#but the truth is he would be calm and gentle and say something wise

[iztarshi]

87 Splinter is being hard to write because his thing is being Wise and Calm, but out of all Splinters he should be the least prepared for the stuff he winds up guiding the turtles through. He's just a guy who was teaching his clan's ancestral martial arts for cultural reasons. It doesn't seem like he was ever a soldier or a crime-fighter, definitely not an assassin (87 just straight up ignores what ninjas actually are a lot of the time). Despite his insistance on calling Shredder his "ancient enemy" Shredder was a surprise, there wasn't an evil guy who needed fighting until Splinter's student suddenly betrayed him and allied with an alien warlord.

Some of Splinter being Calm and Wise and always knowing the Right Thing To Do has to be a pose, right? He can't be feeling Calm and Wise all the time. He can't always be sure he's doing the right thing, although he certainly never apologises when he ends up hurting the turtles with his lessons.

Considering how gentle he is towards the turtles 90% of the time I feel like it must be intended for their sake. In an uncertain world he thinks they need an authority that can always tell them the right thing to do. His own uncertainty is something he can't show (and the few times we do see him uncertain it's on missions, especially ones where the turtles aren't present).

When I think about it the turtles are darling little guys, but they're also bigger than Splinter, capable of ripping through sheet metal, and went straight from animals to adolescents. Maybe that's another reason why he can be rigid about the moral code he imposes on them and about his own authority. We see mutants like Tokka and Rahzar and Slash who can cause a lot of damage without real ill-will just because they were suddenly thrown into a world they were unprepared for without guidance. Even though the turtles are never accepted into society properly, Splinter is very insistent on them seeing themselves as part of society, emphasising their usefulness to others as something they should be glad of. (Which actually strikes me as a very Japanese attitude, but since it's also an attitude seen in a lot of 80's cartoons that's probably a coincidence. It's certainly a contrast to the morals seen in Rise about "being yourself" and how it's a mistake to try to conform.)

I'm left with the feeling he'd be a very interesting character if the narrative didn't always go out of its way to agree with him. But I'm also at a loss for how he'd handle the kind of situations the narrative of his own show would never put him in.

[froschli96]

You know what, fuck it, I have to speak my truth! (this is gonna be a rant, so anyone who actually likes assassin's creed revelations and/or the secret crusade, be warned or maybe don't read this at all)

remember how altaïr talks to king richard at the end of ac1, and richard is like "[humans] come into the world kicking and screaming, violent and unstable. it is what we are. we cannot help ourselves."? and how altaïr answers "no. we are what we choose to be." and how that ACTUALLY has meaning bc he himself was "violent and unstable" at the beginning of the game but he has learned and is now CHOOSING to be a better person who cares about others and humanity at large? remember how his calmness and gentleness was something that he ACQUIRED over the course of the story?

and remember how in revelations they then suddenly had a PRE-AC1 altaïr say about the first of his targets "no man should pass from this world without knowing some kindness." and be all wise and calm and collected during a nice little chat with al mualim, who suddenly acts all fatherly? (like, this is suddenly supposed to be a positive relationship? what??)

also, during the confession the target says to altair: "you put too much faith in the hearts of men, altaïr. [...] humans are weak, base, and petty." and altaïr answers: "no. our creed is evidence to the contrary." KJASJFJDKL???? like, it’s almost insulting how close this exchange is to the one with richard. you know, the one that was actually earned after a whole game of character development. like WTF??? cool congrats now that development means nothing. like, apparently that was just altaïr reverting BACK to being the exemplary assassin who understands and believes in the creed that he was apparently just born as. (i also hate how having a young inexperienced altaïr saying this implies that altaïr's faith in humanity is a sign of naivete instead of a sign of the wisdom he has gained after being confronted with counter arguments for a whole game, and also something that distinguishes the assassins from the templars who use humanity's supposed wickedness to justify controlling them like in AC1, but whatever)

altaïr’s development in AC1 mattered BECAUSE he is not NATURALLY a good person, it actually said something about humanity's capacity for both bad AND good and how humans don't have to be forced to be good through mind control bc they can by their own free will choose to be better when taught how and when allowed the freedom to grow. but no. apparently altaïr has just always been calm, wise and gentle. and he just sort of forgot about that during AC1 bc…. ? bc of adha?? bc of abbas???

oh don’t get me started on the whole abbas thing. (it doesnt even make sense that abbas is so hung up about his father and "his family’s honor", like what about the whole point of al mualim not allowing parents to be close to their children bc it would make them weak? like, my dude, you’re not supposed to HAVE any family aside from the brotherhood)

they used the throwaway character that had like 5 lines and made him into altaïr’s main antagonist in revelations… like, abbas wasn’t supposed to be this ONE dude who had personal beef with altaïr, he was just supposed to show how while altaïr’s revered by many, a lot of his brothers also hate him, bc 1) altaïr is a shitty person at this point and 2) bc there’s no real feeling of community and family in this version of the brotherhood, but just a pervasive sense of competition and jealousy — these assassins don’t care about their goal of safeguarding humanity bc they’re too hung up on petty squabbles and divided by rivalries (you know, the things that made malik hate altaïr even before solomon’s temple and that he overcomes in the end which enables him to forgive and to reconcile with altaïr so they can work together and stop al mualim? (you ever just think about "we are one. as we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. in this way we grow closer. we grow stronger." and cry? bc i do. all the time. malik, the man that you are))

and now abbas is altaïr’s childhood best friend turned lifelong enemy?? like, bowden bent over backwards to come up with an explanation for why altaïr is an arrogant ass at the beginning of AC1, when the explanation is right there: he was raised to kill without asking questions and was constantly praised for how good he is at murder, which resulted in him becoming arrogant and disregarding human life. like, it doesn’t have to be some shakespearean family feud type shit. and guess what, this "simple" explanation actually plays into the story’s themes, who’da thunk!

(like, abbas might not have been a "fleshed out" character in AC1, but he had a specific function and now that function is gone. mr bowden, mr mcdevitt, you know characters are allowed to simply exist to tell us something about their worlds and the systems they live in and sometimes that’s more important and also more interesting than having every single character have a detailed backstory to explain all their behaviors, right?)

with all of this revelations loses all nuance in regards to the levantine brotherhood and also the creed in general. like, altaïr being a master assassin at the beginning despite being a terrible person and not actually understanding the creed is a criticism of the brotherhood and the creed itself. like, it said something about the order that someone like altaïr was able to get that high in rank, simply bc he's good at killing, which also tells us what is considered important in the al mualim era assassin order. when you make altaïr’s arrogance the result of his personal conflicts instead of how we was raised by a brotherhood that only valued one's ability to kill, you lose that characterization of the assassin order itself!

and by suddenly making al mualim a semi good "father figure" you also downplay his manipulation of not only altaïr but all those under his care. (altaïr says something about al mualim being "as a father" to him exactly twice in the codex, but he doesn’t mean by that that he WAS a father to him, what he means is that he was the CLOSEST THING he had bc HE DID NOT HAVE PARENTS, not because his mother died in childbirth and his father was executed when he was young btw, BUT BECAUSE IT WASN’T ALLOWED, like his parents actually lived but weren’t allowed to be close to him, he says he came to view al mualim’s "weak and dishonest" love as enough and even better BECAUSE HE HAD NOTHING ELSE, BECAUSE AL MUALIM ISOLATED HIS ASSASSINS FROM THEIR FAMILIES. al mualim "loved" him bc he was good at killing people for him! hm, i wonder if this could be trying to say anything about cults and indoctrination and the inherent contradiction in fighting for peace and free will by taking children away from their parents and raising them to become killers?? like, altaïr wasn't ~the special orphan boy~ taken in by al mualim bc his father died a hero's death, it was "the way of the order" to have al mualim be the closest thing to a parental figure for everyone to ensure absolute loyalty! altaïr saying al mualim was like his father is not supposed to make you go "oh, he must have actually been a good guy for altaïr to consider him a father", it should make you go "oh that's kinda fucked up that he considers the dude who made him into a killing machine and who manipulated him a sort of father figure"!)

and then in revelations they suddenly portray that relationship as positive and healthy??? like, it would be one thing to give it some nuance by delving into the psychology behind al mualim’s "love" and maybe showing how al mualim did care about altair in a complicated, fraught sort of way (like, you know, there’s a lot of interesting things you could say about al mualim at several points addressing altaïr as "my child" in AC1 and how that parallels Garnier referring to the people he drugged and abused as his "children", and what that says about how the templars view the people who they say they want to save and in whose best interests they supposedly act (in any case, al mualim doesn’t use that phrase because he has any real parental feelings but rather to patronize and to invalidate any objections, like in a "mother knows best" way))

but they even fucking DARE to parallel that relationship with that of altaïr and darim in revelations, by having the reflection in the puddle of darim hugging altaïr showing altaïr hugging al mualim…. like their relationship wasn’t inherently abusive but just tragically cut short because al mualim was just "corrupted by the apple"… like WHAT???? so it’s not the very real problems like grooming, manipulation and indoctrination and the hierarchical structure of the brotherhood itself (all of which are antithetical to the assassin ideology), it was just the evil apple all along. great. that’s DEFINITELY a lot more interesting.

god im sorry i really dont want to spread negativity but this is driving me INSANE. like, somebody please tell me im not crazy bc i feel like somehow most of the fandom is in agreement that revelations and the secret crusade have better storytelling and characterization than ac1.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, can we talk about how, even IF we completely ignore AC1 and treat revelations altaïr as his own character…. the narrative still doesn’t really work?

basically, the whole point of his story in rev is that "he gave his whole life to the brotherhood", this obsession led to him not using his time with his family which has him ending up dying alone in a dark library and this in turn makes ezio reevaluate his life choices…. except. he doesn’t? neglect? his family? or whatever? like, his devotion to the assassins is sort of painted as this tragic flaw that leads to a lonely death bc it supposedly comes at the cost of his family, but… his wife has joined the assassins, (at least) one of his sons is in the brotherhood and even when he goes to protect the assassins against the mongols, he takes his family with him (except for the son who stays behind bc he has a family of his own and who, ironically, ends up dying bc of that)… like, you can’t describe altaïr as a good husband and father in the database and have his son tell him that "everything that is good in me began with you, father" when they say goodbye, and then want to make us believe that he put his family behind the brotherhood and that that is a character flaw that leads to his tragedy.

because you HAVE to have a character’s tragedy be the result of a character flaw. like. that is how tragedies work. otherwise it just becomes tragedy for the sake of tragedy which is… boring bc it has no purpose. and we know it is SUPPOSED to have purpose bc ezIO FUCKING QUITS BEING AN ASSASSIN AFTER WITNESSING IT!

it’s like they want to have their cake and eat it, too — they didn’t want to actually make altaïr a bad husband/father, but still wanted to make his life a tragedy where he loses his family which is why instead they outsource all responsibility to abbas who now has to be the reason for ALL the deaths.

like, they try to make at least maria’s death kind of sort of the result of altaïr’s rashness or whatever but like… these guys KILLED THEIR SON and TOLD HIM THAT ALTAÏR HAD ORDERED HIS DEATH. like, altaïr losing it in response to that is not rash, it’s fucking logical and justified! if anything the scene made me angry at maria for trying to stop him. like, GIRL, he was YOUR son too??? but god forbid we give female characters actual real emotions, she has to fill the role of "voice of reason who dies for altaïr’s man pain" i fucking guess.

like, it’s this weird mix where his tragedy is simultaneously painted as his own fault but also not really bc abbas is the one responsible for all the shit that happens. it just… it just doesn’t really go together.

the only way to make his story make sense narratively and to give it actual purpose is by looking at it in the context of ezio’s story, bc the things he sees in altaïr’s memories are supposed to be a revelation (ha!) to ezio specifically. and i guess that’s maybe the crux of it all — altaïr’s story in revelations was conceived of first and foremost to support ezio’s story and development. which is probably also why many people maybe don’t notice bc, having skipped ac1 and started with ac2, the majority of people mostly care only about ezio and only really appreciate altaïr’s story in as far as it serves to push ezio forward. (tho i’ve also seen a few people say that ezio is also written kind of weird in rev, but i’ve never really been an ezio girly myself so i can’t speak to the truth of that)

like, altaïr dying alone in the library doesn’t really have to make sense for his character, i guess, bc it’s only really supposed to be a cautionary tale for ezio.

so, i guess, for once, they actually had a MAN dying for another man’s character development, which is pretty woke actually. ubisoft, i take everything back jksdsfjhgdsahfhsdhfghfdsgjhsdgjh

[syerra-637]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝔂

𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐱 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary:Canute meets a mysterious woman who has clairvoyance gifts

Tw : nothing ?

Number of words : 1390

Rumors spread throughout the kingdom of Denmark about a mysterious young woman who could predict the future. She was said to be as beautiful as the moon in a night sky, as elusive as the wind that blows across the plains. But no one knew her name or where she came from.

Canute, curious and intrigued by this mysterious woman, ordered his men to find her and bring her before him. After days of searching, she was finally found in a small clearing, alone, surrounded by an aura of mystery.

When she was presented to King Canute, she was calm and reserved, her eyes hidden behind a light veil. Canute, accustomed to the politics and intrigues of the court, was immediately intrigued by the aura of mystery surrounding her.

"What is your name, my dear?" he asked in a gentle yet authoritative voice.

The mysterious woman slowly lifted her veil, revealing eyes so deep, akin to the depths of the ocean. "My name matters little, my lord," she replied in a gentle yet firm voice. "I am simply a traveler, wandering through the lands in search of something I cannot define."

Canute was captivated by the sincerity in her words, as well as the sadness that seemed to veil her gaze. This way of expressing herself, this wisdom ingrained in her being, this possibility, all of it reminded him of the monk he had met long ago when he was younger.

As evening fell slowly over the castle, bathing the room in a golden glow as Canute and the mysterious woman sat near the window, engaged in animated discussion. Canute, his mind filled with questions and curiosity, turned to her with an intense gaze.

"Tell me, they say you possess gifts of foresight," he began, his eyes scanning hers with growing fascination. "Is it true?"

The mysterious woman inclined her head slightly, her blue eyes burning with a mysterious glow. "Some claim it," she replied evasively, as if she did not want to reveal all her secrets.

Canute felt his heart beat a little faster at this enigmatic response. "Then, can you make a prediction for me?" he asked, unable to conceal his curiosity. "Something about my future, about the kingdom's destiny?"

The mysterious woman slowly raised her hand, plunging into a sort of trance as her eyes seemed to search beyond visible horizons. After a moment of silence, she spoke with a grave and distant voice.

"I see... I see a prosperous kingdom, ruled by a wise and just king," she began, her words tinged with a strange authority. "But I also see challenges ahead, trials that will test the strength and determination of its sovereign."

Canute listened attentively, hanging on every word as if his life depended on it. "What challenges?" he asked, anticipation crackling in the air like a flickering flame.

The mysterious woman shook her head slightly, as if she could not or would not say more. "Some secrets must remain buried," she murmured cryptically. "The future is uncertain ground, subject to the whims of fate."

Canute felt a slight disappointment wash over him, but he also knew that not all answers could be revealed at once. "I thank you for your vision," he said with gratitude, his gaze fixed on the enigmatic face of the mysterious woman. "Perhaps you will be there to witness its future challenges."

The mysterious woman returned his enigmatic smile, her eyes shining with a prophetic glow. "Perhaps, O king," she replied softly. "Perhaps..."

He offered her hospitality in his castle, eager to learn more about this mysterious woman who had captured his interest. As well as to further explore this gift of clairvoyance.

One day after his training, the king spotted the young woman leaning against the well. Her fingers played with a thread. The king approached the mysterious woman and questioned her about the thread.

"It is a thread of truth," she simply replied. Canute leaned slightly forward, his blue eyes sparkling with interest as he gazed at the mysterious woman opposite him. "Tell me, what is truth to you?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

The mysterious woman nodded her head, taking a moment to ponder before responding. "Truth... it's a complex question," she began, her eyes scrutinizing his with a captivating intensity. "For some, it lies in objective and measurable facts. For others, it's more subjective, depending on our individual perception of the world around us."

Canute nodded slowly, absorbing her words with growing attention. "And you, what do you think?" he asked, curious about her own convictions.

The mysterious woman smiled slightly, as if she had anticipated his question. "I believe there is a universal truth, but it is often veiled by our own biases and limited perceptions," she explained, her words imbued with profound wisdom. "The true quest for truth lies in our ability to question our own beliefs and to embrace the uncertainty that often accompanies the search for truth."

Canute remained silent for a moment, his thoughts swirling as he pondered her words. "Interesting..." he murmured finally, his gaze locked with hers. "It raises the question of the nature of knowledge. How can we be certain of what we know?"

The mysterious woman nodded in approval, seeming to appreciate the turn of the conversation. "Knowledge is often the fruit of experience and reflection," she began, her voice filled with gentle assurance. "But even then, it remains subject to interpretation and error. True wisdom lies in our ability to recognize the limits of our own understanding and to remain open to new ideas and perspectives."

Canute listened attentively, absorbing each word with growing interest. He felt fascinated by the depth of her thought, by the way she questioned the very foundations of their reality. "You are truly remarkable, you know?" he murmured finally, a smile lighting up his face. "Your words resonate with me in a way I've never felt before."

The mysterious woman returned his smile, her eyes shining with a warm glow. "And you, O king," she replied softly, "you also have a wisdom and depth that impress me. It's an honor to be able to exchange such ideas with you."

Over the days, they met often, discussing topics ranging from philosophy to politics. Canute discovered in her a rare intelligence, combined with a sweetness and grace that touched him deeply.

Gradually, a special relationship developed between the king and the mysterious woman. Their conversations became more intimate, their gazes filled with mutual understanding. Canute began to see in her much more than just a simple traveler.

As the days passed and Canute spent more and more time in the company of the mysterious woman, he began to feel something different, something he had never experienced before. Each conversation, each exchanged look seemed to deepen his sense of connection with her, until he realized with a sudden and dazzling clarity that he had fallen in love.

It was a revelation as unexpected as it was powerful. Canute, accustomed to controlling every aspect of his life, suddenly found himself prey to emotions that he could neither ignore nor master. He felt vulnerable, exposed, but at the same time, he felt alive as never before.

As he stood there, looking at the mysterious woman with a mixture of admiration and affection, he realized the irony of the situation. She, who seemed to know all the secrets of his heart, his mind, and his kingdom, was herself a mystery, an enigma.However, despite all this, or perhaps because of it, Canute felt more drawn to her than ever. He wanted to know every facet of her personality, every hidden thought behind her deep and mesmerizing eyes. He wanted to be with her, not just as king and subject, but as man and woman, united by a bond stronger than any title or responsibility.

It was thus, in this moment of revelation and acceptance, that Canute realized his heart had chosen, even if he did not yet fully understand the implications of this choice. And as he stood there, facing the mysterious woman who had stolen his heart without even trying, he knew with certainty that he would do everything in his power to win her love and trust, no matter the obstacles that might stand in their way.

[crankycalcifer]

Trans People Should Stay Alive Because I Love Them

A queer survival guide from a scared, angry, queer therapist

Everything is bullshit and I hate everything.

Let me level with you, the past nine days have been a waking nightmare and my nervous system has not really been calm since November. I don’t have any hope or veneered positivity left. I wish I had something I could say that would make the world kinder and more gentle for you. I am not sure I do. But, I have read a lot of books and done a lot of therapy and been in school forever, so I will offer what I have.

Hil Malatino, a trans researcher, explores suicide (and other bad experiences) that often come with being trans but rarely get talked about in his book “Side Effects: On Being Trans and Feeling Bad”. Pulling from some other big voices in Queer and Gender Studies, he argues that we can understand the elevated rate at which trans people kill themselves and experience suicidal ideation as a result of not seeing a future for themselves where they will be cared for, supported, and given the resources they need. Said a different way, people stay alive if they believe they have a reasonable chance of living a good life.

With the current onslaught of messages and government activities targeting and villainizing trans people, it feels easy to believe the lie that the future ahead of us will not be worth living. I want to acknowledge the fear and pain that we all feel. That fear and pain is real.

I also want to offer the future I see for us.

I spend most of my time either with trans people or thinking about trans people. I have lived my life in a trans body and have learned to see the world through a trans perspective. First and foremost, I love trans people. I love them deeply. I love them completely; for all their faults. I love what they do for and to the world. When I think of the future, I see it full of happy, old, creative trans people.

In a time of incredible cruelty, I want to write a love letter.

Trans people are strong. We knit ourselves together with bravery. We take pain and transmute it into golden authenticity that captivates and encourages. We remind all those around us that they too can be their truest selves. We clothe ourselves with joy. We intimidate. We challenge, we poke, we prod. We have been in every meaningful space, fought for every meaningful change, have shaped history itself in ways that have been felt and will be felt for as long as humans breathe. We have never failed. We don’t give up. We fight unceasingly.

Trans people are sacred. Trans people, throughout time and every culture, have existed- usually in places of honor. We are the priests, the witches, the healers. We stand outside of the known and hold the door open to possibilities. We speak in whispers, in shouts, in prayers to the moon and each other and divinity itself. We know the shadow and carry death with us. We are not afraid to be hated, to be scorned, to be cast out. Our people are spirit and flesh. They cannot kill an idea. They cannot kill hope. We know the light of creation, recreation, and resurrection. We choose life so ardently, we cannot accept it in half measure. We will cut off whatever does not serve us if it means we get to live, and we will live and live and live.

Trans people are wise. We carry knowledge in our scars and braids. We carry the light of generations past, of closets and parades, of hospitals and pink triangles, we hold love- we know love- in ways that others can only see dimly. We have fought for every inch of ourselves and our life and know the rough edges of prison bars and the prick of sharp needles. You cannot scare us forever, for we are tempered in the world’s worst flame and come out flexible, clean, and refined. We bring balance, we speak peace, we see with vision unclouded by tricks and schemes. We tell the truth, speak truth to power, and govern ourselves. We can show you the way. We apologize when we cause harm. We hold ourselves accountable. We live with integrity.

Trans people are exquisitely human. We fart and burp and have body hair. We have sex and spend money in stupid ways and fight with each other. We wear silly clothes and say silly things and walk with an exaggerated sway in our hips. We name ourselves silly things, we call ourselves silly things, we make silly choices. We are not afraid to live, to experience life, to drink deeply- even if there are surprise chunks. We look at each other, giggle, and skinny dip in the lake. We reject what isn’t for us, we accept what is. We struggle and cry and get lost. Our voices shake, we shave our heads, we read lots of things. We are entirely mediocre, we are entirely extraordinary. We change and grow and defy expectations or classification. We give each other permission. We get fat or get skinny, we paint our nails, we pierce things, we draw all over our bodies. We let ourselves love what we love, hate what we hate, do what we need to do. We learn to live together. We take living seriously. We respect what matters. We put on our jester hats and jangle about in holy places. We sanctify.

Trans people create. Trans people push culture forward. We are all, every one of us, artists. We take what we have been given and turn it into something that feels like us. We see new things, we see better things. We birth new ideas, new experiences, new ways of being and doing. We look beyond what is, pulling from what has been, to generate what will be. We move and dance and breathe in color. We are original and we belong to each other. We recognize the light within us and see that light in each other. We listen to the rhythm of things and feel alive in the vibration. We do not stagnate, we do not spoil. We are eternal. We live boldly in the present moment, in a flash of blinding glory.

As I write this letter with my trans-colored acrylic nails, I think about how scared I am and, paradoxically, how sure I am that trans people will continue living lives that change the world for the better. I want to believe that each trans life is connected, like stars in a constellation, and that we can feel each other- even if only faintly. If that is true, I want to send you the love I have for you. I hope you feel it.

To my trans readers, I want to offer a two-part suggestion and make a promise.

I know how tired you might feel and how overwhelmed you might be. If you don’t have the space to try something else, skip this part. I trust you to know what you need.

If you have some space and resources available to you, I suggest that you find one person who can help keep you grounded and stable during this time. Find someone who sees you and can tell you the truth about how amazing you are. Find someone who loves you. Secondly, I suggest that you be that stable person for someone else. Our community is about giving love and receiving love. We do best when we link arms together.

Now my promise. I know we are seeing people and institutions fail us right now. It's almost too much to bear. But I can offer this promise: I will not stop fighting for trans people. I love trans people. I love them fervently and actionably. I want to do everything I can to create a world where trans people get to live lives that are good and worth living. I know there are many people like me out there too. You can find us if you look.

I don’t know much more than that. But I am going to stop writing now and stop doomscrolling the news because my husband is home and we are going to go and take our dog for a walk. Afterwards we are going to have dinner, something easy to make that we both like, and then play some video games. I will wake up tomorrow, as will you, and keep doing the work in front of me. I wish this future for you too, gentle reader. May you find the people who love you, feel the love we are all sending to you, have rejuvenating rest, and meaningful work to do. Trust yourself, find your people, reach out for help, be helpful.

I love you.

[thepalaceofmelanie]

Martell week, day 2: Doomed by the Narrative

(A/N: An outtake for a story I’m working on involving my Lannister OC. I consider this a “bad ending” to it.)

@martellweek

Day 2: Doomed by the narrative

A single person walked alone into the crypts in the Red Keep; a body was being prepared to be sent back to Dorne and, the single person wanted to say goodbye. She didn’t know if she could ever channel him again after this. Her heart broke the moment The Mountain crushed Oberyn’s skull.

Mara Lannister now truly felt alone in this world for the first time since meeting Oberyn. For the woman who walks among the dead, she felt like one. Her anger silent but was felt in her soul. Once again, her family damned Westeros.

The curse increased.

Sure Oberyn to some wasn’t an innocent and, rightfully so...but in Mara’s eyes, she could see the real Oberyn. A man who was in pain, a man who truly did deserve justice. Mara knew Elia and her children were innocent and as the woman who was chosen to break the curse, just lost the man she cared about the most.

The crypts were silent. It meant no living are around, it meant Mara had some form of privacy. She would need it; all of this, was getting to her. Watching him die and not being able to do a damn thing, struck the Lannister with guilt.

“Good.” Mara thought to herself.

“Mara…”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re in pain too.”

“And I will be till we break the curse.”

“And then what?”

“I return to Casterly Rock.”

Mara’s body shook like fury incarnate. Her red and black eyes kept on the table; his body covered by a cloth. She felt for the Silent Sisters, but then again, they have probably have seen it all. Mara’s body didn’t want to move toward the table. She feared seeing the worst, but some part of her moved.

“Oberyn…”

One of Mara’s hands touched the cloth covered body…

His shoulder.

Mara didn’t want to touch Oberyn’s face, or what’s left of it. With a breath, she shut her eyes and focused. Holding it together was hard right now, but it needed to be done. Slowly Mara opened her eyes and, there was Oberyn’s spirit.

“Mara?”

“Hello Oberyn.”

Mara’s voice, gentle and sorrowful; Oberyn could see something was wrong. He slowly looked down and realized what had happened. Mara felt her body give out, she turned around so Oberyn wouldn’t see her cry. Mara felt a sob spill from her throat, her shoulders moving up and down as she cried. The guilt threatening to boil over; Oberyn wanted to try and help her, but being dead is different from living.

“Don’t cry, please…” Oberyn spoke.

“Easy for you to say...you died and I couldn’t do anything about it! I had to watch you die; how can I live with that?!” Mara yelled.

Her eyes lit up and she covered her mouth, hoping no one had heard. Mara felt Oberyn “touch” her shoulder.

“It is not your fault Mara; I don’t regret it. The Mountain is dead and people know the truth about Elia and her children. You kept your one promise to us and that took down part of the curse.”

“Oberyn...it got worse because you died.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure...you know you’re...were the only human who truly understood me. I have no one, living wise again. I know what I have to do next but I’m conflicted.”

Both Mara and Oberyn didn’t speak for a moment; For Oberyn he wished he was alive and for Mara, she wished she was with Oberyn. Mara slowly turned to Oberyn, her cheeks stained. A loud scream ripped through Mara’s throat, her tears spilling.

She wanted to curse everyone, The Stranger, her spirit mentor, The Mountain, her family and even Oberyn to some extent. Mara felt so weak, so angry; if anything she wanted so badly to take her sword and start to finish up breaking the curse. One could feel the energy oozing out from her.

“Stop it.”

“Why?”

“You cannot go out and do this with anger. You need to keep calm; if not, you will die too.”

Mara knew her spirit mentor was correct on that. Now it felt like her magic energy was being grounded; she was expecting it go wild, for an undead army to march upon the land. Thankfully that was not the case. Oberyn’s spirit was holding Mara from behind.

“Your spirit mentor told me about this.” Oberyn said.

“I’m glad…” Mara sighed.

“How bad is my body?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

Oberyn looked into Mara’s eyes, Oberyn wasn’t asking for himself; he was asking for this for Mara. Oberyn needed Mara to come to terms and reality of this. Mara slowly got up, she grabbed the cloak and rolled it down, showing his face. Mara nearly let out another scream; Oberyn’s skull crushed.

“Mara, I cannot come back.”

“I know...just Elia, just like Aegon, just like Rhaenys.”

The room had a purple hue to it, like the candle flame had changed color. Purple, also the color associated with Mara’s type of magic. It was only fitting it seemed, maybe it was the Gods paying their respects.

“You have a duty, you do not have time to waste on me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t, you need to focus on your job.”

“Do not tell me what to do!” Mara yelled. Oberyn’s expression soften, understanding that what he said was the truth but Mara had the right to grieve him. She did care about him more than a friend. Both didn’t need to say it, just how they act together showed it.

“I feel guilt Oberyn, I can’t sleep anymore because I have to watch as your skull gets crushed in. Night after night, I wake up screaming, crying my eyes out. I was weak, I should have acted instead. To hell with my family! I lost you! Don’t you understand?! You can be here with me, but just in spirit. I failed you, I can’t run from that.”

“Truly, it’s not your fault. I don’t fault you for this, I knew the risk. I told you not to expose yourself. If Cersei and Tywin found out, they’d use it for greed. They would make you a weapon; they would force you to use your power for the game. I am the only fault for my death between us both. It was never you Mara. Please...believe me.”

Mara knew spirits she summoned couldn’t lie to her. She knew he was telling her the truth but it was hard to accept that. Mara had to swallow it.

“I’m sorry Oberyn.”

He was right, he always was; Mara hated to say that but it’s the truth. This fight wasn’t going to outcome a winner. For Mara, she truly did blame herself. If she only pulled the trigger and tried to save him.

Coward…

That’s the label she had on herself. Mara knew Oberyn would never truly understand; in her mind, she had failed him; was there any hope left for her? For breaking this curse. The country is under a lot of chaos right now and Mara has to pick up the pieces. Tyrion got away and Tywin is dead too; her eyes looked over to that table and Oberyn sighed. He was trying his best.

“How?”

“Crossbow.”

“What a way to go…”

“Rumor has it, you poison him. How?”

“Very carefully.”

Mara smirked lightly, knowing Oberyn was trying to get her to laugh. She did lightly though, Mara enjoyed Oberyn’s sense of humor. Mara smiled kindly at him, even in a spirit form, he looked handsome. She’d miss seeing him. The memories of him would always be with her and, that would keep her going.

“The Mountain is dead.”

“I know.”

“Good, I’m certain Ellaria will have the skull.”

Mara was stalling for time, she didn’t want to say goodbye. Not just yet; but if she kept going, her magic would make her sick from pushing herself. Mara was tired and felt it to her soul; silence filled the area, the two just looking at each other.

“Valar morghulis.” Mara said.

“Valar dohaeris.” Oberyn replied.

Mara knew she had to focus. With a smile, Oberyn vanished. Now Mara could answer her spirit mentor truly what she planned on doing after the curse is broken. That’s to mourn and to try and find meaning in life. Mara knew one day she’d see Oberyn again.

“Now do you understand?!”

Mara blinked and it felt like her soul snapped back into place. Above Mara was the Stranger… next to her was a sleeping Oberyn. Mara was shocked at what she had saw. It felt like a nightmare, never once has Mara had a vision. Mara quickly checked Oberyn’s pulse.

Strong, just like him.

“Yes...I understand.”

“Do not doubt yourself, I chose you for a reason.”

With that The Stranger vanished, leaving Mara and Oberyn alone.

[vitis-verse]

4.3 – Cruelty of the Moon

(~650 words) (vague refs to abuse (Yotsuyu), vague violence)

Brain did not need Lauriam's “gift” to feel the rage emanating off of him. Why should he not, when the anger was his as well? Brain half-considered whether closing a hand around Lauriam's wrist, gentle yet unyielding, would be a wise choice. He opted not to.

Parents were always a touchy topic.

Brain had his own hang-ups, but they didn't cover this current mess. It was a borderline miracle that Lauriam didn't launch himself at Asahi for such a callous move.

It was terrifying, actually. Perhaps he had gone somewhere beyond anger, but Lauriam had become oddly still and calm. Unlike the outburst from the few suns prior, Lauriam remained quiet and unaggressive for the entire journey back to the Enclave.

Once there, he retired to their guest room.

“May I?”

Lauriam simply nodded, putting out a hand for Brain to take.

Somehow Lauriam seemed dead on his feet by the time they got there. He flopped gracelessly onto the futon. Brain sat by his side.

“Are you… alright?”

“Mm… yes, it just. The crystal. If I don't act when it knows it's right, I feel… drained once the opportunity passes.”

Brain put a hand gently on his upper back. “Is that safe? It sounds a bit…”

Lauriam shook his head. “No, no, I – it'll pass within a bell or two. Not bad.”

“Alright, I trust you.”

Lauriam only made a tired little chirp in response, and Brain laid down beside him.

It would've more pleasant had Hien not slammed into their room within the next quarter-bell, panicked.

—---

Upon hearing of Tsuyu’s disappearance, the heaviness quickly left Lauriam's body, and he was at the doorway before Brain had finished standing. No, something terrible had surely happened.

Once outside, Brain began to walk around the perimeter and stopped to cautiously sniff the air. There was a single nervous flick of his ears, and then he was grabbing Lauriam's wrist and pulling him towards a walled-in courtyard.

Lauriam knew it'd been because he could smell blood in the air – but he couldn't say he'd guessed whose it would be. Not Tsuyu’s, he was glad for that, but…

Well, he could not mourn this turn of events either.

Lauriam wanted to go look for Tsuyu, so the debilitating pulse behind his eyes of an impending vision was most unwelcome.

It wasn't her fault. Lauriam would be sure to explain that to Hien, once he caught up to them. She'd not wanted this, she wanted to avoid hurting anyone she'd come to care for, this encounter with her parents just… broke one last thing in her.

It was not her fault – this was not a calculated betrayal.

Lauriam looked down at the man at his feet. In truth, he'd nearly forgotten that the father was still alive, pleading to be saved.

He would do no such thing. Brain looked to be in no rush to act either. Lauriam simply resolved to wait a minute longer – this was Yotsuyu’s kill, he wouldn't take the final blow away.

When Hien arrived, the man was dead, and there really was no need for conversation about whether they'd tried.

It wasn't fair. Then again, few things were. It was fair that she had the pleasure of killing Asahi herself. It was fair that the conscripts and prisoners got to go back to their respective homes.

None of the rest of it was, really. Gosetsu had no idea why the gods had willed such an outcome, and Lauriam was at a loss too. Senseless.

Alphinaud may have been the bravest boy of his age Lauriam had ever known. He could not imagine anyone else volunteering to go to Garlemald, especially not with so much calm professionalism. Maxima didn't even blink an eye at the idea of Alphinaud acting as a diplomat teenager.

It didn't make it any less scary to see him wave and step into that airship.

[prodixal]

The warmth of hands against his skin eased his nerves. Even now, beneath the ground, she felt like the sun. And what was moments ago feigned courage, was now turning into a sense of genuine relief. He believed her words -- that she would look after him. That she would find a way out. Rickon did not know if he'd wanted it more for his own sake, or for hers. "I am in good hands then." there is playfulness, to his tone. "I pity the person bold enough to tell you no." and while he had no idea if he was perhaps the only one who could not utter such a word her way, he was still convinced Daenya was the strongest and most capable person he'd ever met. If she wanted to find a way -- she would. She may have been the sweetest of them, but she was still a dragon. As her eyes scanned the walls around them, he spoke to pull her focus once more. "It don't seem like much but -- it is better than sharing a cell, I'd say. Royal treatment -- I must be...very important. If you squint it is almost like the room at the tavern. Even Rickon the second paid me a visit." perhaps the mention of rats at this point was not the brightest idea, but he never pretended to be wise. "Your siblings came around too. Helaena brought food, you know? You were right --" he chuckled then. "Suppose we are getting pretty close. Go figure." it was not entirely the truth. But it was not so far off either. Without much warning, or any thought, Rickon pulled her into a hug once again. This time, it was he who had needed it. His heart fastened and he let the smile cease as his breath evened. "I do not want you to worry." he says at last. His words soft, calm. "Remember how you said there will be a...a long period of good? That we must be ready?" there's a gentle nod to his head, waiting for a recall in her gaze. "There will be. This is just...another stop on the way. We cannot have good without first -- e-earning it, I suppose? Good things must be earned, isn't that so?" and while he was certain they had earned more than their fare share of good, he needed to hold onto something. A belief. Better would come. With a nervous rub of his neck, his eyes diverted from hers a moment. "I wish to send a word to my sister, my brother. They will worry. I want them to know I am good and...alive." Rickon knew Alecor was likely searching for him, that Cait was grey with worry. "I will not tell them I am kept here just that -- that I am good. I promise I will not...make matters worse." throat clears, and had it been anyone else he'd not dare ask of them such a thing. "I know it might be...difficult for you to do so...at this time but, d'you think --"

DAENYA FEELS ALMOST GUILTY TAKING STRENGTH FROM RICKON . if anything she should be the one inspiring such strength in him ; inspiring such confidence in him . and yet daenya as always finds herself absorbing his steadiness like a sponge as he holds her face , as their eyes meet . and some part of her knows it is perhaps bravado . after all , how was rickon to know it will all be fine ? daeny didn't even know such things and she was apparently the one with sight . and yet as rickon says it daenya feels reassurance anyways , her hands on his wrists where he grasps at her cheeks . she feels the coldness of those shackles under her palms once more and she has to force herself to take a deep breath at the sensation . her nod is sharp . she finds her head bobbing with it twice more . " they will ." she repeats firmly then as she swallows thickly . her eyes meet his squarely as she moves to bring a hand up to wipe firmly at her eyes with finality . " i will get them to ." the words are said with more confidence than she perhaps feels , but she can only hope that rickon can feel the determination that lines them . " okay ?" daeny has no idea how she will manage it , truly . and yet she will . the conviction surely must count for something , right ? right . her eyes shine with pain at rickon's insistence that he was fine because how could he be truly ? here ? like this ? she swallows thickly and yet she says nothing . for what was there to say ? so instead she watches rickon as he speaks , her eyes scanning his face until his eyes fall to her hands . it is then with a gentleness that her hand finds its way to his jaw , that she holds it as she pushes for their eyes to meet again . " we shall focus on having you released first . okay ?" daenya's eyes scan rickon's as her brows furrow . " take this one step at a time ." daenya knows it was more her ideology than rickon's and yet how can she not fall back on it now , as he stands here in chains before her ? surely this was the most urgent matter . daenya feels her nerves frayed beneath her skin at just the sight . and yet her eyes snap from the binds to rickon's eyes at his question . she is nodding before words even form in her mouth . " of course . anything ."

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 21 - Nowhere to Run [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood, nightmares.

Word Count: 4300

Summary: Everyone needs a shelter.

For all your life, your sister had always said she hated watching horror movies with you because you would always criticize every character and their choices in the movie.

Who would even stay where they were when they knew there was danger outside, when they knew there was something coming for them?

You had never thought you’d learn the answer first hand;

Because there was nothing else to do, and because that was exactly what you were doing.

Spencer and the rest of his team had sent you away from that basement so that you could get some fresh air and at least attempt to get away from the greeting written on the wall with blood but you knew it was impossible.

There was no running away from that, you had seen it already.

You dangled your legs off the pier back and forth, keeping your gaze on the lake that looked so calm that it was almost like a painting. Funny, you hadn’t ever stopped to enjoy it when you were still a child, you had never actually sat there on the pier to take a breath, wrapped in the safety that would soon disappear.

The footsteps coming closer pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned you head as Spencer sat down next to you.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you croaked out and he ran his fingers through his curls.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “I’m not sure what home is for me at this point, to be honest with you,” you murmured, “Besides I heard the other agents talking, you guys are going to be pretty busy the moment the rest of your team gets here.”

He heaved a sigh, biting inside his cheek but you kept your gaze on the lake.

“It makes it official right?” you asked, “All these murders…It’s not really about my father’s legacy. It’s about me.”

He stole a look at you, “Y/N…”

“It’s okay professor,” you said, “Trust me, I’m not going to run and scream.”

“The profile is changing constantly with every piece of evidence-“

“Spencer.”

He let out a breath, pursing his lips.

“It is pointing that way so far,” he muttered, “It doesn’t matter though. His legacy or an obsession with you, we’re still going to catch him.”

A silence fell upon you and you cleared your throat, pointing at the woods on the other side of the lake.

“Mina and I used to play the princess and the monster over there,” you said, “I mean… It was either me who was the princess or Mina and I were saving some imaginary princess because Mina wanted to be friends with her.” You used air quotes, “I don’t know whose shock was more fake when she came out, mine or mom’s.”

He let out a small laugh, “Yeah?”

“Mm hm, and right over there,” you pointed at the right, “Linc chased me with a worm in his hand to scare me off, and I ended up falling into the damn lake.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Then Mina pushed him into the lake too and we all got grounded for the whole weekend.” You let out a breath and pointed back at the cabin with your thumb, “And right there, dad showed me how to kill someone for the first time.”

His head shot up, “What?”

You scoffed, “He didn’t tell you that during those sessions?”

Spencer shook his head, frowning.

“He taught me…” you wetted your lips, “How to- how to hunt, that’s what he called it. Predator and prey. After teaching me how to analyze places to find a weapon, he taught me how to find my way in the woods. Just in case. He used to um-“ you cleared your throat, “I don’t really remember all of it, I don’t know how much of it are nightmares or memories, but I remember once he dragged me here in the middle of the night, and he opened the door and there was this man…”

“Petal honey, don’t get so close to him,” your father called out from the kitchen he sharpened the knife as you took a step closer to the man who was gagged and bleeding profusely, still whimpering on the floor. Even in the dim light you could see the look of terror on his face and your heart skipped a beat as you turned your head to look at your father.

“Daddy, he-“ you shifted your weight from one foot to other, “Maybe we can just leave him like this. He’d be dead by the morning.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked before getting closer to you, flipping the knife in his hand and the man started yelling through the gag, but it was muffled. Your father extended his hand, motioning at the huge teddy bear you were hugging closer to your chest and you bit on your lip, then handed him that.

“You can get the teddy back after you answer 3 questions right, you know the rules,” he told you, “Alright, if I wanted him to die quickly, where would I stab?”

“Jugular.”

“Where’s the jugular?”

You pointed at the man’s neck, “There.”

“Good. What if I wanted him to suffer for hours with just one stab wound?”

You paused and scrunched up your nose, forcing your mind for the information before you looked up at him.

“In the stomach,” you said, “Stomach acid hurts.”

He thought for a second, then handed you the teddy back.

“Good job honey,” he said and walked to the man with the knife in his hand.

“I couldn’t do anything,” you pressed your lips together, “For hours and hours he tortured him and when we got back home, I went to bed and the next morning I wouldn’t stop shivering, I kept throwing up and my mom thought I had the flu so we ended up not coming to the cabin that weekend. I know how he—” you clicked your tongue, “I know how he pretends to be a normal guy. During those interviews, that documentary, even in those sessions with you he keeps pretending like he’s normal, but I know him. I know the real monster and I…”  you sniffled and cleared your throat, “Profiler or not, you have no idea what he’s capable of. He put me through actual hell, Spencer. No wonder I can’t remember half of this shit, I think I’d lose my mind if I did.”

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t stop him.”

He frowned, “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him even if you wanted to,” Spencer told you, “You were a child.”

“I could’ve told someone,” you murmured, looking at the lake, “I could’ve done something.”

“You were a child,” he repeated, “Children trust their parents, okay? You know it as well as I do that he’s a master at manipulation. Whatever he has done, it’s not your fault.”

“I doubt those bodies in the basement would agree with you,” you managed to say and let out a humorless chuckle, “Besides, I’m my father’s daughter, remember? You told me so yourself.”

The impact of your words would’ve been surprising if you weren’t so distracted by your own misery. He pulled back as if you had just slapped him, his hazel eyes searching your face and he swallowed thickly, opening and closing his mouth like he was at loss for words.

“I didn’t mean—” he paused, shaking his head “Y/N, that wasn’t the truth.”

You grabbed the cigarette out of your purse and lit it, dangling your legs back and forth over the pier.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged your shoulders, “You’re not the first person to think that, and weirdly enough, you’re not the first ex to think that either-“

“That’s not what I think,” he insisted, “Nothing about you even suggests that you’re anything like him, behavior or psychological wise. I just wanted to—“ he hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching, “Hurt you back.”

You tried to smile, still keeping your gaze on the lake as you exhaled the smoke.

“Congratulations professor, you’re pretty good at that.”

A silence fell upon you both as you twirled the cigarette between your fingers.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was so gentle that you turned your head to look at him, “I really am. I never should’ve hit below the belt, not like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N.”

“No really,” you insisted, “I don’t want to talk about that anymore, I’m just so—“ you closed your eyes for a moment “God, I’m just so tired Spencer. You have no idea how tired I am.”

“I know.”

“And it just doesn’t end,” you murmured and opened your eyes, “Right? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months now, and everything is getting so out of my control.”

“It will end soon.”

“But we don’t know that,” you insisted as almost a hysterical laugh escaped from your lips, “Do you want to hear the worst part? I don’t think this feeling will ever go away. At this point, I don’t even remember how it feels like not to be afraid.”

He heaved a sigh, then looked over his shoulder when Luke approached you two.

“Sorry guys,” he said, shifting his weight, “But um- Reid, we need you in there.”

“Can’t someone else-“

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you stood up and dusted off your jeans, “Seriously. Besides, the sooner you catch this guy, the sooner…I don’t know, the sooner things go back to normal, whatever that means.”

“You can’t just drive home like this.”

“I’ll drive her,” Luke said, making you turn your head,

“Dude, aren’t you needed here too?”

“I’m going to go back to help out Rossi,” he said, “Not all of the team has to be here, I mean-“ he nodded at Spencer, “We’ve got our genius here, he’s got it covered. I can take the babysitting duty.”

“No pastries for you anymore.”

“I would like to rephrase my statement,” he said quickly, making you smile before you shrugged your shoulders.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

“Y/N-“ Spencer started but you shot him a look.

“I’m fine,” you said, “Go do your Sherlock stuff, professor. Solve the case so that I can start planning weddings again instead of hanging around creepy cabins. I’m just gonna go home and get drunk, so you’ll probably get a voicemail or two from me, just saying.”

“Can’t wait,” Spencer smiled softly and you followed Luke to your car, then handed him the keys and got in the passenger seat. He started the car and you slipped a little in the seat, leaning your knees on the dash.

“How are you holding up?” Luke asked you and you heaved a sigh.

“I feel like I’m in a horror movie to be honest with you,” you muttered, “Who the fuck writes on a wall with blood, I mean like who are you, Michael Myers?”

“I didn’t mean the case,” he stole a look at you and you raised your brows.

“Ah, that,” you said, “Well, I don’t have a bff that sets me up with people in night clubs, so there’s that.”

He hissed in a breath, “Garcia told you.”

“Mm hm,” you looked out of the window, “No hard feelings, don’t worry. I dated lots of frat boys back when I was in college, so I’m very familiar with the bro code.”

“You dated frat boys?” he made a face and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah I started from the bottom and worked my way up to the genius back there.”

He chuckled, “I take it you still haven’t told him you threatened a serial killer because he happened to threaten him?”

“I would’ve done the same for anyone.”

“Bullshit.”

Your jaw dropped, “I let you drive my car and this is the thanks I get, Alvez?”

“Okay trust fund baby, I’m driving you home, you’re not doing me a favor.”

You let out a small laugh, “Eh, I’m not that bad.”

“Your sister threatened a whole police department using lawyers.”

“They had it coming,” you said and he cleared his throat.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was an actual fiasco.”

Your head shot up and you turned to him, “Hm?”

“That whole thing with Reid. He’s not over you.”

“He will be,” you murmured, “Eventually.”

“Do you want to hear why it was a fiasco?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration-“

“He spent the whole night talking about you,” he cut you off and your jaw dropped, “Yeah. More like, she asked him about his job and he mentioned the case, then talked about you and how you couldn’t be the killer for hours. For a second, I thought he’d go up to the DJ booth and start broadcasting from there.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through you, but you nibbled on your lip, trying to ignore it.

“I really hurt him Luke.”

He stole a look at you from the corner of his eye.

“I know,” he said, “That’s pretty clear. I don’t know which one is worse, that you hurt him or that it doesn’t seem to change anything on his part.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes but you slipped a little in your seat and kept your eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I don’t know which one is worse either.”

                                                   ***

The worst thing about nightmares?

There was no escape from them, and no amount of booze could make them go away.

You woke up to your own scream and leaped out of the bed so fast that you got caught in your sheets and fell on your face, your ears ringing. You could feel the bile burning your throat, so you covered your mouth and rushed to the bathroom to throw up into the toilet, barely aware of the sobs rocking your body. You wiped at your mouth and stood up on shaky legs, then brushed your teeth, still breathing hard.

You were there again, in that graveyard with your father, but this time you couldn’t brush it off as just a nightmare.

It was way too detailed, way too familiar to be a nightmare.

You wiped at your forehead and washed your face with ice cold water, desperate for some sort of a relief and leaned over the sink, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Fuck this shit,” you rasped out to yourself before turning the tap off and raised your glances to look in the mirror.

Well.

You looked exactly like how you felt.

You still didn’t trust your legs but still managed to leave the bathroom, Making your way to your bedroom was more than enough to give you goosebumps, but you snatched your phone off the bedside table. You almost dropped it because of how badly you were trembling with fear, but managed to hold it tighter, found his name in the contacts and took the phone to your ear.

He answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Spencer, hi,” you said, still taking deep breaths, “I um… I had this- this nightmare and I- I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?”

He hesitated for a moment, “Are you okay? Why are you breathing so fast?”

“Not a panic attack,” you wiped at your nose, “Not yet anyway.”

“Okay, I’m still coming over-“

“No!” you cut him off, then licked your lips, “No I can’t…. I can’t stay here right now, I need to get out of here. Can we please meet somewhere or-or-“

“How about my place?” he asked and you heard the unmistakable clinking of keys, “You can’t drive like that, I’ll come and pick you up, wait there-“

“No I’ll just take a taxi.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll take a taxi, just send me the location,” you told him and hung up, quickly got dressed, got into your coat, then went downstairs when your taxi arrived. You still felt like you could throw up again, but the cool air coming from the open car window helped as the driver started the car after you gave him the location.

There was a beauty in the city at night, especially in chilly nights like these. The small raindrops falling down your face offered some kind of a small comfort while you tried your hardest to ignore the images flashing through your mind, taking a deep breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs. You leaned your head to the open window, closing your eyes and letting the noise of the city drag you out of your own mind.

By the time the taxi pulled over, you were almost lost in your thoughts and only when the driver let you know that you were there you opened your eyes. You paid him, and looked up at the building before making your way inside.

It was almost strange how you hadn’t seen his apartment when you two were dating, but now here you were.

After the break up. At three in the morning.

You wiped at your nose and fixed your hair before you knocked on the door and tried to control your breathing, but that felt way too difficult. As soon as he opened the door, everything you had planned to tell him in your head disappeared and you looked up at him in complete silence for a couple of seconds, you had almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t in his work clothes. A warmth filled you, the urge to rush into his arms taking over you but you managed to fight the urge and stepped into the apartment, desperately searching for the right words.

“I had that nightmare, again.” You turned to him as soon as you entered the living room, stumbling over your words, “That graveyard nightmare, but Spencer I think it wasn’t just a dream, I think you were right and it was a memory and there was someone else but I can’t see a face and—“

“Y/N.”

“And I think we were there because of me because it all just connected, we were at that graveyard and he was actually digging a grave and I can remember the face of the victim but not—“

“Sweetheart, breathe.” he approached you in three long steps and his warm hands cupped your cheek so that he could look at you better, “I’m here, I’m listening, okay? Just breathe and tell me. Slowly.”

You swallowed thickly, looking up at him.

“I had that nightmare again,” you managed to say, “But I think that’s a memory.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “How?”

“Because at the graveyard, dad told me something,” you said, “He was- he was digging a grave, and he said, Remember, you’re not supposed to make them bleed if you can’t kill them. And I remembered when that happened, back at the cabin, during the training, I… I untied one of the victims and pretended like he got out of them somehow.”

His hand slipped a little so that he could brush his fingers over your neck, almost soothing you.

“It didn’t work,” you shook your head, “As soon as he got out of the cabin, dad hunted him down and dragged him back into the cabin, he had lost way too much blood to make a run for it. Spencer, that’s a memory, not just a nightmare.”

“There was another person with you? At the graveyard?”

“He took the victim to the graveyard later on, but yes. There was someone, I just…I can’t remember who,” you heaved a shaky breath, “You need to tell the team-“

“We’re already checking the graveyards within the driving distance to the cabin, I told them today.”

You blinked a couple of times, “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he said and his eyes searched your face, “You’re shaking.”

You tried to smile and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, running your thumb over his warm skin, “It’s cold out there.”

You were lying, he knew you were lying and you knew that he knew, but neither of you commented on that. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled you closer to him, letting you bury your face into his chest as he held you tight and you inhaled his scent, closing your eyes.

He was right earlier. This was an addiction.

“Were you sleeping?” you muttered into his chest before you pulled back to look up at him. He scoffed and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I was working on the case.”

“You really need to sleep.”

“It’s ironic to hear that from you,” he pointed out and that made a smile warm your face.

“Ah but I did sleep,” you said, “I just woke up because of the nightmares. It still counts as sleep.”

“I doubt that,” he said and you turned your head before you started walking around the room.

Spencer’s apartment was more or less what you imagined, to be honest. Contrary to yours, it was darker and obviously older. The wooden desk was covered in papers and books, there was a library by the corner of the room almost stacked to the brim, and overall it reminded you so much of him that just being in his apartment made you feel-

Safer. Better. Calmer.

“Lovely place,” you commented as you approached the library to drag your fingertips over the cracked and old spines of the books and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift his weight.

“Yeah it’s not- it’s not like yours but I like it.”

“Not like mine?” you looked over your shoulder and he cleared his throat.

“Mm hm.”

“I like it better than mine,” you said and he frowned,

“Why?”

“It looks like someone is actually living here,” you motioned around and he tilted his head.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is,” you said, “I mean I can see….you in here. I can’t see any part of me in my apartment.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “My mom has this person who designs her houses, she designed my apartment too. It’s pretty but it’s just not me I guess. It’s kind of sad when you think about it.”

He hummed, his eyes watching your every move and you pulled a book from the shelf, holding it up so that he could see the title.

“You don’t strike me as a Petrarch guy,” you tilted your head, “Are you?”

He raised his brows and stole a look at the book in your hand.

“I do not pray, since there is no purpose, that my heart should ever burn less fiercely, but only that she might share part of the fire.” he recited and your jaw dropped before you pouted.

“I hate bluffing with you,” you commented, making him chuckle and you stifled a yawn while turning the book in your hands.

“You can’t work for the whole night if you have a guest.” you gestured at the wooden table and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t if my guest promises she’ll try to sleep.”

“I don’t like this deal.”

“That’s the deal you’re getting,” he said and you clicked your tongue, then walked to the center of the room and sat down on the floor before you lied down.

“I have a bed, you know.”

“I don’t want to get comfortable and fall asleep yet. I want to enjoy this more.”

“Enjoy what? Lying on the floor?”

You shook your head and kept your gaze on the ceiling, the dim light of the apartment and lights from the outside creating shadows there.

“I don’t have that…mind numbing fear right now,” you managed to say “I want to make it last. It’ll come back when I wake up tomorrow, trust me.”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, then heaved a sigh and sat down on the floor as well, leaning his back to the leather armchair. You tossed him the book and he caught it mid-air, shooting you a quizzical look.

“Read me your favorite,” you said and he smiled slightly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll help me get out of my head, and it might help you….ignore the fact that your night club date was terrible, apparently.”

He raised his brows, “Luke told you?”

You tried to stop your smirk, but it was impossible,

“Yeah he did,” you said and bit inside your cheek for a moment, “Thank you though.”

“For what?”

“For believing in me.”

His gaze on you was gentle, “I wish you would believe in yourself too,” he told you, “You’re not what he tried to turn you into.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your lip.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we should move on?”

He took a deep breath, his brows furrowed in thought.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “We probably should. But do I think we can move on? I don’t think so.”

You nodded slowly, that burning in your eyes getting even worse as he turned the pages until he found what he was looking for, then cleared his throat and started reading.

“I have offered you my heart a thousand times

O my sweet warrior, only to make peace

with your lovely eyes: but it does not please you

with your noble mind, to stoop so low.”

You smiled to yourself, painfully aware of why he picked that one, then closed your eyes, his voice washing over you.

“And if some other lady has hope of it,

she lives in powerless, deceiving hope:

and it can never be what it was to me,

since I too disdain what does not please you.”

Chapter 22

[elles-writing]

Dragon Sickness

Thorin x reader

Based off on 'Imagine Thorin becoming a dragon after getting gold sickness'

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one, though I'd be able to make it a whole series with how many ideas I got, but here it is as a one shot. You guessed the character, @iwenttomordor !!

I'll probably translate this fic to Czech, if I will be in a mood for it.

Taglist: @guardianofrivendell @anjhope1

Breathe in, breathe out.

All Thorin could see, was darkness. He had no idea where he was, or what happened. The only thing he knew, was that if he was still able to do something, anything, it would mean he was still fully by his senses.

He felt deep growl coming out of the back of his throat. He opened his eyes, but then blinked. There was brightness everywhere, and he had to groan again. Did Fili and Kili forgot to blow the candles, played another stupid prank on him, and he passed out? Or did he fell asleep, while telling them a bedtime story?

Thorin opened his eyes again, when he seen endless piles of gold, and that it was not cadle light, but the shine of gold inside Erebor, and that Fili and Kili were not dwarflings anymore, but adults. They went on the quest with him and joined the Company, and...

Thorin blinked. Why was he alone?

"Fili, Kili!"

He expected to hear echo of his voice, but instead, he heard only deep growl and royar. He quickly looked around, up and down.

Was Smaug still there?

Thorin carefully looked around, but he couldn't see anything, that would remind of the dragon, who entered the Mountain over sixty years ago.

He decided to carefully look around, to see if his nephews and the rest of the Company was alright, without waking up the dragon, if he was still there.

Thorin made a step, when he noticed a reflection, in a huge mirror, in thick gold frame.

It was a dragon, with dark brown, almost deep black body and wings, long and pointy tail, and icy blue eyes. The light created shadows and pools of light, dancing across the texture of the dragon's body, making it seem rough and yet somehow highly gentle, even delicate, as the fire of candles flickered with the beast's every move.

Thorin looked away, and deep royar shook the walls of Erebor.

I need to find my nephews, he thought. Panic started settling in him, as he realized Kili was mortally wounded, and Fili stayed with him.

I belong with my brother.

He also remembered you. You did got wounded, too - you broke your arm, during the escape from Mirkwood. As a human, your body was much more fragile.

Thorin felt like he was losing his mind. He didn't cared for the gold, or the Mountain, anymore.

And with another wall-shaking royar, the dark coloured, blue-eyed dragon flew up, and left the inner part of Lonely Mountain.

Bilbo looked over at Balin.

"Where-where did that dragon came from? I'm sure there was only-only Smaug before," he said in high-pitched voice, he would be embarrassed about on any other occasion. Balin sighed and looked to the direction, of where did the dragon disappeared.

"I do not know, Bilbo. Now we need to find Thorin, and make a plan what to do. We didn't counted there would be two dragons, instead of one."

As Bilbo was trying to process what happened (the hobbit seen a lot of things on the journey, but this was really something he did not count on), Thorin looked over the Laketown. He noticed the people escaping the burning ruines of their houses. Smell of burned wood, skin, hair, mixed with smell of water and something he recognized as human, dwarf, and elves, got into his nose. He felt the soft breeze, and for a second, he thought dragons perhaps aren't that bad. It was calm up there.

Thorin looked over the town, and noticed a small boat. When he realized there was the rest of the members of the Company (and Bard's children), he let out a relieved breath. He felt like a rock fell off of his heart.

As he wanted to yell out "You are alive!", so they would hear him, a powerful royar escaped him.

You looked up, as Fili nudged you.

"What is it, Fi?"

"There is another...dragon," Fili said. You frowned.

"No way, Fili, that's-" you looked up as Kili pointed towards the sky. At the same moment, a powerful royar shook your whole body. You shivered.

"W-what the-" You whispered, and clutched your injured arm.

"It's flying down!" Bofur yelled out.

"We need to get away-" Someone yelled, but it was far too late.

The dragon flew down, and it seemed like it was observing you. It let out occasional growls, along with watching you by it's huge blue eyes.

He looks like Thorin, you thought. There was the panic, that others gave you, but deep down, you were not afraid.

The creature tilted it's huge head, and it was as if it's eyes saddened. You got up and walked to the front of the boat, so you'd be closer to it. Bofur turned to you.

"I don't think that's a wise idea, lass-" The dragon let out a huff, and you softly pushed Bofur behind you.

"What are you doing here? Where did you came from?" You carefully said. The dragon growled out something, but then turned to Lonely Mountain. You guessed it probably was the direction, where did it came from.

"Are you going to...hurt us?" You whispered. The dragon shook it's head, firmly.

"Alright, um...why are you here?" The dragon's eyes gave you a little stern, but mostly relieved and flustrated look, and then they shifted to Fili and Kili.

"Thorin would be worried about them too," you though aloud, before you could stop it. The dragon huffed, and let out a groan, but his eyes seemed to light up.

"Thorin?" The dragon nodded his head. You looked back, to see if it was truth. There was no way this would be happening.

Kili was pale, as well as Fili. Tilda and Sigrid were eyeing the dragon - Thorin, and the rest of the Company seemed like they were about to faint.

Well, not really. They seemed to be just paler than usual. A lot paler.

"Thorin, you are-you are a dragon...but how?" You stared at him. He looked around, until he pointed towards simple golden necklace he gave you as a courting gift.

"Gold...D-do you mean the...the sickness?" You looked up.

Thorin simply nodded.

When you got safely to Erebor, you noticed the rest of the Company rushing towards you.

"Thank Mahal, you are alive!" Someone said.

"Did you see the dragon?" You nodded.

"Well, yeah. He's not dangerous." You replied in firm voice.

"Lassie, every dragon is dangerous," Balin said, as Oin looked over your injury again.

"This one is not, because...well, the 'dragon sickness'," you quoted,

"The dragon sickness is not really about obsession over gold. It transforms that person into a dragon, who is obsessed with gold," you said, as you looked over your shoulder. You wasn't sure where exactly Thorin was, at the moment.

"I understand, but why would you say that, lassie? We still haven't found Thorin yet," Dwalin looked at you. Before you could answer, small epcheeew made an echo in the hall, and a piece of the wall was covered with frost. You giggled.

"How did you do that?" Thorin dig his eyes into you, as if saying 'Don't ask, please,', and jumped up on your shoulder.

"Well, he found us." You muttered. Everyone stared at the dragon-Thorin in silence for a while.

As the evening approached and most of the Company went to sleep, Thorin, in his regular size, you guessed, was carefully walking on the piles of gold, and you just sat there. You sat there, because you could not sleep, and so that Thorin would not be lonely.

You watched Thorin, as he was walking around the room, in the endless river of gold.

"You know, maybe it's better you still have clear mind, Thorin," you said. Thorin turned to you and set his gaze on you, as if asked you to continue. And so, you did.

"I won't lie, I do not know how to break this...spell, or whatever it is," you said, and Thorin looked away, huffing.

"But at least you are alive, and have clear mind," He looked back at you, and his eyes seemed to soften a little. You got up.

"Well, look, if you'd like to...I got an idea," you offered. Thorin curiously looked at you.

"We could go out, neither of us can sleep anyways," Y/N said, and Thorin looked around.

"Well, you can change into the...more petite form," you said. Thorin huffed out.

I'm not a bird or a cat.

Y/N blinked. Did she just heard Thorin's voice in her head?

It was probably nothing.

"Let's get outside."

As they seated outside, on the top of the Mountain, her eyes were set on the starry sky.

Thorin's eyes slid over the starry sky, then down at Y/N. The breeze brushed her hair in a gentle, delicate motion.

He was glad he has Y/N as his One.

He suddenly felt the urge to fly, which he tried to deny, but then he flew up, and took Y/N with him.

You couldn't even scream at first, but then you felt as if you were falling down - when all of sudden, you fell on something firm, but warm.

You opened your eyes, slowly at first, but then you realized what happened.

Slowly, you looked over the edge of Thorin's dragon body, and your eyes widened.

You flew high, and though you couldn't see a lot, due to the darkness, you recognized some lights. But the real beauty started, when you looked up.

The stars seemed to be close, as if you would just reach up your arm, you would be able to touch them.

The clouds felt soft, but cold and wet. You closed your eyes, and let that feeling to go through your whole body, as Thorin flew through one of the clouds.

When you opened your eyes, you realized the clouds moved away, and so the moon was illuminating the landscape underneath you. You looked down, and watched the scenery in awe.

You had no idea how much time has passed, but honestly, you didn't cared. You felt safe with Thorin, even if he was locked up in the body of dragon.

When the sun started raising, Thorin flew down to the top of the Mountain again. You could barely keep your eyes open.

That was amazing, you thought. You felt like you heard Thorin's soft chuckle in your head.

Indeed, Amrâlime.

Y/N didn't had much time to think about it, before she fell asleep with the sounds of birds' song, lullying her and sending her to the land of dreams.

When she woken up, she realized one thing: warmth. Y/N looked around, and realized that the warmth was coming from Thorin's body, who was protectively lying around her, inside of some room. He seemed to be soundly asleep.

As she moved, a huff escaped Thorin, and Y/N quickly looked back, to see what happened.

You woke me, she heard in her head.

Sorry, I just need to go to-

Before you could finish your thought, he let you go. You felt the shivers running down your body. Well, it's a mountain. It's not like it would be exactly warm here.

When you came back, you sat down, across Thorin, and he set his eyes on you. You started thinking about what was happening.

You can hear me, you thought, and he nodded.

So I, he replied.

But neither of us could do that before, right? You furrowed your brows, and Thorin shook his head.

Is this is permanent? You thought quicker than you could stop it. Thorin's gaze coldened and hardened, and you could feel the confusion, disgust, hurt and sadness.

I'm sorry Thorin, I-

Keep your words.

No, Thorin, listen to me, I'm sorry, it's just- You quickly jumped up, but he was on his way out.

Who from dwarves would want their king to be a dragon? He snapped. At this point, you runned behind him, trying to stop him from flying away.

"THORIN NO, COME BACK-" you yelled out, but it was far too late. Thorin was quickly disappearing on the horizone, and you cried out.

The dragons in Middle-Earth never had a good reputation. You knew someone would try to hurt him, or kill him, eventually.

You sank down on your knees, and started sobbing.

You felt his pain as your own, and he felt yours.

Who from the dwarves would want their king to be a dragon? Thorin thought, as he flew up on the sky. He knew he was right. He felt shame. He was a Durin. But now, he was a dragon, one of the creatures he hated.

You are not the dragon, Thorin. You are good. You are still Thorin we all know.

He let out a royar. He was in this body of a dragon, and he hated every second of it, and he hated himself.

You looked over the tent, and sipped on your tea. It felt wrong and weird, but you didn't exactly complained either.

Thranduil and Bard discussed something, and you wished Thorin would be there with you.

They aren't that bad, Thorin. Nothing.

You told me that Erebor is going to be pulsing with life, again. I know you hate the body you are locked in right now, but we will find a way to turn you into dwarf form again, Thorin. Please, return here.

No answer. Just silence.

You sighed. You felt Thorin was alive - you just knew, so you were not so worried, but still. Bilbo placed his hand on your shoulder.

"He will come back, I'm sure of it. You know Thorin," he muttered, and you nodded. Thorin was really stubborn, even for a dwarf, and once he thought of something, there was almost no chance in convincing him otherwise.

The rest of Company woke up as they heard your screaming. They found you, and took inside of the Mountain, to give you blankets and tea. Then Bilbo came, that Gandalf was there, to warn you about another dragon. You talked for a while, and eventually, you told him what happened to Thorin, and you needed a medication, but he flew away, and since then, he didn't came back.

Bard and Thranduil weren't really fond of Thorin, but because it was you, who was Thorin's One (and Thorin was the rightful king of Erebor, though Thranduil, especially, didn't liked that idea much), they decided to help to you find a way to heal Thorin's sickness.

"I think Smaug got mad, and the sickness consumed him entirely. Thorin actually had clear mind, it's just...his body changed," you muttered. Even Radagast was there.

"Well, maybe...maybe it's not really a sickness," someone piped up. You looked around.

Who said that? You thought.

"Maybe-maybe it's just a spell!" Radagast said and looked excitely around.

"You have a bond between you two," Radagast told you, and you nodded.

"Are you suggesting, that the spell could be broken by...something?" Bilbo looked around for someone to help him finish up his question.

"Well, Thorin is not answering me, but he is alive, somewhere. I think he maybe...he thinks the dwarves wouldn't accept their king, even if he is in the body of a dragon," you said.

"Orcs! Orcs are everywhere!" Elvish soldier runned inside the tent.

"How many?" Thranduil's gaze hardened.

"A lot of them, I've never seen more in my whole life," The soldier answered.

"Azog," you whispered. You realized what that could mean - Azog came here for Thorin.

"We all need to fight together, there is no point nor time for arguing," Gandalf said, and you got up.

"No, you will stay here, lassie. If he finds out Thorin is not there, you will be right next," Bard said. You frowned.

"I won't run from a fight." You gazed at him, but he was out already, along with most of others, to prepare for the battle.

I won't risk anyone I love to be killed, you thought, and went to find some armour.

Thorin felt all those emotions going on - worry, fear, anger, loyalty, and more worry. Something in him was pushing him, to come back, to go back to you. He felt the danger, and that convinced him, without any other thoughts, he needs to protect you, and his kin.

Durin's folk does not flee from fight.

When he heard the sounds of a battle, he tried to find you. He couldn't hear your thoughts anymore - nor fell the feelings you felt. Only soft waves of emotions.

Is this the end of you, or him, when he could not hear your thoughts anymore?

He hoped not.

It didn't took long, when something inside him made him to look into one place. He noticed Azog, and someone he realized was you, though he had no idea how did he knew that.

He flew lower, and lower, until the only thing he heard was the blood in his ears, the royar he let out, and the royar of his biggest enemy.

Thorin fell to the ground on all fours. It felt as if the battle stopped. As if the time stopped, whe whole world paused. He looked up at you, kneeling down and covering your head.

You looked up, as you heard the royar. Thorin! You thought. You felt relief he was okay, and alive.

"Don't shoot!" You heard Thranduil to yell out to his soldiers when they spot Thorin, and you felt thankful to the Elven King.

Azog thought you were Thorin, until the helmet fell down, and disgusting smirk made it's way over his face. You losed strength, you were tired, and wounded - he managed to make you some cuts, over your shoulders and cheek, and you guessed one your arm was not fully okay. He prepared to kill you, but the royar was coming closer, along with the huge shadow. You covered your head and ears and fell on your knees, to protect your body.

The royar Azog let out shook you, but when you heard the silence after, you felt relieved.

The huff close to you made you feel lot safer. You looked up, and you knew your face light up.

"Thorin," you whispered and cried out. You stood up and hugged him.

"Don't go away like this, ever," you whispered, as tears rolled down your cheeks. Then, you felt some movement, but the warmth was still the same, and you thought Thorin was just moving around.

"I won't ever leave your side again, I promise, my One," His smooth voice made way to your ear, and then, you felt his lips pressed against yours. You ran your hands across his back, and felt the tunic he had on, just as he changed into the dragon form.

He rested one of his palms on your cheek, and when you parted, he rested his forehead against yours, while gazing deeply into your eyes by his deep blue orbs.

"Thank you for coming back," you whispered.

"I would never let anyone hurt you," he muttered, and pulled you back for another kiss, as the soft snowflakes danced in your hair, with the breeze.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

C5: Sisyphus happy. Yan Zhongli x Reader

#genshin x reader

Warning: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationships

< Sisyphus happy chapters >

Once, from a time long before records and memories were written on ink and paper, Morax walked upon vast lands rich in history, watered by tears of tragedy and love lost. He turns to an old woman who stood before her destroyed village, eyes downcast and hollow on bodies drowned by the war of an unrelenting sea and the mountain that does not bow. 

Morax did not understand, maybe once when he had held a goddess’ body to his own, but to him that was one thing and this is another. This is love of a mortal that does not even know who the child that cried next door nor the man that walked past their door, this is to love a complete stranger and the love that Guizhong once had when she was still by his side.

“What must I do to learn the love of mortals?” He asks, voice devoid of emotion; genuine curiosity and the hope to understand beneath.  

The old woman smiled, warm and full of wisdom as if her short years were thousands compared to the god. “To love mortals, one must sacrifice eternity and learn of the passing time. Of death and partings. The gods have forgotten that they may live long but even you have an end, it is the same thing that pains us yet we find delight in.”

He didn’t understand then, those words ring true and wise as Cloud Retainer’s advice to his ears on leading the people that he had now to care for. Even so, he still finds himself wondering, “What would Guizhong have done?”

In his heart, he knows that she would’ve understood and took a moment to explain; unlike the way time leaves nothing but confusion in its wake, only pondering and no straight answers?

Even as hundreds of years pass, when all that remains of that old woman is nothing but ashes on the soil and the land had been turned to marsh, the people traveling and settling in a mountain, and the war marching on to its bloody conclusion; Morax found that answer to be much like the dumbbell that he may never come to solve. 

But once more, reminiscent of his unexamined love with the goddess had bloomed too late, fate had played him right into its hands. 

Because the answer had come in the form of you- still a child, a bud in the nursery of glaze lilies under the morning sun. You and your small hands that gripped the end of his robes, with teary eyes that looked at the dying people and held these strangers hand in their last breath with as much intensity for a small comfort to let them know they did not die alone.

“Will the war end soon?” Your small voice asked him, even Mountain Shaper had not the stomach to look at a child’s plea for peace and spout lies.

“I am trying to end it, as fast as I can.” 

“Then this is for you.” You reached into your pocket and gave him a dried glazed lily contained in glass, “thank you for trying though we cannot give much back.” You bow, as courtesy knowing that you had just talked to the very god that protected the lands you step on and ran back to the shack that housed the sick and injured, your parents much too busy to notice you had snuck out. 

Blissfully unaware that the god of geo, gripping the gift in between his hands, amber eyes following your form and telling himself that humans have much to learn and yet they surprise him nonetheless, just like as his love used to tell him.

But even answers are confusing, much like a child who asks why is 1+1=2 and the process of it, he didn’t understand till he saw you once more. Not yet a lady but not quite the child that you used to be. Now you are the girl who provides healing, growing up to be a herbalist like your mother and no longer simply holding a basket of them for your father. Carefully, with your mortal hands you comfort the injured beyond salvation as the calamities of gods that hold much power rages on. 

Surrounded by dying men of the war, miasma, curses and death lurking in the air, in his eyes you remained untouched. Unblemished, as if the air in your little bubble had been purified by innocence and unconditional love for the crowd of strangers, neither pitying them for death nor numb to their tragedy. Then for a second he thought he saw her - the glaze lilies and the goddess that he loved so much and he begins to wonder if she’s come back to him through you.

“I should thank you for treating the wounded.” He tells the man before him, the bags of herbs laying behind his form and a sigil in hand, “use this in times of need, when the people are crying and I am away, surely the adeptis are quick to answer and would not turn you away.” 

“My lord, Rex Lapis, there is no need to thank us. Knowing that you protect the people is enough, we are just a family of healers who help the ones in need.” Your father was a grateful man, and he can see where you get your eyes, especially your kind heart who reaches out to those in need, not because he seeks power or his blessings.

“Even so, Liyue will remember your kindness but none more so than I, Rex Lapis.” 

He does not know if you remember him nor what you did, only that when he dons a mortal face to take a walk in the calms before the storm, he finds himself wandering to your garden, mostly on cold nights where you would just sing to the lilies and watch them, with unfading enchantment, bloom. 

In a distant memory of an old lover, he hears the same voice but now there stood you. Now a lady, barely a woman with your innocence and mischief.

And he knows that this is wrong, mortals are fleeting as the dust, that he can never grasp with his two hands. Wherever his heart is on anything, other than Liyue, it only ends in tragedy. And oh, how ironic of it all that if you really were his goddess that had found her way back to him, why this form? Why a mortal who is a flower that will wither compared to a mountain that does not crumble?

“It’s a beautiful song, pardon me for interrupting but may I know where you have learned it?”

“Only if you tell me what the god of earth is doing in a place like this, barely even concealed?” Playful, you smile at him playfully as if you knew all the time that he had spent staring from afar and he was not an immortal that could smite the very life out of those pretty eyes.

“The breeze carried your voice and I wondered where you had learned to entice it to your will.” He couldn’t really put a finger when it began, when your singing had lured him like a siren to the depth of the sea.

“You befriend the wind, unlike the earth, you do not command rather ask of it like a companion,” was your simple answer and he smiles like he has found something long lost. You drown him in your presence, but he is not breathless; rather he sighs filled with curiosity like a child who has more to learn from the world that he had been in for thousands of years. 

You who had rekindled a reason for his actions, much like Guizhong. This love does not ruffle his heart out of his rib cage, the dust settles and it is as calm as you talking about herbs in this small patch of garden late at night and as calm as the things settle falling into place in his beloved city by the gentle waves of the sea.

“What happened to them after?” You ask your husband, the snow falls outside and you are oh so exhausted to the bone as if the cold had taken all your warmth. He smiles and brushes your cheeks that lost their flush and your skin cold as a corpse, his arms glows gold in the intricate cracks, and you know that this is a bedtime story - though not quite for the night but for the long winter.  

The memory scratches at the back of your mind to be remembered, but a part of you warns that you wouldn’t like how it ends. 

“According to the books, the lord of geo took his love to the heavens.” He finishes with a chuckle of the irony in it all, a kiss to your temple as your eyes drop, heavy and slumber dragging you to its clutches.

Then finally, Zhongli smiles to bid you goodnight.

He watches you sleep soundly. Sleep if humans can even call it that with the lack of breathing, as still as a corpse that had died peacefully in bed while he is left to wonder of a future that had things ended the way his winter story did.

War ensures losts. Victories demand sacrifices. And the price to pay was always his love.

Zhongli would like to believe that had you died of a natural cause: sickness, accident or of old age where he would have held your aging body, he could’ve had the strength to let you pass on.

Rex Lapis would have had your funeral handled by the esteemed WangSheng, and took your passing as another promise to meet on the other side.

But Morax knows, he could never really.

Never let you go, even after thousands of years and all that you know had returned to the soil. Even when the truths of history had been forgotten by the people and you are nothing but a distant whisper to this land, a footnote to his folklore.

Not even now, when every winter is a reminder of the way he held your cold body against his chest, “I worry about you.” You told him with a supposed to be parting smile, how pitiful must he be for a dying mortal that had not even lived half their life to worry about him. 

“Why are you saying goodbye, my love? You aren’t supposed to say goodbye, not yet. It’s much too early,” He tells you with a broken laugh, the war is over like you had asked of him the first time. He is an archcon, the land is his to rule and care, and you are supposed to live many many peaceful years with him, but here you are the embers of war digs its claws in your frail body and had robbed you of life.

 Why does the war take and take and take and he who fights only lose things that he keeps to heart? 

He doesn’t relent, even if it means breaking the laws of nature itself.

Even when you wake in spring, and you look at him with those empty eyes and ask who he is. At Least you’re here, still there somewhere and it might take thousands of years and more, when the mountain has crumbled against time, one day he believes that you will wake again with love in your lips and warmth in your hands.

[stanislawkowalski]

"The art of gambling is often as much about chance as it is about the courage to face the unknown. But then, perhaps you’re wise not to gamble recklessly. The stakes of the heart are far more perilous than any game of chance." Nastka’s eyes remained riveted on Kisumi, the heat of his gaze as palpable as a sunbeam warming the air between them. He watched with a mix of fascination and satisfaction as Kisumi’s complexion bloomed, the alcohol mingling with the raw, unfiltered response to his scrutiny. The red hue creeping up his neck and face formed a delicate tapestry of heat and intoxication, painting him in a patchwork of pale and rosy shades. This sight ignited a dangerous thrill within Nastka, an allure found in the delicate vulnerability of a man laid bare, both emotionally and physically.

As Kisumi fumbled with his shirt, his fingers unfastening the top button with a casual grace, Nastka observed with a predatory calm. The collar falling open, revealing the splotchy skin beneath, was an intimate display that only deepened Nastka’s already intense focus. The third martini had loosened Kisumi’s inhibitions, and Nastka reveled in the unfiltered expressions and confessions that emerged like secrets whispered in the dark.

Nastka smiled to himself, a darkly satisfied curve of the lips, before reaching out with a deliberate slowness. His fingers lightly brushed over the exposed skin, a teasing caress that barely grazed the surface to cover the nakedness of the situation. Stanislaw leaned forward, his breath a warm whisper against Kisumi’s ear as he murmured with a low, velvety voice, “You’re looking rather exposed.... Careful, or people might start thinking you’re inviting them to take a closer look.”

As Kisumi spoke, Nastka’s thoughts wandered through the labyrinth of his own desires. The mention of Louis’s name had a profound effect, causing Nastka’s pupils to dilate and his veins to pulse with a warmth akin to summer’s embrace. The name evoked a rare softness in Nastka’s demeanor, a gentle touch that seemed to momentarily veil his darker edges. His features softened into a tender smile, his gaze taking on an almost reverent quality, before fully pulling away.

, “the very thought of Louis brings out a side of me few have ever glimpsed. With him, it is not merely adoration or love—it is something far deeper, a raw possessiveness that burns with a hunger so fierce it is difficult to contain.”

Nastka leaned closer, the proximity adding an air of intimacy to his confession. “When I say that Louis consumes me,” he continued, his tone dark and alluring, “it is not just a figure of speech. It is a truth that resonates through every part of me. He has the power to strip away my defenses, to make me soft in ways I never thought possible. My hands, accustomed to chaos and pain, find solace in the touch of his skin. In his presence, I am both devoured and made whole.”

The words flowed from Nastka’s lips with a haunting cadence, each phrase a testament to the depth of his connection with Louis. “So, Kisumi,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “if you are concerned about being consumed, then know that what I feel for Louis is a hunger that both consumes and fulfills. It is a dance of fire and tenderness, a symbiosis of dominance and submission. And in this intricate ballet, Louis holds the power to shape me into something more... or less, depending on his whims.”

Nastka’s gaze never wavered from Kisumi’s, the intensity of his eyes a challenge and an invitation wrapped in one. “Tell me,” he asked softly, “what would you be willing to risk to find a connection as consuming as the one I share with Louis? Are you prepared to face the consuming fire of such a profound bond?”

———-💕 Usually people never inspected him as closely as Nastka was examining him currently. He felt the heat of his dark gaze making him flush. Or was that the alcohol coursing through his veins? Neither way he was feeling hot. With careful nimble fingers he unclasped the top button of his shirt letting the collar fall open wide. His skin on his chest was already splotchy red from the alcohol flush and it began to climb up the column of his neck. It left him with a patch work of pale skin and pinkish red rash, absolutely rosy.

Maybe the third martini wasn’t the best idea but how could he turn down Nastka’s generosity?

Hearing his name Kisumi refocused on Nastka instead of his drink. He had such a handsome smile, strong nose and sharp jaw. Kisumi couldn’t deny his attractiveness. Clearly the drinks were starting to work their magic since he was studying Nastka’s features rather than hear his words. Kisumi glanced down at his mouth to remind himself to pay attention. “Ah, yes, I’ve never been a good gambler.” That was the truth. He could never see the appeal of throwing away money or he wasn’t rich enough to open his wallet without care. The payout wasn’t worth the effort there. Could it be the same in love?

“It seems worthwhile to me, I don’t think I need any convincing.” To see someone like Louis get so flustered over the use of the word ‘boyfriend’ it was safe to say love made great changes in a man. That and it was fun to see him squirm. That was something Nastka and himself seemed to share. Kisumi liked the way the polish sounded coming from Nastka. “słońce, slonce.. Slońce.. I like that.” He didn’t know what the word meant but it was fun to say. It sounded far better coming from Nastka’s lips than his own.

The clang of glass knocking together cleared his mind for a moment and let Kisumi collect himself. He sipped his martini as Nastka did with his gin. The toast was to something happy, it was nice to take some time to knowledge joys when the rest of the world seemed dark.

“I’m assuming that your devotion runs deep. Considering how thrilled you are at the thought of nuptials on the horizon. I’ve never had the opportunity to fall head over heels.” He admitted, infatuation was a song and dance he was extremely familiar with. Love? It was a little foreign, he had confused the two in the past thinking he might have been in love. It paled in comparison to what Louis and Nastka shared. Maybe in the next lifetime he might find that.

“Romantic love I have no idea how far I would fall. familial though,” Kisumi paused, thoughts about his younger brother emerged, “I would easily lay down my life for someone.” There was no question he would allow Hayato to take from him whatever he needed. With a simple word Kisumi would agree to his demands. It was a terrifying thought to know that someone else could come into his life and reach the same status. Two people who could have him at their beck and call.

“Maybe it hasn’t happened because deep down I know I’ll be easily consumed.” Kisumi laughed with a bit of self deprecation. “Is that how you feel for Louis?” Kisumi inquired with absolute curiosity.

[plus-size-reader]

A Helping Hand

Spencer Reid x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1407 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Helping Spencer take care of Diana when the caretaker quits because you know that he can't do it on his own

——————————————————————————————————

You knew that Spencer couldn’t do this whole thing on his own.

His plan to take care of Diana on his own was a foolish one to begin with, not that you could blame him for wanting to. He cared about her and if no one else could take care of her, it was only natural he did.

However, nothing was that easy.

Diana had almost entirely lost control over her short term memory and with her sudden bouts of paranoia and anger due to the schizophrenia, it was almost impossible to keep her calm sometimes.

It didn't help that with as much hard work as Spencer had to do for the BAU, he couldn't be around for her all hours of the day. He was going to need someone to help him.

That was where you came in.

Diana had been struggling most recently with recalling people, even people she'd known her whole life, and that made being around strangers an impossibility.

When she hit him, that was when he called you.

You hadn't seen either of them for some time, as you and Spencer went your separate ways for work, but you were always ready to hear from him. At one point, he'd been the only thing in the world to you.

He was your best friend all your life, you'd dated all through out high school, and even been engaged at one point.

It just didn't work out.

You wanted different things and you knew what Spencer was capable of. He was brilliant and if he went to Virginia and started at Quantico, you knew how many people he could help.

There was no other place for him, so you agreed to just go your separate ways and it had kind of just been that way.

There wasn't a day that you didn't miss him, and you knew that you'd always love one another, you just couldn't make it work right now. The idea was that you could try again later, once you had both done what you wanted, but he needed you.

Right now, both he and Diana did.

"Hey, I got here as soon as I could" you allowed, slipping in slowly through the front door, your voice nothing more than a low whisper. On the off chance that Diana was sleeping, you didn't want to wake her.

You smiled, reaching out to give Spencer the bag you'd brought with you. It was a couple of his favorite donuts, strawberry frosted, and a cup of coffee you thought you'd pick up on your way.

It was unclear to you how often he'd been able to get out for anything good grocery-wise since moving her in and it was a bit past breakfast time. You just wanted to make sure he'd have what he needed.

After all, that was what you were here for.

This whole thing wasn't just about what Diana needed, it was also about what you could do to help him.

"It's okay, I appreciate it. You didn't have to go through the trouble of getting all this" he hummed, in traditional Spencer fashion. He had always been that way, looking out for everyone else, but not looking for help from anyone else.

It was just too bad.

If he didn't want help, he shouldn't have called you.

"I had to stop to get one for myself anyway" you grinned, holding up your own coffee as evidence before setting it down on the counter. When you didn't see her, you assumed Diana was sleeping.

However, that wasn't a problem right now. You and Spencer hadn't seen each other in a really long time and as long as Diana was just peacefully sleeping, it would be a good time to catch up.

You'd missed him, and frankly, he'd missed you too.

Spencer was rocking back and forth on his heels when you turned back to look at him, something he always did when he was thinking. It was strange, odd looking maybe, but to you, it was endearing.

It was the same way he'd acted as a kid.

Neither of you had too many other friends at that time, and he was much quieter then. You were the only person he even talked to during the day.

"Well, it was nice of you to think of me" he shrugged, staring at his feet instead of looking you in the eye. Eye contact had always made him sort of uncomfortable, but this had nothing to do with that.

He just missed you.

The fact was, you wanted to be with one another, but nothing ever seemed like the right time.

Though, maybe that was because the right time didn't exist. You thought that every time the two of you were together, and you weren't the only one.

"Of course, I wanted to help" you smiled, your voice ever so slightly raised above a normal level as you tried to get his attention. You wanted to talk to him, you wanted him to talk to you.

After all the time that had passed, there just didn't seem to be words to describe what he was feeling. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you, he just wasn't sure what to say.

Finally though, he decided to just go for the obvious.

"I really missed you"

It hardly scratched the surface of what he wanted to say, but it seemed to do well enough. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but there was plenty of time for that.

You were staying here right now, at least for a little while, and that gave him some time to organize his thoughts. If nothing else, it was good to have you here again.

"I missed you too Spence, you know that, I always miss you" you smiled, a huge grin on your beautiful face. You always missed him, and had for as long as you could remember, but it wasn't until you were here that you realized just how much.

You never should have been away from one another, right now, it seemed so simple. It seemed easy, but it just wasn't.

"I think we should talk about-" Spencer started finally, building up the nerve to bring up what he'd been trying to put into words this whole time, just in time for Diana to get out of bed.

She looked good, this time, and immediately smiled when she saw you. Her nap seemed to have been just what the doctor ordered, but neither of you knew for how long.

"Y/N! What a nice surprise" she called, a cheery tone in her voice. She would have known you from anywhere, and you hadn't changed a bit since the last time she'd seen you.

You were just as beautiful.

"It's nice to see you Diana. How are you?" you asked, doing your very best to keep the mood gentle and happy for as long as you could. For however long she had in this good place, you didn't want to waste it.

Diana was important to you, and it really was nice to see her.

"I'm okay dear, I was wondering when you would be home" she hummed, acting as if nothing had changed since you'd been around last. In her mind though, it was possible that it hadn't.

In fact, it wasn't until Diana asked where your ring was that you understood that to be the case.

She thought you and Spencer were still engaged, by now, she may have even thought you were married.

"I must have left it when I got ready this morning, I'm sure it's around here somewhere" you shrugged. For the short time that she was herself, you didn't want to bother bringing her down over the truth, it was better to just let her believe what she wanted.

It was better to let her be happy for you both.

In her perfect world, you had gotten married like you'd planned and you lived here with him.

It was just easier for her that way, and really, it was easier for you too.

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

���Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

[bookofgale]

"while i can agree the pursuit of knowledge of knowledge's sake is a worthwhile goal, i cannot see mystra so willingly allowing you such access to the weave if you were touching something so forbidden.. unless you've ordained to keep it from her." the evoker raises his brow, arms crossing in annoyed defiance, despise knowing how eager he is to follow along and consume every piece of knowledge in the necromancers library. "a necromancer hiding in the shadows from her mistress, most stereotypical." and a wizard devoted to mystra isn't, gale?

the moment of stubbornness was broken by the green tiefling who had snapped out of whatever thought they were stuck in, "let's go!" they say a little too loudly for the place they're in, laying hands on the evokers robe, fingers gripping, ready to pull and drag.

"afhiri, it would be wise of us to keep our voices down here," his voice is surprisingly gentle compared to what someone would normally hear from him. "we wouldn't want to drawn undue attention to ourselves, hm?" his hands find her own, encouraging them to ease their hold and remain calm.

"oh, right.. yeah." their brows scrunch up together for a moment before relaxing into a beaming smile. it wouldn't be surprising if someone thought they were performing head to toe at all times, but the truth is they're just comically expressive. they release gale, turning their back on the two wizards, awaiting a tell-tale heel click to know they're going to be followed.

gale lets out a pleasant sigh, shaking his head gently at them, almost lost in the moment until iraestra catches his eye, the softness of his face tightening again. composing himself, almost shaking himself out, he responds to the necromancer.

"i assure you," bravado at full force. "gale of waterdeep is not afraid of the shadows." he smirks. "please, lead the way." his head bows mockingly. and he speaks the truth, the only thing that has stopped him from consuming all forms of magic is mystra herself. without her watching over him, he would have greedily explored much of the magics already denied to him. and if mystra's gaze were missing anywhere, it would surely be here, a fact that gave him pause.

"I would be honored to invite another true scholar such as yourself to peruse my personal collection," she says neutrally. Her tone makes it difficult to discern whether the compliment is met or not. Honestly, the younger wizard amuses her. The tiefling may not have the good sense to distrust her, but this Gale of Waterdeep is clearly more cautious than his companion.

Consort? Lover? Iraestra is vaguely curious about the nature of their relationship, but it is no pressing concern to her. Afhiri will tell on themselves eventually, be it a slipped word or a gleeful declaration. They are alarmingly, stunningly honest. Iraestra is a little impressed that they have made it this far in life with all their limbs, tail included, intact.

Iraestra attempts not to laugh outright at his painfully probing question. Ah, subtly is not just lost on Afhiri, then. "If you ask if I would have squandered the opportunity beneath my nose to harness incredibly powerful magic, the answer is no. You are astute enough to realize that necromancy has its uses as an art; can the same not be said for all magic? Is the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake not worthwhile?" She asks without any real care of the answer; his opinion of her only matters insofar as keeping her near Afhiri and the strange cube they share. Iraestra is endlessly curious about that, and not entirely too eager to lose the sense of self she only just recently gained again.

"If you come this way with me I may show you what I have found. Unless you are scared of what afraid of what I have found in the shadows?" Part taunt, part tease.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

thinking about "death for shock value" again tonight bc i just watched all four Hunger Games movies this week and Mockingjay pt. 2 always just. messes me up.

I get Prim. i get it, i do: her death meant something, it meant something both thematically - because everything Katniss has done comes back to Prim - and plot-wise because without the second wave of explosions, without Gale's confession, without Primrose's death Katniss wouldn't have known the depth of Coin's corruption. she wouldn't have had that thought of those children, her sister, pure and innocent and loving and represented in the eyes of every. child. she. meets. so close to the forefront of her mind when Coin called that meeting. she would have had a living sister, a living light in her life, and heard Coin say "symbolic Hunger Games" and voted yes for the justice of it all and because she's just impulsive like that. she'd have killed Snow and been done with it, and who knows what Panem would have become under Coin. Prim died so Katniss could learn and feel and understand the truth that Coin was more dangerous than Snow at that point. because everything Katniss does comes back to Prim - Rue, her romance with Peeta, every single choice she's made can be tied back into one girl's love for her sister.

what i don't get, what i never can understand or be alright with, is Finnick's death. i can't write a big pretty-sounding paragraph for him like i did for Prim because his death is just. a thing that happens. i can't find the purpose in it. it's senseless and useless and meaningless and Finnick Odair was the best man in the series and he deserved a life. he deserved a life with Annie and his son and he deserved to see the world reborn. he was the most genuinely good person in the whole series - he was always so soft and gentle with anyone who needed it, even Peeta after he was hijacked, and i know maybe i'm letting my own personal preferences (Finnick is, along with Johanna, my favorite character) color this but i can't come to terms with the fact that he died so senselessly. Suzanne Collins could have made it mean more, or tie into some other aspect of the series either literally or just thematically - heaven knows i adore thematic parallels - and maybe then i could accept it, but it DOESN'T. it doesn't mean anything other than a loving, gentle, genuinely sweet man - the guy who cared for Mags until she made the choice to give up her life and afterwards was so devastated that he had to be draggd out of danger, the one who took to Katniss even though she's prickly as all heck and treated her like a younger sister through everything (he calmed and comforted her and she did the same in return, honestly they're one of the healthiest relationships in the series and it's entirely platonic), the one who was still gentle and friendly to Peeta even when everyone else was calling him traitor and mutt and threat - killed for......... what? emotional impact?

or, like i said at the beginning of this post, shock value?

listen, i don't have a whole lot of coherent thoughts about like... the cultural trend of senselessly killing characters for no justifiable reason, but it's something that exists and usually i roll my eyes and move on but THG is basically my comfort series (both movies and books) and for some reason this specific thing just really upsets me and i wanted to rant about it, so.

(additions are greatly welcomed if anyone has more thoughts on this, whether about THG or anything else)

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

The King’s precious gem...

For the sweet @marilynmonroefanfics​

Hope you will enjoy this story!

"Here comes King consort (Y/N) of Mirkwood!"

"This social climber? Don't even talk to me about this little nobody!"

"Quiet! If King Thranduil hears you, he will make you pay! The last one who dared disrespect his husband ended up in jail for almost 20 years. Luckily for him, (Y/N) pardoned him. Besides, the people loved him!"

(Y/N) did not care about those gossips on his trail: he knew he deserved his place next to the king. What a long way since he was only a healer!

The young elf can heal since his younger days. Noticed for his gifts, he succeeded in working at the royal court. However, he did not expect to be the friend and confidant of Prince Legolas.

The two young men fought together against the Orcs or any enemy of their kingdom.

One day, (Y/N) managed to save the life of Legolas when the latter fell ill. Worried about his son's safety, King Thranduil hired the best healers of his kingdom to treat him. Only (Y/N) managed to heal the young prince.

Grateful, the monarch allowed him to stay in the court. Then, he started to get interested in this young healer who can play with a knife and medicine. The elf king always found an excuse to spend more time with (Y/N).

Slowly, a romance blossomed between them, much to the surprise of Legolas. 

When the court heard about this affair, it was a shock for many of the royal counselors. Indeed, they took a very dim view of this young commoner. However, the people immediately loved (Y/N) and accepted him as their new king consort.

Since this day, (Y/N) was allowed to sit next to The King. And today, he felt his presence would be helpful for his husband, as the latter was about to greet a delegation of dwarves. This delegation was led by Thorin Oakenshield, the grandson of Thror, King of Erebor. It sounds like his beloved husband would need his help.

It is necessary to say that between Thranduil and the Erebor royal family, there was a feud that lasted for years. 

As he arrived in the throne room, a servant announced:

"His Majesty King Consort (Y/N) of Mirkwood!"

Slightly smiling, the young man saw Thranduil sitting on his throne. 

The monarch talked with a guard:

"Let those dwarves coming here. However, be careful with this Thorin Oaekenshield: I fear he might be like his grandfather..."

"All the guards will be vigilant, Your Majesty!" stated the armored man as he saluted his king before leaving the room.

Thranduil turned his hand and gently gestured to his husband:

"Come here, my love."

"This is what I intended to do, my adored." (Y/N) smiled as he sat on his throne.

Thranduil reached (Y/N)'s hand and held it.

"I am glad that you find some time for me."

"Well, I know this meeting is capital for you. Besides, I would like you to avoid a new feud between our people and the dwarves of Erebor."

The elf king sighed.

"What can I say? You cannot trust dwarves. Especially those who come from under the mountains."

"Who knows? Maybe Thorin would be different..."

Thranduil scoffed.

"I wish I was optimistic like you, my sunflower."

"Let see..."

Suddenly, a guard shouted:

"Thorin Oakenshield and his delegation are here, Your Majesties. Gandalf the Grey is here too!"

"What this wizard is doing here?" grumbled Thranduil.

"We'll see in time..."

Shortly after, the company of Thorin Oakenshield arrived in the throne room. Among the dwarves, (Y/N) noticed a hobbit, which surprised him.

But, much to his delight, he noticed the presence of Gandalf.

"Dear Gandalf, what a pleasure to see you!"

The old wizard politely bowed with a smile:

"The pleasure is reciprocated, King (Y/N)."

As for Thranduil and Thorin, they stared stonily at each other. The Durin dynasty and the Elf King always had difficult contacts. All the story with Smaug did not improve it, and even if Thorin finally regain his throne, he never forgave Thranduil for giving up on his people when they needed help.

"Greetings, o delegation of Erebor. I hope the journey was not too arduous," said Thranduil with a cold tone.

"It went well, Your Majesty," politely said Balin with a respectful bow.

"It is a pleasure finally meeting the brave company of Thorin Oakenshield. The same company who dared fight Smaug The Terrible and gained back their kingdom," added (Y/N) with a gentle smile.

All the dwarves giggled with a blush on their faces. They all heard about King (Y/N) of Mirkwood, known as "The Gentle King" by all realms. Even Dwalin, who could not stand elves, was not able to resist.

The two kings started to negotiate new treaties between their respective kingdoms. Unfortunately, as they were both stubborn, they did not agree on anything.

"WHAT? YOU WANT US TO SELL OUR METAL? THAT IS DAYLIGHT ROBBERY!" yelled Thorin.

"It is ABSOLUTELY out of the question that my people would low the price of our wooden crafts," replied Thranduil with anger.

As for the other dwarves, they stayed silent while watching their sovereign sparring verbally with The Elvenking.

Meanwhile, Gandalf talked with (Y/N).

"I expected that they would fight. I hope you're not annoyed, dear (Y/N)."

"Not really, my dear wizard: I am not surprised by their behavior. They never got along, and I am afraid it will not change."

Suddenly, (Y/N)  noticed Bilbo slowly coming towards him. Gandalf exclaimed:

"Ah, I forgot! I should introduce you to our dear Hobbit! Master Baggins, this is King (Y/N) of Mirkwood. King (Y/N), I would like to introduce Bilbo Baggins to you. Without his talents, this quest would have failed."

Intimidated, the Hobbit awkwardly bowed:

"It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."

"It is a pleasure to meet you too, Mister Baggins."

Catching his breath, Bilbo replied:

"I have to say, Your Majesty: when I told all the inhabitants of Hobbiton that I would meet you, they all ask me to check if you were as handsome and benevolent as the songs said..."

The King consort asked, amused:

"And do I meet your expectations, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo brightly blushed before replying:

"The truth is, O (Y/N), the songs did not have enough words to praise your handsomeness and kindness."

"That is very kind of you, Mister Baggins."

Fidgeting his fingers, the Hobbit:

"May I ask you something, O generous monarch?"

"What is it, Mister Baggins?"

"Well... The people of Hobbiton want to have proof that I met you. And I would like to know if you could provide me some evidence."

The King consort smiled:

"Did they ask for something in particular?"

"Not really."

"Then, I think I can help you," replied (Y/N) as he cut one of his dark locks. 

Then, he put in a golden pendant, engraved with his portrait, before handing it to Bilbo Baggins.

"When you will come back home, tell your people that it is the present from the King consort of Mirkwood to the bravest Hobbit."

The Hobbit stared with amazement at this gift. 

He stammered:

"Your Majesty... I have no words to tell you how grateful I am!"

"There is no need, Master Baggins: your actions speak louder than your words."

(Y/N) did not notice that Fili was looking at him with adoring eyes.

Indeed, the nephew of Thorin swore he never met such a handsome man in all realms. It such a shame this perfect elf married Thranduil. 

He came towards (Y/N) and politely said:

"I am pleased to meet you, King (Y/N)."

"The pleasure is mine, Prince Fili."

The young Dwarf prince felt his heart skipping a beat: this voice! It was like hearing millions of birds singing in harmony.

Clearing his throat, he asked:

"Your Majesty, may I ask you something?"

"Of course. What is it?"

To the surprise of all the people gathered in the room, Fili asked:

"Are you aware that your handsomeness is the most deadly weapon of all realms?"

All stopped talking - or yelling - and looked at the scene with surprise on their faces.

As for (Y/N), he was astonished by this question.

"Well, I am not aware that I am dangerous to this point. Could you tell why?"

Smirking, Fili declaimed:

"Like a battering ram,

Your smile makes the walls around my heart crumbling down.

Like a sharpened sword,

Your eyes destroyed the shield that protects my mind.

Like an arrow,

Your voice pierced me to the core.

And like a defeated army,

I surrender to the love I feel for you."

"WHAT?" exclaimed (Y/N).

"How dare you, you filthy dwarf!" yelled Thranduil.

"Do not use that tone with my nephew!" scolded Thorin.

Unaware of the upcoming threat, Fili pursued his declaration:

"It is the truth! You're so handsome, kind, wise, and pure. You deserve better than those arrogant elves!"

"Fili, shut up!" gritted Kili.

Feeling the anger boiling in the eyes of the Elvenking, Gandalf tried to calm the situation.

"Your Majesty, please forgive this young dwarf. He lets the ardor of youth speaking louder than his reason," he said while giving a slight slap on Fili's head.

Balin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed: not only he had to deal with the short-tempered dwarf king, but he had to handle his carefree prince.

As for Dwalin, he inwardly chuckled: he despised Thranduil, and seeing Fili courting the King consort of Mirkwood amused him.

Meanwhile, Fili claimed his love for (Y/N):

"Come to Erebor, o blossoming orchid. I would make you the happiest prince of all realms."

"Listen, Fili: your gentleness towards me is moving. But, in case you are not aware, I am married and happy!"

"And I would let no one, and especially NO DWARF, courting my spouse!" fumed Thranduil.

When he heard that, Fili had a deadpan expression on his face and declared:

"Then, I know what I have to do..."

"What do you mean?" asked Balin, sweating with dread.

"Why I fear he might say something stupid?" muttered Bilbo.

They were not out of the woods!

"I, Fili, son of Dis, grandson of Thrain, solemnly demand the hand of (Y/N) of Mirkwood as my husband!"

"WHAT?" yelled the dwarves.

"Oh no!" groaned Kili as he facepalmed.

As for Gandalf, he feared that Thranduil would be mad. And it was the case!

"Stay away from my husband, you idiot!"

Thorin snickered, which angered the elf king.

"May I know what causes your hilarity, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"At least, it proves that my nephew has good taste. And perhaps (Y/N) will appreciate our beautiful kingdom, far from your bunches of hypocrites!" replied the latter.

"What do you mean?"

"Either you are deaf, or blind... or stupid. But I find it hard not to notice that your royal boot-lickers are not happy to see a consort that is not from royal lineage!"

"Please, can we go back to the negotiations?" pleaded Balin.

"Not until this idiot stops courting my husband!" yelled Thranduil.

"Oh, shut up, you pointed-ears princess: nobody asked for your opinion!" growled Bombur.

"Guys, stop it!" begged Bilbo.

"Besides, Fili: it is not possible to marry (Y/N)!" explained Kili.

"And why?"

"First of all, he is already married! Secondly, he is an elf from the woods. He does not belong to the mines, neither the mountain!"

"Ah, I did not think about this... Ah, I have a plan! I shall create a beautiful garden on one of the mountain plateaus!"

"Oh, so you can plant something else than a vegetable patch?" said Thranduil with irony.

"You want to fight?" screamed Oin.

All this argument created chaos that gets on the nerves of the wizard.

"CALM DOWN, ALL OF YOU!" ordered Gandalf in a booming voice.

All immediately stood silent, terrified by the charisma of Gandalf.

Once the silence fell on the room, the wizard said:

"I did not try to stop a war for enduring your silly bickerings!"

"But..." protested Thorin.

"DO NOT DARE CONTRADICTING ME!"

As for (Y/N), he decided to put an end to this mess.

He turned to Fili and declared in a soft voice:

"Fili, I would like you to listen to me carefully!"

The latter nodded, afraid of the answer.

"I am all ears, (Y/N)."

"Fili of Erebor, I appreciate your compliments towards me because I feel they were sincere and pure. But for once and all, I am already married to the man I love more than my own life. 

I am aware that I am just a gold digger, a social climber for many royal counselors. A little nobody that does not deserves to wear the crown of Mirkwood. But do I care? No. 

Because all the elven people love me, Legolas helped me, and my husband would never let me go. It is more than enough for me..."

Fili sighed.

"And to say I was thrilled to introduce you to Mum. I am sure she would love you!"

"I have no doubt. But I belong to Mirkwood and his king, against all odds."

"Besides, I am sure that Mother would surely want you alive and not beheaded by a MAD ELF KING because you try to steal him his husband, you jackass!" replied Kili, fed up with his brother's shenanigans.

"Anyway, we sorted this story, and there is nothing to worry about!" wisely said Gandalf.

"I hope so..." coldly stated Thranduil.

A few hours later, the dwarves and the Elvenking managed to find some common ground. Then, Thorin and his company went back to their kingdom, followed by Gandalf and Bilbo.

As he nearly walked out of the door, Fili shouted to (Y/N):

"Dear (Y/N), if one day you come to Erebor, I promise I will show you the garden I create for you. I keep my words!"

"I can't wait to see it, dear Fili!" smirked the king consort of Mirkwood.

Once the delegation left, Thranduil sighed and said:

"Finally, they're gone! I swear to the moon that those dwarves would kill me!"

"Well, you managed to survive. Speaking of surviving, I am surprised that you did not kill Fili on the spot!"

"My dear daffodil, you have no idea how much I wanted to cut off his head!"

Amused by this fit of jealousy, (Y/N) asked:

"But you know I would never leave you, right?"

The Elvenking gently smiled and held the hand of his husband.

"No doubt about you shall ever cross my mind, dear.I know you will never leave me."

He gently kissed (Y/N)'s hand before the pair exited the room. 

On their way, the king asked:

"Now, my waterlily, could you tell me the names of my royal counselors who disrespected you? I think I might need to have a little conversation with them..."

"I assure you, Thranduil, there is no need..."

Thranduil gently shushed his consort by putting his finger on (Y/N)'s lips.

"I have to do it, my love. After all, no one dares to be rude towards the King's precious gem without suffering consequences!"

Slightly blushing, (Y/N) smiled at this compliment. 

And as they went to the dining room, (Y/N) felt like something new arrived in Mirkwood. He believed that one day, the court would not look at him as (Y/N) the little nobody with a crown, but as (Y/N) of Mirkwood, the king consort of this kingdom and the King's precious gem. 

Long live the kings...

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you enjoy the story and I can’t wait to see future requests!

See you soon and take care! 😘🥰😍