#pardon my terrible gif coloring

[parasitegee]

Lollipop Chainsaw. Grasshopper Manufacture. 2012.

[tiredfox64]

Liu Kang × unimpressed person that does their best to make fun of him. If you could do him and a girl who could not care less hes a god and instead is making fun of his bob and the fact that he seems allergic to shirts given that he cant wear more than 75% of one at aany given time

I'm Not Impressed

Yip notes: I feel bad when I have to fake being impressed. It's a lot of "Really?!" which is the equivalent of "That's crazy"

Pairing: Liu Kang (MK1) x Afab reader

Warning‼️: I never warn about my language, second half not proofread cause I was in class

So god comes to your door one night and tells you that he wants you to be one of his champions. Right, okay, cool.

…

Cool? Sweetie, that’s your creator right there. Your creator asked YOU to be one of his champions to fight another realm. Did you need time to process that or…no, alright…I don’t know why I am trying to talk to you.

You’re not the kind to marvel at Liu Kang not that he asks for that. You’re not all that impressed. Sure, he’s the god of fire but if you think about it hard enough you could extinguish him with a fire extinguisher.

Let’s get this straight, you’re not undermining him at all. You understand that he could still beat your ass terribly. Nobody wants a burst ass. But you’re just not someone who is easily impressed. Some think you are plain rude. Some think you aren’t entirely neurotypical. You don’t see it that way, this is just who you are. You find it would be ruder to pretend to be impressed. This rule applies to everyone, not just Liu Kang. Even your family understands that about you.

Liu Kang could see that you weren’t like Johnny who didn’t believe Liu Kang at first. He knew you understood that he was the god of fire and the protector of Earthrealm. That didn’t stop you from making comments though.

Even after first introducing himself you made it clear that you didn’t care who he was. I mean you were outright ready to start shit the moment you opened the door.

“Who the fuck did your hair?” You said the moment your eyes landed on him.

“I beg your pardon?”

You saw his glowing eye go wide before narrowing in disappointment. He was hoping your comment was because you wanted to drive him away. A little tease like that won’t drive him away. So he explained the whole god thing and the protector bullshit to you.

“Oh yeah? Is that right?” Your tone was not rude you were actually asking if what he just said was the truth.

“Yes. Please, I must discuss important matters with you. May I enter?” He asked in his gentle voice.

“I mean, whatever, sure. But don’t try anything stupid I won’t hesitate to beat your ass.” You warned the literal fire god himself.

You believed everything he was saying which was surprising. If he could make himself burst into flames right in front of your eyes, you’d believe anything he says. You accepted his offer to go to the Wu Shi to train. It’s for a good cause so whatever. You could get out of the house.

══💤══��°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Poor Liu Kang, you never give him a break.

You always find something about him to make fun of. It could be his hair, his clothes, his face in general. You were warned to be more respectful of him. In a way, you do respect him by listening to what he has to say and the advice he gives you. But that doesn’t stop you from pointing out some silly things.

For example, his hair. You’re always pointing out the bun in the back. It does nothing. His hair is still down and possibly getting in the way. And when he mentioned to you all that he used to have a bob cut, hah, fuck him he shouldn’t have said it. You snorted the moment you heard that. You laughed at the thought of it because you could never understand why he would have that cut. Good thing he didn’t mention what color it used to be; he would never hear the end of it.

You also make fun of his facial expressions. He’s calm and you know it. But his resting face seems so disappointing. When he’s disappointed, like when Johnny doesn’t take something seriously, it adds more fuel to the fire. You only figured out the difference when you first said something.

“Well, ain’t you just a ray of fuckin sunshine. Why are you so upset?” You asked as you looked at everyone else training. They seem to be doing fine, what does he have to be upset about?

When you looked back at him you saw his eyebrows were more furrowed and you could see the corners of his mouth tip down. Now he was upset. He was upset with your assumption.

“I am only displeased with your attitude. I was fine beforehand.”

“Oh so you just look like that.”

May the elder gods help this man.

You watched him roll his eyes as he grimaced at your attitude. He pointed at the others to signal you to return to training. You put your hands up like you didn’t just insult this man’s face. He could see that smug fucking grin on your face.

His clothes though, ugh, that is so easy to poke at. It’s like he’s allergic to covering up. You would expect some modesty from a god but you could always be wrong.

You found it funny that the sleeves were rolled up. The shirt is already short-sleeved but apparently it’s not short enough for Liu Kang. If you wore your button-up shirts like he wears his you would be called a slut. Side titties would be shamed in this Academy except by Johnny, he would welcome it.

At first, you thought he purposely got a shirt that was too small for him. The sleeves looked like they struggled to contain his muscles. Those things are bound to rip if he flexes a little too much. Oh but remember he’s “modest” so he would never do that. No, no, he’s too modest to gloat but not modest enough to cover up. And to answer your question, no, his shirt is not too small. In fact, it might be his size. He’s scrunching it from the back.

Why it took you so long to notice you had no idea. You were more focused on the front and not the back.

You only noticed when he was explaining to all of you why the Mortal Kombat tournament was important, something about making sure those Outworld fuckers stay back. You were staring at the back of his head before lowering your gaze. Wow, he has a nice ass OH something is up with his shirt look at that. How could your eyes not be drawn to that area. The red sash wrapped around his waist called for your attention. His shirt was bunched up in the back. It’s like those girls who would tie a hair tie at the back of their shirt to make it squeeze against their body which just made it funnier.

As you all gathered to figure out who would be the true champion, you decided to stand near Liu Kang instead of with everyone else. Johnny had already aggravated him from the start so a fire was already going. Oof that eye-roll and grimace came from the soul. He was already side eyeing you as you scooched over to him. Before you could say something he was ready to interrupt you.

“Please act well today. Do not provoke me.”

“I wasn’t gonna provoke you, damn. I just wanted to ask you if you’re feeling a little cold?”

He wasn’t confused, he knew you were starting something. His hand went up to his forehead as he leaned against the armrest. He’s so tired.

“I’m just asking cause, ya know, you could easily button up that-“

“Enough!” He pushed your hand away which was slowly inching towards his chest.

“I’m just trying to help. You could easily button up if you untuck your shirt. Here.” You reached towards his back and started to untuck his shirt from the tight red sash.

“By the Elder Gods, you are out of your mind!”

It became a scuffle between you and Liu Kang as he tried his absolute best to stay calm. The monks that were near were either occupied with Raiden beating Johnny’s ass or trying to avoid being stepped on by you. Once you got it untucked he was mentally defeated. Liu Kang gave up, you won.

“See, now we can button that up. No need to show the universe your man tits.” You used the loops on his right side to hook the buttons.

He let it happen. His eyes stared straight ahead, not at the fight but past the horizon. Where did he go wrong? Why him?

You stared down at him, waiting for any other reaction than that blank stare. All you got was him holding his hand out to tell you to fight Raiden. You looked over to see that Johnny was flat on his back, clearly the loser of the fight. You shrugged and made your way over. He clearly didn’t want to talk to you. Now time to get your ass beat.

No, you will not win this match. You were never gonna win this match. You got your ass handed to you by a simple farmer who speaks softly. And could call Liu Kang cruel or even sadistic for how he was feeling. But by the gods was he satisfied by seeing that fight. Karma!

Yap notes: Yeah so I died whoops lol. Nah but I'm glad to get another fic out and hopefully I start feeling better soon. Uni is killing me this semester ugh. Maybe I’ll make a post explaining more. Adiós!

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

"Dark!Galadriel" needs to happen in "Rings of Power" Season 3

To make sense with the Tolkien canon they are building on. 

The “Rings of Power” show producers were inspired by the chapter “The Mirror of Galadriel” in the book “Fellowship of the Ring” (Part I of "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy) to create the show itself, and the connection between Galadriel and Sauron: him grouping her mind nonstop, her being able to look inside his mind, etc. 

In the book, this scene goes pretty much like in Peter Jackson movie: Galadriel shows Frodo her Mirror, he sees visions on the Mirror, they talk about Sauron, Frodo offers her the One ring, and Galadriel declines, passing “the test” at last, and getting the Valar’s pardon to be able to return to Valinor (she was banished). Peter Jackson left out the part where Samwise Gamgee was also there, and that Sauron was always grouping Galadriel’s mind.

Dark!Galadriel

Tolkien gave us a description of Galadriel “dark form” in this chapter (in that context, this is what would happen if she took the One ring):

[she] stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. 

I already explained how Peter Jackson took this up a notch on his adaptation.

"I Wanted What He Offered"

And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!

These are Halbrand/Repentant Mairon's words: this was his offer to Galadriel in 1x08.

I would make you a queen. Fair as the sea and the sun. Stronger than the foundations of the earth [...] No. Not dark. Not with you at my side. You told me once, that we were brought together for a purpose. This is it. You bind me to the light. And I bind you to power. Together, we can save this Middle-earth.

But this is not Dark!Galadriel, as many assume: this is Queen Galadriel with redeem Mairon, her king consort, by her side, and ruling over Middle-earth. There is no darkness in this vision.

Sauron himself confirms this was his (previous) intention, in 2x08:

I would have placed a crown upon your head. I would never have rested until all Middle-earth had been brought to its knees, to worship the light of its Queen.

Here’s the catch: if Galadriel is using Mairon’s words (1x08) and putting emphasis on “And I shall not be dark”... why is she taking on a “dark form” in the next minute?

Mind you, only Frodo is able to see this form, because he has the One ring; in the book, Sam is also there, but he cannot see it.  

Passing the Test

Here, the “test” Galadriel is talking about is her letting go of her power thirst, and resisting her desire to take the One ring for herself.

However, “Rings of Power” has built upon this canon, already, and had her desire for power and for Sauron to be one of the same. So: can her “passing the test” have another meaning, too? Can this imply she has failed “the test” before? 

We are already saw Galadriel rebelling against the Valar and refusing to return to Valinor (accepting their pardon) in Season 1 of “Rings of Power”, like Tolkien described. However, the show has yet to mention the little detail that she has been banished from ever returning to Valinor. In the lore, this is due to her pride, her rebellion against the Valar and her thirst for power (by refusing them, and staying on Middle-earth because she wanted her own kingdom and to rule).  

The Wound aka Blood Binding

I already talked about this several times: Here, here, and here.

Adar: Sooner or later he [Sauron] sees you… His eye bores a hole, and the rest of him slithers in. For a while he even lets you believe that his power is yours. Irresistible power… that makes every desire’s fulfillment seem inevitable. An ocean of color against which everything else feels forever thereafter… Adar and Galadriel discuss their ex, Sauron, 2x06

Sauron is there to bind himself to Galadriel, no matter what. In his mind, she belongs to him. He can feel her love for him (Halbrand): I see you. I know your mind. He knows that she wanted to accept his offer. And that's what he (the "sharer of gifts") gifts to her: Sauron’s gift to Galadriel is himself, by having them binding together. This was his twisted way of saying: “You are mine, and I’m yours. Now and forever.” 

She refuses until the bitter end, and says “the door is shut”. Then, Sauron kicks that door wide open by having them binding together (by blood) using Morgoth’s crown (who already has his own blood on it):

This is the scene that starts Sauron's “grouping” of Galadriel's mind for thousands of years to come (not her “closing the door” on him, like everyone thinks. Are you all for real? Are you aware of just of powerful Sauron truly is? You think her saying a few words can stop him?).

What Sauron did is irreversible, too. And that’s why she will have to find a way to “close the door” in the future (through magic, not mere words). Galadriel needs to become the powerful elf-witch we know her as, before she can close the door of her mind to Sauron.

We already saw a tease of this when he mind communicates with her, in the next scene:

The Fall of Galadriel

The OST of Sauron and Galadriel's scene in 2x08 is not “Last Temptation”, but “The Fall of Galadriel”. Which isn’t the soundtrack for her “falling down a cliff”! This is symbolic of Galadriel’s downfall into darkness. And this has to come into play in Season 3. 

Straight out of "Harry Potter"? The scar hurts whenever Sauron is nearby? “A part of him lives inside of you?” Probably, because J.K. Rowling took a lot of inspiration from “Lord of the Rings” to create her own story.  

And this will most likely kick out Galadriel “elf-witch” arc, too, because Sauron, probably, transferred some of his powers onto to her.

Season 3 and "Dark!Galadriel"

Galadriel using Mairon's words and a Dark form appearing in her future scene with Frodo, when she resists the One ring (at last), can mean that she will accept that Halbrand and Sauron are the same, and it was with Sauron himself that she fell in love with, in Season 1. Because this is the only way to make sense with both Tolkien lore and "Rings of Power" canon.

And if this was to happen in Season 3, it would be subtle and subtextual, of course: don’t except any love confessions or kissing. The "Fall of Galadriel" (her succumbing to Sauron) can be embodied in her reluctantly accepting the darkness within herself, because she feels she can longer escape it (wound side effects).

Galadriel needs to succumb to darkness/Sauron in order to emerge victorious as the “Lady of Light” (and for her character arc to feel earned) because: to find the light, we have, first, to touch the darkness.  

This quote has been present on Galadriel’s story since the Prologue of Season 1 (the opening scene of “Rings of Power”, and the one who sets the entire mood and kicks out the story that’s about to be told), and it hasn’t come into play, yet. Galadriel hasn’t touched the darkness: she has resisted the darkness in every turn, so far.  

Side note: Galadriel killing Orcs isn’t “touching the darkness”, folks. Otherwise, every single Elf in Tolkien lore would be on Morgoth's side.

Season 3 will be the "War of the Elves and Sauron", with him wanting to retrieve the Three Elven rings of power, and attacking Lindon. "Dark!Galadriel” can come into play in this scenario.

Of course, this will be temporary, because Galadriel won’t stay on “Dark!Galadriel” mode. If this is to happen, not sure if her “snapping out of it” will be Season 3 or Season 4, even. Because Gandalf (the only character that makes sense and has the power to do this) needs to be introduced to her arc in order for her to escape Sauron’s grasp.

[rhetthammersmithhorror]

Is this a rant? This feels like a rant. Please pardon any bad grammar.

Tumblr glitch and my archive isn't showing up —

My usually empty message box had two messages (lacking any introduction or greeting) from the same person demanding to know why I'd turned my archive off. This person proudly displays their 80,000+ instagram following next to their name.

They'd followed me in the last 24 hours, obviously just to dm.

I'd never heard of this person so I checked out their Insta. It's loaded with my gifs (turned into bad looking pixelated videos). There's no mention of my tumblr (Rhett Hammersmith's International Haus of Horrors — Hammersmith Horror for brevity).

This happens a lot on other platforms and sometimes tumblr. It's just the way it is.

So I explain to this individual that it takes time to select frames from a two minute sequence and condense them into a two second sequence. It's a skill—a useless skill—that I've developed over the years.

It's not as simple as just "recording the screen".

I like to make gifs with a beginning, middle, and end. Or, if possible, a nice seamless loop. I'll make several versions until the timing is just right. I sometimes combine elements from two unrelated scenes to create a new scene. I also color correct the frames, tweak the contrast, and sharpen the details, etc.

You get the picture.

But it's not just about the creation of gifs. I have to hunt the films down, buy dvds, watch the films, do the research, etc.

Some of these movies are truly terrible. You have no idea the amount of agony that's endured while trying to extract a bit of art from them.

Just kidding — I honestly love "terrible" movies.

So anyway, this person was none too happy when asked if they just wanted access to my archive for content. They angrily called me a stalker (the irony was lost on them) and stated they're a professional video maker who uses $300 software!

A whole $300?! Wow! They must really be a pro!

So yeah, I make these gifs out of a love for weird little movies. People like the content and they share it. That's what it's about. But, would it hurt them, would they lose followers, if they gave the original content creators a little credit?

I've made gifs for years and have never asked for anything but a little credit. Is that really too much to ask?

Oh well.

C’est la vie, I guess.

Thanks for reading all this.

Rhett

[rosesnink]

artist and writer love

i'm a day late, but let me love y'all anyways

starting with the writers-

@princess-geek & @missameliep - my sweet, beloved dani and debora, my closest friends in this hellsite. it's been almost six years since we became friends (where did the time go?!) and my, what a ride it's been! you guys have been my rocks for longer than anyone, and i can't imagine writing without telling you girls about it, and i hope that one day we may meet and take the writing world by storm! i love you both and i hope that more years are ahead of us

@storyofmychoices - sweet dani, you organizing this every year and making of this fandom something easier to make is no small feat, and i'm thankful i've been getting to know you personally and to call you a dear friend <3 thank you for not only giving us this, but also write such amazing cute little drabbles that just warm me on terrible days

@aria-ashryver - my beloved aria, getting to know you these past months has been the sweetest treat. you're not full of light because you ARE light itself, wherever you go, it seems to follow you, even across the sea, and despite going through it you remain kind and loving, which can be difficult. i really admire you and i hope to one day be half the woman and author that you are

@lilyoffandoms - lils, you have been there from the beginning of my fandom journey, and while we've had our bumps, you're a key part of my life, and i like to read your stuff from time to time, because it's seriously awesome, and your art?! it's so unique and really stands out from the others, to the point where i say 'oh, lily has posted new art!' without needing to double-check who posted what. thank you for putting up with me, which is no small feat, and to more years together! (also, maiele is next on my mcs interacting victim)

@thosehallowedhalls - queridisima cee, even though we haven't known each other for long, you've become so dear to me, and i confess i couldn't bring myself to write more of nerea's journey without you being here, cause it seemed pointless if i couldn't send you spinnets and gush over how nerea is slowly gravitating towards bas, but now that you're here... get ready, cause nere's story has just taken off, and things are about to get interesting!

@dutifullynuttywitch - cherie, your ocs are beautiful, your writing is simply poetic and gorgeous and you are such a sweet person, i smile when i see you on my dash, and even though you gravitate more towards rc these days (and i do not blame you, it's going to the dogs lately) i'm thankful for your presence and i hope we can begin properly talking this 2025! merci for everything, chou <3 (salut from spain!! and pardon my hyperbasic and terrible french lol)

@aallotarenunelma - sweet aallotar, i couldn't cap the writers section without finishing with you because it'd be basphemous. each of your ocs are so unique, detailed and perfectly written, and you give them a part of your finnish culture, which makes them stand out from the crowd, and are so richly-crafted, it's easy to fall in love with them. you are one of my prime role models for both as a person and creator, and i hope that one day we can meet and give you all the hugs you deserve, since i plan to study abroad in the north someday

and now, moving onto the artists...

@erixadraws - sweet erica, your art is outwordly, such a calming and colorful painting that i want to stay in, and raya is such a gorgeous and sweet girl, i enjoyed writing her with my dear brienne, and i love to gush over tfoa with you! thank you for your amazing drawings, which aren't short on magic. seriously, you should animate a children's series someday!

@oh-so-youre-a-nerd - queride elliott, your art is simply out of this world, and you always manage to take it to a new level i thought impossible, and your magic hands can do the most outstanding things i've ever seen in my fandom career, but most of all, i'm thankful for our friendship and how you've always been there for me in every aspect <3 thank you for everything, el <3

@cadybear420 - dear cady, your edits are simply fabulous, you always manage to outdo yourself and each of your mcs are so developed, so unique from one another and you add it a certain touch that always makes me go 'oh, that oc must be cady's!' because they all have that cady magic few can master, and your presence in the fandom is a much needed breath of fresh air!

@swallowandsun - lily, i know that you and i met on another fandom, but you being here makes me so happy, and your ocs, no matter the fandom, are always so amazingly made, and fit the narrative so well, it's admirable, and your gifs and videos?! chef's kiss. the fandom's not ready for you, girl!

@zhoras-bitch - i know that rn you're mia, but you're such a sweet person, and i think of your edits and ocs thrice a day, and getting to know you and see you grow has been a treat, and i hope i can see you again here, at your own time and pace ofc <3

and you, don't worry if you didn't have a shoutout from me, there's more days to come ;)

@choicesfandomappreciation

[donnerpartyofone]

I'm fairly agnostic about the paranormal, in that I think it is healthy and useful to entertain the idea that reality extends beyond your limited understanding, but also I get turned off when people impose too much specific mythology and dogma on things. But one of my consistent mystery experiences is my sixth sense that there is something at the thrift store for me. I get a visceral feeling of deep certainty and it is always correct, and also when the feeling doesn't arrive I almost never find anything. So today when I got the feeling I went in there and there was this rust-colored twill work dress in my exact size and shape. I need to figure out what bra most helps with the universal boob gap, but it's not terrible even with zero bra. Pardon the stickers but my face melted off while I was riding around on my errands and I didn't feel like putting it back on for photos.

I shouldn't be spending money but I'm also going through a molt. Which is how I think of it when I experience the need to freshen up my style. I'm sure others experience this different ways, for me it feels like cell turnover. Or rather shell turnover. If I indulge the molting process it can bring in some fresh energy, maybe I'll even find a new job.

[zhonyua]

birthday

neuvillette birthday fic.

context: there is something wrong with everyone today. neuvillette wonders what's happening.

content: my pookie's birthday, he needs some love. spoilers for fontaine archon quest. very small fic.

neuvillette was busy as always. he went to work earlier than normal, since he was in need of some distraction after everything that happened.

he sighed softly, reviewing some documents another time, to make sure they were correctly signed and read.

suddenly, a hurried knock on the door made him look up.

"come in." his voice sounded too loud to his ears, but he tried to ignore that.

a melusine opened the door and peeked at him, taking a deep breath before entering the place and walking - the fastest that her little legs could walk - towards his desk.

"monsieur neuvillette, pardon my intrusion but there's something happening outside!" she looked nervous and that made neuvillette furrow his eyebrows.

"something happening? what do you mean by that, sedene?" he asked the little melusine who cleared her throat and pointed to the door.

"i can't explain by words, you need to see it!" her little hands moved frenetically in front of her.

"alright, please calm down, sedene." neuvillette got up, walking towards the melusine and patting her head with his hands, trying to calm her down.

she rushed to grab his hand and pull him outside of palais mermonia. he seemed even more confused and concerned, following the melusine around.

it was a sunny day, i mean, before neuvillette got worried. now it was more like a cloudy day, the sun being hidden by the clouds.

when they both left palais mermonia, neuvillette's eyes met the traveler and paimon, who were waiting for him with an impatient look on their faces.

"monsieur, finally you're here." the traveler, lumine, hurried to meet him.

"traveler, what seems to be the problem?" neuvillette looked at her with concern in his eyes, before looking around to check his surroundings. everything looked perfectly fine.

"oh, it's terrible! it's horrible!" paimon flew in circles around them, her little hands on her head.

"i'm sorry, monsieur, but you need to see it with your own eyes." lumine said and ran towards the opposite side, paimon flying behind her. neuvillette blinked a few times before following her.

something terrible must have happened. the sky was already changing to a darker color, matching the worries in neuvillette's mind.

when he finally reached lumine, everyone was there. furina, wriothesley, siggewine, navia, clorinde, lumine and paimon. even some melusines too.

before he could even ask what was the matter, everyone shouted at the same time.

"surprise!"

lots of confetti flew in the air, falling on his hair and clothes. his eyes widened. he felt even more confused than before.

"w-what?" it was all that he could say.

"did you really think we would forget about your birthday?" furina laughed, patting his shoulder and smiling brightly.

birthday?

oh right, it was his birthday.

his eyes softened in understanding.

"oh." he whispered, making furina laugh even more.

"oh, poor neuvillette! he really thought something bad had happened!" she covered her mouth while mocking him and lumine shook her head, smiling.

"sorry, monsieur. but we knew that you wouldn't leave palais mermonia unless something really serious had happened." she said, giving a little box to him.

"i couldn't miss your birthday for nothing, so of course i managed to come too!" siggewine said, giving him a gift too.

"happy birthday, neuvillette. fontaine wouldn't be the same without you." wriothesley said, his usually serious face warming up in a small smile.

soon, everyone talked to him, giving him gifts and pats in his shoulder.

the sky was already clean again. the sun shining brightly and happily up there.

neuvillette looked at everyone, his friends, having fun, laughing and talking.

maybe it wasn't so bad to create bonds among mortals. maybe it wasn't so bad to have friends.

a small smile perked up on his lips.

[ithinkabouttzu]

Hi there, may I request an Enhypen matchup? Pardon if my info is lengthy, thank you so much ❣️

𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬/𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗦: Transmasc (AFAB) Genderfluid, Biromantic and Pansexual; He/They

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘: 21 years old, 5'1.5", Southeast Asian (Filipino). Chubby with messy shoulder length brunette hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a small beauty mark on my forehead. Feminine Tomboy archetype, Soft Punk/Rock Chick and Rustic fashion style (like Malia Tate) but loves to wear Korean makeup look

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬: Libra-Scorpio cusp, Slytherin with patronous spirit of Hummingbird, ENTP-T, my enneagram is 4w5 and Neutral Good. I may have introverted and awkward tendencies and anxious nature also behave as modest, gentle, dainty, and polite, I describe myself as fiery, confident, loud, humorous, and, passionate ambiverted individual who doesn't mind to be vocal about everything and would always stand on what I truly believed claiming to be a realist, plus I swear on a daily basis contrary to my soft features. Though sarcasm and savagery are my main language, I'm religious, super talkative, hyper, giggly, joyful, supportive, intellectual, friendly, sweet, nice, curious, [somehow] optimistic, young-at-heart, clumsy, unfortunate,. and inattentive who gets lost in my fantasies so easily but unashamed to be true to myself and could act as a mediator, a boy scout friend, and baby of the group all in all, additionally I'm spontaneous, procrastinator, lazy, quick-tempered, and a bit frightful. I will act noble and good-natured to someone who deserves respect the most. Gifted in artistic fields (mainly visual arts and singing) and extremely devoted with my ambitions aligned with them---will never stop until I get what I want cause' I know what I'm doing; Might come off as carefree, I can be serious, unruly, and competitive especially in academics though I never show it. The darker side of mine would be feisty and aggressive (due to anger issues) when someone triggered me where I may become cold, intimidating, and scary when enraged, would don't give a f and discreetly shady towards the people that I hate, and will cut off a connection with someone if needed without any hesitation; Sometimes I call someone out in secret when they dare to invalidate my feelings. My deepest side is I'm a soft-hearted overthinker that cry over small things sounding so petty and dramatic, frustrated for being a perfectionist provoking even more due to living up with expectations which stressed me out, and undeniably hopeless romantic recognizes a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see myself as equal.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦/𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦: Arts, choir, poetry, karaoke, literature, history, makeup, beauty pageants, eating, random conversations, expanding my knowledge in Christianity, biographies about saints, cute minimalistic stuffs, reading interesting things, talking about social issues, creative writing, memes, cartoons, and chilling both indoors and outdoors

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦: Stereotyping, mandatory necessities (without a logical reason), being left out, interruptions, emotional invalidation, judgemental people, no privacy, forcing to do I'm against with, gaslighters, telenovelas, hypocrites, dirty bathrooms, blackout, lightning, firecrackers, toads, snakes, cockroaches, toxic masculinity, misogyny, fake wokes, colonial mentality, and overly girly things

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦: Drawing, conceptualizing artworks, writing, singing, dancing when nobody's around (I'm very bad at it), walking like a so-so called model (if I ever feel so confident), sharing nerdy or opinionated thoughts, sleeping, listening to music (2000s, rock, kpop, and EDM), chatting and browsing on social media, watching videos on YouTube, creating clay charms, making terrible jokes or puns, watching cartoons, cooking, reading interesting things, and running an HTML color value code (occasionally). I also used to study Italian language a bit

Hi yes thank you so much for requesting lovely! 💗

I ship you with…

Kim Sunoo!

Song recommendation: Style - Taylor Swift

- Okay I think you guys would be so nice together, like y’all share some of the same interests and I think he would be a nice refreshment to you!

- When he met you, he would find you so cute! I think yalls relationship would form into a friendship at first and then something more romantic slowly on

- You are a strong person sunoo is always supportive of that, and he’s so glad he’s with someone as so special as you. He admires your ambition so much! he’s like that one supportive wife that loves seeing their husband accomplish his goals

- He loves just goofing off with you sometimes and acting like two little kids together ( i just know you guys have the BEST fun 😹)

- You guys can also get down on some karaoke date nights for sure! (he always tells you how good of a singer you are and reminds you that you guys should do a duet together anytime y’all go out for karaoke)

- He will always valid your emotions and feelings! He wants to be a shoulder you can always cry or lean on at anytime.

- He also admires your passion so much! He sees you as his own protector sometimes because he knows you will ALWAYS be there and stick up for him whenever!!

- canon: Okay one time he caught you dancing home alone and he thought it was SO cute, and when you catching him watching you he will just be there with the cutest smile ever clapping his hands

- He LOVES when you cook for him omg ��� to him food is like a love language and always appreciates it when you cook for him!

- But overall y’all would be the sweetest adorable couple ever 😭 I’m shipping so hard rn LITERALLY

[daevastanner]

📖 🌸 Among the Flowers

G W Y N L A I N

I’m bi— happy Pride!

Read it on ao3

There were things in life that reminded Elain Archeron of flowers. Objects, places, and sometimes even people. Sometimes they would embody the constitution of peonies or have the complexion of a rose. Since living in Prythian and being among the fae, such thoughts had started to consume her. With their various shapes and colors and sizes Elain quickly assigned most everyone she crossed with a flower or shrub or some type of greenery. It came to her with ease.

That was, until she’d met Nesta’s new friend in the river house gardens. And everything changed.

Elain froze outside the back door, the crystal vase she carried nearly slipping from her hands as the breath was stolen from her chest.

She had never seen someone so beloved by the sun. The way the buttery light turned the female’s hair to molten metal. How it made the caramel flecked freckles on her face stark. How the teal eyes fixed upon the pages of her book rivaled the glimmering Sidra beyond. Gods, those eyes. Like water. She was water and sunlight incarnate and the sight of her made Elain’s knees weak.

Gathering herself, Elain started towards the bed of roses that the female sat in front of, ducking her chin so the brim of her sun hat hid her blush.

She knelt on the stone walkway, hyper aware of the priestess reading on the bench behind her. Her stomach flipped as she both dreaded and prayed to be addressed by who she assumed was Gwyneth B… Gwyneth B—something.

Retrieving the snipping sheers from the folds of her apron, Elain leaned forward and set to trimming the roses — one by one she placed them in the crystal vase she’d set on the ground beside her.

“Oh!”

Elain jumped at the gasp behind her, unable to stop herself from looking over her shoulder, wide eyed.

The priestess wore an expression of shock, one hand pressed to her chest.

Speckled cheeks flushed, Gwyneth’s gaze flicked from Elain to the pages of her book. She smiled bashfully. “Sorry, you frightened me.”

Elain’s lips parted in surprise. “I— Sorry.”

Gwyn shook her head, shutting her book and placing it in her lap. “No, don’t apologize.” She laughed abashedly. “I can get so swept up when I’m reading and become terribly unaware of my surroundings.”

Elain felt her lips curve up, the tension leaving her shoulders. “I feel similarly when I’m gardening.” A part of Elain she’d thought to be dormant, suddenly bloomed. A part that had nearly wilted for good when she’d been shoved into the Cauldron. The part of her that was an adept flirt. “You’re in good company, Gwyneth.”

The priestess’s brows rose and Elain watched as her sunny disposition flickered excitedly. “Th-thank you.”

Elain nodded once and turned back to her roses, continuing to snip at the stems as though her heart wasn’t hammering against her ribs. As though she wasn’t hoping that Gwyneth would speak again.

“Gwyn.”

Elain swallowed the dryness in her throat, but didn’t turn her head when she said, “Pardon?”

“Just— You can call me Gwyn. Most everyone does.”

Again, the girl who had once charmed many a man during her days of good fortune rose to the surface, and she tossed over her shoulder with a soft smile, “That’s a pretty name.”

The priestess then blurted: “So are you.”

Elain’s brows lifted in amusement, a frantic laugh bubbling in her chest.

Gwyn blinked, face draining of color. “I meant, so is yours. Your name is pretty. It’s pretty too. Elain. That’s… that’s very pretty.”

“But not me?” Elain frowned.

Gwyn’s wide eyes grew even larger and her book slid out of her lap. “No! You’re… you’re very pretty.”

Shifting on her knees to face the priestess, Elain wiped her dirty hands on the rough fabric of her apron. Once satisfied her fingers wouldn’t tarnish Gwyn’s book and that they wouldn’t shake with anticipation, Elain picked up the novel and extended it up to where the priestess sat.

She reached for it with long, freckled fingers, briefly brushing Elain’s knuckles. “Thank you… Elain.”

Smiling and reluctant to release the book, Elain hummed and unfolded the dusty pink skirts of her dress from beneath her knees — splaying it about her like a blooming lily. “You’re here to see Nesta?”

Placing her book on the empty space next to her, Gwyn shrugged. “If she isn’t busy. I’m trying to get out more and this place feels… safe.”

“It is the home of the most powerful High Lord and Lady in the history of Prythian.”

Gwyn’s bashful smile was suddenly wicked, making Elain’s heart flutter. “And the Kingslayer of course.”

It wasn’t everyday Elain reveled in her brief display of heroics. More often than not she shied away from the memory of shoving that black blade through Hybern’s throat. However, if the reward for rejoicing in her violent victory was Gwyneth Berdara’s wicked smile, Elain would gladly bask.

She winked at Gwyn. “You’re one to talk, Carynthian.”

“Valkyrie,” Gwyn corrected.

Elain quite liked the song of authority in the priestess’s melodic voice. “Valkyrie,” she amended. Eager to continue the conversation, she gestured to the closed book. “What were you reading?”

Gwyn bit her lower lip, averting her eyes. Again, her cheeks colored and it was lovely. The priestess was beautiful when painted pink.

“I’ll assume it’s a sacred and holy text of which you can tell me very little since I’m not in your priestesshood,” Elain teased.

Gwyn laughed at that — a sound like silver bells. “It’s hardly what one would call holy, much less a text belonging to the priestesshood.” She lowered her voice, leaning her elbows on the knees of her blue skirts. “You’re familiar with your sister’s preferred reading material?”

This time Elain’s eyes widened. Yes, she was certainly aware of Nesta’s favorite genre of literature, although she’d never had the courage to read one herself.

Gwyn’s teal eyes glinted. “You are?”

“Not on a personal level.” Elain tucked an escaped lock of hair back up into her hat. “But I’m not… exactly well read.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Gwyn whispered. “They can be quite daunting to pick up at first.”

Intrigued, Elain leaned forward, her face no more than a foot away from Gwyn’s. “How did you start?”

“Your sister and Emerie gave me some milder material to start.” Gwyn’s grin became crooked. “I can give you a recommendation if you like. I’m well versed by now.”

Something about the remark made muscles deep in Elain’s belly clench. All she could do was nervously bob her head.

Gwyn nodded sagely, then propped her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her knuckles.

Half a foot from Elain’s face.

“Adventure or mystery?”

The scent of the sea washed over Elain but she managed to say, “Adventure.”

Gwyn hummed. “Daring or humorous?”

Elain’s eyes flitted to the priestess’s pink lips. “Humorous.”

Gwyn angled her head, her hair spilling over her shoulder like a curtain of molten metal. “Males or females?”

Elain had only dared ask herself that question on a number of occasions, and though she’d never said it aloud, the answer had always been: both.

But now, looking into Gwyneth Berdara’s eyes and sharing in this tremulous moment, rich with the promise of pleasure and… something more, her answer had changed.

Elain said, “Females.”

“Females,” Gwyn repeated.

Elain nodded and she couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like for her nose to brush against the pert tip of the priestess’s.

When had their roles reversed? When had Elain become the flustered one? Hadn’t it been Gwyn who was blushing and baffled first? Apparently she’d recovered with that rumored Valkyrie’s strength and was determined to shatter Elain’s confident facade.

“I know just the thing,” Gwyn whispered.

Elain held her breath…

And Gwyneth Berdara stood in one fluid movement.

Elain looked up at her, still on her knees. With her sparkling teal eyes and her slender form swathed in blue and bathed in sunlight, a flower came to Elain’s mind.

Nemophila. She’s a Nemophila. Boraginaceae family.

The delicate baby blue flower that Elain’s father had once brought her back from a merchant venture overseas.

The priestess offered Elain her hand and when she hauled the Archeron to her feet, she found herself surprised at the sturdy strength in such a willowy build. The callouses on such elegant fingers.

Three inches from Gwyneth Berdara’s face now.

“I’ll have to retrieve it from the House’s private library, but I’ll bring it to you,” Gwyn said, a tentative smile on her lips as she released Elain’s hand.

Elain fought to memorize the texture of the priestess’s skin, but managed to respond. “I’d like that.”

Gather yourself, Elain.

She inhaled through her nose, dipping her chin and wearing the simpering smile of a practiced socialite. The same smile that had brought suitor’s to their knees. The same smile that had now made Gwyneth Berdara’s arched ears turn pink.

Elain gave a small curtsy, her eyes holding Gwyn’s gaze. “I have gardening to do.” In one fluid motion, she descended back to the garden walkway before the flower bed, skirts rustling around her gracefully. “I look forward to receiving your recommendation.”

There was a pause in which Elain took immense satisfaction realizing that she’d rendered her prey entirely speechless. She picked up her sheers and resumed her gardening.

Gwyn’s soft footsteps sounded and Elain waited patiently.

Three… Two… One…

“And where will I find you? Once I have the book?” Gwyn asked, her voice closer to the back door of the river house now.

Elain paced herself, dropping a rose into the crystal vase then slowly lifting her head to meet Gwyneth Berdara’s stare. She smiled. “Among the flowers, Gwyn.”

Gwyn matched that smile, simple and genuine and hopeful. “Among the flowers then.”

[kyberphilosopher]

Reverse Flash

A backwards version of your favorite speedster comes searching for Barry, only to find you instead. 

Word Count: 2403 Warnings: Crude Humor. Not proof read yet because I’m too tired. 

As per my latest fics, the gender of the reader is not specified. 

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Barry was always nice to you.

Well, Barry was nice to everyone. I mean, his parents named him Barry. He was set up for a life of cheekiness before he was even born. But Barry was nice to you even after ‘the incident’. Barry was nice to you when everyone else stopped. On top of that, Barry was being nicer to you than usual lately.

Probably because he and Iris were having a rough spot.

That was the only annoying thing. Barry liked you, and he was interested in you, but you were still second place. He was just using you. He wouldn’t marry you, or feel a deep longing for you. He’d just take you on ice skating rink dates in the winter and give you the best Valentine’s day of your life every year. Which is everyone’s dream, you guess, but it wouldn’t have been genuine, no matter what Barry managed to convince himself.

Barry’s little support team seemed to be on the same page as you (which was a first), which both added to and subdued your aggravation. All of them were in agreement of the simple fact: you were no good for Barry. Mr. Flash was the only one who didn’t seem to get the memo.

In the very beginning, things weren’t like how they were now. Team Flash or whatever the name was considered you good colleague, and they trusted you because Allen trusted you. You had been friends with Barry longer than anyone else there. And of course you were smart, and you handled annoying journalists and incriminating footage like it was nothing. But then you’d suggested using lethal force to subdue one of the Flash’s biggest problems. That’s when the air changed. That’s when people decided you should not now, not ever go on a date with him. It would throw off the whole rhythm of the team, probably Barry’s morals and possible the timeline. Lucky you.

Though flat out rejecting Barry might make it worse. You had been irritable lately. Maybe a little more sarcastic than normal. What if you snap, and then the team snaps too? And sweet little Barry is too kind to tell you off? God, you knew you were the worst, but the thought alone seemed like more than just ‘the worst’. It was like a tornado of stinky shit just barreling toward you, somehow simultaneously faster than the speed of light and slower than a turtle filled with rocks for organs.

And it was all definitely Barry Allen’s fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Stuck with watching Headquarters while all the speedsters go out and... speed. Who knows. You’re out of the loop with the whole... speed demon thing. You’re pretty sure they have a group chat without you. Fuckin’ nerds.

Your legs are stretched out to the desk in front of you. They cross over each other at the ankles, to the left of the big computer monitor that’s supposed to display the heartbeats of the team but is instead displaying something from cartoon network. A near empty bag of Chinese food sits at your side, it’s contents littered across the table.

As you chew, you look around the room. Several suits in display cases curve against the wall in a half circle, illuminated by blue light. Some are burgundy, some are silver, and some are golden. And you could smash every single one of them right now.

But you won’t, and you don’t. Not to say it isn’t tempting- it is. You still don’t touch the suits. 

God, what’s been wrong with you recently? Barry was your friend, and yet you’d been so annoyed with him. His flirting had only made it worse. Wally wasn’t any better. He got even more annoying once thinking about how childish, yet powerful he was. All the Kid Flash’s were just temporary brats that never stayed, whether you  liked them or not. And Iris wasn’t a fan of you. That was fine, because you weren’t exactly a friend of Iris’s either. So the most important part of your life that literally depended on superhuman existence and stopping crime was teetering because of pure social discomfort. Typical.

You’re watching the screen that serves as the closest light in the room as you shovel the next bite of rice between your lips. Neon colors make the shadows across your face feel alive and electric. It makes the glow in your eyes more prominent, encouraged by the childish nature of the media. You’ve just finished a snarky personal comment and given yourself another bite of rice when he appears to you.

He looks like Barry. The only difference is that he’s the complete opposite.

Instead of scarlet, his speed suit is yellow with red and dark grey accents. They remind you of blood lightning at the seams. Even under his half mask, he seems so familiar but so much more defined than your friend. As he exits the slice of colorful air and thunder, the heels of his shoes skidding across the floor, the red glow in his eyes settles into a calmer thrum.

And you’re still frozen in place, eyes wide as you still yourself mid chew.

The yellow speedster settles his orbs on you. They’re intelligent, and in the reflection of the little light in the room you can see they’re not red, but blue. And you? You’re just a deer in the headlights. 

“Aw, you’re not Barry,” he groans in disappointment, standing straighter as his arms cross over his chest. 

You finally continue your chewing, keeping your wide eyes on the intruder. Then you swallow it down. In your chest, your heart thump, thump, thumps with something. Fear? Not quite. Anxiety? Almost. It’s something else. Something more... intuitive. And the way this man looks at you makes you think that he can hear it, even from where he stands. That he knows.

“Uh... no?”

The man responds not a millisecond after you’ve gotten the words out. “Where is he? Where’s Barry Allen?”

Woof. His voice is throaty and laced with sarcasm, even though he’s clearly deathly serious. But the vibrations send a funny spasm straight to that little place between your legs, making the nerves in your spine dance with alertness. Arousal. Barry was never able to do that, let alone with just the sound of his voice.  

“Doing something?” you decide. “I don’t know.”

The golden man cocks his head to the side, almost smirks, and takes a step forward. “Hey, I know you.” His arms uncross. One raises and bends to point at you. “You’re Barry’s tech support. I remember reading about you in his museum.”

Your brows furrow. Hurriedly, you clear the take-out box from your lap and begin wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You drop your legs from their position on the desk to their normal position on the floor, knees bent. “Uh... I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah... Y/N L/N. Now I see it.” The man leans back on his heels and looks around the room. The red glow in his orbs burn away completely so it’s just him. “Ah, so this must be before you defected, huh? Interesting.”

“Pardon?!” you call again. Now you’re sitting forward, disbelief across your face. 

Golden speedster smiles. It looks evilly distorted, even though it’s just a normal smile. It curves his face sarcastically. His hands fly upwards as if in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. You know actually, you’re kind of a villain in my time. This is nice for me.”

“Great, I’ll tell Barry when I see him,” you bite.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now how about you tell me where Barry is before I erase you from existence.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat as the quick bolt of fear fizzles from your system. Your eyes trail down to his chest for just a quick second, but it’s quick enough to observe yet another difference between your familiar scarlet speedster and him. The circle surrounding the lightning bolt on his chest is facing the opposite direction, red, and that circle is filled with black. It’s as if he were the complete opposite of Barry. A reverse Barry. 

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

You blink once, still in your roll-y chair. 

You’re not sure what to do here. On one hand, this guy radiates pure evil. You should really alert Barry or one of the other members of Team Flash. But for one reason or another you’ve made no attempt to. You’ve got no clue who this dude is other than the fact that he seems more inclined to rip the fabric of time apart than anyone else. There’s no doubt in your mind he really will erase you from existence if you make one wrong move. But what’s the wrong move?

On the other hand, Team Flash has been a bunch of dickhead’s to you. Barry has been ironically slow to the whole thing. Would it be so bad if you did make a wrong move? Not for you, but for your friends? They’d all die, wouldn’t they? This yellow one would end them, and then what? Would it really be so horrible for you? You can’t imagine mourning much.

“I don’t,” you say again, slowly. “They’re in the city. I don’t know where.”

The man seems to think for a moment, cocking his head back so the light behind the glass cases catches his sharpened features. “Hmm.”

Without even blinking, now he’s in front of you. So close, you can smell him. It’s not terribly strong, it’s just masculine. But it’s also flowery, with a dash of sweat from running. And then there’s something more. Something... metallic? 

Both his hands clutch the arms of the chair beside you, trapping you as you lean back reflexively. “Did you know that I killed Barry’s childhood best friend before he was born?” the man says lowly. 

On instinct, you prepare yourself to say, ‘Barry doesn’t have a childhood best friend’. Then you realize why. 

He continues. “Would you tell me where Barry was if you did know?”

You don’t even think about it. You’re true to your nature. “I don’t know, would I?”

Blip! You wait to burst into a cloud of nothingness. To never have been born or even get to be a ghost. But fifteen seconds later you’re still alive. And from the way Barry talks about being a Flash, fifteen seconds is a long time for someone of that caliber. 

The man is back by the cases of suits now. You can see his muscles through his suit. They’re more defined than Barry’s, thank God. 

“I think you would. But it’s gonna be hard to do that when you’ve got my fingers vibrating into your skull.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be hard to speak when my fingers are inside you.”

You cup a hand against your ear. “Huh?”

“I said-” The man stops. His eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest once more. “Oh, I see.” A short, dry- but genuine- laugh falls from his throat. “Very funny. Very, very funny.”

Suddenly, your eyebrows crease together in confusion. You place both palms on the arms of the chair for leverage as you push yourself into a stand, as if stirred by some great, important purpose. “Wait. Did you say you were going to stick your fingers inside me?”

“I knew you and I were the same,” he drawls. He sounds entertained. As if in his eyes, missing Barry and meeting you instead was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. 

“Can’t you just...” Your shoulders slump as you glance around. “Just kill Barry and get on with it?”

“Aw, no. This is far more interesting.”

“Fingers in my skull...?” you whisper, half to yourself. Then you look up to him with a snap. “You are so weird,” you tell Reverse Barry, emphasizing it with a low point. “So weird.”

“Want me to tell your future?” 

Again with the voice and the nerves in that special place. 

“I gotta say, it’s kind of disturbing,” the man smirks. “You’ll love it.”

“Weird.”

Across the base, just two hallways away, something clicks. It’s a familiar click. It’s the click of the door opening. 

Quickly, you glance backwards, then lean down to pause the show on the computer. You hadn’t even realized it was still going. Once that’s done, the man is still standing in front of you. That sinister and yet innocent grin is still dancing across his face, though his steely eyes are totally locked on you. 

“What, weirdo? You know where he is now. Aren’t you gonna go get him?”

“You want me to so badly, don’t you?” Reverse Barry whispers. You just give him a look. 

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

And then the speedster is gone. Right on time, too, cause Barry jogs into the room not a second later. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you turn around. 

“Did I just... see someone here?” Barry points towards your end of the room in his scarlet suit. Huh. Reverse Barry was taller too. 

“What are you on about?” you throw casually. “Nobody’s been here but me since you left.”

“Are you sure?” the Flash keeps pushing. You hate it. Pushing. 

“Yes, Barry,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure. Oh, by the way, Barry. Did you have a childhood best friend?”

Barry frowns. “No, why?”

You smile to yourself as you turn back away from him. The other speedster’s footsteps are coming closer and closer. You can hear them echo off the walls. 

“No reason,” you answer with a smirk just as one of them enters the room, probably to give you crap again.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fun fact, Reverse Flash is actually my favorite villain in DC comics. Bro is vicious in the comics. I just hate all the live action versions of him we get. Lego DC Villains Reverse Flash and Injustice 2 are the best versions. Injustice 2 is my personal preference. I’d like to do more with this but, who knows. Depends how this is received. #lol

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

Dear Heart - CH 12

Dick Winters x Melanie Davis

Summary: Melanie Davis is a nurse from North Carolina who has lived a sheltered life since her father died. Her father’s best friend, Colonel Sink, invites her to experience more as a regimental nurse for the 506th PIR of the 101st Airborne. She embarks on the adventure of a lifetime.

Tag list: @thoughpoppiesblow​​​​​​ @primusk​​ @itswormtrain​​​ @hesbuckcompton-baby​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Word Count: 5k (another doozy but omg a lot has to happen okay? they have to talk, Dick has to be a simp, it’s important to the plot)

A/N: Thank you again to @mercurygray​​​​ for being a wonderful beta reader, as always <3

Warning(s): Descriptions of an assault

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11

Chapter 12 here we go!!

A warm spring began in Germany, welcoming the American invaders with its beautiful scenery and pleasant weather. Melanie wondered how people who lived in such a lovely place could have begun a war that was so terrible. The regiment came to a long stop in a town called Sturzelberg, where there was a hospital, and Melanie finally felt like a regular nurse again. She even got to change out of her OD’s and into her nursing uniform dress. It was wrinkled from the journey in her bag, rolled up at the bottom until she could wear it again. It was somewhat of a homecoming, though it seemed a different girl stepped into it. Not even a girl at all, really. A grown woman. A changed woman. 

Her and Juliet’s billet had a mirror, so she took the opportunity to really look at herself for the first time in weeks. Though she was clean, she looked tired. She didn’t have much color to her face, and she had lost more weight. She frowned at her reflection, hearing her mother loud and clear in her mind. To her surprise, she voiced what she heard. 

“Thin and pale,” she murmured. “That won’t do.”

Juliet looked up from her notebook. “I beg your pardon?” 

Melanie did not reply. She was too busy pinching her cheeks along the bone, giving them a semblance of rosiness. It was an old trick, but a useful one. So was chewing one’s lips to make them red if one didn’t have any rouge, which was her next task.

“Mel, what the bloody hell are you doing?” Juliet demanded, getting to her feet. 

“Making myself somewhat presentable,” Melanie answered. “Now that we’re back in relative comfort, I’ve got no excuse for walking around looking like a rag doll.” 

Juliet scoffed in disbelief. Then she stood in front of Melanie, took her by the shoulders, and looked into her eyes, searching. 

“What are you doing?” Melanie asked. 

“I’m looking for Melanie Davis, I hope she’s still in there,” Juliet returned. 

It occurred to Melanie that Juliet had only known the exhausted, wounded Melanie from weeks at war and no sleep. Already a little jaded from the amount of wounded who passed through. Of course she didn’t recognize the Melanie from before - who lived with constant reminders of femininity and vanity she’d had ingrained in her since childhood. 

She rolled her eyes and dislodged herself from Juliet’s grip. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it’s me.” 

“You’ve been through hell on Earth,” Juliet pointed out. “Who cares what you look like?”

Melanie hadn’t thought of it that way. And she had certainly not had many experiences of criticism being met with compassion. She didn’t always feel she deserved compassion - she was happy to give it to others but for herself? Perfection only. It was hitting her now what an impossible standard she was holding herself to. 

“Oh, I must sound awfully vain,” Melanie sighed. “I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it if I prefer feeling feminine. I can’t believe how much I took for granted just having lipstick or nail polish.” 

“Obviously, you can enjoy those things, but I cannot stand by and let you say that you ‘won’t do,’” Juliet replied. “You’re a beautiful woman, with or without lipstick.” 

Melanie looked at the floor and fixed her clothes. “That’s very kind of you, thank you.”

She was unused to getting such compliments. Her mother had always fixated on Melanie’s looks, though she had never been insulting. It was always reassurance that she was pretty enough to “catch a husband.” But, as she had pointed out to herself, there was more to the world than all that. The war was still on. She had a job to do. 

“Alright, I’m off to work,” she said. “It feels mighty fine to be saying that again.” 

She forced herself to smile, putting all thoughts of her appearance behind her. She just needed to get back to a hospital and work with patients so she could start feeling like herself again. Juliet wished her luck, and then Melanie was off. 

***

As they made their way deeper into Germany, Dick’s inner conflict deepened, too. Melanie’s condition, her moods and general demeanor, seemed to improve, while Lew seemed to get steadily worse. The day of the jump (which he was still a bit bitter to have missed, despite its outcome), when Dick had to tell his best friend about his demotion, he was disturbed by Nix’s non-reaction, followed by flippant remarks to disguise a frustration he clearly would not voice. Dick sought out the only person he felt he could talk to about his concerns - Melanie. 

He went first to her billet. The day was drawing to a close, so he assumed she would be back by now from the hospital. Juliet opened the door and looked surprised to see him.

“Oh! Hello, Major,” she said. 

“Is Melanie here?” he asked, getting right to the point. 

“No, she hasn’t come back from the hospital yet,” she told him. “Is everything alright? Did you have something...important to tell her?” 

She raised a knowing eyebrow at him and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. At this point, he wasn’t sure who was more invested in his relationship with Melanie - Nix or Juliet. He wondered what might have happened if she had been around to help orchestrate the Paris trip. For now, he let it slide.  

“I just want to talk to her,” he said. “Thanks, though.” 

“Worth a shot,” she said under her breath. “Well, let me know if we need to send out a search party.” 

“Will do,” he said, amused. “See you later.”

She nodded in return and closed the door. Dick headed to the hospital. He looked forward to seeing Melanie - he always did. He just wished his friends would see that, and realize it was enough for now. There was enough understanding between them that they were pretty well aware of what they felt for each other. At least, Dick was sure he understood. But there was still a war, and that wasn’t really the place for romance. 

By the time he arrived at the hospital, he had pushed his frustrations with his friends to the back of his mind. In the first ward, he found Melanie, in a chair beside a patient’s bed, a deck of cards between them on a tray, and laughter on her face. The patient pulled a card from his hand and laid it down, which made Melanie’s jaw drop. 

“Another red three?” she gasped. “I think it’s very clear how this game is going to end.” 

“You’ve still got a chance, Miss Melanie,” he replied through a thick Southern accent. “One good hand and you could turn this whole thing around.” 

“Well, lucky for you, my hand isn’t anything to write home about,” she returned, frowning at it. “Draw your cards, Sergeant.”

He reached for the deck and picked up three cards, adding them to his hand. Dick watched the game play out for a moment - the sergeant discarded, Melanie drew two, then she discarded, and the sergeant drew again. All the while, Melanie talked to the man. He was missing his right leg up to the thigh - and a fleeting image of Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye passed through Dick’s mind. But judging by this soldier’s attitude, no one would have guessed anything was the matter with him. The way he smiled and chuckled at Melanie’s praise, he didn’t seem to notice that he was even in a hospital bed. 

Dick’s heart was warmed by the sight. Melanie really was back to her old self. She was off duty, and yet she sat with a man she didn’t know to bring him some small comfort. A simple card game. A chance for him to feel normal again, even for a few moments. Dick wasn’t sure which he admired more - her selflessness or how happy she looked to be where she was. The grin on her face gave away that she considered it no trouble to play a game with a patient when her rounds were over. She was genuinely glad to do it. Dick hoped Toye and Guarnere had similarly wonderful nurses wherever they were. 

“A canasta already?” she cried as Dick approached. “If you go out on me with all this in my hand, Sergeant, I’ll be finished for sure!”

She discarded and then finally, she looked up. She caught Dick’s eye as he took some tentative steps toward her, hesitant to interrupt. But she beamed at him, so he assumed he was welcome. 

“Good evening, Dick,” she said kindly. 

The sergeant turned and saw Dick, so he offered a quick salute. “Good evening, sir,” 

“Good evening,” Dick returned politely. “Sorry to interrupt.” 

“Not at all,” Melanie assured him. “Dick, this is Sergeant Samson - the finest canasta player in the US Army. Sergeant, this is Major Winters.” The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Then she met Dick’s gaze again. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, and found himself regretting coming at all. She was busy, and he felt foolish for disrupting her moment of joy. “I can come back later, though -” 

“Actually, sir, I’m about ready for some sleep if Miss Melanie will let me off the hook,” Samson said. 

She cast him a playful look. “I see how you operate, Samson. Quit while you’re ahead, that way you don’t lose.”

He laughed, a bit bashful at her teasing, but she collected the cards all the same, and set them aside. 

“We’ll play again tomorrow if you like,” she offered.

“Of course,” he returned. “That is, if you enjoy losing that much!” 

She feigned offense while he chuckled some more. Then she fluffed his pillows and pulled the blankets up to his chest. Dick watched and felt a familiar stir in his heart of affection for her. She was the most beautiful person he had ever had the pleasure of knowing - and that did not just apply to her pretty face. Melanie was a sweet soul, a nurturing heart, and a bright mind. She was a high quality person. And tiny moments like this showed that to him more than anything. 

“Can I get you anything else before I go?” she offered Samson. 

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Good night, Sergeant,” she said. 

“Good night, ma’am, sir.” 

Dick nodded in acknowledgement before offering Melanie his arm, which she took, and they left the ward together. It struck him that her touch no longer made him so nervous. It thrilled him - even after knowing each other for years - but it was comfortable now. As if the crook of his arm was made for her hand. It was natural. 

“Is everything alright, Dick?” she asked as they stepped outside. “You seem troubled.”

He didn’t consider himself a particularly emotive person, but Melanie never failed to pick up on what he was feeling. Especially when he needed her. 

“It’s Nix,” he said. “His drinking...it’s become such a problem up at regiment that he was demoted today. When I told him that, he didn’t even seem to care.”

Melanie’s brows furrowed and she looked thoughtfully ahead. “I’m sorry to hear that. Lewis is a good man and a fine officer. I would have thought he’d be more invested.” 

“Well, in his defense, he’d just come back from that disaster of a jump,” Dick said. 

“What disaster of a jump?” she wondered. 

He told her what Nix had relayed to him - that the troopers didn’t even make it out of the plane. The CO was killed. Nix and just a handful of others survived out of sheer luck. 

“Oh, how awful,” she said, heartbroken.

 There really could be no moment between them where the war did not rear its ugly head, Dick thought bitterly. No matter what, there was some news of tragedy. Death sank its teeth into even a simple evening stroll. He decided to steer the conversation back to its original subject. 

“Seeing Lew like this just has me worried,” he said. “I feel like he’s close to spiraling, and I don’t have a clue what to do. I thought it was just a bad habit, but now...” he trailed off, unsure what to call his friend’s profound issue. 

“I’m afraid there isn’t much you can do,” Melanie told him. “Nix is...troubled, and he has his coping mechanism. Unless he wants to quit drinking, there’s nothing you - or anybody - can do to stop him from picking that bottle up again.”

Once again, he was being told to do nothing - frustrating and impossible advice. He had hoped for more from her. 

“What you can do,” she went on, and he felt a glimmer of hope again. “Is make yourself available to him. Let him know - subtly, of course - that you’re ready if and when he’ll need you. Eventually, it will come to a head, and he’ll need people in his corner that he can truly rely on.” 

“It still sounds like doing nothing,” he said, defeated. 

“I know you’re a man of action, Dick, but this will take patience,” she returned, understanding. 

He didn’t answer right away, still a bit frustrated. He also took a moment to look at her. The dim twilight was flattering on her skin. A cool breeze made her flyaway hairs stir around her head. She looked a bit like a painting with the Bavarian backdrop behind her. It struck him again how much he loved her. She met his gaze. 

“Dick?” 

He shook his head to clear it, though appreciating her beauty had eased some of his irritation about Nix. 

“Sorry,” he said. “You look nice tonight, that’s all.” 

“Thank you,” she said, blushing lightly. “I’m feeling much better now that we’ve got more food and I’m back in a hospital.” 

He had noticed her improvement over the past few days. Her cheeks were rounding out again, and she didn’t look so tired. Her bruises were gone, too. 

“I feel a bit silly,” she admitted. “I was fussing over how I looked when we first got here because I didn’t have lipstick or nail polish. What a ridiculous thing to worry about.” 

Melanie always looked natural, so he tried to remember the last time he saw her looking nicer than usual. It was Paris. Which was beginning to feel decades in the past instead of just months.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he assured her. “Silly, I’ll give you, but ridiculous is a strong word.” 

“Alright, silly it is then,” she teased back with a smile, and he ached at how much he adored it. 

They reached her billet, stopped outside the door, and faced each other. 

“This takes me back,” she said. “All the way to Aldbourne.” 

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I don’t think I’d recognize those two kids.” 

“Me neither,” she chuckled. “So much has happened. But, I…” 

He looked expectantly at her as she trailed off and gathered her thoughts. Her brow furrowed, which told him she was searching for the right words. 

“I am so grateful we’re still friends,” she said. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I could have made it this far.”

It was his turn to get flustered. For a moment, he stood there silently, a bit lost for words. It was such an honest and wonderful thing to say. How could he return that sentiment?

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m grateful too, Mel,” he said, feeling the understatement like an itch on his skin. “Really.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, smiling. “On that pleasant note, shall we say goodnight? Unless there’s anything else?”

He shook his head. “Thanks for listening. As always.” 

They said goodnight, and she went inside, no doubt to chat to Juliet before climbing into bed and settling in. Dick wanted only for Melanie to be safe and comfortable, especially after everything she’d been through. He hoped that after the war, she could end her days in his arms instead of alone, he could tell her plainly how much she meant to him, and that he could be her true refuge. Until then, his mind went to lipstick and nail polish…

The following day, on his way to HQ, he found some. An abandoned drug store sat on the intersection he crossed, and there were a few enlisted men already scrounging around inside, claiming whatever they could find. He normally wasn’t one for taking souvenirs, but he was more compelled by the idea of doing something nice for Melanie. So he stepped through the kicked in door and looked around. The makeup aisle had already been pretty thoroughly picked over - broken bottles and compacts littered the floor, but one last untouched gold tube on the shelf caught his eye. A red lipstick. He took it. 

He glanced around for nail polish too, but the only color left was a dark purple, which he could not for the life of him imagine Melanie wearing. The lipstick would have to do. 

 He intended on giving it to her that day, but he got caught up in several different briefings, which evidently could not be postponed. So many that he sent Zielinski to the hospital with a message asking Melanie to join him in his office for dinner. They hadn’t had significant time together in much too long, and he missed it. So he was grateful when she accepted and agreed to meet him at eight o’clock. 

Dick got worried when eight-fifteen came and went. He checked his watch for the tenth time in the last sixty seconds and sighed, fearing that Melanie had forgotten him. Or worse, something was terribly wrong at the hospital, and she was enduring further tragedy. Finally, when he was about ready to go looking for her himself, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” he called. 

To his great relief, Melanie walked through the door, closing it softly behind her. She looked a bit sheepish as she came closer. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Dick,” she said. “Sergeant Samson and I were just wrapping up.”

“More canasta?” he asked. 

She nodded. “It’s his favorite game. He used to play it with his sisters back home. He’s got three of them.” 

“Three sisters, wow,” he remarked. “No brothers?”

“One,” she said sadly. “But he was killed on Guadalcanal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But I’m impressed with you. You really get to know the men you’re treating.” 

“I certainly try,” she said. “Hospitals can often feel overly clinical and cold. Doctors don’t have much time to spend with patients, and nurses can get overwhelmed. I don’t want the patients to mistake that for not caring.” 

Dick had met very few people who had the emotional capability to invest so much in others. For a fleeting moment, he likened Melanie to a priest or pastor, with a flock of people to look after, but what she did was different. She wasn’t a spiritual guide or advisor. She was a simple comfort. A place to tell someone about your favorite game or your siblings or your life story. A generous ear to listen to you talk about something besides your pain. 

“That’s very sweet of you,” he told her, keeping the true depth of it to himself. 

She took a seat across from him at his desk, and they had dinner together. At first, she asked mostly about him and how he was doing, but he eventually turned it around. He let her talk about the patients she’d met at this hospital, and she shared little tidbits of their lives. She wasn’t burdened by it, either. In each one, she found something of interest, worth remembering and holding onto. He listened, but he knew he’d never be able to recall everything the way she did. But he hoped he helped by doing a little bit of what she did for others, for her.  

When they finished eating, she sat back with a satisfied smile. He loved that look on her face and he couldn’t help but smile a bit himself. To continue that momentum, he went into his desk and pulled out his gift for her. He didn’t have a box or anything this time, so it wasn’t nearly as big as the gift of the dress, but he hoped she’d still appreciate it. 

“I got something for you,” he said. 

She raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

He placed the tube of lipstick on the desk as her mouth fell open. But a sparkle in her eyes told him it was a delighted sort of shock. 

“Where did you get this?” she gasped. She picked it up and examined it, as if not quite believing it was real. 

“There’s a drug store in town that’s...no longer in operation,” he explained. He still didn’t love that he’d technically stolen it, but he wouldn’t let her know. “I think every man in the regiment got something for the women in his life. And you mentioned wanting some.” 

“And you remembered?” she wondered. 

“Sure I did,” he replied with a chuckle. 

“How kind of you,” she said, her grin widening. “I can’t wait to use it! Thank you so much!”

Did anything feel better than making her happy? Dick wasn’t sure. The warmth in his chest told him there was nothing. It didn’t matter that he’d taken it by looting. For that smile, he was prepared to commit highway robbery.  

“You’re welcome,” he returned. 

He watched her gaze at the items in her hand, a pensive, contemplative expression coming over her features. There was something more she wanted to say. Knowing her, she would shake her head, smile again, and mumble “never mind” mostly to herself before moving on. He hoped she wouldn’t, so he remained silent, giving her the space to work through what she was thinking. 

“It seems silly to say this over something so small,” she began, her voice soft, so he had to lean closer in order to hear. “But may I share something with you?” 

“Of course,” he assured her, though the question made him nervous. 

He tried to think of what could make her so serious all of a sudden, but nothing immediately came to mind. A split second of doubt came over him that she was going to confess she had met someone else because she was tired of waiting for him. But that seemed like a rather outlandish conclusion to jump to. He slowed down his thoughts and focused on her. 

“I know you’ve been wondering about what caused me to leave the hospital in Bastogne and come to the front lines,” she began. “And I haven’t been able to tell you. I’m sorry.” 

He was still curious, but he certainly didn’t want her to feel like she had to talk about that just because of a lipstick he didn’t even pay for. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Please,” she cut across him. “Let me get this out before I lose my nerve.” 

“Take your time,” he said gently. 

She nodded and took a deep breath. Tears pricked her eyes as she released it, slow and shaky. He mentally braced himself to hear the worst. 

“Before the hospital was bombed, Terry...made me an offer,” she continued. “For a life together after the war. He told me he had always had feelings for me and basically that he wanted to marry me.” She ran the fingers on her right hand over the ring finger of her left. 

“Naturally, I refused,” she went on. “I wasn’t in love with him.” She paused there, toying with the lipstick tube, as if debating adding something onto that sentence, but decided against it. “I thought my answer was clear, even before the bombing. But the day I was supposed to return to work, he came to my room.”

She stopped again, chewing her bottom lip before swallowing hard. 

“He’d had a bit to drink,” she said. “He wasn’t out of control, but I could smell it when he got close to me. He proposed again. I refused him. He shouted at me that he loved me. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of me with another man. And that’s when he started to throw things.” 

Beads of sweat appeared on her brow and hairline. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, undeterred, though trembling. She rubbed her hand against the fabric of her dress to dry it off.

“I pleaded with him to stop, but he grabbed me by my face,” she said. “Painfully. Then he looked me in the eyes and threatened to...crush my skull against the vanity, to use his words.” 

She looked at him, and suddenly, she halted and met his gaze.

“Am I upsetting you?” she asked. 

If he didn’t know her better, he would have thought she was being sarcastic - trying to remind him just who really had been hurt here, but she wasn’t. She was genuinely concerned about him in a moment like this. Her tone, apologetic. 

Dick’s anger had risen from a simmer to a boil. He’d been trying to maintain composure as she spoke. He did not want her to lose her nerve by seeing him get agitated, but he couldn’t help the set of his jaw. He regretted not fighting Clarke when he’d had the chance because maybe this might not have happened. It’s harder to throw things and grab people with broken fingers, after all. He shook his head and took a deep breath to calm down, intentionally relaxing every muscle in his face. 

“I’m fine, Mel,” he lied. “Please, go on.” 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but did not protest. 

“I tried to resist,” she continued. “But then he grabbed me by the throat. If he said anything else at that point, I didn’t hear. I was blacking out quickly. And for a moment, I was afraid...I was so afraid I was going to die.” 

She choked on the last word, and she swiped the tear that leaked onto her cheek away quickly. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her lip quiver. He knew it was ridiculous, but overwhelming guilt sank its claws into his heart. He should have been there to defend her. He should have warned Colonel Sink about Terry. He should have done something. Even now, he wished he could protect her from the very memory of it. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “But somehow I found the strength to get away. I remember striking him, but not much else. That was when Colonel Sink showed up. And I begged him to let me go...well, anywhere that wasn’t the hospital. He suggested the Bois Jacques, and I agreed.” 

He sat with it a moment, impressed at her resilience, and a little relieved that nothing worse had happened - and he had imagined much worse, especially when she said the altercation had taken place in her bedroom. But she got away. She rescued herself. There was something to be said for that. 

“I’m so sorry you went through that, Mel,” he said. “You were very brave.”

“Please don’t flatter me, Dick,” she replied. “Dogs have enough courage to fight back when attacked. I acted on instinct.”

“Even so, you did well,” he insisted. He hesitated asking his next question, unsure how she might take it or if she was receptive to being questioned at all. 

“Why didn’t you report him?” he asked, feeling desperate. “That’s a court martial offense, assaulting a fellow officer.”

“Colonel Sink offered to do the paperwork, but I asked him not to,” she told him. “There’s no point, really. It would be my word against his and that rarely goes well for a woman.” 

Dick carefully disguised his distaste for that answer. He wasn’t frustrated by Melanie, but that she was right. 

“Besides,” she said. “He didn’t really do anything. He just frightened me, that’s all.” 

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” he returned. “He nearly killed you.” 

She shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands, which were in her lap now, fidgeting with the lipstick tube, which made a soft pop each time she opened or closed it.

“You may think you’re being kind by showing him mercy, Mel,” he said. “But Terry should be at the least reprimanded for what he’s done. I know it’s hard, but you’re brave enough to -”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. 

“Dick, stop it!” she cried, looking desperately at him. “I’m not brave or strong or kind or anything else! I’m scared, alright?! I didn’t report Terry because I’m terrified that he will find me again! And how much worse would it be if he had nothing to lose?! It isn’t mercy, it’s fear!”

She lowered her eyes to the floor and tried to draw in a breath. It was shallow and shaky, catching on the lump in her throat. He couldn’t stand that he was not holding her. So he got to his feet, crossed to the other side of his desk, stood before her, and held out his hand. She looked at it, then up at his face, before placing her fingers in his palm. He helped her to stand. Then, he gathered her up in his arms. Her forehead found a resting place on his chest, and she nuzzled into him. They fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“I’m sorry, Melanie,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry.” When she only nodded, he continued. “You’re safe now.” 

“Yes,” she said softly into his chest. “Yes, I know.”

He made a silent promise to himself and her. From here on out, he would be her personal shield. No one deserved what she had endured, but she especially didn’t. This woman, who was all heart and grace and goodness. He would protect her with everything he had.

[middleearthpixie]

Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: The morning after brings a few surprises for Thorin and Seren

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Seren (female OC, formerly of Dale)

Characters: Thorin, Seren, Bilbo Baggins, Amara

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,314

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @shalinizhara @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover

Previous chapters can be found here and AO3

When Seren opened her eyes, she was alone. Earlier, as the dawn streaked across the sky, Thorin untangled himself from her, brushed her lips with a gentle kiss, whispered, “We will talk later,” and slipped from the bed.

Still, she didn’t mind. There was nothing quite like having a cozy little secret, and this one was one of the nicer secrets she’d been tasked with keeping.

Amara came around. “Good morning, Seren. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like myself again.” She sat up, stretching her arms overhead. “My face no longer hurts, my knee no longer hurts, and breathing no longer hurts.”

Amara came over and sank onto the edge of her bed. Her long, elegant fingers brushed along Seren’s cheek. “You might have a bit of a scar, but I think that’s it. May I see your leg?”

Seren threw back the sheet and tugged up her nightrail. Her knee had been swollen the previous day, but now, it was back its normal size and she didn’t so much as wince as the Healer manipulated it in different directions.

“It looks good. Can you stand for me?”

“I’d be glad to.” She rose and padded across the room to the terrace. Down in the sun-splashed courtyard, the Company had gathered. She had a moment of panic, thinking they were preparing to depart, but then she heard a shout and couldn’t hold back her smile as Bofur came shooting out of one of the tubes feeding the large marble fountain in the rear corner.

“Elrond would love this,” she said to herself, turning to go back to where Amara stood.

Amara had her back to Seren, staring down at the bed and as Seren grew closer, her stomach dropped when she realized what it was the Healer stared down upon. The sheets were pure white, save for one rather good-sized rust-colored splotch.

“What time did he leave?” Amara asked softly without turning around.

Seren’s tongue seemed welded to the roof of her mouth and her heart skipped a painful beat as she forced it free to stammer, “Wh-what time did wh-who leave?”

“I assume it was Thorin.” Now Amara looked over at her, her eyes tranquil and her expression that of mild amusement. “Wasn’t it? He seemed very concerned with your well being yesterday.”

“I can pay you for ruining the—“

“That won’t be necessary.” A serene smile came to Amara’s lips. “He’s very handsome. I can see why you would sneak him in here.”

“I didn’t sneak him. At least, not intentionally. He just… turned up…” Seren looked back at the bloodstain. “And I don’t think he knew it was my first time, either.”

“Was he careful?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Amara’s blue-eyed gaze met hers. “Dwarves and daughters of Man can reproduce. Was he careful?”

Seren swallowed hard, her eyes stinging as she said, “There is no need for him to be careful, Amara, for I cannot have children.”

If her announcement shocked the Healer, Amara hid it well, for her expression never changed. “How do you know?”

“Mama told me when I was a child I fell very ill, with a very high fever, a rash, and she thought I was going to die. She never said was that illness was, but that it left me unable to bear children.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Seren. It must have been a terrible blow.”

“Yes and no. Children have never been something I wanted because I move around so much. It wouldn’t be fair to drag them all over Middle Earth. And I like being able to go where I wish, when I wish. It wouldn’t be fair to me to sacrifice that to make a man happy.”

“Does Thorin know?”

“Oh, he and I aren’t a couple,” Serena shook her head. “It was just… just a one-night thing. To get it out of our systems. We both know it could never be more than that.”

Amara didn’t look convinced. “Is that so? He seemed very concerned with you yesterday. When he came to fetch you for supper, and saw you were asleep, he sat beside your bed for nearly an hour. He asked me a hundred questions about how seriously I thought you’d been injured. I think you underestimate the dwarf’s feelings where you are concerned.”

“He is fond of me and sees me as a worthy warrior.”

“Fond of you?” Amara let out a chuckle. “Seren, he sat here with you while you slept just to be near you. He made love to you and spent the night with you, then slipped away before anyone awoke so no one would whisper about you. He sat with you because he was worried about you. I think fond is not the correct term.”

“Is it making love when it’s purely physical?”

“Was it for him?”

Seren offered up a slight smile. “It was for me. I was curious. I was attracted to him and wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. That’s all, I’m afraid.”

Amara’s smile melted into a look of disappointment. “Are you so certain you felt nothing for him other than curiosity?”

“Of course. He’s made it clear there is no future and I cannot spend time pining, so…”

Amara waited a beat, and then tilted her head slightly. “But you care for him, don’t you?”

Seren didn’t answer, but instead went back out to the terrace to watch the dwarves splash about in the fountain. Amara came up beside her, her hand coming to rest on Seren’s shoulder. “You do, don’t you?”

Seren swallowed hard and nodded slowly. “I do. I have since I was fourteen summers. But, he’s made it clear, this is all it will ever be. So, I can either accept that and just tuck last evening into my memories, or I can spend the rest of my days loving a man who will never love me in return.”

She glanced over at Amara. “And I do not want to spend the rest of my days in pursuit of a fool’s errand. Besides, he is a king. A king needs an heir. That’s the one thing I can never give him. A child. I’ve made my peace with that, as I said. I cannot say he would as well.”

“He has his heirs in his nephews. Your inability to have children might not color his—“

“It is a moot point,” Seren broke in quietly. “And I’d rather not dwell. So, if I am cleared to join the others…”

Amara nodded. “You are. Let me find you some fresh clothes and you are free to go.”

The Healer started back toward the Healing Room, then paused and said over one shoulder, “You should tell him just the same. Men are the same, no matter their species. They all want what women want—love, family, home and hearth. They want to love and be loved in return, and not necessarily for what they can give.”

Seren managed a slight smile. “I cannot do that. Hearing him tell me it is a pipe dream would be more than I could bear. It is better that we do what we need do and then go our separate ways. In time, I will forget Thorin Oakenshield ever existed.”

“You have not forgotten him since you were fourteen summers,” Amara pointed out softly. “What makes you think you will now?”

***

While the others splashed about in the fountains, and Master Baggins was off somewhere else, Thorin sat in the shade of a magnificent elm, on a bench of white marble, watching the others without really seeing them.

His thoughts kept returning to the early morning hours, when Seren had drifted off to sleep in his arms, her head tucked into the curve of where his shoulder met his chest. Her golden hair spilled over his arm, soft and cool and silky, her breath came warm upon his skin. He couldn’t recall the last time he passed the night with a woman in his arms. Normally, he preferred to sleep alone.

But last evening? Sleeping alone was the last thing he wished. Seren felt perfect in his arms. She belonged there. It took every ounce of will he possessed to pull away from her, to get up and leave that bed, that room. But it had to be done.

And it couldn’t happen again.

“May I?”

He started, jolted from his reverie by Seren’s low voice and when he looked over at her, he no longer saw the woman with whom he’d spent a wonderful night. She was a lad again, her pale hair was once more in its single plait, most likely tucked into the dark gray tunic she wore. Her trousers were dark gray as well and looked as if they’d been sewn with her mind, thankfully her tunic was long enough that it fell below her hips. Otherwise, the only way one wouldn’t be able to tell she was a woman would be if they were blind.

He gestured to the bench. “Of course.”

“They seem to one enjoying themselves,” she nodded toward the fountain as she sank beside him.

“They do. And Elrond is mostly likely somewhere with a large goblet of wine, trying to forget it all.”

She smiled. “Most likely.”

Silence fell over them and he tried to focus on the dwarves shouting at one another as they took turns using the fountains as water slides, but he found it quite impossible. The soft scent of lilacs wafted up to tease his nose, one he hadn’t smelled until Seren appeared. He recognized it at once, for the scent tinged her hair and he’d spent more than enough time nuzzling her to breathe it in last eve.

At first, he wanted to ease his arm about her shoulders, to pull her up against him. Then, he glanced back at the fountain, imagining her with him in it under a full moon. The very thought of a naked, wet Seren, of making love to her beneath one of the waterfalls, was enough to start the dull ache of desire deep within him.

“We need to talk—“ he started.

“About last eve—“ she said at the same time.

They both chuckled and he said, “You go first.”

“No, you go. I cut you off.”

He cleared his throat. “Last eve was… Well… I’m not sorry it happened, because truth be told, I enjoyed every last second of it and it was one of the best evenings I’ve passed in a long time. But, I think it would be best if it didn’t happen again. That is, at least not until I’ve done what I have to do.”

“You’re right,” she turned to him, her green eyes more serious than he’d ever seen, “Last eve was wonderful. I just wanted you to know that. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself and I hope you did as well, but you are absolutely right. We are very different people, you and I, and our paths will not always be the same. And it would really be best if things went back to how they were before we—well, before last eve.”

He wasn’t quite certain how to respond, as he’d expected her to argue with him, to outline points as to why they should absolutely try to be together. It’d been his experience that most women—daughters of Man, or dwarven—did just that. They cajoled, insisted things would work out, that he should at least be willing to try to make them work.

But not Seren. She seemed almost relieved to know he wasn’t going to try to lure her back into his bed any time soon. That left him taken aback, and all he could muster was a low, “It would, yes.”

She smiled. “Good. I’m glad we were able to clear the air. Amara has said I can go, so when do you plan to leave?”

He turned back to the fountain. He thought he’d be relieved by her relief. But instead, his gut kinked in a way that was almost painful and the feeling he’d just made a terrible mistake flooded him. Still, she waited for his answer, so he said, “Tonight, while the White Council meets, we will take our leave.”

“I’ll be ready. Where will we meet?”

He had to force himself to look over at her. Curse it all, she was beautiful. How could he simply walk away from her? He had to be mad to do so, didn’t he? Or a complete idiot.

Or, perhaps both.

“Thorin?”

“What?”

“Where will we meet?”

“I’ll come get you or I’ll send someone to fetch you. Worry not, you will not be left behind.”

He’d said it more sharply than he’d intended and her smile wavered ever so slightly. Then she nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later. You should join them. Playing would do you a bit of good.”

She briefly touched his shoulder, then rose and left him with his troubled thoughts. Playing would do him good. Trouble was, the other dwarves were not the ones with whom he wished to play. And if he was going to frolic in the fountains, she was the one with whom he wished to frolic.

“Is something the matter?”

Thorin looked up as Bilbo drew closer. “Everything is fine, Master Baggins,” he growled, shoving up from the bench. “Be ready to depart after dark.”

“Yes, of course. But, are you certain you’re all right?”

“I’m quite all right. Simply impatient to leave,” Thorin bit back as he stalked away from the courtyard and all the sounds of gaiety. He needed to be alone, to try to sort out his jumbled thoughts and see if perhaps he really wasn’t making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Bifrost Blues Chapter 1: The Elder Tree

Fandom: Thor (movies), MCU Rating: T Warnings: None Pairing: Loki/OC Summary:  According to the rules, no Jotun shall ever set foot in Asgard. According to the rules, no Prince of Asgard shall befriend a Jotun. According to the rules Rules were made to be broken. Written for @flufftober2021​

Day Two+ >> Read on Ao3+

Prompt 1: winning a teddy for the other

graphic by the author with @ourdiningroom​

1065 AD

It had been a terrible day. 

First, Thor had stolen all of the hveteboller at breakfast, leaving Loki with nothing but eggs and apples (which were wholesome food, but boring, boring, boring). Then Thor had won every single foot race, no matter what fearsome illusion Loki had created to distract him. Either Thor was getting better at telling fantasy from reality, or he was so stupidly brave that he didn’t care when an undead draugar was in his path. Loki clearly needed more practice with his illusions. 

The final straw had been after luncheon, when Thor had run off with his friends to explore the forest at the foot of the mountains. Loki had been right behind them, only stopping into his room for a few essentials (a book to read, and a book to take notes in, and another book in case he finished the first one). But by the time he’d reached the courtyard, they’d been gone. 

“Stupid Thor,” Loki muttered as he wandered through the forest alone. “I hope he falls into a cave, and the Jörmungandr gets him, and we never see him again.”

Nightfall was coming fast. Loki would be in the worst kind of trouble if he did not return to the castle before then. He continued along the forest path anyway. What did it matter if he were sent to his room without dinner when he returned? It wasn’t as if anyone would miss him.

The path he was following took a sharp curve, ending at the base of a mighty elder tree. The wide trunk was covered with branches, perfectly spaced for climbing. Loki eagerly started up the tree. For a time, the irritations of the day faded as he simply enjoyed the feeling of being young and agile.

He was halfway up the tree when he caught sight of a long white skirt above him. The girl wearing it was clinging to the tree trunk, her face pressed against the wood. He tilted his head, studying her, then scurried up the tree until he was level with her.

“Are you a huldra?” he asked, more curious than wary. Maybe her tail was hidden underneath her skirt.

“No.” Her voice was tense and quiet.

“Then what are you doing up here? This is a terrible place for a nap.”

She lifted her head off the tree trunk to glare at him. “I’m not sleeping.”

He would have teased her further, but he was completely distracted by her dark blue skin. “A Jotun! How did you—you shouldn’t be here.”

“I have as much right to be here as anybody else. Are you the king that you order people about so?”

Loki was not afraid of monsters. He narrowed his eyes at the Jotun girl. “I may not be the king, but I am his son. I’ll order anyone I like.”

“You’re small for a prince.”

That was funny, coming from a Frost Giant shorter than he was. “And you’re small for a Jotun.”

“Just leave me alone.”

He grinned as she looked away from his glare. He could outstare anyone. Except father.

“No. Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

She huffed in exasperation. “If you must know, I’m trying to rescue my little sister’s stuffed dreki. An Imp thought it would be funny to steal it and leave it at the top of a tree in Asgard. I wouldn’t have come after it, but it’s her favorite toy, and she won’t go to sleep without it.”

Loki glanced upwards. The dreki was dangling from a branch by its twisted tail several feet above them.

“It’s right there,” he said, pointing. “If that’s all you’ve come for, take it and go.”

“I can’t,” she hissed through her teeth.

What a strange girl. “Of course you can. Just go and get it.”

The girl mumbled something he couldn’t make out.

“What was that? Speak up when you talk to royalty.”

“I said I’m afraid of heights. I’m…stuck.”

Loki laughed. How could anyone be afraid of heights? “Is that all? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Look!”

He swung himself from one tree branch to the other, climbing the tree effortlessly. The Jotun girl gasped, which only encouraged him to move more recklessly. With a final jump, he had the dreki in his hand. Then he was swinging back down to where the girl still clung to the tree.

“There’s nothing to fear. I’ve got your sister’s toy,” he said.

“I—“ she began in a shaky voice.

There was no sense in letting her talk herself into more fear. Loki looked her square in the eye, then blinked in surprise.

“You’re eyes—they’re brown. I thought Jotun eyes were red,” he said.

“Our eyes are all different colors. They only turn red when we’re fighting,” she explained. “Everybody knows that.”

He filed this information away in case it proved useful later. “We’re not that far from the bottom. Keep your eyes on me. We’ll climb down together.”

She seemed conflicted, but there was no other choice. Loki kept the pace slow and steady as they worked their way down the trunk. She did not look away from him once.

“I didn’t know Jotuns had toys,” he said. Talking would keep her mind too busy for fear.

“Why wouldn’t we? Don’t Asgardians have toys?” she replied.

“Of course! We have the best toys in the Nine Realms. Do you have books too?”

The fear in her eyes was turning into annoyance. Good. Anger was better than fear.

“Yes, what a question,” she said.

“I beg your pardon, Maid of Jotunheim. According to our history your Realm is somewhat…unrefined.”

“Unrefined?” Her brown eyes flashed golden. “We’re just as good as any of the other Realms. Just because Asgard doesn’t know our ways doesn’t make them unrefined. Why—“

“We’ve reached the ground,” Loki said, cutting of her ranting. “Your eyes change color when you’re angry, did you know?”

He held the dreki out to her, hardly able to contain his laughter. She was angry with him but, as he’d rescued both her sister’s toy and her own self from the tree, she could hardly own it. Without a word, she snatched the dreki and started hurrying off into the forest.

“Maid of Jotunheim, aren’t you going to thank me?” he called after her.

She paused in her flight and turned back to him, her manners as pretty as any Asgardian courtier. “Thank you, Your Highness. I am in your debt.”

“Then give me your name, that I will know from whom to collect it.”

Her anger flared back to life; her golden eyes and dark red hair were fire against the deep blue of her skin.

“My name is Angrboda Galarrsdatter,” she said fiercely.

“And mine is Loki Odinson. Good day to you, Angrboda. I won’t forget.”

She growled as she whirled away from him and ran into the forest. He watched her until he could no longer see the white of her dress or the red of her hair. Then he started back towards the palace, whistling his victory to the night birds as he went.

End Notes:

Hveteboller: Norwegian cardamom sweet buns.

The elder tree is associated with Freya, the Norse goddess of love.

Draugar are something like zombies.

The Jörmungandr, or the Midgard Serpent, is an giant snake.

Huldra are forest spirits with cow’s tails.

Dreki: dragon

In Norse Mythology, Angrboda is Loki’s Jotun wife. For the purposes of this fic, Jotuns are not monsters (whatever the Asgardians say they are).

Day Two+ >>

[lisinfleur]

Heimskur

The requests:

Author’s Notes | Do not ask me how the heck it became so sad, so big, and so hard. Blame Evanescence - Missing for the inspiration and that's it. I'm going to sit and cry my soul out there on the corner of the room... Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anons. Heimskur – Icelandic for “stupid” Words | 3270 ⁑ Warnings: DEEP Angst!

This time, he was just sat at the door of her room. Head low, Hvitserk's eyes were facing the ground under his feet; the wooden floor that so many times cracked under his heels when he was carrying her laughing self inside their room for a whole night of tickles and love.

The laughs were silent now. Sometimes, they had become painful sobs he just couldn't find a way to finish.

She was crying again. He could hear it.

Hvitserk's hands hit both sides of his head several times before entering his hair strands, crossing its fingers on his nape, pressing it between his tense palms.

How stupid could a man like him be?

Where was the limit of men's stupidity?

Maybe it was in getting laid with another when he had everything he could ask inside his own house. Maybe it was in not being able to wait for the woman who was bearing his children.

His gods damn children! How could he not think it was the most stupid thing to be done in the whole Miðgardr?

His hands hit his temples once again. And again, and again. A stupid attempt to punish himself for the sobs he could hear inside her locked room. The room they so many times divided with each other.

Where now he couldn't enter, afraid her nervousness could take her away from him once and for all.

"She's too weak now, my prince. Anything could be too much for her."

The midwife's words causing him to feel even worst.

It was supposed to be the best moment of his marriage. His precious Y/N should be smiling around, finishing the tricot blankets she was doing so happily since the midwives announced they would father twins instead of a single child.

But now the beautiful white blankets were laying unfinished at the living room, inside the untouched basket with her lines and needles beside the couch.

She couldn't leave their room, their bed.

All because of his own stupidity.

She had caught him killing his needs in another's hands. His lips tasting a skin he didn't really want to feel. But his body was burning! He needed...

How deep was that need?

Deeper than his love?

No.

Nothing was deeper than his love. But when Hvitserk was able to realize this, it was already too late.

It was the sound of her heart breaking that threw in his face how much he needed it to be whole. It was the sobs of her most deep sadness that screamed in his ears how much her laughs were his favorite sound in this world.

She sobbed again, lower. He could bet Y/N was muffling her sobs against their blankets or her pillow. She knew he was there.

She would always know when he was arriving.

"Prince Hvitserk..." a slave's voice called his attention and Hvitserk looked up to see so much pity in her eyes.

Even the slaves were pitying him now.

She was holding a tray. A small bowl with a ridiculously small amount of vegetable broth and a little piece of fresh herbal bread. Y/N's favorite food he was ordering to be made every day trying to get her to eat one more time.

He got up slowly, cleaning his rumpled and dusty clothes from the ground, standing beside the door to see the slave knocking a few times before Y/N's voice would sound tearful from inside.

"Go away."

"But... My lady, the midwife said you need to..." the slave tried and Y/N's voice sounded louder from inside.

"I said go!"

Causing the slave to sigh, disappointed with one more negative coming from her.

"She doesn't eat since yesterday..." the slave mumbled, looking at him.

Every single one of them knew why. Every single one of them was remembering him of how terrible their lady was. Because his precious Y/N was the best woman Hvitserk could have ever found for himself and she would care even for his slaves with tenderness.

Even his slaves would know how to care for the precious treasure he had broken in shatters.

"Let me try," he said, extending his hand to pick up the tray.

"My prince," It was easy to hear the concern in the slave's tone.

They were advised by the midwife not to have their lady stressed in any kind of way. They were all well scient of what their master had done.

"She's my wife!" Hvitserk said, harsh.

But his tone dropped a few octaves sounding full of guilt in the next sentence he said before taking the tray from the slave's hands.

"I'm the one who did it... I'm the only one who can undo."

The slave girl had her fingers tense. Yet, he took the handles of the tray from her slowly, knocking on the door once again, this time, a little firmer.

Something that silenced any voices or sobs inside in a single instant: she knew even his way to knock on the door. She knew everything about him.

How could he be so stupid to lose her?

"Y/N, please... Open the door."

A long moment of silence before something could be heard: she had gotten up, but no touch could be heard on the door's locker.

"Go away, Hvitserk," she spoke from behind the door, not yelling, but not different from the tearful tone he had been listening since she locked herself away from him.

Since that cursed night in which he destroyed everything.

"I beg you," his voice sounded hoarser.

The slave girl beside him - ready to take away the tray she was sure her lady would reject once again - lifted her eyes to see her master's face start to get wet by his tears.

"I beg you, Y/N. Open the door... Eat your dinner. Please."

The girl beside him embraced herself trying to hold her own tears. She could remember her masters' ways, always such a beautiful couple.

He had ruined everything, but it was visible to anyone that had ruined himself pretty more than anything else: the always so beautiful prince was now ragged, dusty, and bearded. A beard not trimmed, hair not combed, mouth smelling like mead. When he wasn't crying behind her door, he would be drinking at the dinner table or lying somewhere in the house, sleeping like a drunken wanderer the slaves had many times to carry inside the guest's room he was using now that the lady had kicked him out of their marital bed.

Prince Hvitserk was nothing without lady Y/N and it was clear like water to anyone who could see. But she couldn't see it. And who could blame lady Y/N for her blindness to his needs now?

"I'm not hungry," her voice sounded like sharp blades for his ears. "I'm not thirsty. Not sleepy nor eager to leave this room and see your face. I just want to lay down and let the gods take me to their halls when my children are to come into this world. Cause I don't want to look at their faces and see the love you broke inside my heart, Hvitserk."

It was his time to sob. But his sobs were pretty soundly, unlike hers, always low and more and more silent.

"Please," he grunted, mournful. "You don't need to forgive me. You don't need to look at me. I can leave and never come back. I can throw myself to the sea as Floki did and let the gods carry my boat away from you... But please... Don't kill yourself like this, my love. Don't do this to yourself because of me!"

"Don't call me love!" she yelled inside, causing him to shrink against the wooden door. "Don't lie to me once again, Hvitserk! Your lies bring me where I am... You lied every time you said you loved me."

The slave girl saw when he placed the tray at the hallway sideboard, touching the wood of lady Y/N's room as if he could touch her inside.

"I never lied," Hvitserk mumbled, hearing the sobs inside starting again as his voice was sounding shamelessly weeping outside. "But I betrayed myself... I betrayed my own heart and gods, I regret it. I regret what I did and I'll regret this through the rest of my days. And this is why I'm not asking for myself, Y/N. This is why I'm not begging you pardon or asking you to let me in to see you or hug you again. Far away from me to speak in my own favor. I know what I've done and the weight of my actions. But you don't have to end with it. You don't have to do this, sweet princess. Eat, drink, I beg you. Recover, and then leave me. Step on me and take our children with you if you don't think I'm able to dignify myself to be their father by your side once again. But stay alive to do so. Please."

"You would go after me," she said from inside, voice trembling with the heavy sobs and helpless cry. "You would hunt me and haunt me like a ghost of the dead!"

"I would never act to hurt you once again, Y/N," he promised, hands and forehead touching the door as if she could touch him back through the wooden surface. "Not an empty promise, but because now I know how terrible it is to see you cry. I rather die alone, forgotten in the middle of some woods than causing your cry one more time. Please... Open the door..."

The silence was made. One more time, nothing but sobs could be heard inside. But when Hvitserk was about to give up and leave the room's door for one more night at the dinner table filling himself with mead and trying to punish himself for what he had done, the sound of the locker being opened caught his and the slave girl's attention.

The wooden door cracked open with a spooky sound and after a pair of months, Hvitserk could finally lay his eyes over his precious wife's figure once again.

But gods... If he ever thought not seeing her was a punishment, seeing her was everything he needed to feel the worst of the men in Miðgardr.

She was thinner - way thinner! - and pale. The colors he loved so badly in her pretty face were gone, replaced by a mortified tone of gray. Her arms - before so soft and cozy - were now skin and bones only. He couldn't see her legs because of the long nightgown she was dressing, but he could bet they weren’t different from her arms. Y/N's hair was loosened, but not a single strand was holding the glow he loved so much to see under the sun.

Her belly was bigger making it hard for her to walk back to the bed after opening the door for him to enter. Hvitserk entered alone with the tray: the slave girl left running, probably to bring her lady some fresh water for a bath, new clothes... Any kind of comfort.

Hvitserk walked silently into the room. There was still her perfume everywhere, hitting him like punches on his face, remembering how much he loved the feeling of that smell on his skin after a delicious night beside her. Now that his smell was far from being felt inside that room, hers was dominating everything.

As if he was inside of one of his dreams...

Y/N shrunk on the bed, laying her back heavily on the pillows. It was so big around her now the bed of furs that sometimes was so small for them both... She was smaller, Hvitserk thought. Too small for his taste.

"You lost weight," his voice broke the silence that was sitting beside them as a third person inside the room.

She didn't answer. Her beautiful eyes were now dead inside, looking to nowhere. Everywhere, anywhere but his face. Hvitserk sat the tray near her, picking up the bowl, involving it with a piece of cloth to avoid burning her delicate hands.

His careful fingers placed the spoon inside the small portion of broth, gently mixing it as he blew on the food, making it colder, distracting himself for a single moment before he could notice the pair of heavy teary eyes over him like two heavy stones hitting his head.

"Why?"

Her voice resounded in a single word that resumed everything he had been questioning himself all these days; everything that had been haunting his days, filling his sleepless nights.

There was so much sadness in her eyes... Those eyes that were always so full of love now had only disappointment, betrayal, and unhappiness. All mixed in bitter tears that rolled down her face despite the fight he could see she was having with herself, preventing her heart from throwing herself into Hvitserk's arms begging him to come back and never leave her; preventing her hands from slapping him out of her life once and for all.

The prince lowered down his head. His hands trembled when he placed the bowl back on the tray. He wanted to hit himself again. Stronger than before. As strong as he could!

He wanted to throw himself in a fight and let someone beat the heck out of him. And it wouldn't be painful enough...

"Because I'm stupid," Hvitserk mumbled, answering to her question the most honest way he could find to define his actions. "Because I'm the most stupid man in the whole Miðgardr."

His hands slid through his face when he wanted to peel the skin off his flesh, to take away from him every single inch in which the fingers of that other woman had touched his body.

"I thought I could hurt you and the twins... With my eagerness, my stupid desire," Hvitserk continued, pouring his heart. "But we were away for so long... And I missed your skin against mine. For a moment, I thought I could find it if I closed my eyes. If my imagination was good enough... But I couldn't. And I broke us. I broke everything. I'm stupid, Y/N. That's what I am. I'm a stupid piece of shit..."

His fingers gripped so hard the tissue of his trousers over his knees that his knuckles went white by the lack of blood. But instead of being cold, they got warm and Hvitserk opened his eyes to see her bony fingers touching his hand.

Shivering, he let go of the tight grip in his clothes, lifting his palm, feeling her touch as if it was balm to all the wounds in his heart. Even though it was just her fingers sliding through the lines of his palm. Even though it was something so frivolous and ephemeral.

She was touching him once again.

And it was life to Hvitserk's dying heart.

For a long moment, Hvitserk's and Y/N's fingers danced with each other those slow movements without melody, recognizing each other, touching each other, as if the fingers had missed each other more than the owners could feel.

"You're ragged," she muttered, breaking the silence.

Her fingers touching his old tunic sleeve, noticing how it was dusty and messed up.

"Your hair... Is greasy," she mumbled.

Her fingers had gone up, touching the strands of his bad washed hair, uncombed, uncared, and loosened from the braids she used to make so tight for him.

"Your beard is uncared," she continued.

Her fingers were now touching his jawline. Hvitserk's eyes closed and she felt when he leaned his face towards her hand, feeling her warm skin relieving the cold of so many lonely nights without her touch. And Y/N allowed herself to touch him. She allowed him to feel her gentle touch as his tears fell, wetting her fingers.

"If I leave you... Then you'll die, Hvitserk," she kept mumbling, creating excuses to stay, in spite of his betrayal. "You don't know how to care for yourself. I... I can't leave you."

Hvitserk opened his eyes, looking at her.

She knew he could care for himself. She knew he knew pretty well how to live all alone and that he had done it quite well before knowing her.

However, he nodded. His hand held hers on his face, against his cheek, and Hvitserk nodded, kissing her palm.

He knew Y/N was finding reasons to stay.

And by the gods... Hvitserk wanted her to stay more than he wanted the air inside his lungs.

"I won't leave," she insisted, but her tone was serious and her voice had dropped a few octaves, sounding graver. "But you'll never ever do that again, Hvitserk. Ever. Or else, I'll leave without a warning and take our children with me. I'll disappear from your life and you'll never see us again."

A chance.

She was giving him a safety rope, a chance to come out of that terrible well of endless sadness he had thrown the marriage he was so proud of before.

Once again, his heart ached.

How could he betray a woman that was able to do such sacrifice for him? Accepting his treason, bearing his children even if it could cost her life.

His hands let go of hers and she saw him touching the sacred arm ring in his wrist. With his eyes full of determination and life once again, Hvitserk looked inside her eyes, decided.

"I swear, on the lives of my soon-to-be-born children, with the gods as witnesses. Never again, Y/N. I'll never ever dare to break our marriage votes one more time. None of them."

To love and protect her. To belong to her and have her to himself. To raise and teach their children. And love them... The votes he gifted her with when the two of them got married near the sea he loved so much, with Rán as witness and their friends and family around to celebrate.

He would honor them from now on, as much as he had done since the first day. But this time, he would win his own stupidity. He would never let it be between the two of them once again.

She nodded with a shy movement. And he saw the skinny hands moving slow, picking up the bowl of broth. Slowly, she started blowing spoon by spoon before eating the whole bowl of soup with pieces of bread, not refusing to eat anymore.

"May I have some water?" she asked, drawing a smile on Hvitserk's tired lips.

"Anything you want, my love."

"Blessed be the gods," they heard the slave girl's voice at the door.

The midwife with her - she had left to call the woman when she saw prince Hvitserk entering the room and the state of her lady. But Lady Y/N had finally accepted the food they had prepared. She was drinking from the cup Hvitserk offered with fresh water from her amphora. The slave girl couldn't do less than thank for seeing her lady finally accepting the proper care.

It could be too late, Hvitserk knew that. They lost too much time and she could still be under the risk of the labor to come. But he would dedicate his days to care for his precious Y/N and treasure her as much as he could.

And prove the gods maybe he was dignified to have her life spared so they could live the future he promised to her. That even with his bad doing, he could still honor their marriage and deserve to have the most perfect woman of Miðgard by his side.

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[may85]

Character: Jude Fisher

Movie: Peace, Love and Misunderstanding

Warnings: None, fluff!

Photo/GIF credits go to the original maker/owner

Song: Eric Clapton - Wonderful Tonight

°Jude teaching you how to play the guitar.

Walking around downtown Woodstock was something else. The colors were bright, the music was funky and upbeat, the sun was shining… and the faint scent of pot was in the air.

I grinned, shaking my head as I found the source of the Mary Jane smoker.

A much older man, with graying, long black hair, silver beard and dressed to the nines in seventies gear, sat in the back of his VW van, the beads parted to show case in the inisde.

“You don’t see that all that often.”

I jumped at the soothing deep voice that spoke from behind me.

“Pardon?” I asked, wanting to make sure that he was speaking to me.

The man was beyond gorgeous. I’d seen him around town and my friend Grace had talked about him quite often. If I could only remember his name… I was terrible about that.

He pointed to my face, “Your smile… I’ve heard alot about you. Grace holds you in high regard.”

I smiled shyly, the blush tinging my cheeks and ears, “Um, thank you.”

He held his hand out, his dimples showing through his beard as he grinned, “I’m Jude. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I shook his hand, giving a slight nod, “Nice to meet you too, Jude.”

“I’m about to go on stage to play. Grace will be there, want to join us?”

Folding my hands in front of me, I nodded, “I’d enjoy that.”

Jude waved at the man in the van, “How’s it goin’ Tommy?”

He blew out a thick puff of smoke, “It’s goin’ maaan.”

Jude laughed, putting out an elbow for me to take hold of. I wrapped my hand around it, using my other to give Tommy a peace sign.

He bobbed his head, giving a high smile and a peace sign as well. °°°°°° Jude and I had walked in comfortable silence to the stage, which he kindly held my hand as we walked up the steps.

Grace greeted us, her smile growing as she saw our hands still glasped together.

Jude gave her a kiss on the cheek and I hugged her.

“Well hello, hello.” She greeted.

We spoke for a small bit as the band started to tune their instruments for Jude’s set.

He’d given my hand a gentle squeeze before going over and getting his guitar.

Grace had drapped her arm around my shoulder, her jewelry clinking together, “You two certainly looked cozy!”

I rolled my eyes, “Grace, please.”

She held her hands up in defeat, but her grin said everything.

I watched Jude as he strummed his guitar to a few Eagles songs.

“Are you still interested in learning to play?”

“Of course. I just need to fin- Grace!” I scolded, but laughed.

This was in her plan all along! The look of mock innocence was enough to choke a horse and I wasn’t falling for it.

“You’ve had this up your sleeves for a while now, haven’t you!?”

Her lips twitched as she tried to keep up her facade. She then scoffed when I raised my brow at her.

“Oh alright! He still can teach you to play.” She grumbled, bumping me lightly with her shoulder in jest. °°°°°° I pulled into the long driveway that led to Jude’s home. The side building was opened, Jude working on some wood projects.

He’d given me a call earlier in the day, asking if I wanted to come over for lunch. I didn’t see a problem with it… I may or may not have had a girly moment after I got off the phone with him.

He came from the building, wiping his hands on a shop rag as I exited my car.

I walked up to him, taking the hug that he was currently offering to me. Inside my head, I was having another girly moment when I took in his warm scent.

His beard tickled my cheek when he kissed me, “You look beautiful,”

I looked down at my blue jeans and purple plaid shirt, “Thank you. Seems like we’re twins today.” I laughed, pointing to both our shirts.

He wore a tan plaid shirt and blue jeans. Jude winked at me, “Great minds.” He led me into the workshop, showing me some of his wood work.

He was in the middle of staining a kitchen table and chairs when I had arrived.

“So,” he took off his glasses, “what do you want to know?”

Grace. I love that woman to death but damnit if she couldn’t make your head spin.

I rolled my lips, putting some hair behind my ear, “Um, would you teach me how to play the guitar?”

Jude’s eyes brightened, “Of course.” °°°°°° “Ever handled a guitar before?” Jude asked, adjusting the strap before putting it around him.

“I take it Guitar Hero doesn’t count?” I laughed.

Jude chuckled, shaking his head, “No it doesn’t. Fun game though.”

I watched as he tuned the instrument. He then stared at me for a moment, his eyes squinted for a split second.

“Alright, this song is pretty easy to learn.”

He began strumming and when he started to sing, I could feel myself melting at the smoky croon of his voice.

It’s late in the evening; she’s wondering what clothes to wear. She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair. And then she asks me, “Do I look all right?” And I say, “Yes, you look wonderful tonight.”

He paused after singing that verse, giving me a soft smile, “Want to give it a go?”

“Sure.”

Jude took the guitat off and handed it to me, waiting patiently as I adjusted the strap.

I tried to remember how he held his fingers on the strings, but I didn’t get it right. The sound was way off, making me cringe.

Getting behind me, Jude’s chest was flush with my back. “Loosen your fingers Sweetheart,” he said.

Gently he placed my fingers on the right strings, “Now strum,”

I did as he said, feeling proud at how it sounded.

I smiled, looking at him over my shoulder.

His eyes were heavy lidded as he stared at my lips, “Y/N…”

Biting my bottom lip, I removed the guitar and placed it carefully next to the chair.

“Jude… I-”

My sentence was cut short; Jude swooping down as he kissed me. He cupped my cheeks as his lips moved over mine sensually.

I gripped his waist, my other hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat. His kiss stole my breath, making me euphoric at the feel of his lips and slight scratch of his beard.

Slowly he pulled away, his breath fanning my face, “Is this okay?” He asked.

I swallowed, basking in his warm stare. Giving a short nod, I whispered, “Yeah… this is great.”

“Okay,” he grinned, his voice was a mere whisper as he gripped my chin to tilt my face up to give me another toe curling kiss.

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[middleearthpixie]

Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Chapter Eleven

Summary: The morning after holds surprises for both Thorin and Seren, and Seren confesses a secret to Amara

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Seren (female OC, formerly of Dale)

Characters: The Company,

Rating: T

Warnings: Just dwarves having a good time

Word Count: 2,209

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@tschrist1

When Seren opened her eyes, she was alone. Earlier, as the dawn streaked across the sky, Thorin untangled himself from her, brushed her lips with a gentle kiss, whispered, “We will talk later,” and slipped from the bed.

Still, she didn’t mind. There was nothing quite like having a cozy little secret, and this one was one of the nicer secrets she’d been tasked with keeping.

Amara came around. “Good morning, Seren. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like myself again.” She sat up, stretching her arms overhead. “My face no longer hurts, my knee no longer hurts, and breathing no longer hurts.”

Amara came over and sank onto the edge of her bed. Her long, elegant fingers brushed along Seren’s cheek. “You might have a bit of a scar, but I think that’s it. May I see your leg?”

Seren threw back the sheet and tugged up her nightrail. Her knee had been swollen the previous day, but now, it was back its normal size and she didn’t so much as wince as the Healer manipulated it in different directions.

“It looks good. Can you stand for me?”

“I’d be glad to.” She rose and padded across the room to the terrace. Down in the sun-splashed courtyard, the Company had gathered. She had a moment of panic, thinking they were preparing to depart, but then she heard a shout and couldn’t hold back her smile as Bofur came shooting out of one of the tubes feeding the large marble fountain in the rear corner.

“Elrond would love this,” she said to herself, turning to go back to where Amara stood.

Amara had her back to Seren, staring down at the bed and as Seren grew closer, her stomach dropped when she realized what it was the Healer stared down upon. The sheets were pure white, save for one rather good-sized rust-colored splotch.

“What time did he leave?” Amara asked softly without turning around.

Seren’s tongue seemed welded to the roof of her mouth and her heart skipped a painful beat as she forced it free to stammer, “Wh-what time did wh-who leave?”

“I assume it was Thorin.” Now Amara looked over at her. “Wasn’t it? He seemed very concerned with your well being yesterday.”

“I can pay you for ruining the—“

“That won’t be necessary.” A serene smile came to Amara’s lips. “He’s very handsome. I can see why you would sneak him in here.”

“I didn’t sneak him. He just… turned up…” Seren looked back at the bloodstain. “And I don’t think he knew it was my first time, either.”

“Was he careful?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Amara’s blue-eyed gaze met hers. “Dwarves and daughters of Man can reproduce. Was he careful?”

Seren swallowed hard, her eyes stinging as she said, “There is no need for him to be careful, Amara, for I cannot have children.”

“How do you know?”

“Mama told me when I was a child I fell very ill, with a very high fever, a rash, and she thought I was going to die. She never said was that illness was, but that it left me unable to bear children.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Seren. It must have been a terrible blow.”

“Yes and no. Children have never been something I wanted because I move around so much. It wouldn’t be fair to drag them all over Middle Earth. And I like being able to go where I wish, when I wish. It wouldn’t be fair to me to sacrifice that to make a man happy.”

“Does Thorin know?”

“Oh, he and I aren’t a couple,” Serena shook her head. “It was just… just a one-night thing. To get it out of our systems. We both know it could never be more than that.”

Amara didn’t look convinced. “Is that so? He seemed very concerned with you yesterday. When he came to fetch you for supper, and saw you were asleep, he sat beside your bed for nearly an hour. He asked me a hundred questions about how seriously I thought you’d been injured. I think you underestimate the dwarf’s feelings where you are concerned.”

“He is fond of me and sees me as a worthy warrior.”

“Fond of you?” Amara let out a chuckle. “He made love to you and spent the night with you, then slipped away before anyone awoke so no one would whisper about you. He sat with you because he was worried about you. I think fond is not the correct term.”

“Is it making love when it’s purely physical?”

“Was it for him?”

Seren offered up a slight smile. “It was for me. I was curious. I was attracted to him and wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. That’s all, I’m afraid.”

Amara’s smile melted into a look of disappointment. “Are you so certain you felt nothing for him other than curiosity?”

“Of course. He’s made it clear there is no future and I cannot spend time pining, so…”

“But you care for him.”

Seren didn’t answer, but instead went back out to the terrace to watch the dwarves splash about in the fountain. Amara came up beside her, her hand coming to rest on Seren’s shoulder. “You do, don’t you?”

Seren swallowed hard and nodded slowly. “I do. I have since I was fourteen summers. But, he’s made it clear, this is all it will ever be. So, I can either accept that and just tuck last evening into my memories, or I can spend the rest of my days loving a man who will never love me in return.”

She glanced over at Amara. “And I do not want to spend the rest of my days in pursuit of a fool’s errand. Besides, he is a king. A king needs an heir. That’s the one thing I can never give him. A child. I’ve made my peace with that, as I said. I cannot say he would as well.”

“He has his heirs in his nephews. Your inability to have children might not color his—“

“It is a moot point,” Seren broke in quietly. “And I’d rather not dwell. So, if I am cleared to join the others…”

Amara nodded. “You are. Let me find you some fresh clothes and you are free to go.”

The Healer started back toward the Healing Room, then paused and said over one shoulder, “You should tell him just the same. Men are the same, no matter their species. They all want what women want—love, family, home and hearth. They want to love and be loved in return, and not necessarily for what they can give.”

Seren managed a slight smile. “I cannot do that. Hearing him tell me it is a pipe dream would be more than I could bear. It is better that we do what we need do and then go our separate ways. In time, I will forget Thorin Oakenshield ever existed.”

“You have not forgotten him since you were fourteen summers,” Amara pointed out. “What makes you think you will now?”

***

While the others splashed about in the fountains, and Master Baggins was off somewhere else, Thorin sat in the shade of a magnificent elm, on a bench of white marble, watching the others without really seeing them.

His thoughts kept returning to the early morning hours, when Seren had drifted off to sleep in his arms, her head tucked into the curve of where his shoulder met his chest. Her golden hair spilled over his arm, soft and cool and silky, her breath came warm upon his skin. He couldn’t recall the last time he passed the night with a woman in his arms. Normally, he preferred to sleep alone.

But last evening? Sleeping alone was the last thing he wished. Seren felt perfect in his arms. She belonged there. It took every ounce of will he possessed to pull away from her, to get up and leave that bed, that room. But it had to be done.

And it couldn’t happen again.

“May I?”

He started, jolted from his reverie by Seren’s low voice and when he looked over at her, he no longer saw the girl who could pass for a boy. Her pale hair was once more in its single plait, most likely tucked into the dark gray tunic she wore. Her trousers were dark gray as well and looked as if they’d been sewn with her mind, thankfully her tunic was long enough that it fell below her hips. Otherwise, the only way one wouldn’t be able to tell she was a woman would be if they were blind.

He gestured to the bench. “Of course.”

“They seem to one enjoying themselves,” she nodded toward the fountain as she sank beside him.

“They do. And Elrond is mostly likely somewhere with a large goblet of wine, trying to forget it all.”

She smiled. “Most likely.”

Silence fell over them and he tried to focus on the dwarves shouting at one another as they took turns using the fountains as water slides, but he found it quite impossible. The soft scent of lilacs wafted up to tease his nose, one he hadn’t smelled until Seren appeared. He recognized it at once, for the scent tinged her hair and he’d spent more than enough time nuzzling her to breathe it in last eve.

At first, he wanted to ease his arm about her shoulders, to pull her up against him. Then, he glanced back at the fountain, imagining her with him in it under a full moon. The very thought of a naked, wet Seren, of making love to her beneath one of the waterfalls, was enough to start the dull ache of desire deep within him.

“We need to talk—“ he started.

“About last eve—“ she said at the same time.

They both chuckled and he said, “You go first.”

“No, you go. I cut you off.”

He cleared his throat. “Last eve was… Well… I’m not sorry it happened, because truth be told, it was one of the nicer evenings I’ve passed in a long time. But, I think it would be best if it didn’t happen again. That is, at least not until I’ve done what I have to do.”

“You’re right,” she turned to him, her green eyes more serious than he’d ever seen, and said, “Last eve was wonderful. I just wanted you to know that. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself and I hope you did as well, but you are absolutely right. We are very different people, you and I, and our paths will not always be the same. And it would really be best if things went back to how they were before we—well, before last eve.”

He wasn’t quite certain how to respond, as he’d expected her to argue with him, to outline points as to why they should absolutely try to be together. It’d been his experience that most women—daughters of Man, or dwarven—did just that. They cajoled, insisted things would work out, that he should at least be willing to try to make them work.

But not Seren. She seemed almost relieved to know he wasn’t going to try to lure her back into his bed any time soon. That left him taken aback, and all he could muster was a low, “It would, yes.”

She smiled. “Good. I’m glad we were able to clear the air. Amara has said I can go, so when do you plan to leave?”

He turned back to the fountain. He thought he’d be relieved by her relief. But instead, his gut kinked in a way that was almost painful and the feeling he’d just made a terrible mistake flooded him. Still, she waited for his answer, so he said, “Tonight, while the White Council meets, we will take our leave.”

“I’ll be ready. Where will we meet?”

He had to force himself to look over at her. Curse it all, she was beautiful. How could he simply walk away from her?

“Thorin?”

“What?”

“Where will we meet?”

“I’ll come get you or I’ll send someone to fetch you. Worry not, you will not be left behind.”

He’d said it more sharply than he’d intended and her smile wavered ever so slightly. Then she nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later. You should join them. Playing would do you a bit of good.”

She briefly touched his shoulder, then rose and left him with his troubled thoughts. Playing would do him good. Trouble was, the other dwarves were not the ones with whom he wished to play.

“Is something the matter?”

Thorin looked up as Bilbo drew closer. “Everything is fine, Master Baggins,” he growled, shoving up from the bench. “Be ready to depart after dark.”

“Yes, of course. But, are you certain you’re all right?”

“I’m quite all right. Simply impatient to leave,” Thorin bit back as he stalked away from the courtyard and all the sounds of gaiety. He needed to be alone, to try to sort out his jumbled thoughts and see if perhaps he really wasn’t making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.