better days but eventually life mistakes got him thrown out and forced to continue his business on his own as a private investigator. He didn’t have any family anymore, not a one that would accept him back anyway so he took a long stay in his office and eventually called it home along with his secretary Shanice. They were taking on a small or more mysterious cases that police didn’t care much about trying to avoid a hassle with a mighty ass court as he could while still staying on their good side. At least its what they thought.

- Look kid, i know your story. Me and our Boss, we know each other for quite a while. Are you really sure u want to get yourself into this shit? It ain’t gonna be easy and i don’t want another fucking dead rookie just because he thought that being all gangsta is cool enough to keep his feet on the ground. He scanned her looking doubtfully and raising his brow. Lucy swallowed and took a deep breath before responding.

- I am sure sir. I know the risks and i fully accept them, sir. Harrison put the elbows on the desk and pressed his clenched fists to the mouth. After a few seconds of deep thought he pulled a pistol out of a drawer and handed it to her.

- Reload and shoot something. I don’t care what, just not my whiskey. Lucy took a pistol from his hand and did as he ordered. Ian taught her well on that. She shot a glass on a shelf behind his head and handed the pistol back.

- Alright, tomorrow u start. We have a murder case and u gonna go with me first. Hope you have a stomach for it. Today we will talk how the things work here and where we keep the other archives for our Boss including the evidence that we would rather keep to ourselves. So listen because i won’t be repeating myself twice and if you fuck up it is gonna be your ass to shoot or worse...

- She nodded and followed Harrison as he walked her through the office and rooms hidden behind the cabinets. It was quite impressive how many secrets this old dusty building had along with its owner. His office was legally registered, taking in any small or nasty case that the policemen didn’t care about or helping the gang to clean some shit after them occasionally. It was a new start for her life and just a first step into the shadier part of it. The evening arrived faster than she thought.

- There’s my action girl. Late as always. Ian waited outside the bar spinning a rose in his fingers.

- Sorry, there was a lot to take in and my boss wanted to be done with introduction today. She gave him a long kiss, good enough to forgive her being late.  

- Harrison uh? I remember that man...quite a figure back in days. Didn’t know he is still working. Ian put a hand on her back and entered to the bar with her.

- Actually he is in a quite good shape and he is actually still working, just privately now. I think it is gonna be perfect for me. Smaller office and i might just learn a thing or two from him. She skipped all the parts that she couldn’t let Ian to know. He was the only good and positive thing keeping her mind in a proper set at the end of each day. Letting her forget the schemes and wash away dirt while melting in his arms each night. He never knew and she wouldn’t dare to tell him from fear of losing him. It was perfect set up after all.

- How did your training go? Bodyguarding and looking tough is not good enough for you anymore? Lucy smiled at him, joking as they sat at the table.

- Heh, just looking tough can be boring without throwing some punches here and there in a while. He joked back and ordered two beers.

- Cmon Ian, being a professional soldier isn’t the same thing. You will be gone out there longer than you think. Aren’t u scared? She reached with her hand towards his and squeezed it gently.

- No i’m not. I always wanted to do this. I have just one life sweetheart so not much else to lose, other than missing on this pretty face. He brushed a cheek with his thumb and pulled her for a kiss.

- We still have a lot of time so don’t worry about me. Today let’s have a toast for your new career and maybe a small treat later at your place eh? He clinked a bottles with her and grinned with corner of his lips.

- How about we take that beer outside and head there right away? She smiled back and walked towards home with Ian’s arm around her waist pushing her to him. They finished their beer at the stairs to the building talking and laughing.  They started kissing already in a hallway, going towards her apartment stumbling on the walls. She loved him, the feeling of safety in his arms holding her at night in bed and a assurance that she didn’t remain alone at the end of each day, no matter what happened through it.

_____________________________________

Note: So i decided to try write some pages of my oc memories/diary from the pre-war times as the current ones i posted only mention something here and there, not very clearly. To introduce how she got into the gangs and how her work looked it and people she met. This is very first basic introduction of sort ofc, not saying much but i will be scribbling more going deeper and closer to the explosion. I skip past her job at court and brutal incident that gave her a bloodworm/leech trauma as i am not skilled enough to write such a brutal scenes. (im a total random just writing some stuff coming up randomly to my head) So ye..after the court incident the gang member who she defended before and helped her get healed directed her to work at Harrison office to put some of her skills to good use and give her a safe workplace as Harrison was also in a contact with gangs. Ian never knew what she was doing other than changing her profession to a investigator’s assistant and working with the man. After all everyone thought he is legal and no one bothered with old retired man. I will be getting later to all the night club stuff and deeper into that shit. Cheers.        

[deckerstarwrites]

wanted plots for my 1x1 blog @mostpxculiar as well as fcs I’d like to play/play opposite to. please like this post, or dm me if you’d like to discuss any of these plots further! tw: nsfw/smut plots cheating, pregnancy, murder/blood,  under the cut.

plots i want, but also please come at me with plots YOU want!

a plot based off of fleabag/hot priest from fleabag

someone should give me a plot with this big bad gang leader and his super soft and cute girlfriend that has him wrapped around her finger. like he’s a feared man, which she doesn’t really care about. and she’s there to patch him up and while he usually tries to hide her away from the cruel world he’s in whenever he isn’t there with her, she just patiently waits for him when he’s out and about doing his business and he’s so fascinated by her and no matter how much of a bad guy he is, he’s just so soft for her and he’d do anything for her!!! and then his most precious possession gets kidnaped and shit goes down snsnsns (m/f, f/f)

f/f plot where a snobby, graceful, poised and rich prima ballerina falls in love with a reckless pole dancer who is super hot with a 6 pack and colourful hair and the girls are total polar opposites pls hmu

a plot where muse a just needs to get away from everything so she packs up everything into her small shitty car that barley runs and just drives. she loses count of the boarders she crossed until she lands right into the middle of a small town where the population is like 2 thousand and her car breaks down. so she goes into a diner that she sees is open and she asks about a mechanic so the lady in the diner calls up her friend who happens to be muse b, the local mechanic. so muse b comes over and tells her that he wont be able to check her car out until morning bc its like 10 pm now so muse a is going to check into a motel or smth but muse b offers to put her up for the night and bc shes broke she says yeah and basically they end up banging with the intention that after tomorrow they are never gonna see each other again - wrong. muse b goes down to his shop and looks at the engine and a really important parts gone in it and its going to take a couple weeks for it to come in and basically muse a has to stay in this shitty small town for the next couple of weeks AND THEY FALL FOR EACH OTHER AND WE CAN FIGURE THE REST OUT! (m/f, f/f)

I really want a one night stand where she snuck out before he woke up and he tried looking her up but he didn’t even know her full name, so he moved on. Move on years down the road and he’s just gotten engaged and at the engagement part he’s introduced to her sister that’s been living overseas for the past few days, but who is it, that girl from all those years ago. Better yet, meet her child, wait, why do they his eyes.

modern hades and persephone where persephone is a tired college student and when she finds out the god of the underworld wants to make her his bride she’s like “become queen of the dead AND never have to go to an 8 AM lecture again, not to mention watch with popcorn as my ex dies and finds out my new boyfriend is his new king? YES PLZ” and just fucking swandives down into the underworld and hades is like “…i had a carriage prepared but okay that works too”

plot three. six months ago he let the nanny give him head. he has been avoiding talking to her since, and is really flustered. she is a full time, live in nanny in their giant mansion. i’m getting a ‘living in england’ vibe, but i’m not sure. he has 3-4 kids running around with his wife of years. the nanny can’t stand the wife, but is obviously polite. his wife is bitchy, whiny, and all she cares is about appearances. who cares if you’re actually happy? just play happy. pretend to be happy. the nanny loves to fluster him when the wife isn’t home. she’ll wear short outfits, lean over, not wear underwear, forget to wear a bra. it was a holiday. so they invited the nanny to eat dinner with them. she starts rubbing him under the table. later on that day, he pulls the nanny to the side into the bathroom or something to tell her that she had to cut it out and that it was a one time thing. out of the blue  - he kisses her hard. just give me lots of behind the wives back, and maybe she gets pregnant down the line?

ok but i need a plot where there’s these two idiots who are roommates, and they bicker and act like a married couple constantly, and can hang out like bros but they’re completely platonic, no we’re not in love that’s preposterous!! and it’s so evident that they’re into each other like whenever one goes out on a date, the other is all bitter like ‘no i’m definitely not jealous’. and they like leave bars together at some stupidly early hour and their friends tease them and they just go home and get drunk together instead. and like domestic washing the dishes and fighting over who does what and flinging soap at each other. and then one day it kind of just clicks, you know, like wow you’re my best friend but i think i might love you as more this is so difficult and just, give this to me now.  (m/f, f/f)

not to be dramatic or anything but i really want a sugar daddy/sugar baby plot where the muse a is “ happily ” married ceo of a big company with shit tons of money and muse a goes out to a local bar just to chill when they meet muse b. ofc they hit it off and go in muse a’s car and fuck all night and in the morning muse a offers muse b a proposition, if muse b agrees to be muse a’s mistress then muse a will give muse b anything they want starting their sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship. it’s all good until muse a sees muse b all over another guy and looses it and gets into a huge fight with muse b that ends with muse a fucking muse b up against his car and yea gimmie this smut i need sneaky around and sexting while around his wife nd getting him riled up like yes pls thank  

bloody , murderous & psychotic couples who love killing people for the thrill and make out with bloody lips and high five each other by the mountains of dead bodies they made . fuckyeah ?  give me this crazy shit . serial killer couples . vampire couples . dark romeo & juliet couples . modern au persephone & hades couples . couples who compete to see who kills the most or the most gruesome . give me gore . give me bloodshed . GIVE IT TO ME !  (m/f, f/f) (focusing a lot on hades/persephone, vampires but willing to go the bonnie and clyde or serial killer route)

no offense but i need a messy exes plot where they can’t get over one another no matter what they do and they always tell themselves they’re not gonna go back to them yet every time they get done with a date they end up knocking on the other person’s door and just jealousy and angst and heartbreak and crying because they don’t know if this is ever going to work out but they can’t walk away because this person is still their whole fucking world and they don’t know how to move on  (m/f, f/f)

faceclaims I’d like to play and play against or both  but also literally come at me with your fcs!!!

Inbar Lavi

Tom Ellis

Lauren German

Sophia Bush

Trevante Rhodes

Zoe Saldana

Madelaine Petsch 

Camila Mendes

Lesley Ann Brandt

Manny Montana

Diane Guerrero 

Adria Arjona

Ana De Arms

Aisha Dee

Chris Evans

Ryan Gosling

John Krazinski

Matt Czuchry

Lana Condor 

Elizabeth Lail

Anya Charlotra

Victoria Pedretti

Zazie Beetz

Shay Mitchell

Candice Patton

Margot Robbie

Florence Pugh

Lucy Liu

Jodie Comer

Katie Mcgrath

Justin Baldoni

Indya Moore

Oscar Isaac

Matthew Daddario

Tessa Thompson

[serenagaywaterford]

@volatilelovers​ replied to your photoset “ok so like i had a totally other purpose cos it was about me walkin...”

Ok 1) bra deets 2) I want ur dog I'm sorry I just I want to steal him 3) is this like no make up challenge? Hashtag real lesbian bodies? The airbrushing drives me nuts and soooo much so called lesbian content on tumblr is not realistic and therefore kinda lame imo but it's better than nothing. An embodiment person I follow started a series where ppl send in photos of different parts of their own body and idk this remind me of that. That and thirst trap obviously lmao

1) Puma! from Winners lol. It is SO comfy, ngl. The cups are those annoying bikini type removable ones and they can shift a bit but it’s nice and tight, but not too tight. I mean, Puma don’t make the most long-lasting, durable undies but they’re nice while they last. 

https://www.amazon.com/PUMA-Womens-Seamless-Graphic-Crossback/dp/B07XYGGLWM

Puma fits small tho. Like this was a medium, and it’s a bit small. And I’m just a regular 34-B/C (depending on the damn company ofc). 

I actually bought it cos of what we were talking about the other day and I was like “i need more sportsbras. sore boobies need gentleness, no more underwires.” (and i gotta say it has helped a lot it seems.) i honestly haven’t really worn sportsbras regularly since...like high school...... so this is all new haha. altho i’m now in the state where if i don’t have to wear a bra at all i won’t. (very different to even 5 years ago when i’d never NOT wear one, even to bed.)

2) he is stupid you can have him lol he has bad breath and won’t stop snuggling and licking toes. he’s a toe licker. he won’t give kisses anywhere else but if you have bare feet watch out. it’s disgusting lol

3) honestly i think that should be a hashtag. i mean so much of the “lesbian content” i post photowise is these perfectly shaped, photoshopped, etc women. probably most of whom aren’t even gay half the time. (the older ones i believe, and they tend to show more real bodies in older women. cos older women aren’t meant to fit in the ~tumblr aesthetic~ anyway.) but with the exception of one or two selfies, i don’t often see actual lesbian bodies here. lots of heavily filtered, posed, aesthetic photos of 18 year olds with perfect bodies. which is like... not most of us?  and to be totally frank, it took me so fucking long to be ok with my body and it wasn’t until i really accepted who i was (AND be around other women consistently naked and had it not matter to them) that i even was comfortable with it. like i’ve always been so, not ashamed, but shy. (and i know if you saw photos from when i was 19 and walking around in like no clothes you’d be like “are you sure? cos you look pretty confident in that teeny bikini or dress.” but inside i was very much not confident. i did it to fit in and be popular lol. sweet sweet (fake) validation, babey!). the self love that comes with being with other women is incredible.  anyway yeah so like i know how my body DOESN’T fit into the ideal aesthetic (and i’ve had plenty of comments in the past irl about my lack of “womanly”/”child bearing” hips, skinny arms, etc etc. the hip thing always kind of made me laugh tho cos i am always like “well, nature knows! good thing i never want kids then if i don’t have the hips for it!!”) but i think it’s important for people to see regular bodies around. like yeah? a little tummy? i used to be devastated by that (and doctors thought i had an ED cos of it) but i’ve come to accept that it ain’t going anywhere cos i’m a female and that’s just how it’s meant to be. esp as we get older. (and my wife insists it’s cute. cos i was skinnier when i met her and she’s like “you look so much better now”, which is similar to the time i lost a lot of weight to get rid of that tummy specifically cos it’s used to be a Big Thing I Hated, and once i put back on some weight my granny was like “oh thank god. you looked really sick before”.) and esp when you come from a culture that doesn’t have more body acceptance. like the first time i went to iceland and to the pool and all the women were just wandering around naked, in all ages and forms, and with zero shame, i wa slike WHAT IS THIS WORLD??? it was baffling to me. cos even in change rooms here it’s quite i dunno hush hush (altho not men’s locker rooms cos i’ve spent a lot of time in those when i was the only girl on the hockey team and they’re just boldly naked and don’t give a single fuck. but women’s lockerrooms? always a bit more...i dunno.). except old ladies who don’t give any shits whatsoever. but all ages there, just going about their business--and i STILL felt insecure which is crazy. i was stared at more for NOT being buttnaked. even the kids were like “wtf”. i want that sort of casual, easy body acceptance and lack of fear of judgement. and i didn’t even shave my pits here (it’s been weeks)... and i forgot until i posted the photos... and then i realised, it seems really obvious to me irl but then i look at the photos, and i’m like “shit, it’s not really noticeable is it? i’ve been freaking out all this time over nothing???” that was pretty stunning tbh. i didn’t realise til i took the photo that it’s not this massive deal. anyway i’m just sort of sick of the “young, thin, hyper-feminine so-called lesbian with long straight hair and sexy undies” ideal (esp when softly touching other young, thin, feminine so-called lesbians). my god just searching “lesbian” on this hellsite is 95% that exact content (that isn’t a comic or illustration which is the only way to see real bodies lol how ironic). god forbid there’s a butch in sight, even a soft butch, or normal body, or natural bush/hair, or tomboy that isn’t super feminine. (the only tomboys allowed are the cute ones with the hipster shirts and backwards ballcap with long hair and perfect eyeliner). we get the occasional professional athlete but that’s it. (where are the regular athletic women, the sporty, muscular women, not hyper-feminine tomboys? where are the stone butches and big old ‘i don’t give a shit bout anything’ dykes? the women who exist outside the ideal BMI and age range? nowhere. cos it doesn’t fit the virgin tumblr aesthetic. it’s not “pleasing” to the majority of users here cos they’re so accustomed to only seeing one type of “lesbian”) but beggars can’t be choosers. and so i reblog the slight bit of shit we do get lol. i dunno, if i was an 18 yr old lesbian i’d be so worried cos i don’t look anything like these girls and no one else i know is either. so just a regular ole boring lesbian body here and it’s imperfect by social standards but it’s fine by my own. tbh i think it’s pretty cool that normal people send in photos of their bodies, just regular, imperfect, everyday people to counteract the mass of bullshit on social media where everyone is so fucking fake. (i assume that’s what you mean by the blogger you mention. i’m guessing it’s not photos of perfect, filter-heavy body parts etc.) and i think in a weird way, being seen --not necessarily validated for it tho-- helps your own ability to appreciate yourself. like not hiding it. just taking that step and posting “this is my leg” esp if you’ve been insecure about it. and you don’t even need the “omg what a beautiful leg! leg power!” sort of social media cheap validation stuff. just the act of posting it. (and i mean...i don’t mean porny, thirst photos to get likes. just... you know normal shit. although i would TOTALLY post my bush if it was allowed just to knock it home that it’s natural. and NICE. and we need to see it more. and i don’t mean in a porn way either. but in the way we see women in art or science books. nonsexual. like that goop episode LMAOOOOO) just as a “this is what it is”. and we all need a little more bodylove i think. and it’s hard to do that when all you see is the insta and tumblr ideal aesthetics absolutely constantly. but i mean i really did just want to show off the bra ...which then turned into showing off the dog lolololol cos he’s ridiculous.

[crapitskizaru]

Drunk!Shanky x Male!Reader

okay. lemme get this strait. you have given all these amazing, wonderful, beautiful nsfw headcannons about shanks, my personal favorite being from the face sitting, and yet we haven’t gotten a shanks x reader nsfw story?! may i please be the one to beg you for one, with any gender s/o! though im eyeing those face sitting headcannons, the ‘he’ll try anything to try it’, and calling his s/o his ruler/queen ~ 🍙 🐈 (ps, sorry if this seems a bit long, i just love shanks so much)

Warning: ofc filth af, drunk sex

Word Count: 1,271

You weren’t sure what to make of this. It was way past midnight, the ship long asleep, the stars already shining above the restless ocean. Storm was coming, a rather strong one, meaning the whole crew should be at least alarmed, if not awake and ready to take orders to save themselves and the ship from sinking into the bottom of the sea. 

Apparently, it wasn’t going to happen. Not with your dear captain sprawled across the bed, clinging into a bottle of rum as if it was a teddy bear and muttering sweet nothings towards the bottle itself. He would have been completely naked, if it wasn’t for his socks. Truly an improvement from the last time something like this happened, you had to admit that. 

“Shanky?” you whispered, checking whether your captain’s brain had already turned itself off or maybe he was still in condition to be reasoned with. Although your hopes died a heroic death when you heard Shanks mutter under his breath again. 

“You’re such a hot piece of-Hicc!-rum. Hot and cold. Perfect combination.” 

Apparently, reason was the only thing not present in this man’s mind at the time. You were about to leave your captain to his drunken rituals and start taking care of the ship. The rumbles of a thunderstorm were already within hearing, which suggested you didn’t have much time left. 

Then, a hoarse roar of a furious orangutan gave you a mini heart attack. 

Your captain jumped out of the bed, his posture as straight as if he hadn’t been drinking for at least a decade. The whole side of his face was stained with rum, making him flinch every time the cold liquid dripped down onto his bare chest and shoulders. 

“Darn~” he mumbled, staggering dangerously to his right. “That bottle ain’t beating around the bush, huh?” 

A wave of hysterical laughter followed the question. Meanwhile, you had to make sure both of you won’t fall to the ground. Especially now, when the ship started swaying from side to side, gaining speed from the high waves slamming against its side. 

Thankfully, you heard the yellings of your crewmates from somewhere on the deck, so you assumed you weren’t going to sink yet. 

The rum smeared across your palms when you tried to put your captain back to bed. 

“C’mon, darling, at least try to sit.” You managed to pull him on top of the mattress and suddenly found yourself leaned over his face. The alcoholic odour hit your nostrils, but you were already used to that. 

“Have I ever told you-” Shanks stopped to stifle a hiccup and looked up at you. “-how beautiful your eyes are?” 

“Yes, multiple times.” You couldn’t help but smile. “Now, would you be so kind and just lay down?” 

“Why are you talking like that? As if I was a queen or something,” the captain snorted and flinched when a drop of spilled rum ticked his thigh. Then, much to your content, Shanks made an attempt to graciously plop onto the bed - but changed his mind at the last second. 

“But you know that I’m not the queen here, right?” he furrowed his eyebrows, as if it was the most important matter right now. You just sighed and gave him a quick peck on the lips, still standing in front of him and trying not to fall down from the ship’s sudden sways. 

“You know you’re my ruler?” Shanks asked again, his tone much more quiet and soft this time. “My handsome king~” 

He didn’t seem as drunk as mere seconds before, his lips bending into a grin as he caught your lips hastily. His words ringed in your mind, his closeness stirring a wave of lust inside your gut as he pulled you down onto the mattress. 

“Seriously, how can you even think about sex right now? The ship’s about to-” 

Your train of thought got interrupted with another kiss, much stronger than the last one, but still not overwhelming in the slightest. Despite being the most feared and powerful man in the New World, Shanks was a considerate lover, always making sure he’s not crossing any lines and giving you as much pleasure as possible. 

“Well, excuse my manners,” Shanks pulled away, steading you on top of him. He didn’t look even a little bit concerned about his cabin almost turning upside down at this point, the storm furiously trying to knock the ship over the ocean’s surface, all while being accompanied by his own crew’s yells and struggles on the deck. “Do you want to have a drink and have sex with me?” 

“You just spilled the last bottle, so-”

“What about just sex then?” he grinned as if he’s just won a complicated argument. 

It took you by surprise, it really did. Suddenly you found yourself moaning out loud when his length rubbed against your groin. It wasn’t even direct contact yet, but it still left you lusting for more. 

A flash of lightning lit up the dimmed cabin, followed by a deep rumble of the thunderstorm. It was getting increasingly louder outside, which might have bothered you and your nerves before. Now, with the ripped body of your captain underneath you, his loving gaze and stroking fingers, you couldn’t possibly care less about the weather and some minor drizzle.

In one moment, lube was hastily poured along his cock, the bottle already forgotten, tossed somewhere onto the floor as you flipped yourself over, your back pressing to his warm chest. 

The smell of alcohol took over your senses as he lowered you, his cold lips grazing along your neck. 

“My king~” he whispered, relishing in the way you threw your head back and opened your mouth in a silent moan. “My dear~” 

He started moving, gently, slowly, his hands on your hips. Soon, the movements matched those of the swaying ship; you closed your eyes. The distant patting of the rain against the window, the humming waves, the sound your bodies made upon each one of Shanks’ thrusts, his strong smell and quiet huffs of pleasure - all that caused a wash of relief to take over your heart, an underlying sense of safety that only he could give you.

When he was there, close and caring, there was nothing that could scare you. 

“Shanks~” you mewled as his hand wandered from your hip to your abdomen. “O-oh, fuck!” 

His movements were as slow as in the beginning - only now, his palm wrapped around your length and started rubbing the tip. He was breathing heavily right into your ear, which seemed to build up the fiery knot at the base of your back to the point it almost burst. 

“M-mh~” His stubble tickled your cheek as he picked up his pace. “You’re my everything, you know that?” 

You smiled, arching your back and letting out a moan as he started thrusting his cock deeper inside. His lips roamed along your neck, giving out light bites and licks. 

“My sweet, little king~”

[midsvmmars]

hey yall last time i made a post like this i ghosted...whoops but i WONT this time so no fear!! anyway this is a big post of wanted 1x1 plots so like this if you want to do any of these!! you should know before liking i only rp on tumblr and tend to play females more!! like this and i’ll dm you!!

someone give me a plot based on the book rebecca by daphne du maurier like pls i want the secrets and mystery and intrigue!!

also a plot based on pride and prejudice cuz uh drama and messy and bickering and slow burn yeah!!

pls give me a plot based on roswell ( i’ve only seen the original and won’t watch the new one so idk how similar they are!!) it could be exactly like the show where its people living in roswell, regular local figures out someone they know their entire life is an alien or it could be like the character is a scientist and catches them ?? idk but alien shit = fun

in general give me plots with supernatural creatures and events!! whether its two supernatural creatures, one supernatural one human idc. also angels and demons and humans and all that drama!! hunters too maybe?? idk 

give me cupid and psyche and greek mythology in general!! i think that’s so fun!! pls!!

soulmate plots. just soulmate plots. there are very few soulmate plots i don’t like but pls just give me that i love it esp when there’s added drama like no i don’t want basic soulmate fluff i want soulmate DRAMA and TRAGEDY

okay i lowkey want like the stereotypical sugar daddy ceo plot but not where its like just smut filled and 50 shades of grey but where it starts the kinda stereotype then starts getting more real where like he has problems w emotions and intimacy and letting her close and shes trying but any step forward he takes 3 steps back and idk we can figure out more but i’d prolly wanna be the girl for this tbh

a plot where muse a is like totally in love with their roommates boyfriend and they always hang out while they are there visiting and its awkward and painful and ye drama

‘popular wealthy bitch who owns the school and intimidates everybody but is secretly crushing on the soft boy with the puppy dog eyes who’s totally so unaware of it’ plot pls. 

also yes ok i totally want a plot where for once it’s the female who’s really sexually experienced and popular, and this nerdy boy has a crush on one of her best friends, and she needs tutoring and he’s the only one who could do it- so she offers him tips and advice on how to get her friend to notice him and seem cool, in exchange he’ll tutor her.but as her best friend gains interest, he realises how inexperienced he is, so it becomes a trading of tutor- he teaches her maths equations, she teaches him how to kiss, and go down on a girl.and oh no- she’s starting to really like him???? she doesn’t want him to date her friend?? maybe he could date her instead????? I HAVE WANTED TO DO THIS FOR SO LONG I HAVE SO MUCH ANGST AND DRAMA PLANNED GIMME 

the lost boys plot!! not like peter pan but like that vampire movie 

horror plots in general

a plot kinda inspired by the ring but doesn’t have anything to do w it?? aka a horror plot of an investigative journalist hearing about this horror trend mystery thing and goes to this small town/island to research and figure it out and meets a local there and they try to solve it together

bedazzled plot (the crappy remake) where this total loser makes a deal w the devil to improve their life but ofc the devil is tricking them and messing shit up but oh?? i’m the devil but i kind of like hanging out w this loser?? and i’m kinda falling for them?? fuck…

i really, really want a plot where a son of a dangerous and feared mobster is put in charge of managing his father’s strip club and falls for one of the dancers. 

want to play my soft naive bb chara suzy in some angsty plot

i want to play some “older” fcs like keira knightley, troian bellisario, elodie yung, and sophia bush etc

a plot where a girls rich father goes missing and while she’s trying to find him she starts to discover some sus shit about him, his business, and his disappearance and teams up with a cop to solve the mystery 

ALSO I BARELY WATCH GOT BUT SOMEONE SHIP THEONSA W ME I WANNA PLAY SANSA

[satiah81]

The Thing That Should Not Be - Chapters 1-22

This is a reblog of my work originally posted on Archive of our own. Feel free to like, reblog and leave comments. Unfinished, work in progress with (bi-) weekly updates.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield X OFC

Warnings: NSFW, sexual content, adult themes, non-con

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982820?view_full_work=true

Summary: I`d never liked my life in the bustling city, superficial, gray and lonely, as it was. Yet what I found in the new world was far beyond words. Dark and passionate. Cruel and scary. What Thorin taught me about his reality I would remember forever.

WARNINGS! If you are not comfortable with rape/sexual slavery/angst topics, then this story is not for you. It is a dark and intense fantasy.

Chapter 1

The water was deep and cold, black as the darkest night. It froze my senses, intoxicating me with sharp pain, biting in my limbs. I tried to scream but was silenced by the pressure and ice-cold fear that crept in my heart. I was being dragged further down to the depths. I kicked and managed to get rid of the handbag on my shoulder and moved closer to the surface in desperate need of oxygen.

Then I sensed subtle change in the atmosphere as a ray of pale light emanatied from far below. It was there for a split second and all went back to normal. I finally emerged on the surface and took in my first breath, gasping.

The lake was large and its waters dark, on one edge covered with thick mist of early autumn. I swam to the nearest bank and totally exhausted spread on the grass. It was early morning and I could sense bright sun hidden behind the white wall of clouds.

Where was the yacht gone? I blinked in surprise and searched the water for any sign of movement, familiar object, or any sound. The silence was deafening.

When I came to my senses, I decided to search the bank systematically. If the yacht sank, there must be some wreckage left, broken pieces of wood or… bodies. The storm had come out of nowhere, I remembered blinding lightning and scared faces. Then all went wet and cold and I was fighting for breath suddenly.

Nothing. I inhaled deeply. Perhaps they have left without me.

I remembered there was a river flowing into the lake. I followed its stream in the direction from which I remembered our yacht had sailed. After half-an-hour walk I finally realized they could not have possibly sailed away so fast.

Something was very wrong here. The trees looked unfamiliar. The landscape felt different but I could not put my finger on why. Fear and distant, hazy thought that something strange and perhaps unnatural had happened crept at the back of my mind.

I sat down by a tree and thought for an hour, waiting. Then I returned to the lake and roamed its surroundings for the rest of the morning. I ate some berries and drank a few sips of water from the lake which I had already started to hate. I waited. They must come back for me with a rescue party and dogs, that's how it's normally done, right?

As the night drew near, hunger squeezed my stomach even more and I ate all the berries I could possibly find. That will have to do for tonight. Tomorrow I would eat properly.

With sunken heart I found a hidden place among bushes and trees, shielded but still with good view of the lake. The ground was covered with dry moss, its smell reassuring. I laid my head on it and started to cry.

Of course I could not sleep. My white party dress was still uncomfortably wet but I dared not take it off. What if they come for me? I can't afford to lose time dressing up. But the night was surprisingly warm and except for some night creatures` noises in the distance nothing stirred it. I slept for about three hours.

xxx

When I woke up in the morning, it was crystal-clear that no one would come to take me home.

I threw away my only high-heeled shoe and barefoot set off for a journey to nowhere.

I followed the river down its flow. There are always towns and villages nearby, that's how we were taught at school. Remember? No matter what, always follow the water. By the position of the sun I roughly estimated I was heading south. The country slightly changed, now I was walking in vast lowlands covered with dry grass and scattered rocks. Still no sign of civilization. I did not remember this land. I was getting terribly hungry and my bare feet hurt. I desperately yearned to return to the bustling city I had hated all my life, with all its concrete, steel and glass and crowds of nameless faces; the chaotic traffic and the ever-present smog and noise. Even the job in a telecommunications company. Fuck them and their forced team-buildings! Fuck their yacht!

But there was only the silence and forces of nature. I was alone, unarmed, with no supplies, tottering on by the sheer power of will. I was very tired. If I died here perhaps I would not lose that much. No one would miss me.

Chapter 2

 The next day started in the same way, with no changes in the landscape, no sign of a town whatsoever, not even a road! I slept very little last night and was even more hungry, my feet now bloodied with little wounds and scratches. Exhausted, I lay down in the shade of a large rock and drifted in a dreamless sleep. It was late morning.

 And then something stirred at the back of my mind. Wake up, something is wrong!

 I blinked and shielded my eyes, half-blinded by the sun. Sleepily I sat up to see something that made my eyes widen in shock.

 I saw a group of the strangest creatures, not more than five, foul and hideous, approaching me at great speed. Dressed in animal skins and coarse metal plates, armed with primitive - but still! - metal hooks and maces, their faces not at all human. I could smell their sharp odour even from where I was sitting.

 Am I dreaming?

 I stood up clumsily, prepared to run, but the fastest one was already there and grabbed me by my arm fiercely. I screamed and cried out: “Stop it! What do you want from me?!” But he did not seem to understand. I kicked him and fought desperately  but it only made them all laugh. He asked his fellows something in a sharp, coarse tongue and seemed to be satisfied with their answer. Suddenly he yanked me by my hair and made me fall on my knees. I cried out in pain. He unsheathed his primitive sword and pressed its tip to my throat. I felt it pierce my skin to drive a few drops of blood. Then the blade moved down to the neckline of my dress, agonizingly slowly. He held it with one hand and with the other one all of a sudden cut the thin cloth in one long, swift movement. I stared down at my nakedness in shock. A thin red scratch was crossing my stomach. I stood up and attacked him with all my remaining strength, kicking and biting where I managed to reach. They just laughed. Then I felt sharp pain on my left thigh and collapsed to the ground. This time he cut me very deep. I could not run away now.

 Then he removed my panties and sank down on me with his full weight. He stank of fish and his rotten teeth made my stomach rise in disgust. With one strong movement he entered me and I cried out in sharp pain, tears of desperation filling my eyes.

 Then something happened.

 Out of nowhere a man sprang out, armed with a large silvery sword, and with battlecry on his lips sank the sword into my enemy's throat. Its tip stopped a few centimetres above mine. His blood splashed on my face and started to pour down on my chest wildly. Wide-eyed, he struggled to get off me and in that attempt smashed me in the head. All went blank for a split second and then I saw the silver blade once again and the creature's head flew away. The body collapsed on me, its weight holding me down once again.

 The man shouted something towards me, something I could hardly understand, and turned to the others.

 What happened next came like a strange end to a nightmare. I saw him move around swiftly, cutting off arms and piercing bodies. He occasionally cried out in effort but seemed to be a skilled warrior. The creatures were a little match to him. His blue cloak lined with fur moved around swiftly along with his dark long hair.

 When the last enemy fell, he stood still and panting turned around to take in the situation - he searched the corpses around him and surroundings for any sign of movement.

 Finally his gaze stopped on me, lying helpless on the ground.

 He walked towards me, his right hand still holding the sword, prepared for anything, his face expressionless. He grabbed the corpse's arm and seemingly effortlessly rolled it over and away from me.

 I stared down at me in shock. The only piece of garment to cover my nakedness was my once-white luxury bra, now covered with crimson blood. My decollete and belly were all sticky with the red liquid, out of which a few streams found their way down to my bare thighs and womanhood.

 I made a frail attempt to cover myself and keep whatever dignity remained.

 His steady gaze moved slowly across my body, from the bruises on my face, down to my belly and lingered on my shaking hands which tried to cover my secret places.

 He opened his mouth as if to speak but instead turned his head away. From behind the rocks the wind brought in men`s shouts and sounds of hooves on the rocky ground.

 He shouted in that direction in strong, commanding voice: “Stay where you are, all of you! Don't come here until I summon you!” It sounded like a mixture of old Norse and English, difficult to comprehend, yet still I understood.

 And with that he kneeled beside me and asked matter-of-factly: “Are you hurt anywhere else?” and gestured towards the deep cut on my thigh.

 “I… don't know.” I whispered and looked around, disorientation and shock taking their grasp of me now that it was over.

 He took off his cloak and without a single word wrapped me in it, fastening it on my right shoulder with a buckle. My right hand was free but the left one stayed hidden under the cloth. He rolled the cloak up to reveal my thigh which was bleeding heavily. He examined the wound, his face that of perfect calmness, its expression impenetrable, his blue eyes ice-cold lakes. It felt very right though, under these circumstances.

 He reached for my party dress which lay cut in two beside me and before pressing it to my wound, studied it briefly. I hissed in pain.

 “Who are you?” he shot.

 “I got lost…” I whispered out of my breath.

 “Where is your village? Who do you travel with?”

 “My village?” I blinked. “There is no village, we came yachting on the lake but then the storm came and I'm alone here now… I don't know what happened… How I got here… Why do you all carry swords? Where am I now?” I asked puzzled.

 “Out of the lake…” he spoke for himself and then his face hardened.

 “Dwalin! All, you may come!” he shouted towards the rock that shielded us.

 There came hurried steps and surprised cries before I could actually see my saviour`s companions. What strange beings they were, short of stature, with ridiculous hair and beards and clad in the oddest garments which could only be seen in living history spectacles. They surrounded us and one of them, a grey-haired one, kneeled beside me in surprise while the others left to search the vicinity for any signs of other enemies. He raced off behind the rock only to reappear with a skin filled with transparent liquid that he poured on my wound. I hissed and a few tears escaped my eyes. I wiped them away with my one free hand. Then he forced a few tablespoons down my throat. He then bound my leg tightly with my dress to which appearance he paid no attention whatsoever.

 “I cannot do more here, the wound needs proper sewing. She is losing blood.” He turned towards my saviour as if to ask for his approval.

 The latter, while my wound was being tended to, wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. Now he was sitting a few metres away from us on a dead tree trunk, deep in thoughts, his eyes studying me. Now and then they turned towards the direction from which I had come.

 He nodded slowly. There was certain gracefulness to it.

 “Do not fear lass, you will be safe and sound with us,” smiled the grey-haired one to me as he tried to comfort me.

 Their leader, for he surely was one, stood up and asked simply:

 “Can you walk?”

 Frowning, I struggled to my feet and made one weak step. But my sore feet betrayed me, and I would have fallen to the ground, had the grey-haired one not caught me. I clenched my teeth.

 Their leader walked towards me and without a warning lifted me in the air.

 “Put your arm around my neck,” he commanded. I did so and he carried me quite some distance towards their horses hidden behind the rocks.

 As soon as we reached them, he put me down. I immediately grabbed the nearest saddle to steady myself. The animal, tall and graceful, glanced back at me in curiosity. How on earth am I supposed to ride a creature like that?

 My saviour reached for a bag hanging from the side of the horse and produced a skin bottle. He handed it over to me without a word. It was wine, strong and sweet. I drank a few sips and wanted to return it to him, but he shook his head in disapproval. I drank some more until he finally looked satisfied. God, I will get drunk within minutes if they continue forcing to me their mixed alcohol! Considering that I have eaten nearly nothing in the past three days. I passed the bottle to him and he tucked it back into the side bag. Then he placed his hands on my hips and lifted me up into the saddle, both of my legs to one side. Then he swiftly mounted the horse himself.

 I have never really ridden a horse and suddenly I found myself sitting on one. The height felt immense. I grabbed the horn with my right hand, the left one still covered by the cloak, and found it nearly impossible to hold stable in this position. The saddle was not a women`s one. As he positioned himself behind me, the horse moved slightly to the left and I gasped, trying desperately not to fall on my face. He placed both his hands in front and behind me and moved closer to reach for the reins. At that his long hair touched my face and I did my best not to look up at him and stay from his body as far as possible. We set off and my knuckles whitened with effort.

 “You will fall if you avoid me,” he said under his breath and pulled me to him so that I was leaning on his chest now. I stiffened for a while, but indeed it was much easier for me to maintain balance like this.

 We rode in silence for a good while, forming a fine line, the other three fellows before and after us. I could hear the horses` snorts and sound of hooves against the ground. The air was fresh and mild breeze started to blow. I risked a quick glance at him. He did not seem to notice.

 His ice-blue gaze remained fixed on the horizon, distant and impenetrable, his features regular, his bearded jaw determined. He wore leather armour, encrusted with delicate plates of metal where I could see and feel, and under it dark blue chemise. His long hair cascaded down from his shoulders in waves, as a dark mane shielding a lion. It occasionally touched me as he moved his head. I cautiously took in his scent; it reminded me of old leather and spices, deeply masculine.

 “Did he rape you?” he shot into the silence all of a sudden.

 “What?!” I froze, hoping I had overheard. My face blushed blood-red in a second.

 “Did the scum manage to rape you?” he whispered nearly inaudibly, just for my ears to hear. He looked down at me for a moment and continued to stare in front of him.

 “You can`t ask me such things... ” I breathed, my voice shaking. Tears filled my eyes and all of a sudden I started to tremble as flashbacks of that day reappeared in front of my eyes. I still felt the sharp pain between my legs, the one single goddamn thrust I would remember all my life. I felt filthy and deceived.

 He looked down at me again.

 “I have saved you, of course I have the right to know,” he informed me, pausing for a while. “Your secret is safe with me though. They do not know, and will not guess,” he gestured towards his fellow riders. “You have long enough to decide how much you tell the healer by the time we return to the camp.”

 He reached back for the side bag again and passed me the wine. I drank a few sips, unwillingly.

 “More!” he commanded and pressed it to my lips again.

 “Do you want me to get drunk?!” I protested weakly, pushing the bottle away.

 “Aye,” was his simple and honest answer.

 I drank some more and returned the bottle to him, nearly apologetically. “I don't like alcohol.”

 “Then you have not tasted any good vintage wine. We store some special sorts in our cellars. And mead and strong beer,” he changed the subject.

 But the damage was done, I already started to shake uncontrollably, shock of past events taking over what was left of my self-control. I cried bitterly, the wine surely helping my emotions to flow freely.

 He made no attempt to hush me. We rode in uttermost silence for an eternity, I lost in my grief and he in his thoughts… perhaps. But the horse strode at regular pace and I cried long enough to exhaust myself.

 “What is your name?” he interrogated finally.

 “Kate Evans.”

 “Kate Evans, where have you come from?”

 “Rather tell me where we are now.”

 “Certainly in eastern Rhovanion, by the Running River.”

 I shook my head in disbelief. None of this made sense.

 “This must be some nightmare.”

 “It is what you make of it.”

 And that was it. I was too tired to think any further, so I just asked:

 “What was your name again?”

 “Thorin.”

Chapter 3

I spent the rest of the journey half-awake, not really caring where they were taking me. But when I saw the red tents of a war camp in the distance, I was alert immediately. Right in front of us sprang out from the depths of the earth hundreds of tents, of natural and red colours, with banners and flags proudly erected, floating in the breeze. And war carriages, horses and rams, and soldiers, countless heads clad in heavy armour, very short, dwarf-like. They carried numerous kinds of weapons - mostly axes and spears - some practising their art of war, some sitting and eating, some resting on the grass doing nothing. But they all greeted us as our small company entered their lines, bowing their heads in salutation.

We stopped in front of the largest tent right in the centre of the camp. It was decorated with intricate patterns with symbolic meaning, as I guessed, and a pair of guards stood in front of its entrance. But what guards they were! Very tall, slender in their golden armour, with pointed ears and skin pale as if they had never seen the sun.

Thorin dismounted the horse, and to my astonishment, one of the guards reached out and carried me into the tent without being told to. His skin had a strange, opalesque tone to it, his features delicate as if carved from the rarest marble, adding to the unearthly ambiance around him. As he moved, he seemed to dance in the air with me in his arms.

The tent`s furnishing was very simple, with a few chairs, a large table with maps spread all over it, a massive wooden chest and a portable bed to the side of it. Effortlessly the guard carried me to the bed and laid me down on the furs. He bowed elegantly and returned to his post at the entrance. I heard Thorin order someone to bring in the healer and prepare some warm water and clean clothes. Then all went silent and I was left alone. I breathed out and sank into the furs. They felt unbelievably comfortable after the three days out in the wild!

Shortly thereafter I heard the guards salute to someone and a tall being of the same race was ushered. He wore beautiful silken robe, decorated with yellow and silvery ornaments, his long light hair secured in a simple yet utterly elegant hairstyle. He smiled at me and lowered his head in a warm greeting.

“My lady, I shall tend to your wounds now, if you allow me. My name is Amarth,” and with that he opened a wooden chest he had brought with him.

“I`m Kate. Thank you,” I replied and uncovered my bandaged thigh.

“The wound is deep and bleeds a lot. It will require immediate sewing. But you will walk after it is healed,” he encouraged me upon checking it. He then cleaned it and before the actual surgery reached out to touch my temples. He looked deeply in my eyes and my head started to swim. “You will feel no pain,” he said, and I did not, much to my surprise. But I did not have the guts to watch him work. I rather studied the room, concentrating on the sounds coming from the outside, until he was finished. He then tended to the cut on my stomach, little bruises and scratches on my feet and washed my face gently. Looking at the stained washing basin I realized how much blood I wore smeared all over my face! Then he washed my hands and arms and suggested that I clean the rest myself. He explained there were no other women in this camp to take care of me. He turned his back to me and sat at the end of the bed as I reached for the cloth.

“Are there any other wounds to be tended to?” he asked finally.

I hesitated for a moment. “No.”

“Are you sure, my lady? Deep in my heart I feel that you are hurting in other ways.”

“I am sure there are no other wounds,” I confirmed. What else could I say?

He replied nothing but I felt he did not quite believe me. I have just finished the hygiene and put on a clean men’s tunic that had been brought in for me, so he turned back to me, and to my great dismay, reached out to hold both his hands directly above my womb. I stiffened in a sudden strike of panic, but he did not touch me. I felt immense heat emanating from his palms and the pain between my legs started to ease until it finally disappeared. Then he placed his hands above my heart and made a small grimace of dissatisfaction.

“I have healed your body, my lady. The rest you will have to heal yourself.”

And with those words he left.

Chapter 4

I just realized that my dwarves as I describe them in this story are considerably tall, more or less of human height, just much more robust. I kind of can`t imagine looking down at Thorin or any other warrior! :) BUT you can imagine them as suits you.

Enjoy!

                     A few minutes after that they brought to me some soup to eat, with a few slices of bread. It tasted most delicious, especially in my state. And it was steaming hot, to finally warm me! Satisfied, I sank into the furs and let my eyes wander around the space. A dwarf-like, short man took the bowl away, only to return with a nice cup of strong herbal tea. I tasted some medicine in it, though.

”It will do you good,” he smiled, and backed away politely. The cloth in the entrance made a soft sound as he left.

I drifted in a shallow, disturbed sleep, though how long I slept, I did not know.

xxx

I opened my eyes to an early evening and stared in surprise at Thorin, seated on another bed on the opposite side of the tent. The table with the documents had been moved to make room for the new portable bed. Thorin had changed to a more comfortable, beige tunic, his dark hair sprinkled across his shoulders. An oil lamp to his side, the only source of light in the tent, cast dark shadows on his face. He looked dangerous.

“Amarth has done a good service to you. Your wounds will heal soon,” he spoke quietly, but sternly.

“Thank you… I want to thank you for all you…” I started slowly, my eyelids heavy from sleep and the calming medicine.

“Kate Evans, where have you come from?” he interrupted me all of a sudden, his gaze direct and penetrating.

I blinked. “I come from Norway, although my father is British. How I came here, I honestly don't know…” I paused, waiting for his reaction.

He raised his eyebrow. “That Norway. Where is that supposed to be?”

“It's a country in Europe, of course.”

“And that is?”

“A continent on Earth,” I replied in disbelief.

He stared at me, his fiery eyes growing even darker. “No more jests, Kate Evans! I want to hear the truth now!”

“But that is the truth!” I exclaimed, my voice rising shakily. “I honestly don't know! I don't know what happened to that wreck of a ship and where I am now! Where is this Rhovanion? I can't even check my GPS, I lost my cell in the damn water!” Now I was nearly yelling, tears in my eyes. “Who the hell were those creatures?” I collapsed onto the bed at the sudden pain which sprang from the cut on my belly.

Losing his temper, he grabbed a large parchment from the table and strode towards me. He tossed it on my bed and stood there towering, waiting for something. When I did not react, he pointed a finger to a lowland by a river, and I understood that was our location.

“Show me.”

I turned my eyes to the map once again. I realized I didn't recognize any of the rivers, towns or mountains. “I can't. This is not how Europe looks. Do you have a world map? A map depicting other continents?” I inquired, hoping I would finally persuade him that I was not a liar.

“Middle-Earth is the only continent on Arda as we know it now,” he replied gravely and took the parchment from my hands.

My heart sank. I did not try to wipe away the tears that quietly flew from my eyes now. I realized I could not tell him more about me and my… world. The thought struck me as a lightning. This must be some strange world, another world, another reality, perhaps even dimension! How else can you explain all that had happened?!

“This is a nightmare,” I sighed under my breath.

“Rest now,” he commanded and extinguished the oil lamp. Then he turned away and walked out of the tent. “Summon the generals!” I heard him growl to someone. As he rolled the cloth aside, the moonlight glistened on the golden helmet of one of the guards. It was the one who carried me in his arms earlier today.

I must have drifted in a heavy, dreamless sleep, for I did not wake up when Thorin returned. And I did not want to wake up at all, that was true.

  xxx

The early morning found me sound asleep. I awoke to the muffled voices in front of the tent and then Amarth walked in, gracious as always, wearing his splendid silken robes and on his lips the ever-present smile. The cloth shielding the entrance was pulled to one side and secured there to let in the pale sunlight. He lowered his head in a greeting and sat down by my side on the bed.

“My lady, will you allow me,” and he touched my forehead to check my temperature. “You look better today. How was your night?”

“I didn't sleep very well…”

“Certainly because of me. We had some heavy conversation last night,” came the deep grunting voice from the right. I turned my head to the direction from which I heard it coming. Thorin was lying on his bed, half sitting, half leaning on one arm, enjoying his breakfast. With his free hand he reached for some cheese from a plate laid in front of him.

“She was lucky enough to be able to speak, after all the spirits that had been forced unto her yesterday,” Amarth said very calmly, turning to Thorin, and I was not entirely sure if he meant it as a joke after all.

“It did its job,” Thorin nodded, satisfied.

“It surely did, your Majesty.”

What did he just say?! I inhaled sharply, my cheeks turning red in a second. Was I sharing a room with a king? And… did I shout at one just last night? I bit my lip and looked away, embarrassed. I could have guessed. By the way he spoke, moved and gave orders, and the air of authority which seemed to tame all defiance. But then again, I could have not. To introduce himself as king Thorin when we met each other would have sounded… out of place.

Amarth leaned in to examine the little scratches on my face and hands and then he showed to my leg. “Will you?”

I stared at him for a moment not understanding what he wanted me to do. “Oh.. yes,” He was either being so terribly polite or he did not want me to feel any kind of menace. Which I appreciated very much. I pulled away the fur to uncover my leg. He removed the bandage and started to cleanse the wound. The air filled with scent of herbs and fresh linen, mixing with dried blood. I watched him work. I felt grateful that someone cared for me in this horrid world, let it be a doctor caring for his patient.

“I will not have much time for this later,” he said while reaching for a clean bandage. “Not after the army returns.”

“Where are they going?”

“To war,” replied Thorin instead of him. He was towering in the entrance, already taking his leave, with his back to us. “We are at war.”

“When... are you leaving?” I breathed, unsure of my future once again.

“In one hour.”

“Then… good luck,” were the only words that came to my mind. What else could I say? Farewell and thank you if you don't return? I choked on the sentence but I think he kind of understood because he turned his head to me and nodded. Then he stepped out into the light.

 Chapter 5

We were left alone now. Amarth asked me to pull up my tunic so that he could examine the cut. I hesitated for a moment, remembering that I wore no panties now. So I pulled the furs up to my waist and did as he told me, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. I felt ashamed because all his care reminded me painfully of all that had been done to me. I pressed my lips to a thin line when he smeared an ointment over the already forming scar.

“Do not worry, the wound will leave no marks. It will turn invisible in a few months,” he smiled reassuringly.

“I doubt there will be anyone to check,” I said bitterly but regretted it immediately because I said more than I wanted. “I wish I could return home.”

He finished what he was doing and looked me in the eyes for a long moment, as if searching for an answer.

“You have come from very far, indeed. Yet your journey back is impossible, I fear.” I gulped, but he continued. “This is a good world, you might grow to like it in time. Once this war against evil is over.”

And he spoke to me of Thorin's kingdom and this world, vast and strange as it was. Of the dwarves and the elves and other races that inhabited it, and of the hideous orcs and goblins who grew so wild and dangerous in recent years that war seemed inevitable to tame them. He told me how Thorin became the king after a long and exhausting battle which came to be known as the Battle of Five Armies, where his two descendants died. Victory was his, but he grew bitter and untrustful, darkness and rage poisoning his heart for ten long years. But then the orcs arose once again and chose to ride the neighbourhood, occasionally crossing the borders of the dwarven kingdom, killing and ransacking all the good that had remained. The last drop was a village burnt to the ground two weeks ago, just one-day ride from Erebor. That was when the decision was made to march against the orcs with full force, deep into the fields of wilderness. Elven king Thranduil sent his elite five hundred  warriors for help, among them the personal guard that I had had the chance to meet already. And Amarth along with them. Then Amarth came to the point where our paths crossed. Thorin was leading a scouting expedition with his most faithful ones, that was when they found me. And today the future would be decided.

I came to understand that this was a world on the level of European Middle Ages, full of danger and grief. I was terrified by its sheer rawness and the possibility that I could be killed or hurt at any given time for literally no reason. It was so very far from my peaceful home in the overcrowded city, dull but safe! I thought I would never get used to it. And I didn't want to think of what I would do after my wounds are healed, where I would go. I was devastated.

Chapter 6

It was long past midnight when I heard the army return, the shouts and cries preceding it. Thousands of victorious voices rising in wild joy and laughter.

Then came Thorin's voice, summoning the keepers of the camp to care for the wounded. “Balin! Call for Amarth and Oin! Keep the wounded here in the centre so that the healers can access them at any time. Gloin, prepare the generals' tent for those who need surgery. Count the dead and wounded and report to me immediately!” Soon fire-flames sprang up all around the camp, I could see the night lighten and shine. After an hour came the smell of mutton being roasted and the voices started to slowly calm down.

The curtain at the entrance moved and Thorin walked in with his head proudly erect, his face smeared with blood and dirt, his hair hanging down his shoulders in thick messy ropes. He breathed out exhausted to death, his eyes closing for a brief moment, his shoulders finally relaxing. Then he looked at me and smiled.

“Congratulations,” I smiled back at him.

He nodded towards me in agreement, his eyes flickering with satisfaction. “I will have to keep you, Kate. Now that the future has been decided.”

I blushed deeply, not knowing what to reply. “I will not disturb you for too long, I will find my way out of this.”

“I strongly doubt that,” came the answer.

He collapsed to a chair and immediately after that Amarth sped in with his wooden chest and flowing hair.

“Where was the wound, your Majesty?” He helped Thorin get rid of his metal and leather armour that covered his upper body and arms. Thorin removed his tunic, growling at that movement in pain. Right under his arm, straight from the armpit down to the ribs came a nasty wound, where some blade found its way through the unshielded surface. Amarth ordered more light to be brought in and started to work on the wound immediately. Thorin rested his head on the back of the chair and in silence watched the healer do his job.

“Your Majesty should have summoned me earlier. You are risking your health for no reason,” uttered Amarth.

“Nonsense! Rather tell me how many of my warriors are wounded heavily. When is it appropriate to leave for Erebor?”

“I did not count those but we will need to perform several surgeries today the  whole night long... Maybe tomorrow until the afternoon, that is if all present healers help with no breaks to recover their strength. But we will manage to save many lives, if Iluvatar smiles at us. The losses suffered seem heavier than they are.”

“Good. Then we shall leave in two days. Let us recover from the worst and head home at the soonest. Will you accompany us to Erebor, Amarth? Your task is over now that we have won. But you can stay as my guest as long as you wish. As a thank you,” he eyed Amarth in calm anticipation.

“It is my pleasure, your Majesty,” Amarth bowed his head. “I got used to dwarvish ways. I can stay until my king summons me back to Mirkwood,” he replied as he reached for warm water and soap. He cleansed Thorin's chest and face from all the blood - I was not entirely sure if all of it was his - and to my surprise, when he reached for his hair, Thorin halted him with a simple gesture.

“Don't waste your time here. Go and tend to those who need it.”

Amarth left us in haste, his long dress flapping at the entrance cloth at that. Then Thorin turned his attention to me. “It is your turn now, Kate.”

His request startled me. I blinked in surprise and lingered for a few moments.

“I do not have to tell you the reasons, do I?” he mouthed slowly, his stern eyes locked with mine.

I shook my head. Of course I would help him. Did he not help me? I shook off the furs that covered me and got to my feet hesitantly. I was quite weak still but fought the dizziness with all my remaining strength. I walked slowly towards him and collapsed to another chair behind him. I cautiously brushed his hair away from his face and poured some warm water over it. I looked around for some shampoo but all I could find was some basic soap. I doubted the dwarves would carry such useless things with them to war, so soap would have to do for now. I washed his hair as diligently as I could. He did not seem to enjoy it, nor did he seem dissatisfied. Then I wiped it dry and looked around for a comb. Of course there was none. So I used my fingers to at least untangle his hair, the thick wavy mane that it was.

“Your husband will miss this,” he turned to me to watch me closely.

“My husband? I'm not married.” I admitted. “Nor engaged. Nobody will miss me, if this is what you want to hear,” I whispered.

“How come? Are you not of the age?”

“Of course I am… but I don't want to talk about this.”

“You will not talk to me?” he asked menacingly, his eyes flashing with nearing rage.

“I will… but not about this. Please.”

“Is that a custom in Norway?”

“It's personal, Thor… Your Majesty.”

“You have lost all your secrets the very moment I found you. You must get accustomed to it. I will ask questions and you will answer them. I require that. No exceptions, Kate.”

I inhaled sharply. “It's not as you think. The age is not important in my country. We marry when we find the right spouse.”

“Did your father fail to find a proper man for you?”

“It's my decision and my choice, the family have nothing to do with it, of course.”

“So how does an unmarried woman make her living?” Thorin leaned in, frowning. “Does she walk the streets?” He growled under his breath.

“Of course not! Our women study and work! We are independent of the men! We live on our own, decide on our own and love on our own!” I was starting to get pretty irritated. “Even without marriage!”

That set him ablaze. He stood up, eyeing me angrily, his naked chest moving heavily under the bandage. “Where do you belong then?! Who keeps you safe at times of war, when you walk alone in the open land, when you are sick? When you have no kin of yours? What is it that you do for living, Kate?”

“Do you think me a whore?!” I shouted at him, mad to the point that my hands started to shake.

He shook his head. “Answer me.”

I inhaled three times, ever so slowly, to calm down. “You don't understand. We are safe in the public... Well, mostly. And the society, the government takes care of us if we need…” at those words he gave me the “do-you-really-mean-that” look. I felt I was slowly losing my ground. “I work in a telecommunications company, it's hard to explain.”

“Is it now?”

“Yes… I work with computers and.... Basically help my customers interact, communicate, exchange and store information.” Well, could I explain what a high-end server and storage was?

“Do you carry a weapon?”

“No.”

“Can you use any?”

“No!” I saw where he was heading. “I don't need it!”

He raised his eyebrow. “I see. Can you work in the field, Kate?”

I blushed the brightest red. “No.”

“Can you bake bread?”

“Stop this, Thorin!”

“I will not repeat myself!”

I shook my head, starting to feel desperate. This conversation was taking a turn I didn't like. And worst of all, he addressed the weak points in my past urban life, which I didn't have the courage to name myself. The dull everyday work, which made no sense, with no physical results. Just the eight-hour work at my desk, my eyes tired of the screens, day by day, year after year, in the bustling city that never slept, with all the nameless faces which didn't care. They just didn't. I had a few friends and acquaintances, that was all. He'd made his point. Tears of desperation filled my eyes.

“That is not a good place to stay,” he whispered, and it almost felt soothing.

“Is this one better?!” my voice shook.

“No, it is not. But there are people one can depend on.” He said surprisingly calmly. “Go to rest now. You have served me well today.”

“I`m not serving anyone!” I exclaimed.

“Are you not?” his eyes turned the darkest shade of blue. “I am running out of patience, Kate. Beware of what you say or you will face the consequences.”

I stood up abruptly, taking my leave angrily, but my sore body and stirred mind betrayed me. I would have fallen to the ground had Thorin not caught me. Without a single word, he lifted me in the air, grinning at the pain he obviously felt spreading from his new wound, and carried me towards my bed. He laid me in the furs and said in a very quiet but ever so menacing voice: “This is the second time I had to carry you. You had better think of a good way to return these favours to me.”

Chapter 7

I awoke at the feeling of draught penetrating the tent. Shivering into the brisk morning air, I pulled the furs up to my chin. The sound of light rain against the tent cloth made me sink back with a slight sigh. I was alone here and with nobody else to upset me. I had some serious thinking to be done. Where would I go after I was healed? Could I try to search the lake one more time and possibly return home? I clung to the thought that I had missed something there and then, when all this happened. Some important clue. I needed to find out more, to have at least some plan, otherwise I'd go mad.

Later that day, I was visited by Amarth, and the grey-haired dwarf whom I had met on the first day, Oin. They did not talk much though. They inquired briefly how I felt and left to tend to the soldiers. I was brought a bowl of warm stew which tasted deliciously. Thorin returned in the afternoon, and along with him four dwarves whom I had never seen. By their expensive looking garments and armour I guessed they could be soldiers of a higher rank, or generals. They discussed their matters in a harsh, throaty tongue which I did not understand but occasionally heard from the outside camp. Finally, Thorin tapped one of them on the shoulder and they all left, smiling. I appreciated that so much.

Early next morning, just at daybreak, I was brought clean men's pants and a pair of leather boots. They did not fit my feet entirely but they had to do for the journey. It took several hours to pack the entire war camp, but we managed to set off still in the morning. I was helped into a covered carriage driven by a pair of heavy horses. I sat on a chest full of some beans, around me large sacks of flour, loaves of bread and smoked meat. I could even smell some coffee. A half-conscious elven soldier was lain beside me on the floor, on several layers of cloth. I was told he was being taken home to Mirkwood to be treated properly. I wanted to ask where that was, but we had to make haste. From time to time a soft cry escaped his lips, but we did not talk at all, he was too weak to even try. As we moved, I could hear steady raindrops bump against the canvas, and the sound soothed me to a sweet half-dream.

We travelled like this for three days, stopping regularly for food and relief of the stretched legs. At night the soldiers slept in the open, with the saddles under their heads. I stayed in the carriage though. It was very uncomfortable but still better than for most of us, so I did not object. I did not notice it at first, but the longer I travelled with no companion to talk to, I started to realize that the dwarves marching just behind my carriage avoided direct eye contact with me. This was becoming very strange. Thorin passed by us once a day while inspecting his army, giving me an unconcerned look from the back of his black stallion. He spoke a few words to the two elvish guards who rode by both sides of my carriage and left. I was starting to feel like a prisoner. What was wrong?

On the third evening I heard someone shout “Halt!” and our snake-like line stopped winding by a large forest, its trees tall and ancient beyond words. I heard some of the dwarves whisper "Mirkwood!", their eyes turning to the branches in a superstitious awe. I felt their sudden restlessness. That was when the elvish forces regrouped to a long narrow line and disappeared in the forest, taking my sick companion and other disabled kin with them. Their golden helmets glistened in the fading light and as they entered the dark depths, I could swear I heard the forest sigh with relief that its children had returned.

Amarth and a few personal guards stayed with us. Our carriages formed a large semi-circle as if for protection from an unknown enemy. This was very unusual. But the dusk was nearing and Thorin did not want to travel by night.

As I lay down to rest in the silence, I saw Thorin's silhouette passing by all alone in the dark blue light. He lingered at the border of the forest for a while, listening, waiting for something, his right hand resting on his sword's hilt. Then he turned around and strode towards my carriage. He spotted me fully awake and facing him, and stopped at the entrance. The darkness prevented me from seeing his expression.

“What is out there that you were watching?” I whispered with my heart in my throat.

“Nothing to be afraid of now,” he murmured and stepped into the carriage. He laid down on the floor beside me, spread flat on his back with all his garments and sword by his side.

I laid back as well, but his presence at this distance was quite unnerving. I decided to break the odd silence.

“What is hiding in the forest? Tell me, please.”

“Mirkwood is an ancient and powerful place, full of hate and evil. There are beasts and spirits hungering for flesh. Sometimes they come out at night, but it is very improbable that we see them tonight. We are keeping our distance.” He explained matter-of-factly.

“Oh.” I shrugged at the thought. My pulse quickened. I stared at the opening in the canvas. There was no moon tonight and the night grew dark and weary.

“You asked.”

“Yes.”

“Try to sleep now.”

I turned my back to him and closed my eyes. I couldn't fall asleep for a long time though, and when I did, I dreamt of wolves and dragons in flight. They were nearing and I screamed but no voice came out of my lungs.

I awoke into the dead of the night all drenched in sweat. I sat up with a feeling of danger at hand but could not put my finger on why. Thorin's silhouette by my side moved to touch his sword. I knew he was listening as well.

Then came the cry of a guard, tearing the silence with its sharp intensity. It seemed to be quite near. And then the strange shrieking and hissing sounds of an animal which I did not know. Thorin was on his feet in a second. He jumped down from the carriage and spat his “Stay here!” at me. And he was away, running to the right and behind the carriage towards where Mirkwood spread. Then came other voices of soldiers shaken from their sleep, neighing of horses and sounds of fighting.

I froze and dared not move, my head blank with fear, my heart racing. After a few breaths I moved cautiously towards the entrance and risked a quick glance out into the night but saw nothing. I desperately needed to know what was going on, so I stepped out of the carriage and slowly moved in the direction where Thorin had run. What revealed in front of my eyes was like risen from a nightmare. About fifty metres away from me, a large spider-like creature rose in attack. Around it about ten dwarves, shouting and stabbing the beast with swords and axes. From the direction of the forest other three spiders ran, I could hear their hissing even here. I saw a silvery blade rise and just then a voice of horn sounded in alarm. I heard the sound of hooves behind me and then all went still.

xxx

I could feel the fire before I actually opened my eyes. Above me the worried face of Amarth and the touch of his healing hands. He spoke to me but I could not make out his words at first. To my left Oin aiding him.

“...my lady! Can you hear me?”

I nodded but a million sparks of pain exploded in front of my eyes. My leg hurt as well.

“Do not move, everything will be alright,” advised Oin.

“What happened?” I breathed out.

“You are lucky the horse didn't kill you, lass. It rolled over you but we managed to get you from under it before it did you more damage,” he explained, adding some extra drama. “You have a couple more bruises but the worst is that your largest wound has reopened, judging by the blood. All the work from the last days is ruined. We have to start all over again.”

“Oh… but the spiders...?”

“Nobody was killed,” he smiled reassuringly. “Just a few wounded soldiers to be tended to, and you, of course.” He blinked at me. “But do not worry, we will fix you.”

“Thank you, Oin.” I managed a weak smile.

Then my eyes met Thorin's gaze. He was standing above us with his hands crossed across his chest in a menacing gesture. By his looks I could tell he was in terrible rage, his once ice-cold eyes gleaming and he would breathe fire as a dragon if he just could.

“Did I not tell you to stay in the carriage?!” he shot.

“Well… yes. But as you can see, I paid my price already,” I showed at my leg bitterly.

“You must learn to obey my orders!”

“Obey your orders?” I could not believe what he was saying. “I`m not your subject! Look, I owe you a lot, you helped me, without any doubt. But I will leave as soon as I can and we'll just wrap this all up.”

“You are not going anywhere.”

It took a few seconds until his words sank in. “What?! What did you just say?!” That bastard! I wanted to tell him more but my head started spinning from the loss of blood and all the excitement. At the edge of my sight I saw Oin and Amarth exchange worried looks.

“Do not speak, my lady. Try to relax. You have lost a lot of blood,” spoke Amarth, eyeing Thorin directly. Thorin took a deep shaky breath. I could see he was fighting his emotions with all the strength of his reason, and it was a difficult fight. After a few more breaths he seemed to tame the anger. He spoke very slowly now, carefully choosing his words.

“Tend to her wounds. Make sure she recovers her strength before we return. And explain to her how things are in Erebor.” Then he turned his back to us and left.

I could tell Oin was quite beside himself from our conversation. The dwarves definitely did not speak to Thorin in the way that I did. He was their king, of course, but I just could not help myself. I was not used to their ancient ways. Their admiration and obedience to their superiors. All the loyalty I could not understand. I was brought up as an independent woman, how could I bear such behaviour?

Amarth turned to me with a slight smile. “There we are. Shall we begin now?”

Then they cut my pants on one side to gain access to the wound and started to work. After all was finished, they covered me with an extra blanket and stayed with me watching the fire, occasionally checking if I was alright. They spoke of the attack, and that all were surprised that the spiders dared to come out of the forest. Amarth explained that it was indeed very unusual, but not entirely impossible. This night was moonless and the creatures felt safe under the cover of darkness. And hunger does its magic, he emphasized. They did not mention Thorin nor dwarvish ways though. Oin wanted to give me some time to recover and choose a proper occasion to talk, as I later discovered.

When my eyes grew hazy, they helped me back into my carriage. I slept all alone that night, my dreams heavy with tiredness of that day.

Chapter 8

It took another long and weary day until we finally reached Erebor. I did not see the mountain from my carriage but could sense we were nearing by the cheerful mood of the dwarves and the change of the terrain which grew mountainous and the climate a little colder. The mists were rolling in front of my eyes thick and heavy. I was left waiting in front of the gate, watching the whole army march away towards my back. After them the sick and the wounded, various helpers in charge of the supplies, tents and gear, and then the horses and war chariots. At last, a wide-armed dwarf called Dwalin showed up and helped me out of the carriage. He lifted me in the air effortlessly and strode into the gigantic gate.

I was ushered into a small dark chamber at the beginning of a long and narrow corridor with numerous doors. Dwalin mounted several staircases with me, but then I lost count. It could have been ten floors or more. As I learnt later, the king's private chambers were located on the very top, just one floor above mine. There I dwelled for full three weeks, resting on a bed made of massive dark wood, its linen white as snow, its velvet covers the colour of the reddest wine. The room was furnished with basic and simple accessories - a large chest of drawers, a padded armchair and opposite the bed, a cosy fireplace. It did not give away much heat though, and at nights I often felt cold. I guessed the dwarves were much more warm-blooded than me. The walls of grey solid rock bore no coating, save for a single tapestry. To my right was a high narrow window overlooking vast plains covered with rocks and dried grass, on the left partly shielded by the solid rock of which the Lonely Mountain was made. The sharp winds which were blowing in these heights broke on its edge, their currents flowing past my window without ever touching it. Occasionally, I could hear them sighing in the fissures of the stone.

My only companions in those days were Oin and Amarth. There came a dwarvish maiden three times a day to serve to me meals, but she did not speak to me at all. My attempts to speak to her came along unnoticed. She smiled at me briefly and turned away. After a few days I tired of trying to befriend her. I remained silent throughout the day, lost in dark thoughts in this dark room and cold kingdom. Only Amarth seemed to enjoy my company and spoke to me long every other day when he came to tend to my wounds and check my condition.

“They accommodated you in the lightest chamber in Erebor,” he spoke to me once when I complained about the ever-present darkness. “Which you can consider an act of favour. The dwarves are used to much harsher conditions.” He smiled. I felt he enjoyed my company being an outsider in this realm as well. He seemed to be able to translate the dwarvish behaviour to me so that I understood… or was starting to understand… until one day.

That was when early in the rainy morning, I suppose it was on Tuesday, Oin came in and sat on a stool by my bed. “Does the thigh hurt still?” he inquired with an undertone in his voice which sounded strange.

“It does… but it's getting better every day… unless I move.” I looked at him in anticipation.

He nodded. I sensed he was trying to think of a gentle way to tell me something which I might not quite like.

“What will become of me? I was not sentenced to death, right?” I interrupted the awkward silence to ask him directly.

“Ugh, no, lass,” he smiled unwillingly.

“When do you think I can leave? I need to… return home.”

“Given your condition and circumstances, I do not think you will leave… unless Thorin decides otherwise.”

“What do you mean by that? I'm not a prisoner, right?”

“Well,” I felt a sudden strike of panic at this word. “In our lands, if someone saves your life, you owe him. You are in debt for the rest of your life, and it is anticipated that you pay your debts to the last coin, so to say. It is up to your saviour to decide the proper way that you do so. In most cases, you stay in the household or vicinity to help your saviour with everyday life. You can call that a life-long companion or a servant, if your master is fair enough. Sometimes it's a slave. Sometimes even worse. And sometimes you are fred, if Mahal allows and you deserve it.”

Thorin's ‘I will have to keep you, Kate. Now that the future has been decided’ flashed in front of my eyes. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“Deserve?! I didn't ask him to fucking save me! The orcs could have let me go in the end.”

“I am not in position to judge His Majesty`s decisions, lass. But if it helps you understand - the orcs never free their captives.”

“But that's not fair! He can't hold me here against my will!” I exclaimed, feeling the blood rush into my face in anger.

“Of course he can. He has every right to do as he wishes, by our law and tradition. You will remain in this chamber until his Majesty decides your fate. Until then, you have no name and no position in this kingdom.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nobody calls you by your name until your master decides your duties and you are given a new name. Understand this - you practically died and are reborn to a new life, bound to your saviour, with a new name. You lost all and gained all. The responsibility of how your life goes is now on Thorin's shoulders. Even more that you are unmarried.”

“You can't be fucking serious! This all is so sick!” I yelled at him. “What does my love life have to do with it?!”

“He can't let you go because you have no father or husband to tend to you, of course.”

“Yeah, I noticed that`s a great deal for you. If you just let me go you'd get rid of this burden that I am to all of you.”

“Don't waste too much of your strength on your anger.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Try to rest, you will get used to it in time. All is good, believe me.”

I collapsed on the pillows, tears of anger and humiliation stinging in my eyes.

I hated Erebor. I hated all the dwarves. And above all, I hated Thorin Oakenshield.

XXX

Nightmares disturbed my sleep since that day. I saw myself being dragged into a deep pit full of fire, and on its bottom, a devil-like creature calling me by my name, in Thorin's deep voice. And a pair of chalices, we poured to them water from the lake I drowned in, and exchanged them. It took me a few days until Oin`s words sank in and I moved a little closer to accepting my situation. All things pass in time, I once heard, but I doubted the person who said this had ever experienced any wrongdoing in their life.

Then one day, the massive wooden door opened and Thorin walked in. He wore a dark tunic secured with a large ornamented belt and black leather pants. There was no sight of adornments or any jewels pointing to his royal status. He stood by my bed with an air of authority, yet still with certain casual grace.

“How are we doing today?”

“Much better, thank you.”

He nodded. “It has been a long time.” He leaned in slowly and touched my chin with his index finger and thumb, lifting my face gently so that he could better inspect my skin. The scratches were almost gone, and he seemed satisfied. It was just me that felt awkward at the sudden intimacy. I avoided his gaze on purpose. He noticed that and smirked. Then without a warning, he pulled my blanket away and uncovered my wounded leg before I could protest. I felt sudden strike of panic as unwelcome memories flashed in front of my eyes. I screamed and reached for the blanket to pull it back, but he grabbed my hand and pinned it down. He sat down on the bed, shortening the distance between us, and murmured under his breath: “Don`t you dare to defy me!”, clearly enjoying this moment. He waited for a few more breaths and when I did not move, with one hand he slowly pulled my sleeping tunic away to uncover my thigh. The nasty wound was still there, although I did not need to wear a bandage anymore. An ugly thick scar was forming on the white skin, but luckily enough, the flesh was not inflamed.

He breathed out and slided his gaze across my body, the whole length from my leg, across my stomach and chest, and stopped to lock with my eyes. “The rest I will inspect later.” I gulped and he smirked at that. I looked away and desperately hoped that he just leaves.

“Look at me.” came the command.

I reluctantly looked him in the eyes, the deep blue lakes that they were. He reached out to touch my cheek, and traced the line of my lips with his thumb, ever so slowly. My breathing came in shallow gasps, as I fought my once again rising panic. “You do not need to be afraid.” He voiced nearly inaudibly, and I sensed in him understanding of what was going on in me... and fight to suppress his own nature. His hand was warm and his steady touch surprisingly comforting. He entangled his fingers with the back of my head and stroked the back of my neck. My muscles relaxed a little.

“Good girl. We will continue later.” At that he rose and gracefully left the chamber. The door closed and I was left all alone but with my confusion.

Chapter 9

A few hours after that a tall female dwarf entered my chamber, her decent perfume filling the air as she moved gracefully, her long dress sweeping the floor. She was beautiful, with fair skin and black hair cascading down her shoulders, with a few streams braided at the back of her head. She wore simple but expensive dark blue dress and silver earrings which matched her pale blue eyes, embodiment of utter elegance. She stood in front of me with her arms folded across her chest as she studied me openly.

“So you are the little slave girl,” she said, her voice a melodic one, more to herself than to me.

“Obviously. Don't bother asking about my name. It doesn't matter anyway.” I was already pretty irritated.

She burst out in laughter, ringing sincere laughter which caught me by surprise. She was even more beautiful like that. “Thorin said you were a strange creature but I did not expect this! And in much better condition than I had thought! You are practically healed,” she smiled.

“And you are?”

“I  am the one asking questions.” She made a small pause. “I will assign duties you are able to perform. Now, can you cook, iron, sew, knit, do any kind of needlework?”

I answered honestly I could do some ironing and simple needlework and was an average cook, at which she raised her eyebrow but did not comment. She thought for a brief moment and then nodded. “I will send in some clothes that need simple repairs and ironing. It is a temporary solution until you feel good enough to climb the staircases and join other staff.”

I did not reply. Instead of threatening me, she sat down at the edge of my bed and studied me for a long moment. “His Majesty requires that. I am in charge of his household and will see to you performing your tasks properly.” Her voice softened now. “You seem to be an intelligent woman, Katherine of Norway. Do not mess this up at the very beginning.” Touching my hand gently, she whispered. “He does not deserve it after all.”

I blinked. Did he speak to her about our conversation in the war tent? “You seem to know a lot. I don't think I understand your position here.”

“Of course I do know, being His Majesty's dear sister.” At this she straightened her shoulders. “My name is Dis, you are Kate. All is clear now, formalities aside. I know your name but cannot use it in public. That is how things are in Erebor. But sooner or later you will have to make up your mind. Live here as a complete stranger and suffer or accept our ways and what our family has to offer you. Think about it very carefully.” Then she smiled and changed the subject. “Now, I will have your supper sent in. Your door will have to remain unlocked as you are everyone`s property now. Good night my dear.”

“When will I be given the keys?”

“When you are given your new name.”

She left me silent and grim. The wild autumn wind howled in the chimney and I shuddered at the sound.

XXX

The next day a large pile of freshly washed and dried clothes and linen was brought in and the servant girl pushed a low working table next to my bed. I could stand next to it until my leg tired and then have a rest as long as I needed. She showed me how to use their iron, as strange as it was. She took a few steaming wood pieces from the fireplace and shoved them in the iron`s opening, then waited for the tool to heat. Then I could do the ironing as usual, with a few sprinkles of water on the linen, although it needed a little more strength compared to modern electric irons. I did not complain though. At least I had something to spend my lonely hours with, and in fact I was not overloaded at all, Dis made sure of that. The ironing took about one or two hours a day. I was also given a new dress to wear during the day, very simple with no ornaments but comfortable. It was of the deepest forest green colour, the fabric rather thick but soft against my skin, its ankle length helping me retain as much warmth as possible in the cold days. Under it I wore a very light cream tunic with no sleeves as a kind of underwear and light leather shoes with thin sole.

Soon I was ordered to make small garment repairs, mostly stitching of tiny holes. I must have done quite well, because one day I discovered a familiar fur-lined cloak on top of the pile. I recognized a tiny blood stain on its edge where the meticulous washing had failed, and I shuddered.

I was slowly getting used to this life. The monotonous work with needle and iron, regular food and silence, except for the howling wind, was a soothing balm for my shaken nerves. Once in a while, in my stronger moments, I dared to open the door and peek out through the corridor. It was long and dark, with a few oil lamps secured on the walls, and an unrecognizable source of natural light - there must have been some hidden window or an opening in the heights. The corridor was lined with a series of other doors on both its sides, stretching as far as I could see to the left. As I learned later, it was inhabited by lower ranking officials and guests. To the right opened a staircase overlooking a huge, vast hall, resembling an abyss. I could see three floors on the opposite side from where I was standing, and was sure there were much more of them leading up and down which I could not see. The space between the mountain sides was enormous, echoing in its void, making the inhabitants look as unimportant and tiny as ants.

I was soon assigned the task to sweep the floor in this corridor. I did so daily, the servant girl reminding me of it by bringing a bucket of water in front of my door and knocking loudly. I was allowed to take my time so that I don't get exhausted.

Weeks passed and early winter crept in. I watched the first snowflakes dance in the wind, swirling in wild abandon, out of my shielded window. The days grew gray and even more silent, and I remembered bitterly I had not been out of the mountain for one single minute since I had arrived. Dis gave me a walking stick for support on walks longer than my corridor. I used it frequently to roam about and discover my strange surroundings, but preferred to choose the lonely hours of the night when I could not sleep. And there were fewer eyes to watch me. I did not make it to the main gate though, the ten floors were simply too much for my unused muscles.

That was when Dis entered my room to inform me about my new assignment. “You have done very well,” she smiled. “You can leave what you have been doing. Starting tomorrow, you will assist His Majesty with his morning routine.”

I nervously swallowed, and she giggled. “Now do you know how to behave in His Majesty's presence?”

I wanted to tell her that I should not call him a bastard in the first place, but then just shook my head.

“Never mind. First of all, never address him by his name. Never speak to him first, wait for him to start the conversation. If he asks you a question, address him as Your Majesty in your first sentence. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. One more thing, when you enter and leave his chambers, give a small curtsy. Just like this.” And she put her right foot behind her left and briefly bent at the knees. “It is easy.” And she patted me on the shoulder reassuringly.

Her silver-like ringing laughter echoed in my ears long after she had left.

Chapter 10

Next morning, a male servant opened my door to shake me from my deep sleep. It was very early, just before the dawn, and the skies were still dark. I quickly washed and dressed, and half asleep, with my hair all tangled, hurried after him to the upper floor. This was the highest floor, as I learnt, and I could tell that it looked different, lush and richly decorated at first sight. All from the dark red carpet to the dozens of oil lamps told the story of the highest status of its inhabitants. A pair of silent guards stood at the beginning by the steps. Hidden by the corner before the corridor actually started, was placed an intricate tool used for bringing the buckets of fresh water all the way up here, resembling a very deep well. We just had to pull an iron rope for a while. We poured the cold water into a large jar which my companion took along with an empty bucket, and I was given a fresh towel to carry.

Like this, we strode to the very end of the corridor, to the single door in the centre which overlooked its whole length. The servant knocked on the door gently and waited. There was no response for a good while and then there came the sound of a key in the keyhole, the door opened and bright morning sun blinded me. Thorin's silhouette moved in the opening and disappeared before we could finish our morning greetings.

His private chambers consisted of two adjoined rooms, a bedchamber connected to a library and study, and a closet. The carpet was the same dark red colour, matching an ancestral tapestry hanging on the grey stone wall. To the right a large solid four-poster bed, opposite a fireplace and a coffee table with two padded armchairs. In front of me a high window with a bench in the wall, and an old harp which looked abandoned. Thorin was standing by it, peeking out at the early winter landscape, shirtless in the morning cold. The servant hurried to a toilette table in the corner, where a washing basin stood, poured yesterday`s water into the bucket and told me to fill it with the fresh water from the jar. Then he went on to open the window and tidy up the room. I was left standing by the table, holding a towel. I had no idea what to do. Thorin eyed me and strode towards the table. He washed his teeth with a white powder, a mixture of salt and herbs, and then lifted the jar and poured remaining water over his head and shoulders.

“What are you waiting for,” he said, eyeing me impatiently, water dripping from his hair to the ground. The servant was frantically gesturing for me to rub the water away, obviously on the brink of heart attack.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty,” I remembered to address him properly, and hurried to use the towel. I gently wiped away his face and hair, then hesitated briefly before touching his chest. He was finely shaped, with broad shoulders and strong arms, probably because of training with heavy weapons. He noticed that and smirked. I could feel his intense stare, as he was obviously enjoying the moment. I fought desperately not to look him in the eyes. I was not sure what he would see there. He interrupted my thoughts by stepping away and walking into the closet. The servant ran after him to assist with clothes. When Thorin walked out, he was wearing dark brown trousers and a dark red tunic which looked very noble on him. Then he sat on an armchair by the window and dismissed the servant with a single gesture. He looked at me, his eyes flickering with amusement.

“The comb.”

I took the comb from the toilette table and stood behind him. This time I had a comb to do what needed to be done. But this time, Thorin did not speak to me. I worked silently, and slowly started to relax. When I finished, his mane looked like a lion's, truly impressive.

Then he ordered me to bring in his breakfast. I hurried out of the chambers to ask the silent royal guards where I can get some food, and they showed me to a dining room just at the beginning of the hall. I peeked in and found lush breakfast being served on the table. I borrowed a tray from one of the servants and put on some bread, eggs, ham and strong morning tea. I carried all this to Thorin to lay it in front if him, and when I turned away to carry in some more - for there was much more prepared - he stopped me.

“That's enough. Sit,” and he gestured towards the other armchair.

I sat down hesitantly. He took a good bite of the bread.

“You did well with the stitching.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I just hoped he would not start evaluating my other skills. But he did not, surprisingly.

He ate in silence, and I had nothing to say either, so I watched the morning sun rise out in the distance.

“You may leave now,” he dismissed me when he finished his breakfast. I took the tray and before walking out of the chamber, I remembered to give the curtsy. My leg got caught in the long dress, I stumbled and nearly fell down with the tray in my hands, but managed to maintain balance.

I shot a quick glance at Thorin, prepared for a fight.

But he was smiling.

XXX

It took a few weeks until my companion servant taught me the proper service. Then he left me perform my duties alone. The first time I knocked on Thorin's door felt awkward but I got used to it. The longer time I spent in Erebor, with more confidence I moved in his chambers. Thorin did not speak to me and I kept my silence as well. He made a small compromise though by helping himself in his clothes, which I appreciated a lot.

One morning, we sat at the table as usual, Thorin taking his time while eating his breakfast. It was quite chilly that day, I did not sleep well at night and felt weak. I remembered my empty stomach which was normally not a problem. I was looking at Thorin's plate impatiently, when I heard the hungry noise come from my belly. Thorin stopped chewing.

“Are you coming to my chambers hungry all this time?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I lowered my eyes.

“Then I have been torturing you since the beginning,” he said accusingly. When I did not reply, he pushed his plate in front of me.

“Eat. Next time I want you to come with full stomach.”

“Thank you… you did not need to-”

“Nonsense! You cannot serve me well if you are this weak.”

I shot an angered look at him, but the food in front of me looked too delicious not to taste it. I swallowed my words and took a good bite instead.

“Clean up when you are finished,” he said before taking his leave.

Chapter 11

The king's mornings mostly consisted of attending to state affairs in the audience hall or discussions with his generals and advisors. This happened several times a week. In more quiet days, he sat at his desk in the study, reading through parchments and signing some of them. It was my task to tend to this room as well, but he did not seem to notice me working. In those days, he always ordered me to bring him some wine with water in a tall carafa. I watched him absorbed in the work in front of him, often unconsciously frowning, and when he needed some more time to think about a problem, he took his pipe and smoked long enough to reach a conclusion. Sometimes he strode across the library and I had to get out of his way while dusting the books.

“Can you read?” he asked me once when he caught me trying to decipher a title of an old manuscript.

“I can read our alphabet, Your Majesty. I know the runes but cannot read them. There are lots of stones inscribed by them in Norway. This script I do not know,” I showed at a line of books bearing very gentle and intricate tall letters. “And this looks familiar to Latin alphabet. It's so strange to find it in this place.” My eyes were shining with enthusiasm. He took a large book out of a shelf and passed it to me.

“Can you read this?”

“The tales of the dwarvish kingdom. Collected myths, stories and legends of the ancient folks. Common tongue edition.” I opened the book, happy to understand it, and flipped over a few pages before looking up at Thorin. He looked somewhat surprised.

“You are educated then.”

“Of course I am. I told you the truth.”

“You can read, but you still cannot take care of yourself.”

“What? Of course I could take care of myself in my world! I lived on my own!”

“Enough of that, woman! Take the book and read it in your free time.”

“I will do so. But you cannot accuse me of such incapabilities all the time! Why does it matter so much to you?!”

Thorin's eyes darkened. I watched his expression change to that of deep anger… and something else.

“There is something in you,” he moved one step closer, and was looking down at me now. “Something that calls out my own demons.” With that, he placed both of his hands on my shoulders and in one swift movement pulled my dress all the way down to my elbows. My arms got stuck in the cloth and I couldn't move them, shocked. He slided his eyes across my bare skin and cupped my breasts with both of his hands. They were warm and strong in the cold air and I blushed deeply at the sudden pained desire in my core.

“See? I could take you right here on the table and you'd do nothing against it.” He pressed his body against mine and held my hands behind my back. He pulled at my hair so I was looking up at him now, my neck bent back, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Don`t! Please,” I managed to say, terror and unwanted passion mixing in me, running down my thighs. Soft moan escaped his lips, and I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh.

“So vulnerable,” he breathed into my hair. He held both my hands down with his one hand, and with his free hand traced my cheek, neck, breasts and my bottom. He squeezed it tight, and I gulped. “So vulnerable, yet you don't fight to save yourself. Are you that submissive or is it the shock of what you have gone through?” Now he was breathing heavily, and I felt his hand slide up my thigh, emanating warmth even through the cloth of my dress. He reached in between my thighs, and I cried out at the hot wave the touch sent through my body. Still, I could not accept him.

“Please don't!” I whispered with tears of desperation in my eyes, and made an attempt to move away from him.

“And yet you respond to me!” he breathed, his eyes filling with dark passion. He was holding me even more tightly now, running his hands all over my breasts and thighs, squeezing at my buttocks, pressing me closer to his body as if he wanted to absorb me, sink me in. When he reached for the bottom of my dress and started to pull it over my knees, I realized what he was doing and cried out loudly, tears streaming down my face freely. Surprised, he looked me in the eyes, and I saw sudden change in him. He looked around the room, as if remembering where we are and what is happening, and he let go off me. He pulled my dress back up my shoulders and took a few steps back. Then he turned his back to me to lean against the window.

“You may leave now,” he dismissed me sternly. I ran out of the chamber, the ancient manuscript all but forgotten on the ground where it fell. At the edge of my sight, I saw Thorin reach out for his pipe.

  Notes:        

So there goes Thorin :) Hope you enjoyed!

I was thinking a lot about the languages and what would a stranger be able to comprehend in Middle-earth, and as the dwarves were used to speak Westron (resembling Anglo-saxon and old Norse), having English and Nordic origins, it would help Kate to communicate with them.

Chapter 12

I was so afraid of the morning that I could not sleep. I tossed and turned on my bed until I gave up and just stared wide-eyed in the darkness. I did not understand what was going on in me, all the opposing feelings of fear, despair and passion, but I knew I had to do something otherwise I would go insane.

I silently opened the door and walked out of my chamber, down a few staircases where I knew the kitchen was, along with royal storerooms and staff quarters. I stopped at one of them and, holding my breath, pressed the door handle. To my surprise, the door opened and I effortlessly sneaked in. Leaving the door slightly opened so that the torchlight came in, I entered the storeroom. All around were standing countless wooden boxes, barrels, sacks and glass vessels, full of supplies and unguarded. On the other side of the large room stood wooden chests with neatly folded royal bed linen and various fabrics. I did not find there what I wanted, so I tried another room. This time I was successful. Before me opened a real treasure of servant clothing and various household utensils - hundreds of candles, piles of soap bars, ropes, working tools. I opened several of the chests and dug through the stored clothes, which to my surprise, were winter fur clothes! I took a pair of thick pants, a thick woolen tunic and a snow-white hooded coat, and in the next chest I found a pair of boots. They did not fit me perfectly but that had to do. On my way back, I packed a bag with food supplies for a about a week, and returned to my room. I knew the front gate closed for the night, so I had to be patient.

The morning found me fully awake, staring onto the vast white plains where my fate would be decided. I had no idea where I would be heading, but the tinderbox which I had taken did provide at least a slight chance of surviving a week until I found a friendly village. Providing I would be able to use it. The gate opened with the first sun rays, and I knew I did not have much time until Thorin found out something was wrong.

It started to snow. I dressed in a hurry, threw the bag with supplies over my shoulder, and walked out of the chamber without ever turning back.

The gate was already open. I sneaked out among other travellers, holding my head down and slightly bending at knees while passing the guards. It was surprisingly easy. I decided to avoid the city which rose in front of Erebor - it would be my hunters` first choice. Instead, I walked over a wide bridge and headed in the direction other than the one from which we originally came the other day. It was snowing heavily now, and I smiled for myself. The snow will cover my tracks. With a little luck, they will not find me.

I walked for about an hour on the wide road, passing occasional travellers. Their numbers grew scarcer with time, as the land opened to its vastness. I started to feel uneasy, imagining what might be going on under the mountain right now, and decided to leave the road, just in case. I followed it from a distance though, hiding behind rocks and trees, which slowed me down, but I felt safer. After some time, I heard horses running by and shouts of men, but if they were searching for me, I did not know. I pressed against a rock and waited, thankful for my white coat. When I heard nothing anymore, I decided to continue on my way.

After a few hours, I sat down under a tree to rest for a while and eat a little bread and salted mutton. I heard no sounds of hooves by the evening, which encouraged me a little. I headed far into the wilderness, off the road, to find a group of trees, which could not really be called a forest, but still they offered some cover. I pressed my hurting body inside a large broken tree trunk which formed a narrow hole, and half sitting, closed my eyes to rest for the night. I did not dare to light a fire though, and was afraid that I might freeze to death, so when I started to feel too cold, I stood up to walk for a while, jumped and ran around, and then went back to my place. I would not fall asleep anyway, not with all the adrenaline flowing in my veins.

In the morning I decided to light a small fire to warm up my frozen breakfast and when I took off my gloves, found my fingers numb and hard to move. There was a prickling sensation to them. I cursed but after a while managed to regain some sensibility. After a few tries I lit the fire, and I praised myself for having paid attention while the servant girl tended to the fireplace in my old Erebor chamber. Then I ate hungrily and made myself hot black tea. Warmed up but tired from the sleep deprivation, I strode back to the road and followed it further on. I had no idea where I was heading, but was sure there would have to be some settlements scattered along it. It was a matter of luck if I managed to find one before I froze to death, but I was willing to take the risk. Not that I had a choice anyway.

As the evening began to fall, I once again left the safety of the road and headed towards some scattered rocks and trees in the distance. I was unbelievably exhausted and decided to have a good night's sleep by the fire. How surprised I was to find a cottage hidden just behind them! Smoke was coming out of its chimney, and I walked towards it to inspect who was inside. I saw an old woman through the window standing by a pot and cooking. Thick fog started to fall, heavy and smooth as milk in a jar, and suddenly I was desperate for a warm bed and human presence. Tears stung in my eyes as I longed for someone to say they were sorry for me. After a few minutes of uncertainty, I decided to knock on the door.

“Who`s there?” a suspicious voice came from the inside.

“I am a lonely traveller and I need a cover for the night. May I come in, please?” I tried to sound as friendly as I possibly could. I even smiled in the falling dusk.

The door opened just a few centimeters and an old judging eye glared at me. “Do you have money?”

I hesitated and then answered: ”I can share my provisions, good woman.”

After this, the door opened and the old woman sneaked out to check if I was really alone. “Come in then, darling.”

I stepped into the house, which consisted of the single large room. It looked rather clean, with herbs hung above the fireplace where cooked what looked like dinner. In the corner stood bed and a wooden chest, otherwise the place was empty.

“You can sleep on the ground by the fire. Your coat looks very noble - I hope you can bear such conditions, lady.”

“Oh, I am happy for that, thank you,” I said, while trying to suppress an uneasy feeling.

“Where are you travelling all alone in winter?”

“Family matters. I have to visit my distant relatives.”

She nodded knowingly, and did not ask further. She handed me a bowl of stew and I took out a loaf of bread which we shared. I massaged my fingers which once again felt numb and held them close to the fire. They had swollen since the morning and felt itchy. I mentally cursed.

We did not speak much. She looked like she did not need attention despite living this lonely life, and I was too exhausted to initiate a conversation. She placed a rag in front of the fireplace, I put off my boots and coat and laid down to rest. It must have taken seconds until I fell asleep because I do not remember anything after my head touched the floor.

XXX

What is this feeling? Someone is touching me… Someone is touching me! Wake up, quick! I struggled to open my eyes heavy from the unnatural sleep. When I finally came to my senses, I saw the old woman kneeling beside me, searching my pockets. I yelled and kicked her. “What the hell are you doing?!”

She did not reply and struggled to finish her search. But she was weaker and when she realized she could not possibly win, she reached for the poker and held it in front of her, pointing at my chest. “Get out of my house!”

I glanced around only to find out my clothes and bag were gone. “Where's my coat?!”

“Get… out!” she spat again and reached out for a blow. The poker swung dangerously close to my chin and I backed towards the door, my head swimming. She must have added something in my stew.

“Give me back my clothes! You can't have me walk out like this without boots and...uhhh... coat!” I demanded, reaching for the door handle, and when she made another attempt to hit me, I flung the door open and fell down a flight of steps, landing hard on the icy ground. I shook my head in disbelief. I felt warm blood streaming down my face in a thin string. The snow under my bare hands and feet stung, the blood drops forming tiny scarlet flowers, and the cruel truth struck me hard. I will die here. There is no way out.

I took in the chilly morning air to brace myself for my final stand, and struggling to my feet, I bumped into something. It was a heavy boot coated with fur and metal pieces. I looked up in despair to meet Dwalin`s gaze. He stood there with his hands across his chest, taking in the situation.

“Dwalin…” I whispered out of breath.

“What dwarvish scum have you brought here!” The woman yelled. “Get… out, I said!” The poker made a circle in the air, aiming for my head. Dwalin caught the weapon with his one hand, with the other grabbed the woman by her throat and yanked her to one side so that they were now both facing me, the enemy kicking and screaming. Stopping for a brief moment, his gaze met something behind my back.

I turned my head and gulped.

Thorin was watching us from the back of his black stallion just a few meters away. Around him a group of soldiers and a few other familiar faces. Motionless, his wild mane flowing in thick messy ropes down his shoulders, across the blue cloak I knew. His expression impenetrable, detached as a king should be, only the dark circles under his eyes betrayed him and the watchful night he must have spent in search for me. He slightly nodded in approval. With one smooth move, Dwalin slit the woman's throat, the blade breaking her skin as if it was of pure butter. She gasped for breath and collapsed to the ground, dead in seconds, her blood forming a red carpet all around. It was as simple as that. Taking life is the easiest thing in the world for a warrior.

Thorin dismounted and strode towards us slowly. He turned the corpse around with his foot and spotted a dwarvish golden bracelet on its hand. He snarled at the soldiers: ”Search the house!” and they sped in to fulfill his order.

Then he turned his attention to me. I dared not look him in the eyes, nor speak, so instead I just stared at the ground where the corpse was lying in the most unnatural position, its glossy eyes wide open. He reached out, pulling me towards the corpse, and forced both of my hands in the blood-stained snow. I struggled feebly, not daring to resist him in the open. My stomach felt weak, and I would have vomited, had it not been empty.

“How does it feel, slave?!” he spat, his voice full of hate. He was right. Her blood was on my hands. I killed her. Had I not escaped… Tears of shame and regret stung in my eyes. My voice shook: “I'm sorry, your Majesty…”

I risked a quick look at him now. Just one brief moment, and what I saw in his eyes made my heart sink to the very bottom. I understood that this time I had overstepped way too far, far beyond anything he could ever forgive. I had betrayed him, his trust in me, and all was lost. I saw endless anger, and what was even worse, endless disappointment. His jaw tightened as his icy blue gaze met mine.

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty… I'm so sorry…” I whispered only for him to hear, keeping my eyes low. He did not reply, and I started to sob. Suddenly I felt I was losing him, and the realization struck me unprepared. I needed his attention, in the strangest of ways. I needed his strength and guidance in this world I did not come to understand. He did what he considered right, from his point of view, even though I failed to recognize it. I was ashamed to the core. “I`m so sorry… if only I could take things back… I would never have left…” I pushed out in between the sobs. The blood stang in my eyes and I wiped it away with my cuff, it was not important now. “Will you ever forgive me? Please? I was so afraid...” I dared to look up at him.

He did not let me speak though. He made a silencing gesture and my apology froze on my lips all forgotten. He seemed to be judging the bleeding wound on my head for a brief moment. Then, probably having come to a decision it was not that heavy, he nodded towards Dwalin who helped me to my feet. “Let her dress,” he commanded darkly, “Then tie her to my horse.” My eyes widened and Dwalin grinned as he proceeded to fulfill the order. He retrieved my dress from the hut and threw it to me. I dressed hastily and he led me away to the horse. There he tied my hands with a rough rope and fastened the other end to the horn.

After a while the soldiers who searched the house came out. “Your Majesty,” saluted one of them, holding in front of Thorin a sack filled with golden trinkets, jugs and candlesticks. “The witch must have stolen from more, who knows what other crimes she had committed.” I shrugged. I was supposed to be dead by the evening.

“So much for a fair trial,” Thorin growled. “Leave the corpse as it is. The wolves will do the work.” Then he strode to his horse and mounted it. He checked if my rope was tied securely to his saddle and we set off.

XXX

We strode at a steady pace and it started to snow again. After a few hours I grew really tired and the walking exhausted me more than I would have thought. I dragged my freezing feet after me in the once-again deep snow but fought my body's needs, pushing it to its limits. I did not object how they treated me, I very much deserved it, and was willing to yield as far as I could. Obedience was the route to Thorin's heart.

We walked the whole day with just a single half-an-hour-stop for the men to eat and relieve their bladders, and then we went on. I was not given anything to eat and I did not dare to ask for a break for myself. I doubted they would let me go pee unguarded. So when Thorin left for a brief moment, I did what I needed where I was squatting in the snow, still bound to his horse. Nobody seemed to care.

It was surprising to find out that my route along the main road took twice the time it should have, as we saw the Lonely mountain rising in front of us the very same evening. It stood out from the snow-filled plain as a large finger pointing angrily to the skies. Behold the kingdom of the dwarves!, it said, and I had a sudden deja-vu. Just a few months ago I was entering this mountain in a very similar situation, weak and wounded. What had changed since then? I felt I was running in circles like a bug in an empty bowl, never finding its way out.

Chapter 13

  One by one

 Love's raised horns sound their sweet surrender

  And one by one

  Her defences fall debris

  My will be done

  I shall storm the gates where fates defend her

  And once I've won

  Her heart will belong to me

(lyrics by Cradle of Filth)

The dwarves dismounted the horses which were immediately taken over by staff and led to the stables to be tended to. We climbed the ten floors over the ground, on which I spent the last of my strengths. All I wanted was to lie down and sleep in my warm bed. Any bed. Just sleep and never wake up.

When I recognized Thorin's private quarters though, I rallied in anticipation of what was about to come. Unsure and vulnerable I was led through the red corridor, and I took in the familiar scent. Thorin entered his chamber and Dwalin pushed me inside in front of him. Then he closed the door from the inside and stood behind me with his arms crossed on his chest. Thorin immediately gestured towards my clothes and Dwalin stepped in to undress me, quickly and violently. I stood there all naked now but in a thin tunic, but Dwalin did not do me the last favour. He tore the tunic from my shoulders and it fell to the ground in two poor pieces. I covered what I could with my hands and stood there shaking.

Thorin took off his heavy coat and threw it on the bed. Then he walked towards me, slowly but ever so menacingly, and I saw his expression change from the regal mask he wore in the outside to the real Thorin, his anger now unleashed. He reached out and hit me hard, so hard I lay on the floor in a second. I touched my reddened cheek, shocked, but did not speak to defend myself. I deserved it. I struggled to my feet again, very slowly and unsure if I was allowed to, and he hit me once again, with even more strength. Now I was sobbing openly, my bladder betraying me as I lay there shaking and exhausted, and I hid my face behind my hands to cover my shame. A puddle was forming on the carpet under me.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?!” he stormed. “Escape from me like that would save you from anything, from yourself?! Do you have an idea what it means for me as a king? That I cannot handle my own slave! How can I rule a kingdom when my slaves do not submit? What message does it send to my subjects, my subjects who watch my every move, did you think of this when you were running away like a sick bitch?! I was too benevolent to you!”

“I had no idea… I had no idea.... Y0ur Majesty… I'm sorry,” I whispered between sobs, not daring to look up and meet his gaze.

“No, indeed you had no idea. Any dwarf in your position would now beg me to let him take his life in front of my eyes, to repay his debt and unloyalty. But you… you,” he was searching for words. I heard his steps as he was marching around the room.

“I`m so sorry, Your Majesty. I will do anything you wish,” I said, being pretty sure I did not have the guts to offer my life. He smirked knowingly. “If only you forgave me...”

“No. It will not be that easy, slave. I will make sure you repay to the very last bit,” he hissed, and I heard him kneel down beside me. He took me by my hair and lifted my face so that I had no other choice but meet his gaze. He held the contact for a brief moment, then looked down at the wet carpet under me.

“Very good,” he said, smirking. “We will continue with the hair now.”

With that, he took out his long knife and cut off a handful of my hair. And then another. I winced, placing both of my hands on his chest, squeezing the soft fabric of his tunic, partly to steady myself, partly to hold him at the arm's length.

“Do not move!” he commanded. “I am taking half of your hair now. It will betray your crime, from now until it grows back. Until then you will live in shame among us. Should you ever fail me again, all the rest will be cut away, and you will be sold to the slave-traders of the enemy. You are given one more chance, slave. Remember that well. Is that understood?” he growled darkly.

“Yes,” I pushed out between sobs.

“Good. Now don't move unless you want to get hurt.” And he placed the cold blade on my scalp and cut away the first hair, just at the roots, dangerously close to the skin. He worked quickly but efficiently, and I held my breath to minimize my movements. When he finished, I touched my head to explore the damage. The look on my face must have shown my deepest horror, because he returned his: “That will teach you manners,” while sheathing the knife.

I waited for his permission to stand up and leave, but it did not come. He slowly strode to a wooden chest from which he produced a large leather belt. For a brief moment he weighed it in his hand, as if judging if it was the right tool for my punishment. Having come to a conclusion, his features hardened, and I knew what was to come. My heart was beating its way out of my chest and my head went dizzy from the cold fear spreading in my veins. And then there he was again, breaking my weak struggle with extra force anger gave him, yanking me fiercely to lie face down on the floor. He placed just the tip of his foot on my shoulder, pinning me securely down in the position, and that was when I literally started to shake from the anticipation of pain.

He said one word - “Ten!” - and I heard the air breaking on the belt as it fell down and I screamed in pain. Then came other nine blows, each as slow and heavy as the former, well aimed from my back down to my bottom, and I wrung and cried and pleaded, but to no avail. When he finished, my back was all fire and blood and I was left with no power to move or speak.

The world was fading in black and white and I heard Thorin utter: “Dress her and take her downstairs. Through the main staircase for all to see.”

Then I stopped to feel and drifted to a world where no sounds dwell.

Chapter 14

I awoke to absolute darkness. I felt the cold rock under me bite in my skin and wet air chilling my bare feet. I was lying face down on a piece of thin cloth which was half covering me, but did me no good in fact. I was hurting in every way, not just my damaged back and bottom. The worst was the hot bruise I felt stinging on my cheek. I did not care where I was. There came no sound, just the echoing silence of my own troubled breath and water dripping in a thin stream somewhere close. After some time, my eyes got used to the darkness and I recognized a few shadowy shapes. The door. The tiny square room. The sharp surface of the walls ripped out of the mountain flesh. The empty bucket in the corner. Of course. I closed my eyes and dozed off.

When I opened them again, I realized there was subtle light coming through a tiny hole in the door. Then I heard footsteps approaching and silent chatter. The door opened with a screech and a tall thin figure walked in.

“My lady.”

Amarth knelt next to me, placing a lantern close by. He brought in fresh air and the scent of winter forest.

“Amarth... “

“Save your strength, my lady, ” he spoke in a hurry. “My visit here is against the King's orders for you to be left on your own. If you understand.” I was too tired to even nod, so I lay there, waiting while he examined my wounds. “If you allow me.” And he lifted my tunic hastily, up to my shoulders, baring my body as it was, full of fresh wounds in the torn skin. I did not care. Nothing mattered anymore. He cleansed the skin quickly and put an ointment on the wounds along with fresh bandages. Then he examined my hands and shook his head. “Squeeze my fingers, my lady.” I did as he said, weakly. “I cannot do any more now, I am afraid. Drink this, it will do you good,” and he produced a tiny flacon out of nowhere and made me swallow its contents. It tasted bitter but sent hot waves through my stomach and veins nearly immediately. I felt a little better.

Then he stood up and knocked on the door. “You must be strong, my lady. I will do what I can but given the situation…” And he left, the door closing behind him with a loud thud.

I dozed off to the troubled sleep again. I woke and dreamt and soon the boundaries between sleep and wake blurred until I no longer knew what was really happening. I saw faces leaning in from the dark, dwarvish faces, then snow fell and I lay on the forest floor under starry skies. I felt terribly hot and the snow brought away my pain. The mountain talked to me. It spoke its anger of being cut in pieces by the merciless hammers and mattocks. It sang to me of the glory of its immense underground treasures which still lay hidden from greedy eyes. Of deep crystalline lakes of cool fresh water in its depths. I saw myself lying on the ground in a deep underground dungeon, barely breathing, and my head felt strangely light, my senses sharpened. I rose above the mountain, playing along, chasing the winds, and in the labyrinth of the corridors beneath saw thousands of tiny lives moving, dwarves and animals, working, fighting, laughing in bitterness and joy. I saw the king in his lonely chamber, sleeping his restless sleep. Then the mountain spoke " Return to the lake when the storm rages"...  and I started falling back to my body through an abyss, backwards, facing the skies.

I opened my eyes gasping for breath. I saw Dwalin`s face leaning in and mutter something, but I could not make up the words. All fell into the deafening silence again.

XXX

 “My lady, let me help you now that I can,” Amarth offered, placing a large bowl of water next to me. I blinked hazily, my head still dizzy. I peeked out of the window. Bright winter sun came shining in the chamber, my chamber, my bed. Cosy fire was lit in the fireplace, its flames licking at apple tree wood, as I recognized by the scent. Amarth was seated by me on the bed among various healing necessities he had brought with him, and by the doors a dwarvish guard stood, expressionless.

 “Thank you Amarth,” I tried to mouth but no sound came from my cracked lips. I coughed. “How long…?”

 “Do not speak. I am allowed to talk to you only regarding the matters of your health. If you understand.” He explained silently and I glanced at the guard. I nodded and took the first look at my hurting hands.  The skin had turned red and dark brown at some places and tiny blisters started forming. I moved my fingers to try them and hissed in pain.

 “Here,” Amarth said, placing the bowl closer. “They have been frostbitten. Put them in. We must slowly bring them to normal temperature.” I obeyed, frowning at the movement. I did not know where the pain came from as the fingers felt numb. In the meantime, Amarth examined me thoroughly, his attentive gaze stopping at my once long hair and the skin of my face. It must have shown some change in colour because he shook his head disapprovingly. I stared at my hands, feeling blush rising to my cheeks. He did not comment on my state though, instead he placed a piece of clean cloth on my skin. It felt soothingly cold, and tears stung in my eyes.      Look at where you are now, you silly    , I thought to myself.      For them all to see    .

 “Can I look in the mirror please?”

 Amarth hesitated for a moment before holding the mirror in front of me. At first I could not believe my eyes. I did not recognize the broken person staring at me from beyond the messy, blood-cloaked hair, at least what remained of it. It was neatly shaven on the whole left side of my skull, just as close to the bone as possible, making me look like a man. Like a defeated man. Exposing my bruised left cheek where Thorin's hand fell twice. I gasped and averted my gaze.

 Amarth stayed for about half an hour, helping me to sip a few spoons of hot broth, while my hands bathed. Then he left along with the guard, promising to come back soon.

Chapter 15

Amarth indeed did return, in fact he returned several times that day, and the days that followed. Each time bringing a bowl with water warmer than before, and slowly I started to feel my fingers tingling as they sucked in the warmth.

“Let us see if your sense of touch comes back again. I cannot promise it will, though,” he stated between changing of my bandages, and I sighed.

I spent several days in bed just like this, hurting, exhausted and alone. Nobody came to see me, not even Gloin or Dis, and I felt trapped as if in prison, a much lighter and warmer prison, but it did not make much difference. The door remained locked from the outside now. As the long lonely hours passed, a single thought of opening the window and just jumping out crossed my mind. I pondered on it for a brief moment, but decided against it. I did not have the guts to kill myself, and what was the worst, I did not know if it was good or not.

About a week after that Thorin showed up. It was early morning, I was staying in bed as usual, all tucked in the covers. He strode into the room, wearing dark leather pants and a burgundy tunic, and the air changed as he glared at me from under his thick eyebrows. He walked around the room as a lion examining his territory, checking on if his orders had been carried out to the last bit. Then he stood above me, arms crossed on his chest, and uncomfortable silence filled the room. My heart started to pound faster, and I looked down to avoid his gaze.

“So,” he started, and his voice sounded deep but strangely cold. “Do we still want to fly? Or have you changed your mind as women like to do so often?”

“No! I will not try to escape any more, your Majesty. I would like to apologize to you, I really would like to…” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast. “I know I had overstepped too far. I have failed you. I am sorry for that. I will not leave unless you wish me to, I promise. I swear.”

He snorted. “No, you will not.”

He sat down on my bed, his features stern. “Show me,” he said, pointing to my hands. I stretched them out meekly and he studied them with a frown.

“You wore gloves, did you not?” He interrogated, his brows slightly lifting in surprise.

“I did, your Majesty.”

“You seem weaker than other women.”

“Perhaps… I cannot judge on dwarvish women, I barely know any,” I mouthed slowly, carefully weighing every word on my tongue. “I am used to cold, but…” I stopped as my voice broke.

He did not interrupt me, which felt even worse. Instead, he moved closer and leaned in to watch me intently. When he spotted the last traces of a bruise on my cheek, he frowned. I blushed deep red, avoiding eye contact. I felt his one finger under my chin, gently forcing my face up. My chest was filled with heavy emotions ready to burst out at any second by then. He traced the line of my jaw with his thumb, ever so gently, stroking my cheek with a feathery movement.

“I do not wish to see any more bruises on this face or body. It is a shame to waste such beauty for nothing. You must be wise, little one.” He stroked me again, gently. “I do not wish to hurt you, you see. I do not wish to break you. Is it so difficult to just submit to me?” He asked patiently, as if scolding a child. I guess this was the closest he could ever get to just saying I'm sorry, in his own strange way. He smelled of new leather and spices, and it reminded me of the day we had met.

“You… you scared me, my lord. I am sorry for what I did, but I was just too terrified of you.”

“How come? It has been several months since I found you. You should have already forgotten the incident. You have been taken care of. You have home and food, you are safe now.”

Seeing my expression, he asked directly: “Do you fear men?” Such a plain question and such a strong reaction.

‘’Yes,’’ I nodded desperately in between sobs.

He exhaled loudly, never stopping his interrogation. “Did the orc rape you? Answer me honestly,” he asked darkly, clenching his fists now. His gaze hung on my lips but I could not answer. I just could not. He swore and hit the side of the bed angrily. Then he stood up and started pacing around the chamber while I sobbed. His anger made him look savage and unpredictable. After a while he sat down again, more composed.

“Kate, you are so very different. Any dwarvish woman would have already recovered in your place, whatever it is that happened to you. This is not possible.”

“But I'm  human  ! I don`t have your stamina, obviously! I have my bruises and they may last until I die in the first place. I need time, a lot of time, your Majesty. And although I'm trying, I keep on doing things which in your world are understood as mistakes. I'm sorry for that. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do to make things right, but I am the way I am,” I said shakily.

He watched me closely, the storm in his eyes betraying his feelings. He was breathing heavily now. He leaned in menacingly, although I think it was not his intention to frighten me any more. It was the anger rising. He touched my shoulder, the line of my neck and stroked my cheek slowly, consciously. Our faces were now so close I could feel his breath on my ear and heat emanating from him. He remained like that for a few seconds, solid as a statue, and when I did not flinch, he gently nibbled at my earlobe. It sent warm wave through my body, to my surprise.

“No harm will come to you in these halls, Kate,” he whispered in a deep set growl. “I will give you your time. Although, given your quick responses to my advances, I think it might be less time you would consciously choose.”

I gulped at that and he laughed throatily. It was the first time I saw him actually laugh, and it made him look so charming that my heart ached. He pressed a chaste kiss on my lips and straightened his back.

“Now,” he said much more cheerfully, “It took Amarth whole day to convince me to let him examine you. You should thank him for that. He says your hands should heal soon, and I hope they do,” he said, the warm sparkle never leaving his eyes. I realised Amarth did not tell him about his secret visit in the dungeon, but I kept my mouth shut. Thorin looked so boyishly carefree that I did not have the heart to ruin it for him. Or me.

“My fingers still feel numb. I hope he is right. I'm starting to lose faith in elvish medicine.”

“Don`t, Kate. They will get better.” He took my hands in his, careful not to touch the blisters, his palms flat against mine.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes.”

“May I borrow a book from your library? Any book, really. I`ve spent here so much time alone.”

“And you will carry on in that way, Kate. Your crime is not yet forgotten. But I will do you the favour, yes.”

“Thank you.”

We remained like that for quite some time. We spoke of unimportant things, such as weather in these lands, food available in winter and trade with friendly nations. I tried to explain to him what chocolate tasted like back in Norway, and he said he would have his cook prepare sweets better than my chocolate. I could not believe we could ever have such a nice conversation. This new Thorin felt very refreshing.

He left after about an hour, with half-smile on his lips.

“Rest now,” he said, and I obeyed.

Chapter 16

 My days grew long and nights even longer. I nearly forgot how humans (and dwarves) looked as all kept Thorin's orders not to interfere. Thorin did not come back for other two weeks but Dis started appearing instead, and Amarth, who spoke to me again.

 I was astonished when Dis stormed in one day to hand me over a book I was already familiar with:      The tales of the dwarvish kingdom. Collected myths, stories and legends of the ancient folks.    I was so grateful that I laughed happily at her, thanking her that I would have something to occupy myself with.

 I started to eagerly read the manuscript which looked quite old, its pages yellowed with age and letters written in strange shapes, but still readable. It contained various stories which to me sounded like fairy tales, but nice to ponder on. Until I came across a short record of two men who emerged from a lake in Rhovanion during an evil storm to show themselves to astonished native people. It stated it had happened three centuries ago and their further fate remained unknown. I was shocked. Was this just a coincidence? Why did Thorin lend me the book? I decided to learn more when given the chance, but then I remembered the promise I had given to Thorin and my heart sank. No, I cannot do this, I cannot leave even if I knew how to do it. I swore to him. Damn!

 xxx

 It took another week until I was let out of my chamber to resume my morning duties. When Thorin's door opened for the first time after the ages of my solitude, I had a strange deja vu of him peering at me from the entrance, his dark figure against light of the day. I made a small curtsy, keeping my eyes low, greeting the king silently, and he let me in with a slight nod.

 I poured fresh water into the washing basin, trying not to spill a drop. I felt his gaze on my back, he did not move nor speak, but I knew he was there, still in the shadows of the early morning. The mountain was  sleepily silent, but I could hear my heart pounding its way out of my chest. I finally finished what I was doing and stood by the toilette table, clean towel hanging from my arm. I waited for him to speak first.

 “So, my little slave has returned. How does it feel?”

 “Thank you for asking, your Majesty. I am glad I am back. It is better than I would have expected.”

 “Of course you are,” he smirked, lowering above the basin.

 I did not answer. Instead, I studied the chamber for any changes. It remained the same, dark and luxurious, suffocating with pompousness and with what I could call a certain sense of weight of the crown. Could there ever be such a thing? An orphaned harp stood where it had been left, with no trace of dust, but still it felt out of place here.

 “Umm… Does anyone play it?” I pointed at the instrument after a while of odd silence when he was washing his face.

 Thorin looked up at me with a surprised expression.

 “No, I do not play it anymore. Since the dragon. Strangely, it survived all those years. The strings would not be usable anymore, though.” He was studying it, as if trying to remember what it actually was and if it meant anything to him.

 “It is beautiful.”

 “It once was, aye.” He abruptly turned back to the basin and poured some water over his head. I handed him the towel but he shook his head in disapproval. “Your turn.”

 I swallowed and took one step closer to rub the water away from his skin and hair. He stood tall and I could not properly reach where I needed, and he did not even try to make it easier for me. He was playing with me, and obviously enjoying it with a hint of smirk.

 “Come closer,” he advised, and a sudden thought came to my mind. I circled him to step behind his back, indeed closer, and reached out with the towel. I smiled to myself for this little victory, but he growled and pulled me in front him. “Resistant, are we?” he muttered darkly and pulled me even closer, squeezing my shoulders in his iron grip. My breathing quickened, and I felt panic rise once again in my chest, ice cold as the mountain in winter.

 “No, please… I’m not…” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast.

 “You have turned pale,” he said, holding me at arms` length to look at me properly, then abruptly loosened his grip. “Go and sit there.” He pointed to the armchair by the window. I obeyed quickly, grateful and relieved, and rested as he had ordered. He walked towards the table, poured water from a large jar in a glass and handed it to me.

 “Drink.”

 I hesitantly took it and swallowed a few sips, trying to compose myself.

 “Have you finished the book?” he asked out of the blue, seating himself in the opposite chair.

 I blinked. “I have, your Majesty.”

 “And?”

 “Thank you for it, I enjoyed it a lot. It made me understand a few things about these lands.” I felt a little better, my courage returning to me with every passing second. I wondered where was this charming and warm man I had talked to the last time, and if he would ever show up again.

 “Which are?” he lifted his eyebrows.

 “Well, your culture, your beliefs. I found one of the stories particularly important…” I looked down at my hands with a pause. He did not ask which one, so I glanced at him and saw his features had hardened, menace written in his eyes.

 Oh, he knew very well what I was referring to.

 “So… if you are asking if I am planning to escape to the lake because of it, then the answer is no. No, I'm keeping my promise. My place is here until you decide otherwise. Although I'd like to explore that possibility, if you allow, of course.”

 “You are starting to learn your manners.” The tips of his mouth curved in a half smile.

 “Thank you, your Majesty.”

 I have passed the test. This time.

Chapter 17

 “You need to get used to me, Kate,” were the words which shook me right next morning. I was standing at the open window to let the fresh morning air in, making up the king-size bed, arranging the pillows neatly.

 Thorin walked out of his closet with bare chest, throwing his tunic on the bed.

 “My lord…”

 “It will happen whether you fight it or not, we both know it. The sooner you let go, the better for you. No more excuses.”

 He closed the distance between us in two long steps, reaching out for me as naturally as for a glass of water. He pulled me to him before I could react and forced my arms around his waist.

 “Shhh… I will not hurt you,” he proclaimed in a soothing whisper and stood still, his arms hanging by his hips. I let him go with a silent scream but he grabbed my hands immediately and wrapped them again around his naked waist.

 “Do not make me repeat myself,” he growled, holding me securely in place where he wanted to have me once again. I fought shakily, but he was too strong for me to win this. I panicked and yelled my “Please don’t!” at him, but he squeezed both my wrists with one hand. With the other he patted my hair briefly.

 “Do not fight, and I will not advance,” he announced and waited for the words to sink in. He was looking down at me, his head slightly tilted to one side, his eyes searching for the sign in mine that I understood. A waterfall of dark hair cascaded down his shoulder, making him look feral and playful at the same time. I breathed out and gave up my fight, just to try the effect.

 Thorin stood still, eyeing me from his height, and when I did not move for a few seconds, he gently pressed his fingers to the small of my back and pushed me to him so that I was now leaning on him.

 “Better,” he hummed into my hair. It felt very odd, I was not prepared for this delicate show of intimacy. I was still shaking, but when he did not try to touch me in any other way, I just gave in and stood still, taking in his masculine scent and the softness of his skin. I felt his chest move as he breathed, his lips slightly parted as he was watching me - his prey, waiting, and I dared not look up, so I just rested my forehead in the crook of his neck. Silence fell between us, and I was afraid to move or speak, but the solid statue that he had turned into strangely offered comfort and strength I could depend on. My muscles relaxed and I let out out a small sigh of relief before I could consciously stop it.

 We remained like this for good two minutes and then he just stepped away to put on his tunic.

 “You may bring in my breakfast.”

 I blinked a few times and left for the kitchen, on wobbly legs.

  XXX

 We went on like this for the next three days, Thorin making me hold him, but never advancing, and I felt like a frightened animal being tamed, slowly and skilfully, like a mare being hushed and soothed into sweet oblivion until she was eventually saddled and made into a possession with the air of finality. I had to admit that it did feel good, in a sick way, and I started to enjoy the fake intimacy the process offered. I did not flinch nor fight, and Thorin kept his word of not touching me improperly. I realized that I trusted him and willingly came to his arms once he gestured for me to do so, with a knowing and satisfied smile gracing his lips. “Good girl,” he used to say, and my heart trembled with joy of being praised and my body hungrily devoured the touch of his warm skin. Oh, how screwed I was with all my loneliness that these simple gestures and expressions helped to keep at bay!

 The days flowed slowly and placidly and I calmed down. It did not last long though, as the still surface of our ordinary days was stirred by a foreign delegation.

 They came from Rohan one early morning, as I was told, to negotiate possible alliance against the common enemy. After the last battle, the orcs have moved south and were much scarcer in numbers in the lands surrounding Erebor. But that posed possible threat to Rohan.

 I saw them briefly, men on tall horses and in shiny helmets, riding proudly and erect through the main gate, and my heart started to pound violently at the sight of my own race. They dismounted, the horses were led into the stables to be taken care of, and Thorin and his high-ranking generals came out to meet them and exchange greetings. For the first time I saw Thorin wear his crown and was surprised by how regal and official he looked, exact opposite of his normal attire. This must be something big.

 They were staying for several days already, Thorin being out whole day during the negotiations.

 On that particular day, I was performing my duties as normal. I tidied up the king's chambers diligently, and was now sweeping the floor in the corridor where the red carpet did not reach. I heard silent footsteps, and when I turned around, I saw a tall blond-haired man walk by. He glanced at me briefly, and having caught my stare, he stopped and returned in his tracks. He studied me for a few moments suspiciously before speaking:

 “I am afraid I do not know you, my lady.” He bowed his head ever so slightly.

 “Oh, I'm not a lady, as you can see,” I pointed at the broom with a smile. “My lord,” I added quickly and lowered my gaze. My heart was beating wildly with joy that I was speaking to a human, and was flattered at the same time by his display of respect.

 “I see. May I know your name? What are you doing in these dwarven lands? I have not seen here any kin of ours but you.”

 I hesitated for a moment. “I`m Kate Evans,” I explained briefly and suppressed the urge to shake his hand. Instead, I bowed slightly, at which he gave an acknowledging nod. “And… I do the cleaning here… basically.” I bit my lip, which did not escape his attention, for he lifted his chin stubbornly and frowned.

 “Is something wrong with that, Kate Evans?”

 “N-no. I did not catch      your     name...” I tried to change the subject as I felt this was not the proper topic to talk about.

 “I am Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark,” he saluted, for a moment turning into the shiny soldier that he was. “Where are       you     from and was has led your steps to Erebor? It is most uncommon for humans to serve under dwarf masters in such deep places. And why is your hair shaved off?”

 Those were too many hard questions. I inhaled deeply before trying to explain in the most neutral tone. “From far away, my lord. My fate has led me here. And no, I am not a servant, I am a slave, if that is what you wanted to know. And I disobeyed my master once, so...” I rubbed my hands uncomfortably and looked down to check on my nails. I needed to do that right now.

 “That is most unfortunate,” genuine compassion softened his features. He locked his dark eyes with mine before asking in a husky voice: “Who is your master?”

 “His Majesty.”

 “The King himself?”

 “Yes,” I confirmed.

 Surprised silence fell in the dimly lit corridor and then he nodded. “It was not my knowledge that the dwarves indulged in slavery. But I am sure Thorin would be the most righteous master, by his ways during our negotiations.”

 At those words something inside me broke. I did not know what I had been expecting from this stranger, after all. Stupid me.

 “Indeed.”

 His scrutinising eyes lingered on me a little longer than necessary but then he just turned and briskly walked away.

Notes:        

I fully realise that Éomer was not yet born when this was happening, there are still a few more decades left, but well... He is just too gorgeous to be omitted!

Chapter 18

 I did not see Éomer after that for a few days, until the last evening before the delegation`s actual departure. As far as I overheard, the talks had been a success, and both realms agreed on mutual help and intelligence sharing against the remainder of the orc hordes pillaging the vast plains on the southern borders.

 On that day, Dis stormed in as always to inform me that my presence was needed at the feast to be held tonight. To my question why she explained that a gossip about a human slave in Erebor had spread and the Rohirrim expressed interest in me serving for them tonight.

 “Thorin had agreed to that as a token of goodwill,” she said with an eyebrow lifted high. I swallowed my pride at that and tried to get out of my head the image of me being paraded in front of the foreign soldiers as a caged animal. Nevertheless, Dis sent me to the kitchen where I was instructed how to serve the meals and fill the wine goblets properly. It was not difficult at all, yet I felt nervous for no obvious reason.

 XXX

 The feasting hall spread long and vast with its high ceiling and marbled pillars and walls. They shone with hues of the darkest green and grey with golden veins, invoking uttermost beauty and splendour worth the majestic dwarven kingdom, for all foreign eyes to see. The hall breathed with cold, and I shivered involuntarily. At the long table were seated the horse riders, along with dwarven officials and Thorin at the head of it. Éomer to his right at the beginning of the long line, leaning closer to Thorin in silent chatter as they waited for the dinner to be served. He raised his brown eyes when I and the army of servants marched in, and nodded towards me ever so slightly in a silent greeting. I gave a small curtsy in return and then noticed Thorin watching me with a frown. The evening was starting in a strange manner. I swallowed hard and proceeded to serve the meal to Thorin, and then to Éomer and all the others in the line. Soon after that, the general mood had risen, lifted by the delicious food and wine, and the guests hailed and cheered to Thorin with their chalices held high. I smiled at that and finally started to relax. The evening got on the right track. Although, I did my best to be as quick and invisible as possible when refilling their chalices.

 Later in the evening, after countless litres of spirits had been drunk, Éomer beckoned to me to bring him wine. I obeyed quickly and when I leaned in to pour it in his goblet, I felt a daring hand rub my buttocks. Shocked, I silently cried out and spilled the remainder of the wine in the jar. I glared at him angrily but what I saw in his glistening eyes made me swallow whatever words came to my mind. There was lust, pure lust and dark hunger but they vanished in a split second once he regained his reason and former elegant behaviour.

 “Look what you have done,” he uttered with a smile, and I managed nothing but saying my ”I`m so sorry” while sweeping the table with my snow-white apron. One quick glance at Thorin, who was watching us intently but did not make an effort to step in. I was wondering if he had noticed.

 “This slave of yours is very… unusual,” he said to Thorin lazily, with a half-drunken smile. “How come she has found her place here in the depths of Erebor?”

 “I have found her in the wilderness, she owes me,” Thorin replied, composed, not giving in any more details.

 “Oh, I see,” Éomer murmured. “Would she be available for selling? I know of a suitable place for her tiny hands.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Back in Rohan. I feel she should return among her own. The sunlight would do her good.” I inhaled sharply and looked at Thorin with pleading eyes.      Please don't do it. I will die if this monster gets me.  

 “She is not for sale,” Thorin answered matter-of-factly, in a neutral tone, but I could sense icy coldness between the lines. The threatening coldness which meant a storm approaching. I exhaled.

 “I quite like her,” Éomer did not give up, circling the top of his goblet with his finger casually. He was thinking of something, as if trying to mouth the correct words. A silent battle in his drunken mind. “Would you consider lending her to me for the night?” I gasped at that, terrified, and my hands started to shake. This is the moral man who rode with his back so straight up on his horse? The paragon of noble ways?

 Thorin leant in and frowned even more. More than I even thought possible.

 “Marshal, this slave is  not available for sale nor any other business. She is      mine,” he emphasized gravely and beckoned to me, his glare locked with Éomer`s. I hurried to his side, abandoning the wine stain on the table as it was.

 “Kneel,” he ordered sternly, and I dared not defy him here and now, in front of the staring audience, which already noticed something was happening and their joyful chatter died down. I knelt down on the floor with my hands folded in my lap and eyes downcast, thanking all the gods for the remainder of my hair which fell into my face and hid the stinging red blush which had spread on my cheeks. Thorin patted me on my head and then reached for a plate. He took a honey cookie and held it in front of my lips. I hesitated for a brief startled moment before I opened my mouth for him, and he fed me like a pet, shoving his thumb in my mouth gently so that I could lick it clean. I did as he wished, playing along in his little game of authority above me, imagining I was not there and this was not happening at all. I didn't know who of the two humiliated me more. But at the same time I was thankful for the known evil which Thorin represented. Better him than the blond pretentious jerk.

 “Obedient she is,” Éomer praised and the tip of Thorin’s mouth curved in satisfaction. The chatter rose again as the atmosphere in the hall loosened. No one seemed to be listening any more.

 “Not always, but we have sorted that out already. Have we not?” he leaned in to my ear, as if speaking of a nice little secret.

 “Yes, Your Majesty,”  I whispered, digging my fingernails deep into my palms.

 “Good girl,” he patted me again and then rested his heavy hand at the back of my neck. It felt strangely reassuring. By now I was sitting on my soles between the males, but so close to Thorin that Éomer could not reach me. I think that was Thorin's intention, an elegant solution to a diplomatic disaster. He fed me a few more cookies.

 Éomer was watching us from under his heavy lids. “When you get tired of her, think of me.” He reached for his goblet and grinned. “She would still be a good fuck.”

 Thorin laughed out but his grip on my bare neck tightened. “You have drunk too much tonight, Marshal. Our wine is strong, you do not know what you are saying.”

 Then he turned to me. “You may go and wait in my chambers,” beckoning to a guard who stood nearby to accompany me.

 I stood up abruptly, and throwing a small curtsy towards Thorin and then Éomer, I hurried out of the hall, followed by the guard.

 I was so freaked out that when I entered the chamber, I pressed my back to the door and had to take a few deep breaths to calm down. I did not hear the guard’s heavy footsteps though, and when I opened the door slightly, he peeked at me from the outside questioningly. I closed it again and decided to light the fire in the large fireplace to keep the darkness of the lonely chamber at bay. Then I lay down on the bed, planning to make it up before I left. For the moment, I was more than happy to be guarded and the king's quiet private chamber offered sweet solace to my nerves which I so desperately needed.

Chapter 19

I will have you on your knees

 And the beast I hold within

  Shall be fed with your hungering screams

(lyrics by Dark Funeral)

I awoke in the middle of the night still in Thorin's bed. The peaceful full moon was shining brightly at me from the large window, its silver light spreading quietly across the normally dark chamber. The fire had already died out. I yawned, and still sleepy, realized where I was lying. I stood up abruptly and walked towards the cushioned armchair by the window. I leaned my head comfortably against its back and watched the magnificent windless night in its silence, the shadows of the landscape frozen and not moving. I cuddled further in the armchair, lifting my knees up to my chin, and was thus lulled to sweet sleep.

A soft click of the door made me open my eyes, and then the sound of a key in the keyhole. The door was being locked. Thorin's tall figure stepped into the moonlight, but did not appear less dark. He looked around the room as if searching for something, until his eyes adjusted to the blackness, and I saw his expression change when he spotted me. I realized the moon was shining from behind me so my face must have remained hidden, probably still looking asleep. I quite liked the opportunity it gave me to watch him move unguarded when he thought nobody was watching. He walked towards the bed and took off his upper tunic and boots, leaving all of that casually spread on the ground, then sat on the bed, resting his head in his hands for a good while. He looked tired, his shoulders tense, but there was something strange about him, certain determination, anticipation. He stood up and walked towards my armchair slowly, questioningly. He reached out to touch my hair and cheek, and I realized this was the time I was supposed to wake up.

“Your Majesty,” I jumped, feigning surprise. I stood up quickly and made a small curtsy in a silent greeting. I wanted to thank him for what he did during the evening, but he did not seem to want to start a conversation. Instead, he just nodded, and rested his heavy hand on my shoulder. I could smell sweet wine and scent of leather from him, and it was not an unpleasant sensation. He massaged my shoulder slightly, then moving his attention to the back of my neck, until he finally pulled me towards him as I was already used to. But this time his hand continued to journey across my back until it reached my hip, and I shuddered.

“Your Majesty, I would like to thank you for what you did during...” I said shakily, which earned me his approving grunt while his other hand continued to wander around my behind. “Would you like me to fetch something for you…?”

“It is nothing you can fetch that I want, Kate,” he breathed into my hair, and I shook involuntarily, despite doing my best to fight my rising uneasiness.

All of a sudden, he released me and took a step back. “Now undress,” he said quietly, matter-of-factly. As if it was the most natural thing for me to do in front of him.

I could not believe my ears. “W-what?”

“Un-dress!” came the command in a deep-set growl, and my heart sank at that word. Oh no, please don't do this. I stood there shaking, uncertain what to do, terrified not to disobey and get punished once again, and my brain was working feverishly, trying to find a way out of this, find some excuse, anything.

“Your Majesty… I… I'm sorry to ask, but… what is wrong? You said you would give me time...” I blabbered desperately, squeezing my fingers in front of me in a pleading, uncertain gesture.

“Which I gave you. You have run out of it tonight.”

“But… why? What is different? You said- ”

“Do not make me repeat myself for the second time, Kate!”

“But you said you would wait! And I'm honestly doing my best to obey you, Your Majesty… to serve you as I was taught, I'm not even flinching anymore when you are close, is that not- ”

“You are making a good slave, indeed. But you do not  look  owned!” he growled, and the dark devouring fire which I had once seen sprang in his eyes.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“The foreigner wanted you because you simply look like you do not belong to anybody. I am not contained  in you. I cannot let that happen again. You are mine, and everybody needs to know.” He was becoming more and more passionate as he spoke, and when a soft sob escaped my lips at his words, he asked gravely: “Am I really that hideous that you react in such a manner?”

“No, not at all,” I hurried with my assurance before I could think of any consequences. The tip of his mouth rose in a self-satisfied half-smile, and I mentally cursed.

“So?!”

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty… but… but I just can't...” My voice came in a whisper so silent that I nearly could not hear my own words. By now I was shaking all over my body and a huge lump formed in my throat.

He frowned. His large hand grabbed my throat in the violent promise of strangling, his whole body rising as if he grew twice that tall. The transformation was so menacing that my knees went limp under me and I remained standing just because he was holding my neck in his tight grip. That was too much. I clenched my teeth, and slowly, painstakingly slowly, I rolled the sleeves of my dress down my shoulders. He let go off my throat at that and watched me intently, still on guard. After a few other agonizing seconds I pulled the whole dress down to the ground. I held my hands in front of my private parts though, as futile as it may have looked, to cover whatever dignity I was left, and thankful for the darkness which was partially hiding me. My mouth went dry, and I kept my gaze locked on the floor as if it could help me break any contact with him.

He slid his gaze across my body and then stepping closer, he turned me around so that the moonlight shone directly into my face. He cupped my breast and touched the ugly scars on my belly and thigh. And then on my back, those which he had inflicted himself. “What a shame,” he uttered under his breath, his voice deep velvet, and I gulped when he suddenly grabbed my hands and pulled them behind my back. His gaze lingered on the place where the soft hair grew between my thighs, and lay his palm flat against my lower belly. I shivered and felt warmth spread somewhere deep inside. His middle finger traced an imaginary circle on my sensitive skin. I was panting heavily now, and if it was from terror or pleasure I really did not know.

“Are you a virgin, Kate?”

The terror struck me with full force now. I cried out and fought with all my strength to shake his hands off and get away from him, desperately, as if fighting for dear life. But I could not stand his strong arms which pacified me immediately with their iron grip, forcing my hands once again behind my back in an uncomfortable position, just much more painfully now. I could not move unless I hurt myself.

“Answer me!” he stormed, and I started to sob. He gave me a few more seconds, and when I did not speak, he tightened the grip even more. I cried out in pain, then shook my head in defeat. He snarled at that.

“Were you a virgin  before  the orc?”

I shook my head once again, hot tears rolling down my cheeks in streams.

“At least I do not need to be gentle with you. I wanted to fuck you the very same moment I saw you out in the wilderness. Naked, all covered in blood, completely helpless and at my mercy. You were exquisite then, my dear. But I do not want to hold back anymore. I have waited for this for too long.” he finished bitterly.

My eyes widened at those cruel words, and I sobbed out my horror-striken ‘Oh no, please don't do this! Please, I beg you!’.

But he had gone too far to stop now. He loosened the grip just a little and spoke nearly tenderly now. “Do not fight, little one, it will only make things worse for you. And these tears,” he paused for a moment to trace their trails with his thumb, “You look even more beautiful with them. More like yourself, stripped to the bone.”

He leaned in and kissed me deep, pressing his whole body against mine tightly, the thin cloth of his tunic rubbing against my naked skin. And under it, the chiselled muscles of his chest and arms, iron-like, and he felt as solid as a mountain peak. At the edge of my horror-striken mind I realized that I would have appreciated this intense magnetism had this been under different circumstances. He pressed his lips on my neck and traced it with his tongue all the way down to my collar bone, then returned eagerly back to my ear to suckle at my earlobe.  He bit me hungrily, and when I cried out, he moaned, utterly enjoying my torment. Then he forced his knee between my thighs, grabbing me by hips and pressing me hard against the dark leather of his thigh. I started my furious struggle with the impossible. He interlocked his fingers with the hair at the back of my head and pulled down, bending my neck low in such a strange angle that I gasped for breath for a few miserable moments. Watching me closely, his lip drawn up to bare his upper teeth, he loosened the grip for just one breath and then pulled back again. My fingers dug in the cloth of his arms in a desperate attempt to stabilize myself, but to no avail. When I ceased to move, he let me breathe freely. And then all over again. Exhausted, after a few tries I gave up and went limp.

“Calmer now?” he smirked. I didn't even try to answer. “Good.”

Having me where he wanted to have me now, he once again grabbed my hips and positioned me so that I had to either stand on my tiptoes or press my clit against his leg. I did my best to maintain the position to avoid him, and while he was distracting me with hot kisses on my neck, I felt my feet inevitably get tired with every passing second.

“Let go,” he finally hummed, and just pressed me down. I let out a pained sob and he breathed in low whisper: ”Good girl. Relax now.”

And he ran his fingers around my skin in light, feathery movements, stroking my hair, down my breasts and belly, and then up my back and neck. I was utterly confused, panting heavily, and when he slid his hot tongue in my mouth, I realized my own tongue was answering him, moving in his circles as if in a dance. He added a few slow movements of his pelvis and I shuddered at the hot wave it sent through my body. I started to sob anew.

Taking no heed of that, he suddenly lifted me up in the air and headed for the bed. I screamed out and kicked him, taking him by surprise. He swore and let me go, but only for a moment, before he yanked me violently and threw me over his shoulder. He strode to the bed and threw me onto the pillows mercilessly. He took a second to take off his tunic, revealing his wide shoulders and smooth upper body. I struggled on my elbows to back away from him, but he was there again to grab me by the ankle and yanked me back. Then he knelt on the bed and pinning my hands above my head, lay down on me full weight, pressing the huge bulge of erection against my thigh. I whimpered under him in distress, my breath once again taken away by his muscular weight. He rose to support himself on one elbow, and with one free hand unbuckled his pants swiftly, not even bothering to take them off. At this moment, his long hair fell on my face in a dark cascade, and it felt so soft against my skin that I stared up at him in surprise. Our eyes met and what I saw in his icy gaze made me shiver - it was the victory of a hunter.

It was this moment that I realized the inevitable. This time I will not escape, no matter how hard I try.

Grabbing my legs, he forced my knees up so that they were now nearly reaching my ears. He planted a few hot kisses on my inner thighs, then took out his huge member and positioned himself in between. He pressed the tip of his stone-hard cock against my entrance and I whimpered in the anticipation of pain.

He moaned. “You`re all wet for me, little one.”

In one deliberate motion, he rammed his entire length into me, causing me to flinch and cry out at the searing pain. He waited for a few seconds to let me adjust to the impossible thickness, which was obviously not enough, and moved several times in a circular direction. Then he pulled his cock out of me and rammed it all the way in again, causing me to cry out even louder. I was sobbing openly now.

“You are so deliciously tight,” he growled in between the thrusts, keeping a quicker but steady rhythm. “You could convince me you are still a virgin.” Embarrassed, violated and in pain, I closed my eyes, turned away and tried to pretend I was not there and nothing of this was happening.

At that he stopped to move. “Look at me,” he commanded sternly.

When I refused to obey, he bit my neck so hard that I gasped, opening my eyes in shock.

Now he decided to lick and pinch both my nipples, and to my utter dismay, despite all the burning pain in my tunnel, I felt a hot ecstatic wave roll over my body, all the way down to my core. I bit my lip to suppress the sudden urge to moan.  I cannot let him know.  He resumed fucking me, only harder than before, sliding in and out of me with all the accompanying wet noises, and by his low grunts I could say he was close to his climax. A few more thrusts and he growled his release into my hair. I felt his cock move and twitch inside of me as he spasmed, riding out his orgasm.

Now he pulled his cock out, and I felt his warm seed spill between my thighs. And then on the clean blanket I had changed in the morning. I was all wet and slithery, and felt dirty in all the possible ways.

Thorin knelt on the bed, still panting, and tilted his head to a side, to look at his work. Teary, ravaged, shaking. Desperate.

“Now that looks better,” he said with a soft smile on his lips, as he gently traced my tear-stained cheek with his finger. “A well-behaving, obedient slave.” And he finally liberated himself from his pants, threw them on the ground, and lay down on his back next to me.

I shakily struggled to sit up. My womb, throat and wrists were all hurting and my head felt dizzy. I put my trembling feet on the floor.  I need to get rid of your seed.

“Where are you going?” Thorin asked leisurely.

I froze. “To wash myself, Your Majesty.”

“You should not roam around Erebor at night alone, not until the horse riders leave today morning. Stay here, Kate.” When I shrank, he added thoughtfully: “I will not touch you again tonight.”  He seemed to actually mean it.

I did not answer. I pondered on his words for a while but was too exhausted to even maintain my sitting position, not to speak about walking or fighting him any longer, so I lay down again on the other end of the bed, as far from Thorin as possible. I covered myself with the blanket and turned my back to him.

After a while I heard his silent breath become steady as he fell asleep. That was when I curled up with my knees up to my chin and started to sob, silently and bitterly. Sharing the king's bed, but still all alone.

XXX

  The orc was approaching me with an ever increasing speed. I turned around to run, but my feet sank deep in the ground as it devoured me, bit by bit, having turned into a lake of stinking mud. I screamed for help as he neared me, unsheathing his rusty weapon, and as I struggled for dear life to get out of the mud, it only sucked me in more quickly. The orc stood by me now, grinning victoriously, and leaned in to take a closer look at me.

I screamed my lungs out.

“Wake up, Kate!”

Darkness, absolute darkness in which also the full moon remained hidden behind the clouds.

I felt something near me stir and close in.

I screamed once again and shot out of whatever I was lying on but was immediately pulled back by an invisible hand.

“It was just a dream, Kate! Bad dream. Wake up now!” I heard a familiar voice whisper and then felt a hand on my shoulder, squeezing and rubbing me gently as he spoke. I burst into tears and threw myself in the arms of the figure next to me, crying hysterically, shaking violently between the sobs.

“It's the orc again!”

“I know, you spoke from your sleep. Hush now, little one, it was just a dream. Just a bad dream,” he spoke as he closed his arms around me and planted soft kisses on my forehead and eyelids. “All will be good in the morning.”

“But what if he returns?”

“Then I will scare him away and hunt him down to all ends of Arda.”

“Thank you, you are so kind.”

And he lay me down again, whoever he was, pulling me in his tight embrace as he spread on his back. I put my head on his chest, still sobbing, grabbing at his long locks as fits of crying shook me. I heard his steady heart beat powerfully, and was lulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 20

 I awoke lying on my side. My head was hurting from the crying, my eyelids swollen, and I felt all shattered and in pain. As my blurred mind began to remember what happened at night, I suddenly realised where I actually was, and when I tried to turn around to check if Thorin was still there, I noticed a muscular hand resting heavily around my waist. He was pressed against my body full length and felt very warm in the chilly morning air. I needed to pee. And I needed to wash his juices off me, above all.

 Now, wide awake, I wondered how to stand up and not wake him up at the same time. I slightly wriggled but then froze as I felt him breathe out more loudly and his hand stir on my waist. A few more seconds, and to my utmost horror, it silently moved to my hip and traced my thigh. I felt something hard press against my buttocks and I whimpered.

 “Lie still,” Thorin whispered in my ear, his voice still hoarse from the sleep.

 His large hand cupped my breast and lazily continued all the way down to my stomach.

 “Nei, vaer så snill*... I'm sore from yesterday, Your Majesty… ” I tried my luck, and already felt a lump forming in my throat.      Not again, please.  

 “It will pass,” he hummed, and took my hair out of the way to bare the back of my neck. He pressed his lips to the soft skin and planted on it a few slow kisses, taking his time with me.

 At my second unsure “Please don't”, he laughed out, and to show me how irrelevant my pleas were, just flipped me over to my back and supporting himself on one arm, continued to explore my body. He laid his palm flat against my intimate parts and leaned in to kiss me.

 Just then, there was a knock on the door.

 Thorin swore and never letting go off me, shouted: “What?!”

 From behind the door came a hushed guard`s voice: “Marshal of the Riddermark wishes to speak to you before they depart, Your Majesty.”

 There was a dark sparkle in Thorin's eye as he looked down at me. He ran his finger through my hair absent-mindedly, pondering on the possibilities of the encounter. Then he smirked and whispered his “Stay here,” as he pulled the blanket up to my neck. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his leather pants from the floor where he had left them yesterday, and put them on. I watched his naked torso move in the dim morning light, the chiseled muscles of his upper arms working, but then averted my gaze bitterly.

 “Bring him in!”

 The guard`s footsteps echoed in the hall as he walked away. And then once again, the sound doubled, stopping in front of the door. Thorin unlocked and opened it wide, standing in the gape as a tower with his chin proudly outstretched.

 “Marshal.”

 Éomer, clad in full armour, stared at Thorin from under his high silver helmet. He looked tired with dark circles under his eyes but struggled it with a certain dignity, now that he regained his former regal countenance. His gaze slid from half-naked Thorin towards me lying on the bed. He swallowed hard.

 “Thorin. You did not come down to see us off. I wonder if it was because of the last night or because we are leaving this early,” he paused for a second, and when Thorin did not reply, he continued his speech. “I wish to part with you in friendship, for the sake of both our realms. Let me assure you I remain Lady Dis` humble servant.”

 “The friendship stays as it was, Éomer. No disruptions.” Thorin smirked, glancing towards me over his shoulder.

 “I am glad to hear that. May I apologise to your slave as well?”

 Thorin nodded briefly and stepped away to unblock the entrance. Éomer walked in the chamber and strode towards the bed, his footsteps heavy, his armour clinking as he walked. I shrank under the blanket, feeling my cheeks turning deep red. To my utter astonishment, he knelt on one knee and bowing his head, spoke to me.

 “I am sorry for my behaviour last night. I did not mean to insult you, nor do any harm to you. I deeply regret that, my lady.” And before I could open my mouth to speak, he took my hand and pressed his lips to it in a gentle manner. “I shall be forever grateful if you forgive me.” He let my hand go and waited with his head bowed.      Oh fuck, just like some Lancelot.  

 “Yes… umm, I mean… I accept your apology.” What a diplomatic answer.

 He immediately stood up, bowed his head slightly, and walked out of the chamber. He turned around at the door and glanced back at me and then at Thorin.

“I wish you well. May both Mahal and Béma* protect you.”

 “Fare well, Éomer. We shall meet again soon under merrier circumstances.”

 “Aye.” Éomer nodded and strode away. I could hear the echo of his heavy footsteps as Thorin closed the door again, smirking.

 “I would not wish to be in his shoes now, with such a hangover. What a pleasant journey he will have,” he said nonchalantly while grabbing his boots from the floor where he had left them the night before. He entered his closet and after a while walked out dressed in a fresh dark blue tunic over linen pants.

 “You may dress now.”

 As I stood up tiredly to do as he had said, he strolled to the table and reached for a carafe. He poured some wine mixed with water into a tall chalice and drank eagerly. Then he refilled it and turned towards me.

 “Drink.”

 I dressed in my rumpled dress as quickly as I possibly could, happy to finally have some clothes to cover myself with. Then I took the offered chalice from his hand. I hesitated briefly before bringing it to my cracked lips. Wine on an empty stomach, never a good choice. But then again, why not.      Screw it. I need it anyway.  

 Thorin was watching me intently from under his lashes as I drank. When I emptied the glass, he took it from me and lay it on the table. I looked at him questioningly.

 “You can take the bath you asked for last night. Come,” he said placidly as he opened the door and motioned for me to join him.

 Notes:        

Nei, vaer så snill. - Please don`t. (Norwegian) Béma - the Rohirrim venerated the Vala Oromë the Hunter, whom they called Béma

Chapter 21

 Not knowing what to expect, I followed him hesitantly through the corridor. At the end, he turned to the left and then several more times until we reached a distant passage I had not visited before. It was all dark stone with silvery veins but the walls were rough and any carpet was missing. I was wondering what he meant by a bath, so far I had seen no bathtubs in whole Erebor as far as I could go. I only washed myself in a wash basin during my stay.

 Finally, Thorin stood in front of large, ordinary-looking door. He opened it with a creak and a wave of hot humid air steamed out from the inside. He stepped in and turned back to me with his hand outstretched:

 “Come in, Kate, you will like it.”

 What I saw first in the room were three large pools sunken in the ground in what reminded me of the ancient Greco-Roman style, with stone stairs leading down inside. The floor was of polished stone tiles of sandy shades such as the walls, and as I stepped in barefoot, I realised in astonishment it was all warm as if underlain with underfloor heating. There were a few shelves with bath necessities scattered around the room. The air was filled with warm, intoxicating incense, and natural light was coming in from some hidden source.

 I exhaled. Such pampering beauty in such a harsh place! For a moment I forgot my troubles and drank in the soothing atmosphere.

 “I didn't know something like this existed in Erebor,” I uttered under my breath, my eyes fixed on the nearest pool on which rim lay a few filigran bottles of what looked like precious oils and bars of soap. I could swear I smelled subtle scent of roses even here.

 “The pools are filled with thermal water, we have a few springs originating here under the mountain. And, of course, the River Running,” he paused as he grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf. “They are of real value especially in winters such as this. The waters are then used for heating in the lower chambers. They are allowed to circulate until they thoroughly cool. A true masterwork of our builders,” Thorin explained proudly.

 I knelt next to the closest pool impatiently and sank my hand in it. It was very hot and I immediately withdrew it with a grin.

 Thorin smiled. “Try the one in the middle. They are of different temperatures.”

 I took a few steps to the right and sank my foot in the water. It felt pleasantly warm, and I suddenly no longer cared who was present at that moment. I took off my dress in a second, threw it on the ground and walked down a flight of steps into the pool. I waited a few more seconds to adjust to the temperature and then fully submerged into the water, withholding my breath. Dull, echoing silence embraced me, and I enjoyed it to the fullest.

 When I reluctantly resurfaced and wiped the water from my eyes, I saw Thorin had already entered the same pool. He was leaning against the pool wall with his eyelids half-closed, his hair and skin all wet, resting, not seeming to care about me. I decided to ignore him and enjoy this treatment as much as I possibly could. I walked towards the far end rim and took a soap which lay there prepared along with neatly piled towels and sheets of various sizes. I turned my back to Thorin and indulged in carefully washing my skin, my hair, my womb. I took particular care in cleansing the latter. I submerged once again in the water and took my place opposite the stairs into the pool, as far from Thorin as possible. Then I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of total void in my head. I felt the wine I had drunk a few moments ago hitting my head, the effect boosted by the heat of the bath. I hummed to myself in silent approval.

 I heard the water splash, and when I opened my eyes again, Thorin was standing in front of me with wide grin on his face. Slowly, he leaned in and brushed his lips against mine, ever-so-gently. I shuddered, and he tucked a strand thread of my hair behind my ear. The little gesture was so intimate and caring that I wondered if this was the same man as last night.

 “What do you want from me? What do you      really     want?” I shot honestly without thinking.

 He withdrew immediately and our gaze locked for a few long seconds. He blinked a few times, then leaned in again so close I could feel his breath on my skin, and said, his eyes deeply penetrating me.

 “I want you to spread your legs for me willingly, freely, and enjoy it as much as I do.”

 My breath hitched in my throat and it took a lot of effort for me to remain calm. “You know I can't do it.”

 “Yes you can. And you will.” He played with my wet hair as he spoke, so close now he literally pinned me to the pool wall. His powerful body pressed against mine in the hot water.

 “How do you want it this time, Kate?”

 “I don't want it at all,” I whispered.

 “Do not lie to me. How do you want it this time, I asked.”

 He pressed against me even harder, placing both of his hands on the pool rim, having me trapped in between. Alright then, I thought desperately. So be it. Maybe I will be lucky to finish it before it even starts. And without a warning, I grabbed his mighty erection and started to stroke it fervently, up and down, mechanically, shamelessly and efficiently. He moaned in surprise and stopped whatever he was planning to do, enjoying my attention with his eyes closed and lips parted. More sure now, I started to stroke him faster, and that was when he opened his eyes and tilted his head in a sudden realisation.

 “Oh no, not this way, sweet one.” He groaned, liberating his member from my grip and placing my hand around his waist. “Let me rephrase my question. What do you want me to do to you?”

 I shuddered once again. I looked up at him, in his sky-blue eyes now darkened with determination and the air of finality of his decision, and knew nothing more could be done, not even this time. I felt the intoxicating effect of the wine combined with sleep deprivation, the warmth of both Thorin towering above me, radiating strength and health, and the water infused with precious oils, and I was so exhausted that suddenly my head felt dizzy and I no longer cared. I swallowed hard.

 “Be gentle. Be as gentle as you can, please.” I heard myself say against all reason, as if from a distance, and could not believe the pleading, unsure voice which had spoken the invitation belonged to me.

 “No more fighting?”

 I just shook my head tiredly. At that, he leaned in and claimed my mouth, slowly, deeply, passionately, taking his time with me. His hands wandered around my body in large circles and I felt myself melting as an ice cube thrown into fire. A soft moan escaped my lips and he groaned into my mouth at that. He withdrew and placed butterfly kisses on my neck and ears, and it was so hard to resist the sensations it sent through my core that I shivered and dug my nails deep into his skin. He looked deep into my eyes and without a warning lifted me in the water so that it came splashing out of the pool, pressing me against the wall with a low gurgling grunt. I whimpered in distress, but he kissed my lips gently.

 “I will not enter you now, trust me.” He waited for a few seconds for his words to sink in, and then added. “Just wrap your legs around me.”

 Hesitantly, I did as he said, and he rubbed against my intimate parts, slowly and self-cautiously. His wet hair got in between our lips as he pressed them again against mine and I brushed it away with my free hand, feeling my last conscious blocks dissolving in the thick humid air.

Screw it, screw it all. I don't care, just for now.  

He continued to caress me, here and there planting soft kisses on my shoulder and along the collarbone, his narrow hips rested against mine, foreshadowing what might be coming later, still and unmoving, only occasionally suggesting a slight thrust forward. I realised my breath quickened and was coming in shallow gasps now, and I wondered how long he will be able to withhold his suppressed desire. He was squeezing me with more force now and his face turned to the mask of terrible, all-devouring hunger. His teeth were bruising my lips as he kissed me, and at one moment I whimpered in pain. At that, he withdrew from me, panting heavily, scrutinising me for a brief moment, and I thought that was the moment he would take me with full force. Instead, to my utter astonishment, he let go off me, putting my legs carefully back on the tiled pool floor, and lifted himself out of the pool, supported only by his arms. He rested for a few moments with his head slightly bowed as if to compose himself, then he stood up and walked to a shelf from which he grabbed a large towel. He carelessly rubbed himself dry, then took another one along with a bottle of what looked like some oil and walked back towards me. I noticed his massive erection even from here as he strode, his wet hair flowing down his muscled wide arms and chest. There were also a few scars and the latest, already healed nasty wound, which reached from under his armpit straight down to the ribs. The memory of the last battle. I had actually never seen him all naked in full light, and my breath hitched at the embodiment of the manly beauty.

 Aware of my wide stare, he squatted by the pool with a self-conscious smirk. He took me by hips and arms and in one powerful movement pulled me out of the pool, backwards, so that I lay on my back on the tiled floor. It was surprisingly warm and reminded me of a tepidarium used in modern sauna worlds. I let my body absorb the dry warmth as my tense muscles started to relax, along with a few strokes of Thorin's hand around my face, breasts and belly. Then he pulled me to a sitting position, and to my surprise, reached out for the second towel to rub me dry. Gently, soothingly he brought it to my face, hair and body, and did not stop until my legs and feet were dry too. He gestured for me to make room between my thighs, and I obeyed. Without even looking, he pressed the towel gently at my womanhood, never breaking the eye contact with me. The softest moan escaped my lips and he smiled with satisfaction. I felt blood rise into my cheeks.

 “Have no shame, my sweet one,” he whispered under his breath before licking at my neck. Then he gently pushed his hot tongue inside my ear, playfully, and this time I moaned loudly at the sensation and to my utter dismay, realised my thighs were shaking violently from the desire. I could not hold it away from him anymore, and he knew it full well.

 He reached out for the bottle, poured a few drops of its contents into his palms and rubbed them together. He then brought them to my shoulders and ran his fingers across my muscles, here and there giving a few light squeezes. The moisture was indeed scented oil, relaxing and intoxicating at the same time, and I could swear I felt in it subtle tones of a rose, lavender and some exotic flowers I did not recognize. He slowly pushed me back to lie on the floor. His hands continued their journey along my breasts, belly and down to my legs, and I shivered as he traced my feet and soles and massaged them softly, applying extra oil.

 The king tending to his slave`s feet, how absurd.

 Then he returned upwards, and spreading my legs gently, let the oil drop on my clit and flow further down to the floor. He brought his index finger down and traced my core with one feathery movement. At that, my back arched high and I moaned loudly, digging my fingernails in my palms. This earned me his deep-set growl, as he pushed the bottle aside, and mounted me quickly, settling himself between my wide-spread thighs.

 I no longer cared. I no longer thought. All I knew was I wanted my release, the little joy I believed I had earned after the long months of fear and inner pain, and if this joy was to come from Thorin, my goddamn captor, then so be it.

 He leaned in to ravish my mouth hungrily, then withdrew to take a good look at me, spread under him, a willing, waiting woman with passion in her eyes, and his features softened for a brief moment, before turning fiercer again. Holding my hips in place with one hand, with the other supporting himself, he placed the tip of his erection against my core and entered me in one strong, resolute movement. I gasped at the sudden intrusion, but he stopped briefly to wait for my walls to adjust to his enormous size. Then he resumed his movements and claimed me in long, deep and slow thrusts, his features all lust and passion finally unleashed. I was still sore from the last night, and the subtle burning pain reminded me very well of how very different the act felt this time, for as he continued to move inside of me, the pain subsided and turned into a brand new feeling - ecstasy in wild abandon. I writhed and moaned under him, as his thrusts became deeper and faster, his own breath coming along with growls as he rode me, the beast in him never taking over the control, as was seen in his determined features. At one moment he looked down at me and grunted:

 “Come for me, my sweet one.”

 And he bit me in the neck, more teasingly than fiercely, as he continued to ride me, and I felt my climax approaching rapidly. A few more powerful thrusts, and a hot wave of sweet pleasure rolled over me as I came wildly, washing away all my distress, fear and anger which had built in me over the months, and I released a loud tortured cry. Never giving me time to recover, he lifted my legs high above my hips to support them on his shoulders and rammed his cock inside me once again, thrusting in and out wildly, claiming his ownership of me. Finally, he growled deeply and came hard into me, and I felt his cock throb and twitch in my tight tunnel. Then he stilled and remained nestled between my legs for a few moments, resting on me, panting.

 Finally, he stroked my cheek with his thumb and pulled out, seating himself next to me. I rolled over to one side with my back to him, still panting, powerless, exhausted, pleased and utterly lost in a thousand contradictory emotions. Tears stung in my eyes, and I did not know why exactly I was crying this time.

 This man. I loathed him and at the same time was thankful for the joy he had just brought to me, however insane it sounded.

 He interrupted my train of thought by whispering from behind my back: “You will have to take another bath, it seems.”

 I glared at him.

 “You too!” forgetting I was actually being rude to the king, but did not care.

 He did not seem to be bothered by that as he stood up and strode towards the pool. I struggled to a sitting position, my head even more dizzy than before, then stood up clumsily, realising my legs were shaking.

 Seeing that, without a single word, Thorin returned to me, lifted me in his arms and carried me into the pool, watching his steps carefully not to slip. There, to my utter shock, he washed me himself, bringing the cloth gently between my thighs, cleaning thoroughly the remains of our encounter, and I could not help the feeling he was thus making up for the horrors of the last night.

 Did he feel guilty though? I could not tell.

Chapter 22

Right thereafter, Thorin led me to the dining room. I asked him if I could instead go to my chamber and get some sleep but he insisted that I eat first. I followed him to the room on the highest floor from where I used to take the breakfast for him. It used to be empty at early dawn, but this time I was taken aback to meet Dis who had been seated at the far end of the table. Her eyebrow rose as she saw us enter the room side by side, our hair all wet, and the expression made her resemble Thorin so much that I stopped dead in my tracks.

 “Sister! Good morning,” said Thorin, smiling. He walked towards her and bent down to kiss her cheek.

 “Thorin, good to see you! Join me and make up for your neglecting me all those mornings past,” she smiled back at him, pointing to a few empty chairs. Thorin chose the one opposite her and sat down heavily.

 “Would you mind a little company? My little slave would like to join us for breakfast,” he said playfully and gestured for me to come closer. I slightly bowed towards Dis.

 “Of course, good morning, Kate. Come and sit down.”

 “Good morning, my lady.”

 There were three free chairs separating the siblings, and I chose to sit on the one in the middle, right in between them. I folded my hands in my lap and watched them in a silent, tired anticipation, hoping we would finish soon so that I could retire.

 Thorin reached for a richly decorated plate and as a darwish maid marched in balancing other plates full of delicacies in her arms, he ordered her to bring me strong coffee first. The maid bowed and disappeared immediately. She was back in a minute, placing in front of me a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and an empty plate so that I could choose whatever I wanted. I put two spoons of sugar in it and inhaled the aroma deeply. My first coffee after… how long was it, after all? I could not remember.

 The royal siblings continued in an agreeable chatter, but I did not listen to them. My stomach was all shrunken, so after a while I just tried a few sips of my coffee. It tasted most delicious, and an unwanted memory of me and my friends sitting in my favourite cafe back in Bergen flashed in front of my eyes. My past life. It was now that it was out of reach that I could finally appreciate it, the little unimportant choices I could enjoy freely, and my problems which at that time looked enormous, were but futile issues of a spoiled child.

 “ - how pale she has turned. You should not be that demanding, Thorin. Have some mercy on her.”

 “You do not need to worry, sister. It is nothing a few more hours of sleep would not make up for. Besides, she is learning quickly. I do not think any more harder handling will be needed.”

 I lifted my eyes from the steaming coffee. Are they really discussing me as if I was not there listening? Decency of the Durins was certainly not something I could count on. But right now, I did not really care. The sounds and images came to me as if through a thick haze, owing to the wine, my troubled and exhausted mind, and all I wanted was to just be released and shut myself out in my chamber and make the whole world disappear for at least a millennium. And, most importantly, come to terms with the recent events.

 “Oh no, I know you too well, Thorin, you are enjoying this too much. Have her rest properly, have her eat properly, show her how kind you can be, how we all know you. Do not let her wither and or die trying to escape again, you do not want that, after all.”

 Thorin was listening to his sister with a slight frown, but he appeared not angered, but rather amused by her scolding.

 “You speak as if you were older than me, Dis,” he smirked, reaching out for another piece of cheese. Then he waved her complaints away. “As I said, she is making good progress and just needs time to process it all and adapt. Do not worry about that. What needs to be dealt with though are her nightmares. She is deeply troubled, even after all this time.” He glanced at me briefly before turning to his sister again.

 How the hell did he know?! I had not spoken of them to anyone, there was no way he could have…

 “What nightmares?”

 “Of the orcs attacking. I doubt she will ever sleep peacefully unless she gets over those. She woke up thrice last night screaming. It has been more than six months since I brought her here, sister, that is not a good sign at all.”

 “Oh,” Dis threw a sympathetic glance at me. “There should still be a way to help her cope with her past.”

 “Perhaps.”

 “Teach me how to fight.” My palm shot up to my mouth immediately to cover it. I had not realized what I was saying before I uttered the quick words.

 There were a few moments of awkward silence before Thorin spoke again, surprised.

 “The art is not taught to everybody that simply, and especially not to the lower ranking subjects. What do you expect from it, Kate?”

 “To be able to defend myself, under any circumstances, Your Majesty. If you grant me that wish, I would like to at least try.”

 “Let her try, Thorin, it will do her good,” Dis rushed in to help.

 Thorin took a deep breath and then, having come to a conclusion, said thoughtfully.

 “Very well, fight what you fear, Kate. Face the enemy within and turn your pain to hate, it will make you stronger. It might even help you regain your courage.” He paused for a long moment, his eyes turning to a distant point of his past which I could not reach nor comprehend. They flickered with a dark consuming fire before it died out again. “I will have somebody teach you how to fight. After all, you have earned it. With a sword, perhaps, or a sax, the axe would be too heavy for you. What do you say to that? A sword or a sax, which one do you prefer?” He leaned in as he shook off his memories, the tiny flame of amusement springing in his eyes now.

 My jaw dropped. The first actual thought was “      Whatever small to help me stab you in the heart at night    ” but naturally, I had to swallow it. What came out of my mouth was what they had expected, I think.

 “I do not know what a sax is, Your Majesty.”

 “A broad-blade knife, or a short sword, depending on its length. It is a better choice for your tiny hands.”

 “Then let it be the sax, thank you,” I answered blankly, hunching over my cup once again. Whatever, really. But I already felt the boosting effect of coffee as the cloud over my mind started lifting.

 Dis laughed out amused, pushing a plate with a few pieces of cake in front of me as she spoke. “This reminds me of      my     first lesson back when I was ten. I like the sax, it is a small weapon but deadly nonetheless. You will learn to fight like a dwarvish warrior, Kate, what an honour!”

 I managed a tired smile at her. “Oh, is it?”

 “Of course! And have some cake, dear, you need to eat something,” she urged me, bringing her cup of tea to her lips.

 The conversation had turned again to some unimportant topics for which I was grateful. At least they did not pay any more attention to me and I could enjoy the meal. After I had eaten everything from the plate which Dis pushed in front of me, Thorin gracefully dismissed me.

 “Go and have some rest. I will not expect your service tomorrow morning, so you may sleep longer and recover your strength.” I thanked him and as I did my curtsy before leaving, he added: “From now on, you may use the baths freely and without any company.”

 At this, my heart jumped with joy, and I sent him a genuine smile, because it really made me happy. After how long, I could not remember. Perhaps I had become too numb to certain feelings, this is what Erebor made of me.

 “Thank you so much!” I made another curtsy, not knowing how else to thank him. It is so strange that these little acts of kindness can make such a big difference, and now I was more than ready to welcome them, parched as I was for humanity.

 He smiled back at me, the carefree and enchanting young expression returning once again to his features, but then he waved me away impatiently, obviously having something else on his mind to be discussed with his sister.

 Just after I crossed the threshold, he returned to her, his voice was grave as he offered a strange solution:

 “You have certainly heard of the events at the feast. We do not have to do this, Dis, there is still time to take back your word before the preparations begin. I will not have you unhappy for the rest of your life.”

 “But what other choice do we have, Thorin?”

 “We can still find some other ally, albeit from a longer distance,” he spoke softly.

 “You know there are no other suitable options, unless you want me to marry an elf. Oh no, do not tempt me, not now that I have finally said yes. He might still be a barbarian who dares to bully slaves, but he will not dare to intimidate a lady. And if something goes wrong, I will return, he cannot hold me there by force. For the sake of Erebor. I might even have children once again...” she stopped as her voice broke.

 “Dis… ”

I did not hear more as the rest of the strange conversation died out when I hurried away through the dimly lit corridor.

(to be continued here and in my AO3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satiah81/works)

[deathonyourtongue]

Willow Run | Ch. 7

Summary: On a horse ranch in Texas, life is far simpler than on the streets of Bakubah, but Syverson has a bad habit of taking in strays of all kinds, no matter what demons may be after them. Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC Word Count: 3K Warnings: Drug use? A/N: Y’ALL ARE THE BEST!!!! CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | 

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“I’m a nice guy, right? I mean I got a place, roof don’t leak none, got food...Hell, I gave it to her good, too. She always moaned like a whore when I gave it to her. She loved it, especially the rough stuff.”

“I mean, you did say you were gon’ kill her.” Wade giggled, inhaling deeply from a bong and momentarily taking his eyes off Travis. His shaggy blond hair was in need of a wash, but from the state of his shirt, it was clear cleanliness wasn’t at the forefront of any of his thoughts. 

Tapping on a dying lightbulb that sat next to his recliner, Travis grinned. He took a long drag off his cigarette, swilled it with lukewarm beer, and finally nodded. “Well, that’s ‘cause she disobeyed. She doesn’t have a lot to remember, really. Keep the house clean, keep the food hot, keep her legs spread, keep takin’ ‘er pills. Four things. That’s all she needs to remember, but that seems too hard for ‘er. You tell me Wade. If someone finds it too hard to remember four things, should they really be breathin’?”

“No sir,” Wade laughed, grabbing a handful of pretzels and putting the whole lot in his mouth at once while shaking his head. 

“Exactly. And seein’ as how she’s mine, it’s my right to do with ‘er as I please.” 

“Can’t argue with that one, boss.”

Standing, Travis made his way to the kitchen, pausing in front of a mirror his fiancee had broken with her face some time ago. Slipped into the frame was a picture, taken years before on a Polaroid. He stroked over the image with his thumb, smiling. Travis could remember the day like it was yesterday. She’d tried to surprise him by bleaching her hair a white-blond with pink streaks. He took a deep breath,trying to keep from getting hard as he remembered how rough he’d given it to her that night after the party at the drag strip. In his experience, blondes were always bimbos, good for one thing and one thing only. He treated her like a blonde that night, then made her dye it back to its original color the next day; it didn’t matter to him that she had a hard time moving her hands up to her head, so long as she got the job done. 

His reflection, disfigured among the cracks of glass, made him look more sinister than usual and it suited Travis’ mood. His grin grew as he met his own gaze; tri-colored eyes reminiscent of a broken marble stared back, amplifying the decision he’d already made. Running a hand through his mussed russet hair, he looked over his shoulder at his best friend before opening the fridge and grabbing a fresh beer.

“Wade? What d’you do when a deer runs away from ya out into the bush?”

“Y’hunt it. Why?”

“Well, my dear ran away, Wade. Get your stuff and call the guys. We’re gonna go huntin’.” 

Sasha couldn’t help but smile as she read over the second note Sy had left her in as many days. To him, it was probably nothing more than common decency, but to Sasha it was such a tender gesture of affection that it nearly brought tears to her eyes. 

Feeling better than she had in a long time, she slipped out of bed, leaving the puppies to sleep and moved to get ready for the day, intending on finally surprising Sy with the breakfast she’d planned on making the day before. After a quick stop in the bathroom to tie her hair up in a floppy bun, Sasha put on a touch of the makeup she’d bought, slipped into the second outfit she’d tried on, and with new shoes in hand, headed downstairs to start cooking. 

Though she hadn’t cooked from scratch a lot in her past, Sasha had always felt it important that a person have one or two recipes that they could make to near-perfection. Her favorite by far was her breakfast burritos and she’d yet to have someone fail to compliment her on them after trying them.

After a quick rummage through Sy’s fridge, she set about making two for him and one for herself, Sasha watching the clock closely, knowing full well she had a limited time frame to get the food to him before his meeting with the buyer. Where Sy sang, Sasha preferred to dance in the kitchen as she cooked, every movement accompanied by a happy little shuffle of her feet, whether or not there was music playing. 

Before, she’d have to watch herself, as dancing was looked down on, but now, feeling freer than ever before, she couldn’t  help but make her movements a little more grandiose. To anyone looking in, she might have looked a little strange, dancing and smiling from ear to ear when there was no music playing, but Sasha couldn’t have cared less. She was happy for the first time in a long time and she wasn’t going to hide it.

With the kitchen cleaned and the dogs all given a bit of bacon for their good behavior, Sasha set off with everything she’d made, the food wrapped in tin foil then gathered in a clean kitchen towel for easier carrying. Along with the thermos of hot coffee and a bottle of water in place of her OJ, Sasha headed off by foot to find Sy, not ready to try her hand at the ATV that sat parked at the back of the house. 

Her smile grew as she neared the barn, hearing an upbeat country tune playing through speakers she could only assume were hardwired into the building itself. Seeing Wyatt, Sasha put a finger to her lips, silently asking him to stay quiet. The taller man only smiled, shifting his gaze back to a horse he was grooming while discreetly tilting his head to the left, giving away Sy’s location. 

She was expecting him to look as he always had when working in the heat; sweaty, a little disheveled, and wearing his beat up baseball cap. What met her eyes however was something closer to the cover of a romance novel, and Sasha was momentarily stunned into stillness. 

Wearing a navy and black plaid button-down, tight blue jeans with a black belt, and a far less trodden pair of black, round-toed boots, it was the black Stetson on Sy’s head that made her stomach explode into a million butterflies. Biting her lip, Sasha felt a stirring she couldn’t remember ever feeling for her ex, the realization a startling one that nearly made her drop the thermos. 

It took a deep breath to refocus her mind, but once she had, Sasha tiptoed as close to Sy as she dared. With a quick look to Wyatt, who gave her wholehearted approval, Sasha leaned up as far as she could, standing on her tiptoes to try and reach his ear. 

“Morning, handsome,” she whispered, echoing his morning note. 

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Sy jumped a mile, turning and banging his elbow into the stall as he tried to figure out what was going on. Seeing Sasha, his fear instantly turned to elation, and he placed a hand over his heart as he took her in. Even more radiant than she had been the previous morning, Sy could tell she felt a million times better, not just physically, but emotionally. The gleam in her eye said it all, and before he could even register it, Sy was grinning like a fool. 

“Morning, mama,” he said with fondness, his voice quiet and sweet as he tipped his hat back enough to kiss her cheek. 

Though Sasha was momentarily confused at the formality of the kiss, it only took one look at Wyatt’s raised eyebrows for her to realize why Sy was being a little coy with the PDA. Everything was still new. Blushing a little, she pulled her surprise from behind her back, smiling hopefully up at Syverson.

“I thought I’d make your morning a little easier,” Sasha said, her smile growing as Sy slipped a hand around her waist, guiding her down the aisle towards his office.

Sy’s face showed genuine appreciation as he took a seat in his high back leather chair, pulling Sasha down into his lap so she wouldn’t have to sit on the perpetually hay dust-covered chair. 

“You didn’t need to do all this, darlin’. You made coffee and everything. Thank you.” Sy met her eyes, his own gaze making it abundantly clear that he wasn’t used to being treated. Turning her face with his hand, he kissed her deeply now that they were in private, Sy sighing happily when he finally pulled away. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissin’ you all morning,” he confessed, Sasha unable to keep the small squeak of happiness from escaping, her head falling to Sy’s broad shoulder as he reached around her to unwrap the kitchen towel. 

With the tinfoil off in a hurry, Syverson’s face turned into one of delight as he immediately recognized what she’d made. 

“Did you use the chorizo?” He asked, bouncing a little in his seat when Sasha nodded. Laughing softly, Sasha held off on taking her first bite in lieu of watching Sy. While his food always tasted amazing, he usually didn’t have much of a reaction to his own cooking. Now, with someone else’s handiwork in front of him, it was a totally different story. 

Sy’s eyes rolled back into his head the moment the first bite touched his tongue, a loud, appreciative moan coming next as he began to chew, followed by more bouncing and a bob of his head that was unmistakably made in time with the music. 

“Damn, woman! You could make some serious coin off these! It’s so good! I think you’ve ruined me. Never, ever tell her I said this, but... Even my mom’s isn’t this tasty! Holy shit!” 

Blushing profusely, Sasha hid her face deeper into the crook of Sy’s neck, her smile wide as she felt his free hand come up to cup the back of her head. Warm and safe, she almost forgot about her own meal until the baby moved and her stomach growled simultaneously, both Sasha and Sy laughing and the loud interference. 

“Might wanna eat quick, mama. The lil’ one’s gettin’ restless,” Sy grinned, his hand slipping under her overalls to rub her belly gently over her shirt. The touch made her heart skip a beat, Sasha still amazed that Sy seemed to have no qualms over the fact that she was pregnant, even now that they’d declared their interest in one another as more than just friends. 

Unwrapping her burrito, she took a hearty bite, Sasha glad that her appetite was coming back a little stronger now that she was well away from her previous situation. Still watching Sy, she felt her blush returning as his excitement over the food didn’t waver a bit. It was so opposite of what she was used to, Sasha didn’t quite know what to do with herself. 

“Seriously, Sash, I could have these as my last meal and I’d die a happy man.” Giving her a squeeze, he looked up at her and something in his eyes changed. 

“Darlin’, you’ve got a little somethin’...” Sy’s voice softened as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Sasha’s lips and knocking her heart into overdrive immediately, with how charming he was. 

“Stop,” she whined playfully once they parted, her broad smile making it clear she didn’t actually want him to do anything of the sort. “You’re too cute for your own good, mister,” Sasha added, pressing the button of his nose, her own scrunched up playfully. 

“Nuh uh. That’s all you, mama. I’m just the big ‘ol rust bucket that works with horses,” he joked, Sy about to lean in to kiss her again when Wyatt’s soft throat-clearing interrupted them. 

“We got about five minutes. He’s all ready to go, trottin’ around the pasture so he’s seen as they drive up. You need my help with anythin’ else or am I good to get back to the trees?” Wyatt asked, trying his hardest not to let his face show how surprised and happy he was for his best friend. 

It had been eons since Sy had shown any interest in a woman, and despite only having met her briefly, Wyatt could already see how much of a difference Sasha was making in his former C.O., a difference for the better as far as Wyatt was concerned. 

“Nope, I’m all good to go. D’you mind if I share this with Wyatt, darlin’? He hasn't’ eaten yet either and he’s about to go out and break his back.” Looking down at Sy as he asked for permission, Sasha only let the shock of his request flash briefly across her face before nodding quickly. Men never asked her for permission; they usually just took and took and took. Feeling overwhelmed with emotion, Sasha found herself slowly getting off Sy’s lap, mouth parted slightly. 

Was it too good to be true? Would he end up being like every other man she’d ever been with? Was this all a dream that would leave her sobbing when she woke?

Managing to keep the smile on her face, she bent down and gave Sy a sweet kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger just a little longer than was customary. 

“I think I’m gonna head back up to the house.” Sasha murmured, stepping backwards while trying to keep her composure. Sy frowned slightly, confusion marring his features. 

“You alright, darlin’?” Nodding quickly, Sasha waved the two men goodbye before turning on her heel and heading back towards the house as fast as she could manage. 

Hearing the buyer’s truck pulling up as she crested the hill, it was all Sasha could do to keep from running, afraid seeing her might deter Sy’s prospective customer. Inside, the cool air hit her and without anyone watching her, Sasha let her tears spill, elated that she’d found such a wonderful man, but terrified that it was all going to go south like it did any time she had even a modicum of happiness to herself. Overwhelmed with emotion and forgetting all about the hormones coursing through her, Sasha kicked off her shoes before beelining the couch, curling up with Hudson and letting the tears fall silently until sleep overtook her. 

Sasha wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt soft lips on her face. Moaning quietly, she braced for the kisses to turn to punches. With her eyes squeezed shut tightly, she was certain she’d feel the familiar wakeup call tear her out of her dream, which would put her right back to everything she’d run away from. 

“Travis, I’m up, I promise,” she mumbled, whimpering even as she put her hands up to block whatever violence was coming her way. 

When the gentle kisses stopped and all she felt was the circulating air of the AC, Sasha finally opened her eyes, confused; the sight before her put a lump in her throat instantly. Sy sat on the coffee table, back hunched over, his eyes gazing into a spot on the rug. Lips pressed in a tight line, two tear drops clung to his lower lashes, streaming down his face only when he finally looked up, their path cutting through the fine layer of dust on his face before he wiped them away slowly. 

“Ah, sweetheart. Wish I could take all your fear, all your pain away,” he whispered, sniffling and wiping a little harder at his eyes when the tears wouldn’t stop. 

Sitting up, Sasha found herself at a loss for what to say, her own eyes already red-rimmed from having cried herself to sleep. Looking at Syverson, she couldn’t help but feel the same guilt she’d felt during her first day with him. Only now, she could add making him cry to the list of things she felt responsible for. 

“I feel like I’m a burden on you already, nevermind you wanting to take on my pain,” she admitted, her voice small and pinched, Sasha looking anywhere but at Sy. 

Opening his arms, it only took a moment before Sy had Sasha in his embrace, holding her as close as he could and letting her fresh tears fall into the crook of his neck. Rocking her back and forth as he stroked her hair caringly, Sy could only think of one response to her words. 

“No, not a burden. A joy.”

[sserpente]

Condolescence (Chapter IXX)

Pairing: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) x OFC Language: English Rating: M

Read it on AO3!

Not even in the slightest was the Palmer Park as famous as the usual sight-seeing spots tourists stormed to in Detroit and especially at this time of the day, with the sun long gone and the moonlight mildly illuminating the soil path before them, a heavy layer of peace and quiet had covered the spot of nature in a soft blanket, clutching it frantically.

Tal leaned in closer to Adam, taking in the scent of his black leather jacket. He had put on his gloves, an arm wrapped firmly but gently around her waist as he pressed a tender kiss on her forehead and stroked her hips.

Compared to him she could barely see her own feet before her, let alone her surroundings and yet, she revelled in the beauty of the night. The shapes of trees and bushes, invisible flowers, usually bright with colours, swallowed by the vast darkness… a soft sigh escaped her lips.

“It’s so beautiful out here…”

“Yeah,” Adam murmured quietly.  “I used to come here a lot after Eve died. When the wind rustled through the leaves, I thought I would hear her voice. Now I hear her in my head. It’s like her soul never really left me.”

Perhaps she should be scared away by such a confession. Learning that Adam still mourned his dead wife, an immortal woman he had spent so many centuries with but strangely… she wasn’t. She understood Eve would forever be a part of him. There was no jealousy, not like there had been for Ava before she had introduced herself as Eve’s sister.

“What does she say?” Tal whispered, nuzzling in even closer to him.

“She encouraged me. To keep going, to accept that I fell in love with you, Tal… to tur—“ He paused, pressing his thin lips together.

Tal looked up, attempting to make out his blue eyes in the darkness. Her own eyes widened but her surroundings remained utterly dark. She could barely hear him breathing, yet she noticed he was tensing.

Eve encouraged him to turn her? What was stopping him then when even his dead wife wanted him to embrace this new love to keep for the rest of eternity? She wouldn’t ream. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath and gave him a tight hug to express her understanding.

Adam sighed. “Perhaps I should,” he suddenly said, breaking the comforting silence once more. “Perhaps I’m just too selfish to do it.”

“Adam, I won’t force you. I won’t even speak of it again if you don’t want me to. I can feel how much this is bothering you and I’m sorry to be the one who caused that. I can wait. As long as I can stay with you, I can wait.”

“I love you.” He muttered quietly in response.

“I love you too, Adam.”

They spent two more hours just walking through the park silently, bathing in each other’s presence and enjoying each other’s company right until Tal was freezing from the cold which was clutching at her limbs like merciless claws.

It was nice not to talk, nice to understand each other without any words. The sexual tension, the passionate friction between them, it was tangible when they got in the car and drove back to Adam’s house.

The lights were all out when they arrived, with no music or another person’s presence welcoming them home.

“Where’s Ava?”

“Gone for good, I hope.”

Truth was, Adam didn’t want to worry her. Ava had never cared about taking life to still her hunger, it was likely she was out dancing with strangers only to lure them into an abandoned, dimly lit alley to suck all blood out of their bodies.

He shivered when he imagined it, hoping for Tal’s sake she would return sated.

“I’ll make myself something to eat, I’m rather hungry.” Tal stated with a shy smile, letting go of Adam’s hand rather reluctantly.

“Alright. I’ll prepare you a bath so you can warm up.”

“Thank you.”

Contently, she strolled over into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She would have to go shopping soon again. Tal still hated asking Adam for money but if he noticed there was no more food for her in the house, he would throw a tantrum and scold her anyway. She might as well mention it. Perhaps in the bathtub, where he would hopefully join her? No… if he did so, they would be doing something entirely different. Tal didn’t even care the water would mix with her blood.

She pressed her legs together when she imagined it, wetness pooling in her panties within seconds.

She screamed when she closed the fridge again. Ava was leaning against the wall, her blonde hair frizzy and wild as if she’d spent an adventurous night.

She was grinning when Tal locked eyes with her with raised eyebrows. “Hey…”

“Hi. Bet your night wasn’t even half as fun as mine was.”

“That depends.” The question as to whether she killed anyone lay heavy on her tongue, yet the words wouldn’t come. Don’t provoke her.

“Did Adam get some more blood by any chance?”

“No… I mean, you drank everything, he was pretty pissed about it.” Anger boiled in Tal’s stomach. Ava had seemed likable at first, she’d liked her cheerful nature and now… ever since Adam had warned her about her, she was suspicious. She knew not to judge people by other people’s opinions but Ava… Ava was a murderer. A ruthless vampire who would, so she was sure, not hesitate to kill her.

“Ugh, come on. Can’t you let me take a sip from you then? Just one! I promise I’m gentle! I mean you already know what it feels like.” She flinched when her eyes turned to the familiar golden and brown colour she had come to adore so much when Adam fed on her. Her canines pushed against her lower lip, a silent hiss underlining her change of appearance. This was different… this was… terrifying.

“No, Ava.” Tal spat, backing away with trembling limbs. “Didn’t you feed earlier? I mean, you went out as well, didn’t you?” She tried hard to stop her voice from shaking. Vampires could sense fear and anxiety, that she was very well aware of.

“No… those boys were all so ugly. LA is so much more exciting, seriously.”

“Adam… Adam! Adam, help me!” She shrieked, panicking. When Adam drank from her, it was… intimate. It was something only the two of them shared, the gift she made him fuelling his life, giving him something of her to taste that no other man ever had. If Ava were to take it now… forcefully and without her consent…

“Tal, get in the bathroom.” Relief flooded her veins when she heard his voice behind her. Stern, intimidating and wrathful, it thundered through the old kitchen. Tal obeyed immediately. Rushing past Adam to lock herself in the room he had come from, she pressed her ear against the cool wood, listening to what happened outside. Her heart was still pounding like a steam hammer, the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins like poison.

“I warned you, Ava, I warned you to get the fuck out of my house.”

“You’re so boring, seriously. Will you ever change?  Now that Eve is gone, I would have expected you to become a little more like you were before you knew her.”

“I only ever tolerated you because of her! I fucking hate you, Ava! The only way I want to see you is shoved in a coffin with a wooden stick through your fucking cold heart!”

Silence. For an awful short moment, there was nothing but silence.

“Where’s your sense of bloodlust gone, huh?” She replied darkly. Her voice was shaking, her eyes glistening with disappointment and actual hurt. She wouldn’t let him see, yet both Adam and Tal could hear it. “You know what, maybe I should turn your beloved new girlfriend. I’d love to see her struggle with being a blood-sucking monster like you do. I’d like to see you struggling trying to help her and then losing her!”

Adam flinched, hesitating to answer.

“Oh my God, you have thought of turning her, haven’t you? You are in love with her! Fucking shit, she’s not your pet, you’re in love with her! Come on, Adam, let’s make her one of us right now. If you don’t want to share her with me—it makes sense now, really, you’ve always been a selfish prick—then what’s the point of keeping her around? She’ll die anyway eventually!”

“Don’t you fucking go near her!”

The sound that reached Tal’s ears from behind the bathroom door resembled a light breeze of the wind, right before someone started rattling at the door as if their life depended on it.

“Open up, Tallulah, I got a present for you!” Ava chirped in a singing voice. She was strong. Petite and childish but strong.

“Have you gone mad?!” Tal screamed when she kicked open the door, breaking a hole into it. Dust and splinters of wood sliced through the air, causing her to lose orientation for a moment. The shock was prominent on her face when she slipped on the moist tiles on the floor and hit her elbow on the edge of the bathtub.

Adam stormed in right after, towering over her helpless form like a tiger when Ava darted forward to reach for her, her fangs sharp and ready to kill.

How could this have gotten out of hand so quickly? She had seemed so nice, so cheerful and happy… was this what being a vampire really meant? Turning into a wrathful beast with no emotion and morals when hunger called and lured?

No… no, Adam had been drinking from her for so long now and not once had he lost control. He was different. He was good. No. She should be thankful.

Clutching at her aching elbow, she stared up at the vampires in pure terror, watching how they growled like wild animals. Too fast for the human eye, they moved, fighting, punching and biting until they were out of sight, so merely the sounds of breaking furniture, shattering glass and the dull thuds of feet stomping on the carpets reminded of their restless presence.

“I won’t let you fucking touch her,” Adam spat through gritted teeth, his eyes dark golden, his canines ready to strike. Ava let out a court but scornful laugh. “We’ll see about that. You were always more fun where there were three of us. How could you even say those things? You are my family!”

“You never were, Ava! You never were, look at you! All you do is destroy and kill and ruin everything I work for so hard!”

For just a brief second, he hesitated. Would Eve want this? Them fighting? Them tearing each other apart? Adam was ready to kill her. For all she had done in the past and especially for trying to hurt Tallulah. It was where it ended, where she tripped over the bold red line he had drawn. If something happened to this mortal woman hiding in his bathroom… he would lose himself and finally join Eve wherever she had gone.

“I’m trying to help you! I’m trying to make your miserable life a little better and you hate me for it! You hate me for it!” Frantic sobs escaped her lips as they kept sparring uncontrollably, one trying to off the other like nothing else mattered. In the moment, it didn’t. They tumbled into the kitchen without realising, knocking over the table and the wooden chairs. The legs screeched over the tiles, sending ice cold shivers up and down Tal’s spine as she hugged her knees and began rocking back and forth, praying for this to be a terrible nightmare.

If something happened to Adam… she was sure to lose herself and finally join her family wherever they had gone.

“I’ll give you a reason to hate me, Adam. I’ll fucking kill her for you!”

One second of awful, painstaking and heart-breaking silence passed. The cracking of wood echoed through the house, then the sound of a body colliding with the ground. She couldn’t see it—but she could hear it. The blood, how it splashed, how it stained the remnants of the chair and the bright tiles on the kitchen floor.

Tal’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening in shock.

➡️ Find all chapters on my masterlist!

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 30) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 106, Part II”

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, Aiden Breen, Ghost & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Graphic depictions of torture, major character deaths (yes death is plural) andddd idk, just violence and cursing?

Author’s Note: Weirdly enough, this was one of the funnest chapters to write. I love showing the truly cold and clinical and twisted assassin side of the reader. Also, I know I’ve said this before but, in the original form of this story, it is Mitch x OFC, and the original female character’s name is Willa, thus the ‘Willowtree’ nicknames. (and you guys thought those were for nothing...)

Summary: Time is running out when Y/n finally comes face to face with Ghost and learns a shocking truth.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Chapter Thirty - Chapter Thirty-One

It was dark out, well before the sun was meant to rise, but you could see clearly enough. You glanced behind you as you and Aiden ran down the alley behind the hotel, that was supposed to serve as the team's safe house in Rome. Ghost had very likely always known exactly where you all were, and he had come to collect the other half of the team. You heard a few more shots ring out, echoing against the bricks of the buildings on either side of you, and you ducked behind a large dumpster, your Glock trained between your legs, pointed at the ground, as you squatted next to some large bags of trash. You peeked back around the side, and saw Aiden laying face down on the uneven concrete. 

Your stomach jumped up into your throat as you realized that he was no longer moving. You and Aiden had come to odds at certain points in this specific mission, but you had known him for years, and he was your friend, and now he was most likely dead. The man ran past you with his gun drawn, not realizing you had ducked out of the way when Aiden went down. He circled back around when he figured he had lost you, but you were waiting. You jumped out from behind the dumpster as he leisurely walked past, and hit him on the side of the head, with considerable force, with the butt of your Glock, rendering Ghost's underling unconscious.

You circled the abused man sitting in the metal chair in the center of the room, watching him slightly flinch every time the heel of your boot would connect with the ground and the noise would echo loudly throughout the room. He examined the paraphernalia around the musty space and was confused by what he saw. He watched as you screwed the silencer onto the end of your handgun slowly.

"You know, I was trained to be an assassin for much longer than most... really, for the majority of my life, I've been trained in one way or another to be an asset for my government." You sat in the chair across from Ghost's associate, and smiled, looking eerily relaxed as you rested the side of the gun against your thigh. "One of the things I really excelled at during my training was 'information extraction'.” You made air quotes with your free hand. “My mentor, the man that your boss abducted, he once let me waterboard him for four straight hours....." You snickered and stared down at the gun in your hand. You ran the pads of your fingers on your left hand across the smooth and cold metal. "It was a... a competition, I guess you could say, to see who would yield first." You chuckled a little louder, still stroking your firearm. "I think you can probably guess who won." You finally made eye contact with the man across from your, smiled, and then abruptly lifted your gun and shot the man in his left foot.

The man screamed in agony, knocking the chair backwards onto the cement floor beneath him. You walked around and pulled the chair back upright. You waited for him to finally stop crying in pain, before you spoke again.

“If you tell me where they are, I will stop. It is truly as simple as that. So, what do you say?” You stood at his side and waited, smiling. 

“Fuck you.” He whispered in between pants.

"I'm impressed, really. I've been told how much that hurts, so to not tell me where Ghost has taken my people, is, well, really it's a loyalty that I can respect. But you know what I've heard hurts even more than a bullet hole through the bones of your feet?" You crouched in front of Ghost's associate and smiled, glancing down at the gun in your hands. You pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead and felt him shake against it in fear. You then quickly aimed it at his right knee and pulled the trigger.

The man screamed even louder than the last shot, and you circled behind him, dragging the hot barrel against the exposed skin on the nape of his neck. He cried out in pain as you continued speaking. "Now, you screamed louder, so I think that that proves that the knee is definitely more painful than the foot. What do you have to say about it?" You smiled directly in his face and he spat at you.

You arched your eyebrows and contorted your mouth, then straightened up. You walked over to the table where your bag was, placed your gun down, pulled a towel out and wiped at your cheek. "I know I shot you twice, but I still think that was the rudest thing anyone has done in this room, this afternoon." You said as your back was turned to the man bleeding in the chair.

"Fuck. You.” He repeated with more emphasis.

You smirked. He spoke again. You were getting to him. "All you have to do is tell me where they are and what Ghost is planning and I'll drive you to the hospital myself. I promise." You told him, as you leaned your butt against the edge of your supply table.

"I'm not telling you shit, bitch. There's nothing you can do that would make me talk."

The corner of your mouth curved upwards and you shook your head. "That's what your friend said before she told me everything I wanted to know." You spoke smugly, and watched his face contort in genuine anger. "Do you want to know what I did to finally get her to talk?"

"It doesn't matter. She was fucking weak. I'm loyal to Ghost." He told you.

"Well, loyalty is fine, really, very honorable. But if you don’t tell me...” You paused, and the corners of your mouth twitched up. “At any rate, I always did love a good challenge." You pulled out a canvas bag, and the man flinched when he heard metal clanking around in it, as you brought it over to the chair across from him. "I excelled in the long run, but at first, I really struggled with the, uh, what did President Bush's administration call it again....? Oh... right." You laughed. "'Enhanced interrogation methods.'" You used air quotes as you discussed torture. "Anyway, I really, I just had such a hard time stomaching the use of 'enhanced interrogation methods', at first, when I was training. But my mentor, he really took me under his wing about it. He wanted me to succeed. He thought that the best way to get me to get over my discomfort in hurting someone else, was to hurt me...” You paused and took in the mood of the man in front of you. He was in agony and your monologue wasn’t helping, but that was all a part of the plan. “I know that may seem cruel or counterproductive, but I’ve gotta tell you, hurting me, really did help." You crouched in front of the man again and laid your left hand flat across his left knee, then ran your fingers up against the inside of his thigh, bringing them back down to rest on the top of his leg. He twitched at your touch. "Do you know how long it took for my nails to grow back?" You held up your hand in the air for both of you to see. "They look good now though, don't you think?" You smiled toothily at him and he looked at you with disgust.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me, I won't tell you a fucking thing."

"See, at least you didn't call me a name this time. Progress." You clapped your hands together, rubbed them a few times, grinned at him, and then unfolded the canvas cloth containing your instruments of torture. You held up a six inch long, thin metal nail and a pair of pliers in your hands. "Now, usually, I'd ask you which you wanna start with first, but considering, I'm afraid that you might pass out from loss of blood before I can get to both fun activities, I'm just gonna have to go ahead and alternate between the two, which sucks by the way, because I really do love consistency." You faked a frown.

"Ghost is going to fucking kill you and your friends." His words echoed throughout the room.

Your demeanor changed at his threat, and you rushed up to the restrained man. You grabbed him hard by the chin, your fingers digging into his fleshy cheeks, and spoke in hushed tones. "You better fucking hope he comes here and does that before I'm done with you, because you will be begging him to kill you too when I'm finished." You stopped smiling and whispered your threats directly into his face.

You pulled the last metal rod out from underneath his remaining fingernails and tucked it back into the canvas bag it came in. You wiped his blood off your hands with a towel and picked up your secure satellite phone. You stared at the passed out man from across the room as the line rang. "He talked, and Director, it's so much worse than we thought."

"Give me the full report, Agent." Irene said on the line.

You opened your laptop on the rickety table and began typing into a secure chatroom. "Not only is he attacking highly populated port cities, but the United States Mediterranean naval fleet has warships stationed in Tel Aviv, Barcelona, and Athens, but Ma'am, the largest fleet is here in Rome." You explained. "You need to get the Polizia di Stato down to Fiumicino to begin sweeping the area for the nuke that's here, and it's up to the government, but Irene, they should really start evacuating the city now."

"If they do that, Ghost may alter the plan and we may lose him again and end up with an even more devastating attack later." Irene weighed the consequences of informing the Italian government of all of the new developments. "What are you going to do while the Polizia are sweeping the airport and the water?"

"He told me where Mitch and Stan are being held. I'm gonna go get them. The best chance we have of stopping this is if all three of us are back in the game." You explained, as you finished your download of information and shut your computer. "Also, you should either call someone or send someone down here to get this guy to a hospital before he actually does bleed out."

"We'll take care of him. Good luck, Agent."

You hung up the phone and closed your laptop, putting them away, stuffed your gun in the back of your jeans, slung your bag over your shoulder and walked out of the basement, leaving the man unconscious and still tied up to the chair. You encountered the man who gave you the room when you came into the building a few hours before. You smiled and tucked your jacket over your gun. You gave a small curtsy, and kissed the gaudy ring on the man's hand. "Grazie mille, Padre. The Director said she would be sending someone over to clean up as soon as she could."

"Go in peace then, my child." The CIA operative posing as a priest said and smiled at you, as you nodded and then walked out of the church and onto the busy and crowded Roman streets.

You left your bag in the car and began jogging through the winding tunnels of the Roman catacombs underneath the city. You thought back on the directions that the man who you had tortured gave you and you made a left turn. Artificial light began to grow brighter up ahead and you picked up your pace; you had found the hideout where Ghost was keeping Mitch and Stan. You breached the room, clearing the corners and making sure that no one was there. You saw only Mitch and Stan, tied to chairs, in the center of the room, both beaten but Stan much worse off.

"Fuck..." You tucked your gun in the back of your jeans, pulled out the switchblade you carried in your boot, and began cutting the zip-ties around Mitch's feet. "Are you okay?" You whispered up at the man you loved, beaten, bloodied, bruised and tied to a chair.

"Y/n, you don't understand what's happening here..." Mitch began, as you cut the last of the multiple clear plastic ties connecting Mitch's legs to the legs of the metal chair he was in.

You interjected before he could finish. "I do know what's going on. Ghost sent someone after Aiden and I, and he killed Aiden, but I got him to talk and I figured out Ghost's entire plan. He's trying to blow u-"

"Y/n, no, you don't understand who Ghost is. Stan has been lying to you."

"Shut the fuck up, Rapp." Stan cut Mitch off. "Untie me, Y/n/n." Stan looked even more badly beaten than Mitch, his left eye barely opened, several of his fingers broken, and tiny cuts and scrapes littered his skin.

"You have to fucking tell her now, Stan." Mitch argued. "Y/n, this was a trap, you shouldn't have come here. Ghost, he-"

"I said shut the fuck up, Rapp. I swear to god, I'll kill you myself." Stan yelled.

"TELL HER." Mitch yelled back. Stan remained quiet and then looked up behind you when he heard another voice come from the hallway.

"Well, if you won't tell her, I will." Ghost appeared in the room, with his gun drawn at you. You grabbed at your gun quickly and pointed it back at the man who you had been hunting for days. "Hey there, Willowtree."

You stepped back and began lowering your gun, your mouth opened slightly and your brow was completely furrowed, as you registered familiar features on Ghost's face. This was the first time you were seeing him up close and suddenly, it hit you like a massive wave. "Oh my god.... Brandon?"

"Long time, no see, little sis. Not exactly how I imagined this reunion. Lower your gun and come give your brother a hug." Ghost smiled the best he could and he held his arms out waiting for an embrace.

You glanced back at Stan, who would not raise his head to make eye contact with you, then you looked at Mitch, who looked pained at what was unfolding in front of him. "I don't understand..." You looked beyond bewildered. "You're supposed to be dead. I went to your funeral.." Your eyes began to fill with tears, as you thought back on the pain and suffering you endured in your childhood when you became an orphan at the age of nine. You shook your head and fought back the tears, but your face became red and hot and the tears streamed down your cheeks anyway. "I watched Mom and Dad bring you to work with them that morning, I watched the footage, there was no way that you could've.... You're not my fucking brother. My brother died with my parents on the 105th floor in the North Tower of the World Trade Center." You stopped crying and raised your gun back up to aim at Ghost's head.

Ghost raised his hands in the air, moving his finger from the trigger to the side of the gun, becoming submissive to your aim. He stepped back and looked at Stan. "If I'm not your brother, then why do you think that Uncle Stan, here, won't look at either of us right now? Think about it, Willowtree. You know that I look like Dad. I know you can see it."

You blinked away more tears, and glanced at Stan, who, in fact, would not make eye contact with anything other than the ground. You lowered your gun again and shook your head. "I don't understand."

Ghost walked over to the chair in the corner, pulled it closer to Mitch, and sat in it backwards, his arms leaning against the top of the back of the chair. He waved his gun and pointed it at Stan, gesticulating like his weapon was an extension of his hand, causing you to train your gun on him again. "Do you want to tell her the story of how we got here, or should I?" Stan scowled at Ghost and shook his head, resolved to remain in his silent state. "Alright, well, good old Uncle Stan here, he is quite the secret-keeper, Willowtree." 

You remained silent, glancing between the three men in the room, unsure of what to do or say. 

"I wasn't up in the Tower when it came down, I was at the deli down the block getting breakfast before Dad was going to take me to school for a conference with my principal." Ghost directed his gaze back at his sister. "You see, Y/n, I was having some troubles at that point... Anyway, good old Uncle Stan, he was my first call as soon as the phone lines began working again. He told me to stay put, and I did, I stayed in that deli until it closed, and the nice man who owned it let me sleep on his couch that night. All night, all I wanted to do was go home and be with my little sister, make sure she was alright, let her know that I was alright, but Stan had other thoughts."

"Don't listen to him, Y/n. He's lying." Stan finally spoke up.

"DON'T TALK TO HER, YOU SON OF A FUCKING BITCH." Ghost lifted his gun to aim at Stan's head, and you raised yours again at him.

"I don't understand what it is that you could have done that Stan wanted to keep you a secret this whole time...." You finally spoke as well, and Ghost lowered his weapon.

Ghost began to pace, rubbing the barrel of his pistol against his temple, clearly agitated and unstable. You took a step towards Mitch, and Ghost turned around quickly, aiming his weapon towards the man you loved. "Don't move, Willow. He's fine. They're both fine. Back up." You did as he said, and backed up from Mitch, staring at the clearly unhinged man in front of you. 

"I'm not fine though. I wasn't fine then either, was I, Uncle Stan?" Ghost asked, seething through his teeth. "You see, I was getting into some trouble back then. Just some parties, nothing major, but I guess that Mom and Dad told Uncle Stan because he saw an opportunity when the entire world, including my BABY SISTER..." He screamed towards Stan, who kept his eyes glued to the ground, scowling as he shook his head. "...thought that I was dead. Stan took me down to The Barn. He wanted to 'straighten me out', he said. 'Give me direction.. a purpose'. But he just saw a kid with some anger who he could mold into a weapon." You lowered your weapon to your side and stared at Stan. You didn't understand any of this. "He promised me so many times that I could come back and see you when I was done with my rehab, then it was when I was done with my training. Training became the Orion program, the Orion Program became my first mission, then my second, then my third, then I realized that he was never going to let me back into your life. I was a Ghost because he wanted me to be."

"It didn't happen like that, Y/n. Please, you have t-" Stan tried to tell his side, but Ghost cut him off again.

"IT HAPPENED EXACTLY LIKE THAT. DON'T LIE. DON'T FUCKING LIE." Ghost walked forward and pressed his gun against Stan's chest.

"You need to step away." You raised your Glock 17M to Ghost's cheek, and he raised his hands and walked backwards until you lowered your firearm again.

"Stan got me abducted and tortured and he never came for me. Him and the Agency, they acted like I never existed. They fucking burned me. I trusted him and he left me for dead. Now I'm going to show the mighty United States government what happens when they mistreat their own. I need to do this and then we can be a family again, you and I, Willowtree." Ghost stared at his younger sister.

You shook your head. "This is insane. You sound insane. You need to let them go, and you need to stop this entire thing before those bombs go off. You're going to kill millions, and for what? Revenge against your uncle? Against the United States government? Stop this.." You stalled in your words. You knew what you would have to say in order to get to him. "Brandon, please. The boy I knew never would've done something like this."

"I can't let them go.” Ghost gestured to Mitch and Stan. “They'll stop it all. But it's okay, Willow. We can be a family again, I just need to take care of them first. Put this one out of the misery of becoming Stan's new 'Ghost'." Ghost pointed his gun at Mitch and you leapt forward, pressing your Glock hard against his temple.

"Step the fuck away from him. Right now."

Ghost stepped back a short length but kept his gun aimed at Mitch. "Well that's a development." He said glancing back and forth between you and Mitch. "We can't move forward until they are out of the way, Y/n. You know that's true." He pulled the safety back on his gun and you fired your gun.

Ghost dropped to the floor, knocking over the empty chair next to Mitch as he fell, clutching his mangled and smoking fingers, and screaming in agony. You had blown a hole right through his hand, a calculated risk to save the love of your life, but not kill the man that you were all but certain was your brother, come back from the dead. "Stay down, Ghost." You said in a raised tone, trying to emit an air of authority.

Ghost cocked his head to the side, and narrowed his eyes, still clutching his hand to his chest. "Ghost? You've been brainwashed too. You'd shoot your own brother to save him? Him?" He pointed at Mitch. "What the fuck is so special about him that you and Stan love so much?!"

"Stop this. Stop all of this, come back and we'll figure this out. If Stan did what you said, we'll figure it out. Please just stay down." You pleaded with Ghost, who was laying on the floor beneath the fury of your firearm.

"He can't come back with us, Y/n." Stan interrupted.

"I can't?! I CAN'T?! See, Y/n? He deserves to die." Ghost sat up, reached behind him with his good hand and pulled a second handgun from the waistband of his trousers, and set to train it on Stan.

You raised your firearm. "Stop."

"I can't." Ghost said, as he pulled back the safety.

A shot rang out through the room and Ghost's body hit the ground with a soft thud. Blood began to pool around the exit wound in his head, on the uneven stone floor underneath his lifeless body. You stood over him for a few moments, the ringing that happens when a firearm is discharged in close quarters, still playing at a deafeningly loud pitch in your ears.

Twenty-Nine <- -> Thirty-One

Sooooooooooooo, what’d you guys think? :D Did I do good with Ghost? This is truly one of my favorite chapters. I hope you enjoyed it. Tell me how uncomfortable you are with that fact that I am making the reader into a ruthless torturing badass. Talk to me, puppies. 

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