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xoruffitup · 3 years ago

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Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work.

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

#Adam Driver #Annette #Cannes 2021 #driverdaily #Annette spoilers

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yandere-wishes · 5 years ago

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Lolicassé Profiles

(I'm so sorry for this I know it's ugly af!😭 the quality completely died when I imported the images into my computer.) Welcome one, welcome all! To Lolicassé the dorm of misfit toy! Founded on the intellect of the toymaker (though it's technically "founded" on a Micky mouse episode just like the Ramchakle dorm). The students in this dorm all use a classification of magic known as "creator" which permits them to build marvelous inventions and toys from simple everyday objects. Students here, are also able to transform into some sort of toy, which sometimes makes it hard to tell the students apart from the actual toys littering every corner of the dorm. If you are thinking of paying this dormitory little visit, BEWARE the students can get rather clingy and obsessed, and are not above using rather unorthodox means to keep their new playmate with them forever!

Meet the Students of this patched up dormitory.

Xerxes Starness Year/Class: Year 3 Class A Seat 8 Birthday: 18/01 (Capricorn) Age: 18 Height: 183 cm Dominant hand: left Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Robotics Best subject: physics Hobby: Inventing new devices and fixing up old inventions Bad with: Sleeping Favorite food: Chocolat Disliked food: any seafood Special skill: Fixing broken tech He is Lolicassé's dorm leader who can transform into a tiny remote control robot. He's a direct descendant of the original "founders" of the City of misfit toys. His childhood was rather isolated, having two very strict parents that we're obsessed with the idea of creating the "perfect child". Even in Night Raven he still continues to distance himself from other people, which has resulted in several rumors about him to rapidly spread.

Special ability Optical database When he looks directly at an object or person he is able to pull up numerous information about them. His brain is the equivalent of the world wide web. It is rumored that this isn't his original special ability and that his mother stole his birth ability instead of replacing it with a man-made ability

Edgar Ross Year/Class: Year 3 Class B Seat 26 Birthday: 04/04 (Aries) Age: 19 Height: 189 cm Dominant hand: left Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Magical Shift Club Best subject: Protective magic Hobby: Exercising Bad with: Not invading peoples personal space Favorite food: Anything with gravy on it. Disliked food: corn Special skill: Sharpshooting

He is Lolicassé's deputy dorm leader who was raised in a military household and in such pride himself on being the "perfect" soldier. He's rather old fashioned and keeps a formal attitude with whoever he meets. He devotes himself to "protecting" his dorm members which have caused him to get in multiple fights with students from other dorms. It is said that he idolizes Xerxes father. He can turn himself into a toy soldier like the rest of his family members.

Special Ability Icy bullet He is able to emit glacier bullets from his body that freeze what every they touch. Due to his polished target skills he hardly ever misses his target.

Ray Sanada Year/Class: Year 3 Class C Seat 19 Birthday: 24/06 (Cancer). ‎ Age: 18 Height: 177 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Studying movies club Best subject: Alchemy Hobby: Sewing dolls Bad with: Focusing on one task for long periods of time Favorite food: Strawberry cake Disliked food: anything grape flavored Special skill: Memorizing books quickly

An emotionless boy with a doll-like beauty that can transform into a porcelain victorian era doll. His beauty is rumored to rival that of the Pomefiore perfect. He is said to be deprived of emotions. He rarely speaks and doesn't have any friends. Some students say that they see him roaming the Ramshackle graveyard in the unholy hours of the night.

Special ability Dollhouse his special ability permits him to bring inanimate objects to life. However they have to be objects that he himself makes. As of right now his ability can only keep something alive for exactly 3 minutes and 52 seconds.

Ezequiel Autumn Year/Class: Year 2 Class B Seat 18 Birthday: 18/10 (Scorpio) Age: 17 Height: 182 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Board game club Best subject: Summoning Hobby: Video games Bad with: Talking to girls Favorite food: Soft drinks Disliked food: spicy foods Special skill: Hacking

A shut-in with absolutely no social skills. No one knows what exactly happened to his mother or any of his aunts but he was raised by his father and uncles. Due to this he rarely ever spoke to any girls and freezes whenever he has to talk to them. With the acceptance of his godmother who happens to be Xerxes' mother. He considers Xerxes his only real friend. He is able to transform into an anime figurine. It is rumored that he has a pair of wings though no one has ever seen them.

Special Ability White Raven, Black raven It is unclear if he was born with this ability or if it was implanted in him when he was a young child. But his voice is able to manipulate the will of others. After an unfortunate incident some students have speculated that he also has the ability to control the life span of those under the influence of his voice.

London Lore Year/Class: Year 2 Class C Seat 5 Birthday: 31/10 (Scorpio) Age: 17 Height: 179 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: Villiage of Harvest Club: Basketball club Best subject: Summoning Hobby: Collecting buttons Bad with: Keeping track of time Favorite food: Pumpkin spice drinks Disliked food: watermelons/ gravy Special skill: Sewing customers

A lazy second-year student with an unsettling creepy aura around him. He can transform into a rag doll, although even in "toy form" he is still very unnerving to be around. He was created in the city of misfit toys, but raised in the Village of Harvest were his family owned a small farm where they mostly grew pumpkins and corn. The chain around his neck tethers his body and mind to the soul of a famous killer, although this is all just a rumor it's still more than enough to get other students to avoid him at all costs.

Special Ability Plague's kiss He can emit a deadly toxin from his body which causes people to transform into hideous monsters and submit to his will. Although even after years of practice he is only able to create a max of five monsters.

Valentino Kartinez Year/Class: Year 2 Class A Seat 3 Birthday: 09/09 (Virgo) Age: 17 Height: 173 cm Dominant hand: Right Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Science club Best subject: Arts Hobby: Hosting tea parties Bad with: Ripping open his stitches Favorite food: Cookies and milk Disliked food: Vegetables Special skill: Cooking and baking

A trickster, who's elaborate tea parties are talked about all over the school and usually gather a large crowd. He grew up in a crowded family consisting of 13 siblings in which he was the "middle" child. His family owned a famous chain of restaurants that were known for their "childlike glow". Due to the restaurants taking up much of his parent's time, Valentino became accustomed to staying at home and only having his siblings as companions. Although he did enjoy the company of his younger siblings he detested his older, bossier siblings. His toy form is that of an old mangled teddy bear.

Special ability Childhood tea party Valentino is able to create a lifelike simulation of someone's memory, however, the illusion only lasts up to four minutes.

Jess Box Year/Class: Year 1 Class A Seat 23 Birthday: 14/12 (Sagittarius) Age: 16 Height: 171 cm Dominant hand: Left Origin: City of misfit toys Club: Basketball club Best subject: Magical Pharmaceuticals Hobby: Designing tattoos Bad with: Keeping his voice down Favorite food: Pudding Disliked food: Raisins Special skill: Memorizing nursery rhymes

A loud, hyperactive claustrophobic first year who's voice seems to constantly be echoing around the halls. Despite being a Jack in the box, he hates small, dark, confinements. He's rather happy go lucky and usually doesn't care much about what goes on around him.

Special Ability Pop goes the Weasel His body becomes as flexible like a spring, permitting him to jump around and attach to walls. According to a certain hunter, Jess's special ability would make him an amazing huntsman. Although the first year seems to prefer using his power set to prank his classmates and teachers.

🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️ 🐻❤️

Alright so this is how I'm going to do things. Interactions are open for these characters, meaning you guys can send them asks (yandere or normal. How they would react to something/Someone up to you), just talk to them or whatever else you can come up with. I'll do my best to answer everything, whoever if I think an ask better deserves a drawing as an explanation I'll put it on hold and make a quick sketch for it later. This whole dorm was really a giant drawing practice and since I really want to start digital I might re-draw them later (not likely but we'll see). I'm thinking if these characters get popular (Idk 55 likes and maybe 10 interactions) I'll release sprites of the characters doing poses similar to the TW boys (basically how I imagine them if they where in the game) and maybe later even do some chibis of the boys. Although I seriously doubt anyone is going to like or read this 😂 🤣 😂🤣. Also a huge thank you to everyone that encouraged me to continue working on this it means so much to me! And a special thank you to Rinna ( @minoux-deactivated20200516 ) the creator of Terrorwood who inspired me to take the first step in making this dorm. If anyone wants to make an oc for this dorm feel free to do so (let's be honest no one would want that) just please tag me.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #oc dorm #lolicassé #jess box #Valentino Kartinez #London Lore #Ezequiel Autumn #Edgar Ross #Ray Sanada #Xerxes Starness

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malereader-inserts · 6 years ago

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In the Secrets of You

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Archie Andrews x Male!Reader Summary: A look into the life of Archie Andrews, his soft side that no one but you get to witness. Word Count: 1,448 Request: “Could I ask for perhaps some Archie fluff, please? I read your More Than Exes fic and fell in love with it and Archie lol. Your writing is fantastic btw I love this blog for existing.” Warning: lol non, but this is a bunch of nonsense that I thought was cute and a look of a normal relationship - kinda has no plot of it?? A/n: IDK, what’s wrong with me - want to do request but then I want to write for game of thrones (because i’m back on my bullshit) but then again I feel like I can’t do some characters justice and I should focus on the characters I have

Archie stares at his best friend with wide eyes, there was a stupid grin on his face as he leans his chin against the palm of his hand. He watches your lips move, unable to hear your words as he was stuck in his own little world. Betty and Veronica share a look before fully turning their attention to you.

“(Y/n), do you realise that Archie isn’t listening to you at all?” Veronica asked, her hand waving about with a half drank coffee, “Almost like he’s smitten with you.”

“Archie doesn’t swing that way, guys,” You sighed, desperately wanting to look over to your right and stare at Archie, but you held great self-restraint.

You could chuckle to yourself, you didn’t know how long you and Archie can keep up with the act of being just best friends, friends who have grown up together since they were five. But, you and Archie have been in love for quite some time now.

Archie thought he was just attracted to the girls, he’s kissed almost all of the girls after that summer he got hot. But, when you came greeting him on the first day of school, his heart skipped a beat, like a whole shift had occurred and he had no idea what his mind was thinking.

Love isn’t meant to be complicated. It’s the little things that make you fall in love with someone. Archie had done so many things to get unholy thoughts of you and him out of his head. He tried to distract himself from you by kissing girls, dating Veronica, Valerie, and such.

Nevertheless, he finally gave in to his emotions, he wanted to be yours. The best friend he grew up with. Archie seemed to be happier, more stable, more normal. You were his rock, his voice of reason, the person he can hold to and tell his troubles to.

But, it was also the way you complimented him on his smile that makes him smile even brighter, it was the way you called his name in the hallway that gave him butterflies. It’s the chills you give him when your lips finally touched him for the first time.

You pulled Archie along, rolling your eyes as you see Archie flush almost as red as his hair. You chuckle as you watched the red hair boy, grinning down at you.

“You’re an idiot, Arch,” You mumbled. “Thought you didn’t want us to be public.”

“It’s impossible to not get a smile on my lips when I see your beautiful face in front of me.” Archie complimented, making you flush with embarrassment, “I like us being a secret because-”

“It feels more real, no expectations of others, no prying eyes, no nothing. Just us and that’s all.” You finished off, you agreed with him that you like keeping moments to yourself, but sometimes, you just want to look so loved up in public.

You want to stroll down the school hallway with a grin on your face as you swing back and forth your interlocked hands. You want to kiss him near his lockers, a glare off any cheerleaders who think they can steal Archie away from you. You want to hug him, hold him tight as if the world was burning and not be looked weirdly.

“I’ll see you at mine, later?” Archie asked, walking by your side to his next lesson.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, wild cat.”

“Miss me, Isak?” You asked, waltzing into his room after greeting his dad.

“Is this one of your tv show reference?” Archie asked, closing the door behind you and softly kissing your lips, “I don’t get it.”

“Skam, Isak and Even?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow, “What about Mickey and Ian from Shameless?”

Archie looked at you blankly, “You’re talking nonsense.”

“Gives me the perfect excuse to binge watch my favourite shows, with my favourite couples while cuddling with my handsome boyfriend.” You patted him against the chest as you throw off your hoodie and shoes.

Climbing into his warm bed, Archie chuckles. Grabbing his laptop, knowing this was the best time to be curled up to each other and watch some shows while munching on some snacks. As you unlock his laptop, he goes down the stairs to grab whatever he can get.

Fred was in the kitchen, he was reading a book. He looks up and beams at his son, his fingers tapping against the kitchen island before grabbing his mug of coffee and taking a careful sip. Fred blinks and smiles thinking how Archie was so oblivious.

“Hey, Arch, just want to know that I like (Y/n).”

“I hope so dad, we’ve known him for almost thirteen years,” Archie commented as he gets soda pop out of the fridge.

“I mean, I like (Y/n), I think he’s a rather dashing man for you.” Fred announced, then casually sipping his coffee when his son snapped his neck to look at him, “Don’t act so surprised, son.”

“How?”

“Please, the way you look at him gave it away,” Fred waves him off, Archie’s shoulders relax when he sees his dad smile.

“I think I got lucky, dad,” Archie was grinning now, ready to spill everything to his dad. Almost like a girl gossiping with her friends, but with Archie it was different.

His eyes held some just pride and joy, his hands were shaking but it was because he was excited to talk about you. His tone was lightly higher but very much more excitable, Fred could tell that Archie could talk for hours about you and there would be no way in heaven you could stop a boy who is in love from talking about their significant other.

“Look at the way you smile!” Fred teased, pinching the cheek of him, “Go, talk to me later about it. Go enjoy the rest of your Friday with (Y/n).”

Archie nods, Fred was sure his boy gave himself a whiplash but questions it no further when the red hair boy grabs all snacks in his arms and climbs his way into his room. Dumping everything on the bed, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Move over,” Archie nudged you as you shuffle closer to the wall. He slips in with you as you and him open various sweets and crisp packets.

Archie settles himself next to you, his head against the edge of your shoulder as you tapped the space bar, the intro of your favourite show plays. As he gets comfortable in the presence of you, his mind drifts away from the show and onto you.

Archie couldn’t wait to wake up to you and have those lazy mornings. When he wakes up and you are beside him, sleeping peacefully. The mornings where you and he don’t need to rush for school, allowing the bed to pull you two back in as you pull each other closer. The mornings where no matter what the weather we’re smiling together. The mornings of pancakes and bacon, dancing around the kitchen with music playing in the background. He looks forward to the sweet and simple moments spent with you by his side.

Archie snuggles closer into your neck, your arm wrapped around his shoulders protectively as you eat a twizzler. He takes in your scent, new books and cookies - chocolate chip ones.

It was moments like this, you liked being a secret couple. You didn’t have people blasting your phones with wanting updates with your relationship with Archie Andrews. Moments like this, you were happy to be in the comfort of him, to be softer and relaxed around him. Both of you letting down your walls for a few hours together.

Your mind was ripped back into reality when a soft snore had escaped from your boyfriend. You giggled a little rolling your eyes that your boyfriend had barely passed twenty minutes of your favourite show. You push back the laptop to face you, you can continue to rewatch and eat - Archie needed his rest, you figured as much as he comes home looking grumpy after football practise.

Fred Andrews enters the room, half an hour later - he thought the room was awfully too quiet for his liking. Though he grins to himself when he finds two boys wrapped around each other, softly snoring - exhausted.

Fred shakes his head as he switches the laptop off and moves all the snacks from the bed. It was almost as if you sensed it was clear to move closer to Archie, so you did. Fred chuckles as he brings the covers closer to you and Archie, happy that his boy was happier than ever.

#archie andrews #archie andrews x male reader #x male reader #riverdale #riverdale imagines #riverdale x male reader

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displacedhobbit · 5 years ago

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Update: Greater Than Gold

AN: Whoop whoop; here’s part 3.

IDK who is still out here and reading this but I hope you enjoy!!

Also, the formatting keeps getting messed up when I try to post it on Tumblr so it’s probably better to actually read on FF.net or AO3. One day I’ll get it figured out.

Warnings: Some swearing, shoddy depictions of violence because that’s what I’m garbage at writing.

Also on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 27: Eighty-Three and Seventy-Seven - Part 3

Word Count (chapter): 9368

Thorin shifts farther back into his cell, intent on ignoring Balin’s lecture. He settles into the back wall, into the shadows, letting the din from the idotic elvish party reverberate around the stone to drown out his cousin’s rough whispering.

He knew what he was doing. At least, he thought he knew. Bilbo would come through; he was so sure of it, more sure than most anything else in his life these days. The hobbit owed him no loyalty, could have left a dozen times at least, but he never had. He had stuck with them through all of this mess - had stuck with him . Bilbo had won Thorin’s trust, and had shown the depths of his loyalty. He would wait a hundred years for Bilbo before he bent to trust Thranduil.

He could not say as much to Balin. Not here; not now. So he would let Balin rant himself out instead, here in these damp cells.

He picks a piece of dried mud from his boots, his ire renewing as he recalls how Thranduil’s guard had stripped them of all their belongings, down to their shirts and trousers, and locked them away like criminals. Angrily, he flicks the mud to the ground, then squashes it with the toe of his boot. They were so close . If only they hadn’t lost the road.

He sighs, Balin’s incessant whispering still reaching his ears, though it has become too jumbled for him to make out the words. He hoped the rest of the company fared well enough. Fíli sounded as though he had recovered from the spider’s venom, and he could breathe easier knowing Kíli had returned from Thranduil’s interrogation unscathed.

The fire of his anger grew. How dare Thranduil? How dare he attempt to weasle a deal out of him by having his own son hold a knife to Kíli’s throat? Truly, he lacked all honor.

He releases a shuddering breath. For a moment, he was afraid that Thranduil would issue the order, that he would spill Kíli’s blood on his throne room floor. But, dishonorable as he was, Thranduil was not stupid. Lestwise, he was not stupid enough to kill an unarmed dwarf and incur the wrath of the Iron Hills in retalliation. Dain and Thranduil had a long-standing cease order between their two kingdoms - Dain would harm no elf and Thranduil would harm no dwarf - to violate it would wound Dain’s pride and invoke his wrath.

But still, he’d seen the glimmer of panic in Kíli’s eyes. And Thorin had felt it, too - the fear that he would be wrong . Though he was a king, Thranduil was still unpredictable. He’d been foolish to hedge his bets on the elven king fearing retaliation from Dain.

Once, when Kíli was still a tiny dwarfling, he’d had a horrifying night terror in which he’d gambled with Kíli’s life and lost . It had plagued him since, popping up in quiet moments, surprising him by squeezing the breath out of his lungs in unprecedented panic. The same image always leapt to his mind, of Kíli, pale as snow, his blood poured out around him. Like Frerin. Just like Frerin .

He’s found his thoughts drifting to his brother quite frequently on this journey. He wishes, beyond anything else in this world, that Frerin were at his side. He was so much better with Frerin. Would his brother’s presence have calmed him enough to negotiate a deal with Thranduil? Would his gentle, loving demeanor have tempered his ire?

But no, he had let Frein down ages ago. Let his blood spill on unholy dirt, until the light faded from his eyes.

He thinks of Dís, her sharp mind and quick wit. Had she been with him, she would have surely performed some sort of verbal gymnastics on Thranduil and charmed them out of their cells. She had always been so eloquent, so thoughtful. As children he had often envied her way with words; while he and Frerin stumbled over theirs, she had always sounded like a queen.

And he had let her down, too. Promised to care for her boys but led them on this damn quest, to these gods-forsaken cells.

He swallows thickly. He could not dwell on the past, or on horrors seen only in dreams that he would fight with every breath in his being to keep from coming to pass.

When they were free of this wretched place, he would explain it all to Kíli, explain why he had taken such an unfathomable risk, see to it that he understood that Thorin knew in his bones that Thranduil would not harm him. He would remind him that there was no treasure, no honor, nothing in this world that was worth more to him than Fíli and Kíli. Nothing .

He can only hope that Bilbo will be swift.

-----

He fiddles with his shirt hem, idly fingering along a tear, flicking the flap of it up and down as the sounds of the elven party drift through the corridor. It sounds downright raucous, much more so than the parties that Lord Elrond had hosted. Kíli admittedly didn’t know much about the different families of elves (which made him strangely grateful for the cells that separated them - Balin would chastise his ear off is he knew Kíli had forgotten his lessons), but he had to imagine that the Mirkwood elves were the most...un-elf-like of them all. Perhaps like how Kíli himself was decidedly un-dwarf-like.

He sighs, once again considering trying to fall asleep. He can hear snoring from somewhere, and he wonders who has already nodded off. Not Fíli, at least; he can hear his brother humming quietly. He wishes it were easier to talk with him, but he didn’t dare speak too loud and the music and laughter from the party would probably drown him out anyway.

The redheaded elf patrols by again, glancing into each of their cells as she walks by with quick, light steps. She had been the one who spared him from the spiders in the wood. It was probably proper to thank her, but that seemed senseless now that she was ensuring they stayed locked in their cells.

He also thought she looked quite sad, and he found himself wondering why. Perhaps because she was on patrol while the rest of the elves were celebrating. He tried not to dwell on it too much; for the moment, she was their enemy - an obstacle. Dwalin had warned him that his soft heart would be his undoing one day.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he scans the hallway once more. Candlelight flickers off the walls, casting strange shadows. He focuses on Fíli’s soft humming, and closes his eyes.

Fíli’s humming stops. “You still awake, nadadith?” he asks, and though his voice is quiet somehow Kíli manages to hear it clear as day.

“Yea,” he murmurs in reply, scooting closer to the door of his cell. “Don’t think I could sleep with all this anyhow.”

“Such a light sleeper,” Fíli comments, and he can hear the smile in his voice. “One positive of the spiders was that Oin’s drought knocked me right out for a while.”

Kíli snorts. “I know. You’re heavy.” Fíli chuckles outright, and they lapse back into silence.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Fíli says after a while, his tone wistful. “Do you remember that autumn in Ered Luin when we snuck off from Dwalin? And built the fort?”

Kíli smiled. He did remember. They were young, much younger then, and they’d fancied themselves as fine explorers so they’d ‘snuck’ away (Dwalin had told him later that he’d known exactly where the lads were - they weren’t particularly stealthy in their youth), venturing to an outcropping of rocks with a large slate overhang, gathering sticks and stones to fashion their fire and other comforts, pretending they were regal princes of Ered Luin, sword fighting with the largest sticks they could find. They had played for hours, until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and Dwalin had come and feigned ire at their escape.

It was a good memory. He hadn’t thought on it in a long while.

“I came upon it on a patrol once,” Fíli says. “I went to look inside but there was a fox and her cubs. ‘Bout near scared me out of my skin.”

“I guess she’s the Lord of Ered Luin now,” Kíli says with a small laugh.

Fíli hums in agreement. Were they in different circumstances, he’d imagine his brother would be packing his pipe and settling in for the evening. Kíli finds himself longing for those simpler times, longing for the only home they’d ever known, wondering if he will ever be that content again. He tries instead to conjure up other happy memories of his childhood with his brother, willing away the loneliness he feels.

Fíli must sense his distress. Even though it was through a stone wall, he could still read Kíli like one of Balin’s books. “After this is all over, I want to go back some day,” he says, quietly. “And I suspect you do, too.”

Kíli swallows the lump in his throat. “Aye,” he manages. “I think I’d like that.”

His gaze focuses again on the flickering light of the hall, trying to make out shapes in the shadows that skirt along the wall. It must be his imagination, because the shadows suddenly move as if blown by the wind, a too-uniform wave passing through their movements. Kíli narrows his eyes, leaning forward to focus, wondering if there is some form of elvish magic at work, but the shadows resume their random dance as though nothing odd happened.

He relaxes, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.There’s the sound of a stone being kicked farther down the hall.

“Did you hear that?” Fíli asks, his voice a sharp whisper, and Kíli’s body snaps to alertness again.

“I thought I saw something move a second ago,” he confirms, hauling himself up to his knees and watching out his cell gate. He can make out voices down the hall, but nothing else.

“ Bilbo !” someone halfway shouts from down the hall, and he hears the sounds of a key opening a lock.

-----

“Come on, this way,” Bilbo whispers, sneaking down the corridor, looking around every corner to ensure they are unseen.

The dwarves follow, boots scraping along the stone floor. Since they’d been divested of their weapons and most of their affects they were much quieter than normal. Fortunate, that was.

“He’s leading us to the cellars!” Dwalin hisses, accusatory.

“You’re supposed to be leading us out, not farther down!” Bofur nearly shouts.

Bilbo whirls to face them. “Shh! I know what I’m doing. Trust me .” He leads them around a corner, where a number of large barrels sit empty. “Well?” Bilbo says, gesturing to the barrels. “Get in!”

“Are you mad?” Gloin replies. “They’ll find us!”

“No, they won’t. I promise ,” Bilbo assures them, turning pleading eyes to Thorin.

Fíli looks to his uncle, then to Kíli who stands uncertainly at his side. Bilbo has proven his worth many times over, and had already broken them free from their cells. What reason did they have not to trust him? Yet still...hiding in barrels in the elven wine cellar didn’t seem like the best of plans.

Thorin turns to the rest of the company. “Do as he says!”

At his command, they clamber into the barrels, the wound in his side stinging uncomfortably. Kíli casts him a worried glance. “I’m fine,” he assures him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he reaches forward, grasps the back of Kíli’s neck and presses their foreheads together. “I promise.”

“What do we do now?” Bofur asks, as all the dwarves turn to look at Bilbo.

The hobbit looks uncertain for a scant second. “Uh, hold your breath.”

The floor beneath them begins to creak, and suddenly their barrels are rolling, then falling, then splashing violently into the stream below. The shock of hitting water instead of solid ground forces the breath from his lungs and he sputters, trying to find balance as he bobs in the stream. Once he has his bearings he searches for his brother - frowning at the wide, terrified look in his brother’s eyes as he coughs some of the splashed water out of his lungs. After a deep, shuddering breath, Kíli’s face clears, and he catches Fíli’s gaze and gives him a reassuring nod.

There’s no shortage of shouting and coughing as the dwarves regain their composure. Ori and Bifur, caught off guard in their fall, had fallen out of their barrels, and it was no simple task to get them back inside as they bob about. From behind him, Fíli can hear Dwalin muttering something about useless hobbits and being drowned like criminals.

“Hold on!” Thorin shouts, reaching his arm out to grab Fíli’s barrel. “We must wait for Bilbo.” Taking his uncle’s cue, he reaches for the nearest barrel (Bofur’s, who for his part looks a bit like a drowned rat) and grasps it tightly. The dwarves work quickly to form a chain with their barrels, blocking the path forward in a makeshift dam, when the hobbit suddenly falls from the ceiling, plopping into the water, barrelless.

Once he comes up, sputtering for air, he swims to the nearest barrel, Nori’s, and hangs on for dear life.

“Well done Master Baggins,” Thorin laughs, sounding almost mirthful at this turn of events.

Bilbo waves them on, spitting water as he does. “They’re coming. Go .”

With that, they release their barrels and start paddling to gain speed. They careen down a waterfall, each of the dwarves (and poor Bilbo) clinging to their barrels, and they rise from the water to see that they’re now bathed in bright daylight. It’s a sharp contrast from the dark cells they’d resided in for who knows how long, and it takes Fíli’s eyes a moment to focus. He can see shapes rushing through the woods, when suddenly the elf-guard that had captured them in the woods springs forth, shouting something in elvish just before a horn sounds.

“No!” Thorin shouts from ahead, and he turns to see a gated bridge across the stream, and an elf standing atop it near a lever as a sluice begins to close.

Well, shit . He thinks. They’re weapons-less and, quite literally, sitting ducks. He desperately tries to form a plan, to come up with some way that they do not wind up back in the cells or dead . Thranduil didn’t strike him as a particularly merciful king.

“Watch out!” Bofur shouts, and he turns to see the elf that had stood atop the bridge falling into the water just in front of him, a jagged arrow lodged in his back.

Orcs . Of course the orcs have come.

Now that they have nowhere to go, the dwarves are seemingly forgotten by the elves as they shift their focus onto the orcs. The orcs, however, remain fixed on getting to Thorin, lunging onto their barrels with blades drawn. Fortunately, Bilbo produces a sword from somewhere , stabbing one, and Dwalin, brawny as ever, elbows another in the face, stealing it’s sword before it plops gracelessly into the water. Fíli manages to subdue another, grabbing its dagger.

He catches movement from the corner of his eye, and turns to see Kíli rushing up the ramp, completely unarmed, eyes fixed on the lever the elf had pulled before. Orcs rush toward him, and Fíli’s breath catches in his throat.

“Kíli!” Dwalin calls, lobbing the sword he’d snagged up to his brother. Kíli catches it easily, swinging it down to take out the orc in front of him, sending it splashing into the water below as Bofur reaches over to snag it’s weapon.

His brother continues up the stairs and across the bridge, slashing his way through. Another orc comes up behind him, spear poised to strike Kíli in the back, and Fíli hurls the dagger forward, sighing with relief when his aim rings true and the dagger lodges itself in the filth’s temple. The way is clear now, and Fíli feels a surge of adrenaline as Kíli nears the lever. They’re going to make it ; Kíli is going to open the gate and they’re going to get away -

Suddenly, Kíli lets out a strangled cry of pain and collapses to the ground, grasp coming just short of the lever, sword falling from his fingers and clattering to the ground beside him.. “Kíli!” he hears himself shout, fear welling up within him. From under the bridge, Thorin calls out his brother’s name as well, blind to the situation.

An orc leaps onto the bridge, sword drawn and prepared to bare down on Kíli, but an arrow abruptly skewers its head as more elves arrive. Distracted, the orcs switch their focus to the ambush, and Kíli manages to crawl up to his knees, gasping for breath. With a groan of pain, he throws his weight onto the level, pushing it down and opening the sluice, before collapsing once more.

“Kíli!” he shouts again, grabbing his brother’s empty barrel with one hand and trying to find purchase on the slippery rocks with the other. “Kíli, come on!” he calls again, voice breaking. “Please!” His hands are slipping on the rocks, his barrel is being pulled under the bridge by the rushing current, The other dwarves slip one by one down the small waterfall, into the rapids below.

Just as he’s certain he’s going to lose his grip on the rocks (and by extension, Kíli, because he knows without a doubt in his mind that if he’s left behind he’ll be captured and worse ), Kíli’s body falls from the bridge, landing roughly on top of his barrel, halfway into the water. He looks positively ashen, and Fíli’s heart sinks as he prays to any diety that will listen that the arrow wasn’t poisoned, that his brother will be okay .

“Hold on!” is all Fíli can say as his hand loses its grip on the rocks. Kíli manages to hoist himself back into his barrel, a rough shout of pain bursting from him, and they’re swept along the current with the rest of the dwarves, the orcs still in pursuit.

-----

“Mahal, Kíli,” Fíli breathes as he examines the wound, pulling the torn pieces of his trousers to get a better look. It was already so inflamed, and he couldn’t tell if the arrowhead was still inside or not. “Oin needs to take a look at this,” he says, immediately searching for their healer. “If it was poisoned, then -”

“Just bind it,” Kíli hisses, brow furrowed in pain. “We have to keep moving. You heard Thorin”

Fíli frowns at him, shaking his head. He cannot be serious ; there’s no way he would make it far with his leg wounded so badly.

“I’ll be fine,” Kíli says, looking him straight in the eye, which manages to reassure him, however smally. “We’re not safe here.” Fíli still hesitates, and his brother reaches for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Fíli tries to ignore how badly Kíli’s hand is shaking. “I promise to have Oin tend to it as soon as we can spare,” he adds.

Finally, Fíli nods and unceremoniously rips fabric from the hem of his shirt, dunking it into the river in a feeble attempt to clean it, before setting about tightly wrapping Kíli’s wound. His brother winces and grits his teeth as he works, driving Fíli’s own anxiety higher. He knows he will feel much better once Oin has a chance to properly tend to him. He can only hope, as he finishes up, that Kíli will be able to make it to safety. Frowning, he looks at his work. It’s a poor excuse for a bandage, even for a field dressing, but it will have to do. He doesn’t have another option.

“Come on,” he says, helping Kíli back to his feet. For the first few steps, his brother leans heavily on him, but after a moment he regains his footing well enough to walk on his own across the slippery rocks, with hardly a limp in his step as he goes to rejoin the others. Fíli frowns again; he knows how good Kíli is at hiding his hurts and knows that his brother is going to overdo it and wind up being in more agony farther down the line if he can’t get a proper dressing soon.

There’s a commotion from behind him, and Fíli whirls around to see a man, bow drawn and aimed at Ori and Dwalin, the latter brandishing a tree branch as a weapon.

Dwalin raises the branch, ready to fight, and an arrow strikes directly into it, right between his hands, in warning. “Do it again and you’re dead,” the man snaps, another arrow already drawn.

“Excuse me,” Balin calls, using his ‘diplomatic voice’ that Fíli has heard countless times before. He approaches the man with his arms raised. “You’re, uh, from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken?”

The man lowers his blow, casting a sidelong glance at Balin.

“That barge over there,” he continues, gesturing behind the man, where Fíli now sees the very tip of a boat, mostly hidden from their sight by the thick underbrush that lines the river. “It wouldn’t be available for hire , by any chance?”

-----

Dwalin keeps his eyes on the lads as they sail.

Fíli and Kíli are pressed shoulder to shoulder, their backs against the damaged barrels. He’d been worried about the lad since he saw the arrow pierce his leg - orc arrows were rarely free of poisons or filth that could take even the hardiest dwarf down in a matter of hours. Once they’d safely boarded the barge, Oin had tended to the wound and gave it a proper dressing. The arrowhead had still been lodged in his leg, but with steady hands and a sharp knife borrowed from the bowman, Oin had been able to remove it. The old healer had stated that he’d need a poultice to draw out any infection and to help with the pain, but the man - Bard , he remembers from Bilbo’s chastising - had none, so Kíli would have to make due until they were smuggled into Laketown.

Kíli was too pale, so much so that the darkness of his hair and the red smear of blood on his lip (he’d bitten it so hard to keep himself from screaming as Oin had removed the arrow) stood out in stark contrast. It made the dark circles under his eyes look worse. It made it look like he could slip from this world at any moment, despite Oin’s assurances that he would make it to Laketown.

It’s the cold, Dwalin tells himself, it’s just the cold that makes him look so pale.

The small blessing was that Kíli was asleep, that he was able to take this brief respite while his brother watched over him.

They’d come too close to losing him too many times on this quest. Dwalin had sworn to protect him, knew without a doubt that he would gladly die if it kept either of the lads safe, but every time he had been too far away or otherwise unable to help, unable to do anything other than watch . He wouldn’t be able to bear it if they lost one of them and Dwalin had done nothing .

He chews the inside of his cheek, keeping the lads in his periphery as he watches the lakeman. He doesn't trust him, doesn’t like that they’re stuck on a boat in the middle of frigid, foggy waters with him, doesn’t like that their survival may very well depend on him being true to his word. Something sits ill within him, like they’re walking into a trap, but with the other option being trying to beat orcs on the road, unarmed and without supplies, he knows they had no other choice.

Someone comes to his side, shoulder brushing his as they lean along the railing beside him. He doesn’t have to look to know that it is Thorin.

“How is he?” he asks, barely concealed concern in his voice.

Dwalin shrugs. “Not well, by any means,” he says, gaze shifting back to Kíli. “But, not getting worse.”

Thorin makes a small noise in the back of his throat in acknowledgement. “Do you think it knew?”

He does look at him then, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Azog’s spawn,” Thorin clarifies. “Do you think it knew who he was? That he was my kin?” he adds in a whisper.

Dwalin shakes his head. “Think he was just trying to take out anyone that would’ve helped us escape,” he says. “Wouldn’ta mattered who it was.” He knows this fear, this old, horrible fear that Thorin had carried with him ever since Frerin had died. He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else for being associated with his line. It would almost certainly spiral Thorin into madness, and if it were Azog’s own spawn (for how else could the other pale orc have come to be?) that ended one of the lads...he could not fathom how Thorin would go on.

With a sigh, he looks for his brother, catches him with a gaggle of the company, counting coins to pay their way as Bard navigates them through the waters.

“How do we know he won’t betray us?” he finds himself asking, putting words to his fears in the confidence of his best friend.

Thorin frowns, a misted look in his eyes. “We don’t.”

Dwalin settles back with a huff, hating the answer but knowing Thorin is right all the same. There’s some squabbling between Gloin and his brother that he considers intervening on, but the fog thins ahead, and he finds himself awestruck instead. “Look,” he says softly, nudging Thorin’s arm. His eyes water on their own accord.

The Lonely Mountain sits on the horizon, closer than he’s seen it in an age.

-----

“You look like shit,” he says fondly as he tucks Kíli’s hair behind his ear.

Kíli scoffs in indignation at him, but he doesn’t argue. “I feel like shit.”

Fíli just smiles and wraps a blanket around his brother’s shoulders, sitting beside him on the settee, eyes fixed on the Lonely Mountain out the window. Kíli leans back into the plush cushion, turning himself the tiniest bit into his brother, just a tiny bit too close, as always. His leg is propped up on a footstool, at Oin’s request. Fíli lets his cheek rest on the top of his brother’s head, content.

They’d been welcomed into the home of the Master of Laketown (who, in Fíli’s humble opinion, looked more like a louse than the lord of a town, but men were much different than dwarves), and while the man had thrown them a rather uproarious party, Fíli and Kíli had taken their leave to rest. Oin had instructed Kíli to do so (and Thorin, too, though he need not say the words aloud) to give the poultice he’d packed the arrow wound with time to work. He’d worried that they’d perhaps taken too long, and that after being doused with river water, covered in fish guts, and crawling through a toilet the wound had likely become infected. So off he’d sent them, just after the party started, with a plate full of food and a mug of ale ( for Fíli only he had stressed) - and Fíli had felt Thorin’s eyes on them the entire time he’d helped his brother up the stairs to the rooms they’d been lent.

When Kíli had fallen in the armory, Fíli’s heart had stopped. He knew , the second he’d heard the loud clattering of weapons that it had been Kíli, the ache in his leg finally overcoming him. He had pushed it too far, given too much without resting, just as Fíli knew he would. He loops his arm around his brother’s shoulders, tugging him a bit closer still.

“How’s your side?” Kíli asks softly, sleepiness evident in his voice. He turns to press a kiss against his brother’s hair. Of course Kíli was still worried about him. Even with everything that had happened, even with the wound that Fíli knew was causing him pain. Kíli’s kindness never wavered

“Better,” he says, and Kíli hums in acknowledgement. His head seems to sink further into Fíli’s shoulder, blessedly cool forehead pressed against his neck.

From below, he can hear music, shouts and cheers. The merriment at the return of the Lord of Silver Fountains seems as though it will last long through the night, though Thorin had told the company that they would be leaving at first light.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be there,” Fíli murmurs softly as he gazes at the mountain, but Kíli doesn’t reply. He listens for a moment, pleased to hear his brother’s breathing deep and even with sleep. He presses another kiss to the crown of Kíli’s head. “Tomorrow we will finally see Erebor, nadadith.”

From his right, the door to the guest room they’d been lent for the night creaks open, sounds of the party spilling in, causing Kíli to stir slightly. He cranes his neck around to see Thorin sheepishly enter, closing the door behind himself with a quiet snick . He walks over to them, sitting gingerly on the edge of the settee before reaching out to card his hand through Kíli’s hair.

Fíli sees the fondness there, the raw emotion. It warms his heart - Thorin had been so focused on the quest, so in control for fear that their enemies would discover them as his heirs - he cannot remember the last time he had seen such tenderness from their uncle. He’d known to expect distance; Thorin had warned them that it was important to keep their relation to him a secret. He just hadn’t expected it to bother him as much as it did. Hadn’t expected it to hurt .

“How is he?” Thorin asks, his thumb tracing reverently over Kíli’s high cheekbone, as if committing his face to memory. Fíli frowns; what does Thorin know that he isn’t saying?

“He seems better,” Fíli admits. “I think the medicine is starting to take.”

Thorin smiles at him before reaching over to cup Fíli’s cheek, before dropping his hand to squeeze the nape of his neck.

“Talk to me, Uncle,” Fíli says quietly. “What troubles you?”

Thorin sighs, drawing away from the lads to stand by the window, eyes on the mountain. Fíli hates it a little because he can no longer see Thorin’s face, but he knows good and well that that’s probably the reason he stood in the first place. He almost wants to join him, just so he can see his face and read him better, but he doesn’t dare leave from where Kíli is tucked safely into his side.

“I’ve not been this close since...since we fled,” he says softly. “It’s made me sentimental, I suppose.” Thorin runs a hand through his beard. “I fear what we will encounter when we reach the mountain. I fear what will happen if we awaken Smaug. I fear...everything all at once, I suppose.”

Fíli can hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice. “So do I,” he admits just as quietly. “But I’m also…” he frowns, trying to decide on the right word. “Excited? Anxious? I don’t know. You’ve told us about Erebor our whole lives. It feels surreal that tomorrow...that we’ll be there.”

Thorin stiffins, almost imperceptibly, but he catches it nonetheless. “I hope it does not disappoint you,” he says after a long stretch of silence.

“I doubt it could,” Fíli says quietly. “Even after years of Smaug’s squatting, I’m certain it will be grander than anything we’ve seen before.”

Thorin turns back to him and smiles softly. “I cannot wait to show it to you.” He hears so much in his voice - pride, worry, fear, love - and it fills Fíli with an emotion he cannot quite identify. “But you should rest,” he says as he comes back toward him, bending down to press their foreheads together.

Fíli nods. “You should, too,” he says, an amused smile coming to his lips. “Can’t stay up partying all night.”

“Know that I love you,” Thorin says softly, not playing into his joke. “The both of you. More than anything in this world.” There are tears in his eyes when he pulls away, and Fíli has to swallow the lump in his throat, blinking back his own tears.

“We know, Uncle,” he asserts with a shaking voice. “Kíli adores you. I love you. Always.”

The corner of Thorin’s mouth quirps upward, in the barest hint of a smile. “It is more than I deserve.”

-----

He’s wrestled with this decision for days, though it felt like years.

Ever since his youngest nephew had been struck by the orc filth’s arrow, he’s wondered if he should send him home, or have him wait here, with these wretched men in Laketown. He doesn’t want to. Kíli is, for all intents and purposes and lineage aside, his son . They both are. He’s been with them since they were babes, he’s promised them Erebor since before they even knew what it meant.

They still didn’t know what it meant.

It meant no more rumbling stomachs, no more scrimping and saving, no more threadbare clothes, no more disdain from elves and men. It meant the end of the suffering of their people, the dawn of a new age. It meant peace and happiness in their lives for all the rest of their days. It meant everything to him because it meant he could finally, finally give everything to them . Everything they’d craved, everything they’d deserved…everything .

And they’ve come so far, they’ve conquered so much, and it seems such a shame to send him away when they are but in the shadow of the mountain.

But time is not on his side. If he is to give them all he desires, he must be swift.

And when Kíli makes to step onto the boat, horrible limp still evident in his step, his decision is made. He had hoped Oin’s cures would have had more of an effect, that the solid night’s rest would somehow make him strong enough to complete this last, precious leg of the journey.

But it hadn’t, in his heart he’d always known it wouldn’t. It had been a foolish hope.

“Not you,” he murmurs as he reaches out an arm to stop him. Kíli’s face twists into something that is a terrible cross of hurt and shame and fear, and Thorin knows he must school his features and stay impassive. He cannot let these men see him break. He cannot let them know what his nephews mean to him. They could use it as a weapon against him, and he will not have it.

“We must travel at speed,” he elaborates when he feels many eyes fall to him. “You will slow us down.”

Kíli looks up at him, disbelief clouding his face as he tries to manage a smile, to pretend that this is just a joke.. “What?” he murmurs, gaze flickering just quickly to where Fíli stands behind his uncle. “What are you talking about? I’m…I’m coming with you.”

Thorin can see the pallor in his face, the dark circles under his eyes. Kíli is still clearly not well. It would be reckless to bring him, he reasons with himself.

Thorin gives the barest shake of his head and resolutely ignores the tiny whimper of desperation that escapes Kíli’s throat. He has to do this. He has to keep him safe and win back the mountain. He has to do this. For them .

“I’m going to be there when that door is opened, when we first look upon the halls of our fathers,” he implores. “Thorin…”

He knows Kíli cannot possibly understand why he is doing this, knows he should have done this earlier, should have prepared him, should have explained . But he didn’t. He was a coward, had seen Kíli asleep the night before when he went to speak his mind, and had lost his nerve. With a sigh, he reaches to cup the back of Kíli’s head, pulling their foreheads as close as he dares.

He cannot let them know how much Kíli means to him.

“Kíli,” he murmurs, fixing him with a gaze that he hopes will explain everything. “Stay here. Rest . Join us when you are healed.” Kíli has always been better at reading him than anyone.

Kíli’s eyes search him again, desperate. Thorin’s heart breaks; he doesn’t understand.

Kíli shakes his head, breath coming out in a staggering huff, and a barely whispered ‘Uncle…’ reaches his ears. For a moment he’s terrified that he’ll cave, that he won’t let Kíli go , but Óin comes to his rescue, saying that he’ll stay with the lad. It eases his heart greatly to know that Kíli will not be alone here, that he will be in good hands between Óin and Bofur, if he ever chooses to come round again. He watches as his cousin leads his nephew away, heart feeling leaden in his chest.

When he turns back to the company, he’s met with Fíli’s furious face, nearly cringes when he sees the betrayal shining in the depths of his cerulean eyes. “Uncle,” he murmurs the damning word, but thankfully none of the men seem to hear it. “We grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him!”

He is hurt, his tone accusing, and Thorin has to focus to keep his face neutral and impassive. “Fíli,” he starts, trying to find the right words to explain himself, but his nephew doesn’t give him the chance.

“I will carry him if I must!” he declares, and in it Thorin hears the silent ‘Uncle, please!’ , but he resolutely ignores it. They’ll be angry at him now, hurt because of him now, but he’ll make it up to them. He’ll win back the mountain. He’ll give them everything that he couldn’t for the entirety of their lives.

“One day you will be King and you will understand,” he says.

You will understand why I have to do this. It’s for both you , he means.

“I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf – not even my own kin,” he explains, in nothing more than a hushed whisper.

I cannot risk losing him, losing the mountain, not when I’ve come this far to reclaim it for you…for all of us , he means.

Fíli’s face is filled with disbelief and fierce determination, and Thorin knows what he means to do before he even moves his feet. He reaches out quickly, grabs his arm.

“Fíli, don’t be a fool,” he half-begs. “You belong with the company.”

You belong with me. I am doing this for you . I need you by my side , he means.

“I belong with my brother ,” his heir all but snarls as he wrenches his arm free.

With a heavy sigh, Thorin watches him leave the boat. He cannot blame him. He wants Fíli to stay with him, knows that he will feel better and stronger if he has at least one of them by his side, but he can’t stop him. He won’t stop him.

He turns back to the company, desperately ignores with worried glances, particularly the one Dwalin aims at him, and gives the nod for them to depart. He doesn’t look back, cannot look back, because if he does he will break. Time is not on their side, and if he is to do this, if he is to do this for them , then he must be swift.

Dwalin slides close enough to him so that their shoulders are pressed closely together to give him strength. He knows he needs it. He has to see this through, and when he does everything will be alright in the end. He will be able to give them everything.

He can do this.

He’ll do it for them.

-----

This is how it ends for him, he thinks. He cannot see a way that his brother survives this day.

They are back at Bard’s home, having been turned away everywhere else when Kíli took a turn for the worse. He’d practically fainted, then spiked a deliriously high temperature that had startled even Oin. When he’d peeled away the bandage the healer hadn’t been able to hide his gasp of surprise. In a matter of hours the wound had festered, turning black around the edges.

“It was poison,” Oin had hissed under his breath as Bofur and Fíli had supported Kíli’s deadweight. “Slow acting, very deadly... damn those creatures.”

Deadly . When Oin had uttered that word Fíli felt as if part of his soul had left his body. It took every ounce of his strength to remain calm ( for Kíli , he would constantly remind himself - in his fleeting moments of lucidity he was completely terrified, and Fíli vowed that he would not make his terror worse). It helps that Oin has taken control, that he is barking orders at him, giving him something to do , a task to focus on.

“Get him up on the table,” Oin commands. Bard makes a sound as if to protest, but he clears the table nonetheless, sending dishes and bowls clattering to the floor, making space for Kíli. Fíli stays by his head, knelt on the ground, trying to talk his brother through what is happening, though he has no idea if Kíli can hear him or not. One of Bard’s girls brings in a cloth and a basin of cool water.

“Can you not do something?” Fíli asks frantically as Kíli’s form seizes once again. He is burning hot; even pressing the cool rag to his forehead seems to do nothing.

“I need something to bring down his fever,” Oin calls over his shoulder, to Bard, as he cuts Kíli’s pant leg off and removes the latest bandage, face stricken. Fíli can’t make out what the bowman says in reply. “No, no; those are no use to me. They won’t stop the poison. Do you have any kingsfoil?”

“No; it’s a weed,” Bard says as he presents Oin with his own bowl of hot water and some cloths. The healer immediately starts clearing out the wound, causing Kíli to groan in agony once more. “We feed it to the pigs.”

“Pigs?” Bofur says, jumping up from Kíli’s other side. “I’ll find it,” he says. He fixes Fíli with a comforting look. “I’ll find it, laddie.” He reaches for Kíli’s hand and squeezes it. “Hold on for me, yea?”

Bard’s daughter comes to kneel beside him, placing another basin of cool water beside him, then wetting her own rag and wiping it along Kíli’s face. Sigrid , her name pops into his mind again. He nods at her in gratitude. Sigrid gives him a soft, small smile, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

Kíli lets out a pitiful, gasping wail as he arches his back against the pain. Fíli can’t take it; the tears spill freely from his eyes now as he presses his forehead to Kíli’s too-hot temple. “Hold on, nadadith,” he whispers, voice tight. “Just hold on for me, yea? Bofur will be back. We’re going to fix this. I just need you to hold on. Please,” he adds, his voice breaking on the last word as he hopes beyond hope that Kíli can hear him.

Suddenly, the ground around them shakes violently. Fíli’s stomach sinks into his boots.

“It’s coming from the mountain,” Bard’s son says, just as the room rumbles once more.

Fíli’s eyes find Bard’s. “You should leave us. Take your children and go; get out of here!”

“And go where?” Bard says, clearly distraught as he takes in each of his children.

“Are we going to die, Da?” the littlest one asks, and Fíli fears that they will . “Is the dragon going to kill us?”

“No darling,” Bard says, quickly striding over to their kitchen and yanking something free from a hanging rack. Fíli bites back a gasp of surprise; a black arrow. Ammunition for a wind-lance. “I’m going to kill it first.”

-----

“What about Bilbo?” Ori asks, a slightly panicked tone in his voice. It seemed like everything was going well enough, but then the ground had trembled beneath them.

Smaug was awake. There was no denying it. Any hope that Thorin had held that the blasted worm had perished and died within the mountain wafted away like smoke.

“Give him more time,” he says finally, eyes anxiously watching the door. He trusted Bilbo; he knew the hobbit would not let him down, knew that he would find the Arkenstone and return it to him.

“Time for what?” Balin scoffs. “To be killed?”

“You’re afraid,” Thorin acuses, crossing his arms over his chest and staring his old friend down. They need the Arkenstone; Balin needs to trust him.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Balin retorts. “I’m afraid for you .”

Thorin takes a step back, leveling Balin with a glare.

“A sickness lies upon that treasure horde, Thorin,” he needlessly reminds him. “A sickness that drove your grandfather mad .”

“I am not my grandfather,” Thorin hisses, ire rising up within him. He knows , he knows the tragedy that had befallen his grandfather because he had watched it happen, helplessly on the sidelines. Stuck to do nothing while Thror withered into a shell of himself. He would not go down the same path. He would fight, tooth and nail, to keep that from happening.

“You are not yourself!” Balin continues. “The Thorin I know would not hesitate to go in there and -”

“I cannot risk the fate of this quest for one burgular,” Thorin interrupts, hoping that he sounds practical.

“ Bilbo ,” Balin hisses. “His name is Bilbo. Or have you forgotten?”

Thorin frowns, eyes drifting to Laketown, to Fíli and Kíli. The ground rumbles lightly beneath them once more. “What would you have me do?” he says quietly. “What would you have me do to stand against this worm who has taken everything from me.? I cannot hope to triumph against Smaug.”

Balin’s face softens. “It seems that you are also afraid, my dear friend.”

Thorin says nothing, but his gaze shifts back to the stone door. He knows that Balin is right , he cannot leave Bilbo to fend for himself. But still, he cannot make himself move to venture into the halls. He cannot face Smaug again, not without a plan to defeat him. But if Bilbo can get the Arkenstone, he can rally the dwarf kingdoms, they could form an army and stand a chance at killing that beast…

“We have to do something , Thorin,” Balin says again. “We would not have made it this far without him. We cannot leave him to face the dragon alone.”

It shakes him to his core, but Thorin nods.

-----

Kíli has gone positively ashen. His cries have weakened; he has started murmuring nonsense. Fíli can do little more than stroke his brother’s hair from his sweaty face, than whisper empty reassurances. There’s nothing they can do unless Bofur can find the kingsfoil. Nothing.

Kíli will die here, and he probably will too, judging by the ever increasing rumbles coming from the mountain.

A cold resignation settles over him. He presses a kiss to his brother’s sweaty temple, suddenly grateful for the evening they’d had the night prior, when everything had seemed so simple, so much like when they were children. He’d felt safe. Happy. He’d felt like they were going to make it to Erebor, to live out their destiny, but it had all gone wrong.

How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

There’s a clunk on the roof, drawing Sigrid’s attention. “Da?” she calls, peeking out the door. When she receives no response, she shrugs and turns back into the house, when an orc suddenly lands on the balcony behind her. With a scream, she tries to slam the door shut, but the orc stops the door with his sword.

Sigrid’s scream snaps them all to attention, even Kíli, who struggles to get to his feet, bleary eyes trying to focus on the situation at hand. “Kíli, get down ,” he hisses, pushing his brother behind him onto a nearby settee as the orc forces its way in.

A second orc crashes through the ceiling. Oin is grabbing anything within reach and chucking them at the orcs - starting with the plates. Bain gets his sisters under the table, blocking them from the orcs with the bench as Fíli grabs the pike hook Bard had fashioned for them and throws it with a snarl, finding a sick sort of satisfaction as it finds its mark in the orc’s throat.

More orcs crash through the ceiling, and he hears Kíli cry out in pain behind him. One of the orcs has him by his wounded leg, dragging him off of the settee, and Fíli sees red. He spies a knife on the floor and grabs it, hurling it with deadly accuracy, freeing his brother, who crashes to the ground with a whimper. Fíli has enough sense about him to grab the sword from the creature before turning to face the onslaught.

Just as suddenly, two elves come crashing through the roof, quickly getting to work on the orcs. He recognizes them from Thraduil’s halls - the blond he thinks was the elven king’s son, and the redhead had been the one patrolling the hall with their cells. The orcs must have continued following them, seeking Thorin, and the elves were clearly still hunting the orcs.

Fíli grabs Bain, shoving him down as another one of the orcs rushes at him, giving him space to slay the beast. It only takes a few moments for them to dispel the orcs - the elves are deadly accurate with their blows. There’s shouting in black speech from outside, and the remaining orcs flee from the house, leaving it a chaotic wreck. Fíli pants heavily, eyes scanning the small abode once again to make sure they are safe.

“Are you alright?” the redheaded elf asks the children as she helps them to their feet.

“You killed them all,” Bain murmurs in amazement.

Oin pushes past him, rushing back to Kíli’s side. His brother is struggling to breathe, his whole body hitching as he tries to take in air. “We’re losing him!” the healer shouts.

“What happened?” he hears the elf ask from behind him, but he can barely make it out over the blood rushing in his ears. They’re losing him.

“Please, Kee,” he begs, sinking to his knees beside his brother, a sob forming in his throat. “Please don’t leave me here alone. Please .”

“I found it!” Bofur shouts, bursting back into the home. “What in the blazes happened here?”

Fíli turns to look at him, tears streaking his face. “You found it?” he asks, numbly. Bofur holds up his hand, the plant clutched in it.

“He’s too far gone,” Oin says sadly. “I don’t know what to do.” Fíli chokes on a sob.

“I do,” the redheaded elf says, eyes switching between Kíli and the kingsfoil in Bofur’s hand.

“Tauriel,” the prince says. “We must go. We’re losing the pack.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to save him,” she says. “Get him up on the table. I need hot water,” she says, looking at Sigrid and Tilda.

Fíli feels something akin to hope blossoming in his chest as they gather Kíli’s limp form and settle him back onto the table. He has heard the stories of elvish healing magic; he prays to Mahal that it will be enough to save Kíli. His brother is mumbling deliriously again, skin so pale that, were he not drawing in breath, Fíli would think he was dead.

He watches as the elf washes the herbs, hands deftly shredding the leaves and creating a poultice. “Hold him down,” she says, eyes fixing onto Fíli with something akin to sympathy. Fíli grabs his brother’s shoulders and Bofur takes his ankles, pressing them to the table as he tries to ignore the whimper of protest that slips past his brother’s lips.

The elf begins chanting in a language he does not recognize, before she presses the poultice into the wound, and Kíli screams. Fíli struggles to keep him still, even as Oin and Bard’s children come to help. Kíli thrashes, but the elf holds steady, keeping the poultice pressed to his wound as she recites the healing magic. After a moment, Kíli takes a heaving breath and his thrashing calms, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the roof.

“Kíli,” he murmurs, relinquishing his hold on his brother’s shoulders and pushing his sweaty hair from his face.

The elf’s chanting ceases, and she pulls the poultice away from the wound. Fíli gasps aloud - the festering blackness of the wound has vanished, and it looks tremendously better already. He can hardly believe it.

“I’ve heard tell of the wonders of elvish medicine,” Oin says, sounding just as awed as Fíli feels. “That was a privilege to witness.”

“Burn this,” the elf says as she hands the poultice to Bofur, who obediently tosses it into the fire. “He needs rest, though I fear it will be a while before he can have it,” she says softly as she sets about binding Kíli’s leg with a clean bandage. “The poison is gone, but his body is weak.”

Fíli can hardly find the words to speak. He presses his forehead to Kíli’s temple, breathing a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he manages finally.

“He is precious to you,” the elf observes, a small smile on her face as she finishes Kíli’s binding.

“He’s my brother,” Fíli whispers. “My only family.”

She squeezes his shoulder as she stands. “I thought as much,” she admits. “You looked after one another in Mirkwood. With the spiders.”

The ground rumbles around them. Fíli closes his eyes. Have they saved him only to perish in dragonfire?

“You have to leave,” she says, speaking to all of them now. “There is no time!”

Bain hesitates. “We cannot leave without our Da,” he says, but even as he speaks the ground rumbles again, shaking debris loose from their damaged roof.

Tauriel frowns. “If you stay here, you and your sister will die. Is that what your father would want?” Bain blinks quickly, eyes shining when he finally shakes his head, looking to his sisters sadly.

Fíli and Bofur work to get Kíli to his feet. His brother is slowly coming back to himself, his eyes clearing, but he’s far too weak to walk on his own. “Fee,” he mumbles softly, his head lolling onto Fíli’s shoulder as they right him.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got you.” he promises, pressing a kiss to Kíli’s temple. Bofur helps Fíli get his brother onto his back, keeping the weight off of his leg.

Oin and Bard’s children gather some provisions as Fíli and Bofur make their way down the stairs to the dock. It is slow work; Fíli is careful not to jostle his brother and Bofur works to ensure he maintains his balance as they navigate the steps. He is just getting Kíli situated at the back of the boat, propping his wounded leg up on the side, when the others rejoin them.

A horrible tremor shakes the ground, sending waves sloshing through the lake. In the distance, they hear the shriek of a dragon. Fíli locks eyes with his brother.

Smaug is coming.

-----

No. No, no, no, no, no .

Bilbo stammers to his feet, chasing after where Smaug had fled, the other dwarves clambering behind him. He can hardly breathe. How had this happened? Thorin’s plan had been so good , he was so certain that it would work to subdue Smaug, but now ...now thousands of innocents were now in Smaug’s path. Because of them. Because of him .

They can do little more than watch when Smaug unleashes his flames upon Laketown.

-----

AN - So it looks like I’ll be rounding this bad boy out at 30 chapters. Next chapter will be pre-BOTFA focused, 29 will be BOTFA, and 30 will be the end. I’m sad and anxious and excited all at the same time.

Anyway, as always thank you so much for reading this little story that has occupied so much of my life at this point. It means the world.

#greater than gold #durin family feelings #hahahahahaha i am just making myself sad about dwarves again #THANKS QUARANTINE

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punkscowardschampions · 6 years ago

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Junior & Nancy

Gay nerds

Junior: Nance, how on earth are you tackling this art project? To say I'm discombobulated is an understatement that isn't getting me an A any time soon! Nancy: 😕 sums it up in a way. Obviously I can fall back on the twin thing but is that too safe? 😩 But we couldn't be more different Junior: 😖 Like, I love how vague and open to our own interpretation it is...but also I fucking hate how vague and open to our own interpretation it is! 😢😂 No one would blame you; least of all me, 'cos I was tempted- being the sore thumb I am when counting our ten- and I've not even got the twin angle everyone is so about in all areas of art tbh Junior: If nothing else, Buster is a willing participant in a photo op always? Junior: Ooh, you could get something matchy match from your childhood photos (I know they exist) and splice it with portraits of you now...Think that elevates it Nancy: You've put your finger on it. Nancy: But I don't think you're so right about the lack of blame 🤔 even with the boy/girl straight/gay redhead/brunette angle it still feels ??? Nancy: Basic 😒 Junior: I get you Junior: Meant to become the next Magritte in just 4 weeks, like !!! Junior: Well, I've heard at least 4 girls from class saying they're going to do a heavily made-up portrait next to a #nofilter #naturalbeauty one so Junior: We'll do better than that by default but I'd like to come up with something vaguely original still Junior: Miss' sanity relies on us lowkey, no pressure 😷😜 Nancy: I had that passing thought let it go though 😜 Nancy: You could text her Nancy: 😕 yes pressure Nancy: What to do? Junior: I like to keep it in professional hours Junior: for her sake, she gets a bit amorous when she's had a glass o vino after work Nancy: 😮 she does? Nancy: can I bribe my way to top of the class by raiding the cellar Junior: That was my second suggestion 😏 Junior: Take one for the team please 🙏 Nancy: but she's straight STRAIGHT Nancy: couldn't be enough Nancy: back to the mindmap Junior: Damn straights 😒 Junior: if all else fails, we can put this grade next to our last Junior: break the fourth wall, v meta Nancy: our school gets the one bohemian who is Nancy: put her next to the sterotypical art teacher Junior: did you mean my mother? 🤔 Junior: her, the engineer, hilarious 😂 Junior: Mum'd be up for it, you may borrow her Nancy: I might yet Nancy: when's this due again? Junior: we've still got 3 weeks, don't worry Junior: just trying to get it over and done with here Nancy: I should Nancy: The Tempest essay is due soon Junior: Don't remind me, even the gayness can't make it enjoyable, like many a teen show 🤷 Junior: Could combine? Somehow? Umm Junior: The supernatural characters and the humans...why yes, I am clutching at straws Junior: This term is killing me Nancy: If I'd get away with handing in some shots instead of an essay I would Nancy: not happening Nancy: 😩 Nancy: What ideas have you had? For the juxtaposition...forget the tempest Nancy: burn that Junior: If only, 1000 words=1 photograph, no contest really Junior: again, if only Will had 💀 Junior: The idea I can't get out of my head, even though it has been done to death so is BEYOND basic, is mashing up a classical art piece with something modern and pop culture...to say something about me (eww!) Junior: Tbf, they usually use Renaissance or very very famous art pieces so I could win points by using some relevant surrealism/ going beyond calling Mona Lisa #flawless Junior: Its all I've got Nancy: I think it's good Nancy: Let's both run with overused concepts and make them not basic in our way Nancy: act like we planned it Nancy: nobody has to know we had no other ideas Junior: Absolutely 😎 Junior: Total confidence is key, comes so natural to the both of us, like Junior: I think worrying about being 'original' is the true hack thing to do here anyway 💅 Nancy joined the chat 13 hours ago Nancy: 😖 yes Nancy: stealing that all Nancy: now if you could keep it going and give me some thoughts on shakespeare to plagiarize 😜 Junior: If I could, I would but even SparkNotes isn't helping me Junior: shall we peruse the best film/stage adaptations? maybe tomorrow night if you're free Nancy: I've seen the 2010 version a few times for obvious reasons Nancy: but yeah the others not so much Nancy: we need to do something that isn't me asking my mum for help Junior: Oh, babe 😂 that's the real tragedy here, you doing that to yourself Junior: maybe I'll borrow her and she can do mine for me Junior: still down for a movie night obviously Nancy: 🙉 Nancy: Lead female character Nancy: Shakespeare should've Nancy: Please do take her Nancy: mum swap 😂 Junior: As much as Bill LOVED any excuse for a drag show darling... stick with the evil queens and witches 😘 Junior: Let's do this, full family swap! Let them drive you insane for a bit whilst I live the life 😬 Nancy: Switch that around both my parents are so type A Nancy: Plus you've got all the brothers and sisters to dodge behind Nancy: Buster takes more heat off than most but he's still just one boy Junior: well, mine would refuse to be bound to a type, just as annoying I promise Junior: Its true I can mostly fade into obscurity with all their shenanigans, yet it still somehow isn't the case, just 12 nosy people in your business instead of the usual 2, with a disinterested brother flexing off in the background Nancy: 🙈 Nancy: I'm not having kids Nancy: Don't care if the future wife is frantic Junior: It is an issue that divides all of us tbh Junior: I don't think I'd mind one, to put all my efforts into Junior: but unlikely Junior: unless I co-parent from the sidelines with your wife Nancy: weirder scenarios have come about Nancy: I'd prefer a kitten Junior: steal one when you come over Junior: Ma'd probably notice but really, do we need so many? Nancy: Gran's such a dog person can I get through the door Junior: True, true Junior: Always living on such extremes this fam Junior: I don't know 😏 Nancy: look at me and my brother ultimate homo and hetero Nancy: embarrassing Junior: 😂 Junior: I'd love to suggest he doth protest too much but lbr Nancy: dad's never been prouder 😂 no teen pregnancies for his little girl Nancy: shakespeare would write that Junior: Who are we putting our money on to go first Nancy: that's harder than it sounds Junior: Rio is obvious choice but I sometimes think Grace might go insane and come along and take the claim Junior: *Shudders* Nancy: change the subject I beg you Nancy: I'd rather hear about your attempts to avoid your secret admirer who's a girl and hopelessly 💘 Junior: well, I would rather pretend that was not a thing 😬 Junior: as your brother once eloquently put it, when he was very pissed, 'i could clean up and get untold amounts of pussy' Junior: and that's that on that Junior: considering getting a face transplant 'cos my off-putting demeanour is not doing enough 😒 what problems to have, eh? the privilege of it all! 😂 Nancy: maybe we should go under together Nancy: moral support and potential discount Nancy: if I get told I don't look gay one more time I'm returning my badge Junior: well, where is your crewcut and tank top, like? 🤔 Junior: out here confusing the masses like that, idk Nancy: 🙉 Nancy: Not an identical twin playing tricks either how dare I Junior: why can't you just get in your box and like it, god damn it Nance! Nancy: unrelated except about boxes but should I get some new kit for this project or am I just stalling Nancy: a memoir Junior: any excuse 😜 Junior: but yes, do it Junior: i'm using it as excuse to go 'round all the best art galleries in town again so Nancy: Can I tag along Nancy: they're so quiet it's everything Junior: Naturally Junior: We're art students, we've gotta act like it, I'll keep the pretentious commentary to a minimum if you keep the equally as pretentious 'grams down too 😘 Nancy: I'll try Nancy: The feed wants what it wants though Junior: Can't argue, just leave the real money outta the shot Junior: Gotta leave my fangirls wanting more, like 😂 Nancy: That I will promise Nancy: Not trying to be mobbed by straight girls Junior: You mean you resist the lesbian stereotype of LOVING that too?! Nancy: Somehow it's managed Junior: no mean feat, one of the few gays in the village Nancy: Don't clap it's too loud 😂 Junior: *Finger clicks like this a slam poetry night* Nancy: Thank you Nancy: [sends a selection of childhood pictures] how early years can I go before everyone's rolling their eyes Nancy: Thank you too mum for these. Why did you do this to us? 🙈 Junior: Awww what 👼 Junior: This is how I like to remember Buster, before it all went wrong... 😉 Nancy: 👶🥕 Nancy: The glory days Junior: Weren't they just? Junior: At least you didn't have an extra older sister to dress you up, that's worse...the photos I could bring out, good lord 🙄 Nancy: 😜 And I wasn't that sister. You've welcome Buster Nancy: 🍀 Junior: *Whispers* Can we agree he needs SOMEONE to give him a makeover tho Nancy: I volunteer you as tribute Nancy: I've tried Junior: Maybe next family gathering Junior: if he shows Nancy: Bide your time Nancy: birthday present failsafe idea Junior: the amount of birthday celebrations in this fam is unholy Junior: We have a better social life than I would ever wish for, ugh Nancy: don't make me think about it Nancy: I'm sharing and it's made no difference Junior: wouldn't want you to miss out on all that good good attention we all crave 😂 Nancy: 🙈 Junior: Speaking of attention, have you heard the latest gossip that has piqued our peers? Nancy: You tell me Nancy: I can't think of anything off the top of my head Junior: Mark Colm Junior: a massive gay? Junior: I can't make up my mind if they're just hysterical and he's just a bit camp Junior: or there's something in it Nancy: He's one of us Nancy: Definitely crushing on the headboy I've seen him looking Junior: Isn't everyone? Junior: Even the teachers, complete popularity contest got him that position Junior: Interesting, though... Nancy: Besides me in my minority of one Nancy: And Sian would never Junior: Sian Gaffney? She's never gay! Thought you didn't do straight girls, you're reaching there Nancy: 🙉 not her she's dating the oldest Keenan lad Jake? Blake? idk Nancy: She'd love to ride half our class anyway Junior: Ohh you mean Mrs Kelly, duh Junior: yeah she's one of the only decent teachers about, doesn't seem like she goes in for all that popularity politics Nancy: No she doesn't Junior: Seems like a good place to while away a lunchtime Nancy: don't tell everyone how fun it is there'll all wanna join me Nancy: not ready to say goodbye to my happy place Junior: I think your secret is safe from the masses, even if I suddenly got uncharacteristically chatty Junior: Even the ones that don't take the piss and are relatively decent human beings Junior: still rather go get a nandos or whatever it is they do Nancy: Yeah I'm an open book if anyone asks 😂 Nancy: I'll stick with the one stereotype I'm okay with embracing, my eager vegetarianism Nancy: No offence lads Junior: Its all kale and charitable acts with this one Junior: No ulterior motives at all 😏 Nancy: just a rich girl with more wealth than she can give away 😜 Nancy: nothing else to see here Junior: mhmm okay 👌 Junior: we'll pretend I don't know you better than that Nancy: Hey you don't know everything Junior: True Junior: are you in the mood for telling? Junior: 🤔 Nancy: Sometimes Nancy: Can't put it all in my art Junior: not if you don't want Miss to think you're trying to tell her something Junior: flattered but straight, like Nancy: She's not the one Nancy: She'll be flattered to hear Junior: Indeed Nancy: When there is someone it'd be nice to talk about it Nancy: Sometimes like I said Junior: Well, you know where I am Junior: When there is someone Nancy: But I wouldn't know where to start Nancy: I can't put words to it ?? Not the right ones Junior: That's not just you Junior: If I'm to understand all the songs and poetry professing they too have no words Junior: Can but try 🙂 Nancy: Helpful Nancy: What about you? Headboys to one side. Any crushes? Junior: No, no Junior: No point, is there Nancy: Doesn't mean there's a way to stop yourself Nancy: Wish I could just No at myself Junior: I don't know, I don't find it too hard Junior: but you're out so its different Junior: I wouldn't want to go out with anyone...even if Mark is a gay Junior: what would he want with me Nancy: You're a catch Nancy: Out or not he'd be punching above his weight to have you Junior: I don't think there's any point being with someone if you can't be open with it Junior: Being a dirty little secret isn't going to feel good for either party Nancy: For some people it feels worth it Nancy: Just to be with, or around them Junior: Perhaps Junior: Safe to say I don't feel that deeply for any lad here so yeah Junior: keeping on my shelf for now, like Nancy: There's a junxtaposition, us on our respective ledges Nancy: I can't remember what being happily single is like Nancy: Another lesbian stereotype for the list Junior: Don't, how depressing 😂 Junior: I am not about that angsty teen art life Junior: How do we get you a lady? Junior: Do we have to hit the clubs? Nancy: 🙈 Nancy: No no no Nancy: Give that up for a bad job and worse idea Nancy: I'm too picky Junior: You're speaking to me Junior: vowed a celibate here Junior: we can do this for you Nancy: We can't Nancy: Leave me in my rut Junior: Fine fine 😋 Nancy: I'll be in my dark room angsting 😂 Junior: Noted Junior: I'll drag you out for museums and Tempest film marathon tomorrow, yeah? Junior: 'Til then madame Nancy: Looking forward to it Nancy: Stay inspired 💚 Junior: Stay golden 💛

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