#poor boy has a long journey ahead of him

[recycledraccoon]

Senior Year Au

Former Rat Grinders all spend the rest of Junior year and all of summer break in therapy, both individually and as a group. It's a lot of work, but they're coming back together in the aftermath in a healthier more sustainable way. (The empty places among them leave them feeling a mix of complicated emotions.)

Mary Ann still maintains her relationship (???) with Gorgug. (They're not asking many questions because Mary Ann gives few answers.) Lucy is good friends now with The Bad Kids, but Kristen especially. Even Ruben is on decent terms for the most part.

Ivy and Oisin had it much harder. They don't remember everything, but they remember enough to make the weight of it heavy on their shoulders, Oisin especially for the large part he and his magic had played.

Ivy had never been one to blatantly apologize. She's always been a bit catty, though never like that before. Still, before the school year ends she (very politely) asks Mazey for a moment of her time.

Mazey, a much kinder person, agrees and they step aside somewhere a little more private. (For however brief a time it was, Mazey did feel what the rage from that shatter star felt like. It's a large factor in her giving Ivy this chance.)

Ivy, as much as it visibly pained her to say the actual word sorry initially, does genuinely apologize. She's blut about it, and doesn't shy away in the least from the acknowledgement of how fucked up the things she said were.

They talk for a bit, and while it's hard to imagine they may ever be friends, both girls leave the conversation feeling closure on the topic.

Mazey ends up talking to Fabian about it, so of course the Bad Kids know.

Oisin talks briefly with Fabian Seacaster one day, extending an apology for the damages to him home, and passes along information so Oisin can ensure financial compensation is had.

The apology to Fabian is appreciated, but talking about it later the Bad Kids hone in on the fact that Oisin hasn't spoken to Adaine even once, to apologize for the taunt he's sent her or for-

Adaine abruptly says she doesn't want to talk about it, and ignores the fact that he exists entirely.

Oisin doesn't talk to them once the rest of Junior Year, even tho the rest of his team does. The Bad Kids think him a coward, and while Oisin would agree with them, the Rat Grinders look at each other with tight lips.

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.

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Oisin struggles greatly with his actions. He had been, essentially, Kipperlily's right hand. His magic had allowed Kipperlily access into, and away from, the Bad Kids Last Stand where she had killed Buddy. (They do not know where he is, but they've sworn to each other to find him.) His magic had laid the trap in Seacaster Manor, his summoning calling the Nightmare King Storm and his relatives who swarmed a house-boat filled with innocents.

Jawbone does help them get an actual accredited therapist, which is something Oisin feels great relief about, as it makes it easier to talk about some aspects of his time under the shatter-star.

.

.

Like the fact that prior to all this, he did have a very genuine crush on Adaine Abernant.

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.

.

How couldn't he? She was beautiful yes, stunningly so, but more importantly she was smarter than a whip and a phenomenal wizard, unafraid to get her hands dirty. Even as short, scrawny dragonborn with glasses that felt too big for his snout at the time, he'd held the girl in very high esteem.

Oh he'd never ever dare to talk to her, for all that his friends may have once tried to encourage it during freshman year. He'd known even then that the elven girl was far out of his league.

While he wasn't a true dragon, Oisin's family had strong blood ties still, and the bleed over was still strong. Strength was important to them, and fighting the other was the first step in courtships between Dragons for a large variety of reasons. He'd been so scrawny, and a untested young wizard to boot, that he couldn't fathom ever being strong enough to match up to a girl like her. He's certainly endured enough scrutiny for his lack of battle prowess at home.

So no, Oisin hadn't thought that he would ever be a good match for such a girl, but he could hoard tender feelings about her in his chest, and nobody could do or say anything about it. At most he would endure some playful teasing at the time but he'd always reassure his friends it was alright.

"Not every unrequited love is bitter." Oisin told them once, smiling softly as he pulled his eyes away from where Adaine was walking to join her friends for lunch further out in the quad. "Statistically, high school romances don't work out. This is just...an equation that doesn't result in a positive answer. No use being angry at the numbers, the math won't change." He says.

Lucy had frowned, "Life isn't a math question Oisin."

"Yes it is," Oisin's responded, "it's just one of the unsolvable ones." His grin turned into a yelp when Ivy had dragged him down to try to noogie him, and they had all laughed and left the topic alone.

.

.

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When he had first been raged out, he hadn't felt bitter. He felt strong and powerful and didn't need the distractions. But when Adaine had spotted him at the party to talk, after he'd grown tall and bulked out from the hours pumping iron to burn off the excess anger-

She only noticed him when he'd already been on his way to hell. That's when he started feeling bitter.

.

.

.

Oisin has so many complicated emotions and guilts eating away at him. He desperately wants to apologize to Adaine Abernant, to lay his heart bare so she may deliver his due judgement and strike true.

But more than anything, he needs to sort himself out first. He would not risk apologizing, not when his heart still ached, not when anyone could possibly notice and decide his apology was motivated by selfish wants instead of true remorse.

So Oisin does not speak to any of them the rest of that year or over the summer, even as the others will tag along with Lucy and Mary Ann sometimes to join the Bad Kids for an afternoon. He goes to therapy, reads self books, and painstakingly does his best to bleed the love for Adaine Abernant out of his heart. He knew the statistics when he fell in love, he'd have to do this one day or another.

Finally, first day of Senior Year, Oisin follows his party to where the remaining Bad Kids are.

He's spotted immediately, he knows because Riz Gukgak goes tense and starts furiously whispering, the Bad Kids exchange hushed words Oisin is too far to hear, but Adaine Abernant meets his gaze for a long moment.

Then she turns and leaves.

Oisin isn't surprised, but he does watch her leave for perhaps longer than he should have, before quickening his steps to catch up with the others.

The Bad Kids, as alright as they are with the others, glare at Oisin. Ivy beside him is tense, but bumping his tail against the back of her calves is his way of telling her this is alright.

He gives brief apologies, for the storm and those of his family who had attacked them all on his request.

Then, he quietly asks them to pass on a message to Adaine.

"I would like to apologize to her but-" He clears his throat under the pressure of the glares he's receiving. "If she doesn't want to hear it I understand completely."

Oisin doesn't give much time for a response, dipping his head and giving a quick goodbye as he prepared to go find his locker before classes.

"Oisin-" Lucy calls as he starts stepping away from the group.

"It's alright," Oisin murmers, thinking back to a warm fall day in the quad during freshman year. "I already knew the outcome of this equation."

"Life's not a fucking math problem, love." Ivy says, arms crossed defensively. Nobody else talks, and Oisin can feel the glares of the Bad Kids burning into his scales.

"Yes it is," he reminds them. "It's just a messy, unsolvable one." Oisin's smile is soft and tired. It is the smile of a man who's been resigned to his fate his whole life.

He'd always knew he'd never been or would ever be worth even a moment of the beautiful, amazing Elven Oracle's time.

He'd run the math, and it was no use being mad at numbers that wouldn't change.

Oisin turned and left.

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

A Wolf in the Dragon's Den

Pairing: Aemond x Stark reader

Summary: The Greens have won The Dance of Dragons, and your family has offered your hand to Prince Aemond as a means of forgiveness for your part in the war. But what shall happen when a wolf meets a dragon in its den?

Warnings: SMUT, mdni 18+, p in v, kind of mean Aemond? but he gets better lol, Aegon being Aegon, use of pet names like Little Wolf or My Dragon, fingering, soft to rough sex, uhhh language for sure haha if I missed anything let me know y'all!! It's also not proof read so forgive any mistakes haha

AN: Well ... sorry this took me so long y'all! I guess my summer classes caught up to me a bit but that's ok cause after long last here it is!! A good old-fashioned Aemond x Stark reader fic. I hope you guys enjoy haha, I'm working on a request next, but let me know if there's anything else y'all wanna see! :)

King’s Landing was a hot, humid, fish-smelling shit hole. The warm temperatures were much too hot for your usual furs, heavy cloaks, and skirts. Even your horses were succumbing to the heat, panting more than usual, the poor things. You could have rode in the carriage, along with your mother and younger siblings. But you preferred horseback, the wind in your hair, and the breeze on your skin. Although, the air here was salty and thick. 

Your father and brother, Cregan, rode beside you. “Hells, could it be any hotter,” your father murmured under his breath, sweat beading on his brow.

“Those vapid Targaryen’s couldn’t bear it any other way, something about the ‘dragon’s blood–” 

“Careful brother, they could have your head for that–” You chuckled a bit, but you all knew there was truth to the statement. The Dance of Dragons had proved as much, the Greens' force and display of violence was wide and plentiful. “Rash and brash” as your father had put it once. Especially that of your betrothed, Prince Aemond One-eye Targaryen. Or “the one-eyed cunt” as many northerners took to calling him. The betrothal, much to your dismay, had been arranged by your father, in a weak attempt to repair your house's relationship with the monarch. 

“Hmph, well if I had my way we wouldn’t even be here at all. Those ‘dragons’ wouldn’t survive a damn minute in the North. Their blood would freeze, and then maybe we’d all be rid of their problems.” Cregan said the word “dragons” with a mocking tone, a scoff in his voice. 

“That’s enough, your sister is right boy, they would have your head for that. Or perhaps feed you to one of their dragon’s” And with that, your father put an end to that potentially treasonous conversation. Cregan however, had muttered something under his breath about “told you to stop calling me boy”. 

Having had enough of the bickering, you tapped the sides of your horse, trotting ahead by several paces. Your dire wolf, Snowcap, had evidently decided to part temporarily from the group, to hunt or to shade herself you didn’t know. But you couldn’t blame her either way, the journey from the Winterfell to King’s Landing was a long one, and not a particularly comfortable one.

The gates to the Red Keep came into site ahead of you, the streets leading up to it peppered with Gold Cloaks and guards. The people of King’s Landing pay little mind to your small party, too busy with their buying and selling. You had chosen to travel light, there were no copious amounts of banners flying, or any regalia at all really. You would be surrounded by plenty of that kind of thing soon enough. 

To say that your greeting was lackluster, would be an understatement. Ser Criston Cole stood beside the Dowager Queen Alicent atop the Red Keep’s stairs. Besides another dozen or so Gold Cloaks, that was what there was. Cregan scoffs in annoyance from beside you, he must have caught up to you somewhere along the way. 

“He cannot even come to meet his bride-to-be, what a disrespect, pathetic,” You made a bit of a noise beside him, urging him to keep his mouth shut. You were in the dragon’s den now, who knows who could be listening in? Another glance around the unfamiliar faces does confirm your brother’s statement. Your betrothed was nowhere to be found. Even the training yard remained empty, and from what you’d heard, Prince Aemond could often be found there. 

As you dismount your horse, Queen Alicent begins to make her way down the steps, towards you and the rest of your family. Your father and eldest brother move to stand to your left and right. Your mother and younger siblings finally join you, to your left. Your mother gives you a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder as she moves to stand beside your father. You curtsey as the Queen approaches, she takes your hand in hers. Her palms are soft and warm, gentleness radiates from her person. 

“My Lady Stark, how nice it is to finally see you arrive. I hope the journey south wasn’t too unpleasant” She gives you a small smile, not as lovely as your mother’s, but kind nonetheless. 

“It was alright, long, very long, but alright,” You say, matching her smile. Queen Alicent releases your hand and carries on to greet the rest of your family, Ser Criston following closely behind her. Still no sign of your betrothed, nor his elder brother, the King. Although you supposed he must be occupied with his duties on the Small Council. You know you will hear an earful from your brother later on the matter. Had Creagn been born a Lady, he would indeed circulate most of the gossip around Court.  

— — — — — 

The Red Keep was massive in comparison to your expectations of its size. The halls appear more like an intricate intertwining of mazes rather than passageways. Your footsteps echo and reverberate off of the stones. Tapestries depicting great moments in Targaryen history line the walls. Lit torches line the halls, the windows, and the arches looking out onto bustling the city below. Servants, guards, and other nobles wondered about, gossiping, rushing to and fro. Ladies, lords, and servants alike whispered to one another as you and your family walked by, being led by Ser Cristin and the Queen. 

It was no secret that your brother had sent Northeners and Graybeards to fight in Rhaenyra’s name. “Fight like Northerners they will,” your brother had said once. And they did indeed, the bitter cold and long winters having hardened them into mighty soldiers and fighters. Barbarians, some called them. Your father had handed over the duties of Winterfell to Cregan as he grew older. Your father had hardly left the North in all his years of life, but he had become confused and temperamental in his older age. It had ultimately been Cregan’s choice to join the Blacks, a decision he is now trying to repair. Or it would be more accurate to say you were trying to repair. Since you were a wolf being offered up to the dragons for slaughter. Perhaps the only reason that the Greens hadn’t burned down Winterfell, and your family around with it, is because they know the importance of your family to Westeros. And if the North falls, we all fall, and no one knew the North better than the Starks. 

As you continue on your walk through the winding halls of the Red Keep, you finally come to stand before a set of doors. Modest in comparison to some of the others you’ve passed by. Metal filigree winds its way up from the handles like vines, the rest of the door was rather lackluster. Ser Cristin steps forward, dutifully opening the doors for your party.

There in the middle of the small council room, stood your betrothed. After long last you finally laid eyes on your betrothed. Aemond stood proud and tall, his long silver hair pulled back into one thick braid, tied together at the bottom with a strip of black leather. His back was turned towards you, hands clasped behind him. He was dressed in what appeared to be his riding gear, perhaps he had just come back from a flight with Vhagar.

“Aemond, there you are. You missed the arrival of your betrothed,” Alicent chided her son, who could not be less interested in the conversation at hand. 

“Mhm,” He hummed, “I was–” He paused thinking, “ –busy”. From beside you, you can hear Cregan scoff a bit. Your mother puts a warning hand against his back, he was never one for formalities. But then again, most Northerners weren’t. The Prince finally turned towards your party. The famous leather eye patch covering the sapphire in his socket. The faint pink lines of his scar peeked out on either end of the patch. He’s beautiful, you think, in a macabre sort of way, but beautiful nonetheless. He looked ethereal standing there, backlight from the evening sun shining through the windows. 

His lavender eye rakes itself over your form, as your mother pushes you forward a bit, to better meet his gaze. He lets out another hum, of approval, or disapproval, you cannot tell. A cord of annoyance strikes through you, not having the wherewithal to be subjected to such petty scrutiny. 

Alicent places a guiding hand on your waist, walking you forward, closer to the One-eyed Prince. You curtsey once you reach him, the lessons your mother taught you as a girl kicking in and taking over.

“I did not know you Northerners were capable of such manners,” Aemond scoffed as he said this as if he was telling a bad joke. Your teeth grind together, hands clenching into fists in your skirts. Behind you you can hear the scuffle of footsteps, and then a halt. Presumably, your brother acting out again, or perhaps your father this time. Typically, your family wouldn’t care much about appearances, but you were all treading on thin ice, and you knew it. 

Rising back up to your full height, which annoyingly still made you have to look up at him, you say: “We are rather steeped in our traditions in the North my Prince. We value honor decency, and the truth of one's word,” You glare at him through your lashes as you say this last bit. If it were not for the threat upon your entire house and bannermen then you would not be here, wolves were not creatures made to bow, even in the face of a dragon. 

Surprisingly, Aemond lets out a hardy laugh. You chance a glance over at his mother, she looks to be just as stunned as the rest of you. Silence befalls the room. 

“Smart mouth you have, huh, my Lady Stark?” He chuckles some more, then leans closer, intending his next words to only be for you. “Watch your tongue in my court, or I shall have it served to you on a platter at our wedding feast,” and with that, he straightens, and walks away. Yelling something over his shoulder about the training yard, and Ser Cole come with. 

“I–” Alicent begins to say, but you cut her off, rather impolitely, “ It’s quite alright Your Grace,” You offer her a smile. You liked Alicent, the poor woman had been through enough as it is, and the arrogance of her son wasn’t any help. “I am just pleased to finally have arrived here at court, and to settle in at my new home,” It was most certainly a half-truth, but there was no need to make tensions rise any higher. 

— — — — —

The following next few days were spent quite the same. Your little party with the guidance of Alicent took tours of the Red Keep as well as its many gardens and docks. One afternoon Alicent and Queen Helaena accompanied your mother and yourself down to one of the traveling markets of King’s Landing. It was rather grand, merchants coming from all across Westeros to sell their wares. Helaena had shown you a favorite merchant of hers, a man who made intricate gold and silver jewelry in the shapes of little bugs and small creatures. You had purchased a ring depicting the head of a dire wolf.

Aemond had remained illusive, he only graced everyone with his presence at meals. Choosing to sit far away from you, his brother, the King, talking about who knows what was next to him, but all the while his lavender eye remained fixed on you. It made you squirm a bit, being under his heavy gaze. Overthinking how you raised your fork to your lips, or where you held your cup of wine, on the stem or the rim as you’d always done. 

With your wedding on the morrow, your nerves became more frayed than usual. Your mind is plagued with silly thoughts like: Will he think I’m pretty? Will he learn to love me? But as soon as those thoughts enter they are replaced with others such as: Why should I care? He’s been nothing but unpleasant and rude. But the younger, little girl in you still hopes to have a fruitful marriage, one filled with respect and love. Much like that of your mother and father’s. Although you know now that that is an anomaly in this world. 

Your night is filled with restless sleep. Your body follows a pattern of waking for an hour and then sleeping for another. The heat of King’s Landing did not aid in this, the covers bunched down by your feet as you tossed and turned. Shortly after the sun had risen, maids had burst into your room, wedding gown in hand. You spent the next couple of hours being dotted upon like the princess you were about to become. 

It wasn’t a large service by any means, not that you minded. Something smaller and more intimate was more to your liking. Your father walked you up the long aisle to meet your soon-to-be husband. Aemond stood at the altar in the sept, his house cloak in his hands to drape around your shoulders. The closer you got to him the more you could see his eye attempt to devour your appearance. Surprisingly, he gently held your small hands in his. His fingers and palms were calloused from many hours of training with a sword, and flights upon Vhagar. He was a handsome man you thought, too bad his arrogance made him ugly. Perhaps a bit naively you thought, I can change that. But maybe it was just wishful thinking. Your mind already trying to fix something potentially broken. 

Aemond’s lips touched yours, forever sealing your vows to one another. Unlike his hands, they were smooth and soft, and uncharacteristically gentle. He was a good kisser you think, but then again the only other boy you’d kissed was a farm hand back at Winterfell when you were much younger. 

Aemond thought you were beautiful, the moment he laid eyes upon his Little Wolf he thought perhaps this union will not be one of suffering and strife. At least she will be pretty to fuck. As his lips touched yours in the sept in front of the Gods, he tasted honey and black tea. You smell like vanilla, spices, and what Aemond assumed fire to smell like. His hand came to fist in your hair, possessively anchoring you to him.

When you part you suck in a breath of air, cheeks red. Such a sultry kiss in front of your family and the Gods caused a rush of embarrassment to course through you. Aemond however, gave you a wicked smirk in response to the color in your cheeks. Still clutching your hand tightly in his, he guides his new bride down and out of the sept, to return to the Red Keep for the evening's festivities. 

— — — — —

The great hall was filled with the aroma of cooked meats, potatoes, wine, and the heavy laughter of your party guests. Your mother and father sat with you and your new family at the head table, looking down slightly upon the rest of the partygoers. Where the ceremony may have been smaller, the feast after it was not. Several more houses and bannermen of your brother’s came to celebrate the historic union. Boltons, Lannisters, Freys, Greyjoys, Hightowers, and the like filled the hall. You chose to remain seated beside your new husband, the ever-dutiful wife. You knew and had seen many times how rowdy Northmen could become at such a venue. You preferred to keep your distance, although it was not unusual to find you dancing with your younger siblings back home at Winterfell. 

By the looks of it, your brother had loosened up a bit, a tanker of ale clutched in one hand.

The king had joined him and the others closer in age for what looked to be some kind of drinking game. Meanwhile, Aemond’s hand absent-mindedly made its home on your thigh, stroking up and down. The gesture was a stark contrast to his previous words and actions. 

“You have barely eaten wife,” He noted as he glanced at you, “You must be well full and ready for what I have planned for you.” The same small smirk crosses his lips once again. Leaving you with a funny feeling in your stomach. But you can’t help the small wave of heat that strikes your core. Your mother once told you that men can become rather possessive of their women, and it can be quite cumbersome most of the time. Restricting one's freedom, constantly wanting you in their presence, she had said to expect this with someone like Aemond. But she mentioned that sometimes, in the confines of your marital chambers, it can be very — riveting to lay with such a man. It wasn’t until now that you began to understand what she had meant.

“I am afraid I have no appetite, my lord husband. My nerves do not allow me to eat it seems,” Aemond’s gaze darkened at the use of the word “husband”. Prince Aemond was not a man who did anything halfway, if he were to do anything, it was to be done fully without exception. A wave of dark possession seeps into his gut. He had already claimed a dragon but now he wishes to claim a wolf too. 

From across the hall, his thoughts are abruptly interrupted by his brother's drunken yelling. 

“ – the bedding ceremony! Come now little brother it is time for the bedding ceremony,” Aemond’s fists clenched, the hand on your skirts bunching in the fabric. “Will you fuck her like a hound brother? Woof Woof hahaha,” The hall had fallen eerily silent. Aemond’s chair clatters to the ground from the force of his standing. From beside Aegon, you see your brother place his cup of ale on the table, hand reaching for his sword. Your father is already a step ahead of him, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Your mother goes to stand in front of your younger siblings, shielding them. If you had no appetite before you certainly don’t have one now, your hands had gone cold and clammy, your head feeling light at the insults thrown your way. From beside you, Alicent stands, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“That is enough Aegon,” She begins to say.

“Oh come now Mother it was only a jest. Can I not be proud of my little brother?” Alicent opens her mouth to respond but Aemond beats her to it.

“You can take your ‘jests’ down to your whores on the Steer of Silk but you will not speak in such a way in front of my wife, let alone her family.” His voice is dangerously calm, ready to snap, and bubble over into pure rage at any given moment. 

“Always so uptight little brother, as if someone has shoved a stick up your ass–” It is your turn to stand now, the feet of your chair scrapping the stone floor beneath you. 

“I am quite tired, husband will you escort me back to our chambers?” You look at Aemond, a stern, silent plea evident on your features. 

“Certainly wife,” He responds with the same tantalizing calmness. Offering you his hand, which you take, grasping on tighter than perhaps necessary, you both make your way out of the great hall. Leaving the mess that is Aegon behind for someone else to clean up. It was your wedding day after all and you needn’t worry yourself with such matters. 

The walk to your marital chambers is quiet and tense. Your hand still firmly grasping Aemond’s, although he now squeezes yours back. The heels of your shoes echo off of the palace walls in an attempt to keep up with Aemond’s long strides. After an eternity of uncertainty at what was to come next, you reach Aemond’s, and now your, chambers. The room is large and furnished quite cozily. A large four-poster bed makes its home in the center back wall of the room. A table of what looks like chess pieces and a map sits by the open windows.

Aemond however reaches for the pitcher of wine on another small side table, pouring a cup for himself and downing it in one go. He pours a second, and a third for you. He offers it to you, you shake your head, afraid you cannot stomach the drink after what had just happened. 

“I am sorry–” You break the silence. Aemond raises a hand to silence you. 

“It is I who should apologize. My brother is a foul and evil creature who feeds off of the discomfort of others. But never had he dared to do so so boldly before,” He pauses, taking a sip of wine. “I have been absent since you arrived at the Keep and I believe I owe you an explanation,” 

You cross your arms over your chest, the air coming in from the harbor seeming chilly now. “Yes I do believe you do,” you say.

Aemond quirks an eyebrow at your sass, a small smile spreading across his lips. “They told me women of the North have sharp tongues and poor manners,” You scoff, his smile widens, “but I must say I’m rather enjoying that thus far.”  He moves toward you, one hand still holding his cup of wine, the other reaching up to cup your chin, turning your face to meet his eye. 

“I must admit that when I learned that your treacherous brother’s offered your hand to me I was quite – unnerved. I had no desire to marry, let alone marry a traitor,” A cord of anger courses through you, and Aemond notices this. He sets his cup down on the table next to you, the one with the chess pieces. Your eyes follow the movement, better taking in the contents of the table, a war game perhaps, you think. 

“I didn’t want to be chained to a dull, meek little pup for the rest of my life,” His now free hand comes to rest on your hip, and his thumb and forefinger move from your chin, to trace the shape of your lips, then your jaw, and down the column of your neck. “But I must say, that you have certainly exceeded my expectations. I shall enjoy breeding you,” His alkaline nose moves to smell your hair, and you inhale a sharp gasp at the vulgarity of his words. You feel him smile into your neck as he continues his ministrations, placing the whisper of a kiss here and there.  

“I do not understand you. You show me kindness, even apologizing for the acts of your brother, but then you insult me and my heritage. What is it that you want from me, Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You question him, hoping your voice comes out as steady as you command it. Aemond pulls back laughing, both hands now finding purchase on your hips, he begins to guide you backward towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the wooden frame. 

“Perhaps I wish to see how far I can push you Little Wolf. I enjoy your banter and wish to hear more of it. It pleases me that I’ve been matched to a woman who is not afraid to speak to me in such a way. People so quickly cower and whisper when I am near, it is refreshing to be met head-on.” His blunt statement surprises you, you had not expected such a confession from the Prince.

“Perhaps–” You pause, choosing your next words carefully, “ – perhaps then we can learn to love one another in this marriage.” You almost whisper the last bit, uncertainty in your voice. 

“Yes, I think perhaps we can,” Aemond whispers back to you, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. The tension in the air is palpable, maybe he was waiting for you to make the first move. To see how far he could push you as he had said a moment ago. Deciding to test this hypothesis you stand on your tiptoes, slotting your lips against his, just as you did in the sept. A hungry growl leaves Aemond’s throat using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against his chest. He kisses you back with ferocity. 

A hand grapes your throat, guiding you down towards the bed, your back hitting the feather mattress. You gasp against Aemond’s lips, swallowing the sound, he continues his assault. His hand against your throat tightened, although not unpleasantly, heat rushing to your core. His lips begin to retrace their path down your jaw and the column of your neck, biting and sucking red marks in their wake. 

“Aemond– someone will see–” He parts from you only for a second, looking into your eyes. 

“Let them, after all, isn’t that what my imputant brother wanted proof of our coupling? Perhaps it will give him something to pleasure himself to–” The thought makes Aemond’s cock harden impossibly more in his trousers. The fact that he could pleasure his wife to a level that his brother could only imagine, was nearly enough to drive him over the edge. 

“Husband that is not reason enough to leave –” You're interrupted by a particularly sharp bite to the collarbone. A moan of pain and pleasure escapes past your lips, spurring your new husband onwards. With a sharp tug, Aemond pulls the bodice of your dress down, exposing your chest to him. He murmurs a simple “beautiful” under his breath before latching onto one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at the flesh. Your back arches slightly in response, desperate to bring yourself closer to his touch. 

As he continues his ministrations he begins to unlace the remainders of your gown, shimmying them down your body, to pool at his feet. You feel his calloused hands roam up and down your body. Sketching your shape into his memory. His fingers knead the flesh of your breasts, your thighs, your ass. Finally, he swipes his fingers between your folds, you emit a soft whine at the contact. 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’ve barely even touched you yet Little Wolf, and you're already soaking my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you around my cock–” He trails off, mesmerized as he begins to pump two fingers in and out of your core. Your cheeks flush a deep scarlet at his words. Your hands find purchase in the sheets of your new bed. 

“Oh– oh Aemond –” You whisper in between breaths. 

“Say it again, say my name again,” It’s almost a plea, begging to hear it again.

“Husband– Aemond– My Dragon –” Aemond harshly withdraws his fingers from you. You nearly scream at the loss of the delicious contact. Discarding the remainder of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly to the side, Aemond grabs you by the ankles pulling you down towards the end of the bed where he stands. You catch site of his cock as he gives it a few tugs in preparation. The tip angry and red, glazed in his arousal for you. Your eyes widen a bit, your mother never prepared you for what might happen should your lord husband be too – big. 

Aemond sees your moment of concern, he positions himself over you, cock aligned at your entrance. His hand carresses your cheek, as he says “I shall be gentle, if you ask me to.Give you time to adjust –” 

“No,” Your answer surprises the both of you. “I want you, I am not some small flower, I can take what you give me. I want whatever you shall give me Husband.” You lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, as if to reassure him that what you say is true.

“Seven fucking Hells, you are something did you know that?” He rests his forehead agaisnt yours, as he ever so slowly begins to sheath himself inside of you. 

You let out a small giggle, whispering back “I know–” 

Aemond bottoms out inside of you, his cock fully enclosed by the walls of your cunt. He could die like this, he thinks. Cock sheathed in the cunt of his gorgeous Little Wolf. Your walls squeeze him perfectly, he needs to take a moment to catch his breath. He had fucked women before, whores in the Street of Silk. His brother having dragged him there once, and to seek some kind of perverted comfort there during The Dance. But none of them compared to this moment, none of them –

“Husband, Gods move please,” Aemond is brought out of his thoughts by your pleas, you voice hoarse with want and need. 

“With pleasure Little Wolf.” He begins to thrust, moving his hips at a slow and steady pace. It’s for his own sake as much as it is yours. He’s afraid that should he move to fast he won’t be able to carry on for very long. Beneath him your hands clutch the sheets of his bed, your cheeks are flushed the most lovely red, your hair played out in a halo around you on the pillow. If he could burn the image into his mind forever, then he certainly would. 

Aemond’s cock stretches you out perfectly, boardering on pain and pleasure, but only for the first moments. His thrusts are steady and calculated, but never the less delicious. The movement causes friction on your clit, sending a wave of pleasure to your core. It’s lovely, you think, but you want more. Moving from their place in the sheets, your hands settle on his hips, urging him to move faster.

“Aemond– more,” His lilac eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For Gods sake Husband, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Aemond picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all. 

Your tits bounce at the force of his movement, your hands that were previously on his hips, begin to rake down his back. Your legs come up to circle his waist, drawing him impossibly closer. 

“You like this then, huh, Little Wolf. Treated like my own personal whore, to fuck how I please?” The sounds that fill the room are egregious, skin against skin, moans, whimpers, and screams. 

“Louder Little Wolf, howl for me, let the whole Keep hear how I pleasure you so,” Perhaps that same small part of him wanted his brother to hear. As if Aemond had something to prove to him, that he made a better husband, a better lover than Aegon ever will. 

“Aemond, Aemond, oh Aemond–” You chant his name like a mantra. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you, you gasp eyes widening at the feeling. 

“Seems I’ve found where you feel pleasure best. Is that right Little Wolf?” 

“Yes, Gods Aemond, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna –” Hearing that was all the motivation he needed to pick up his pace even more. To fuck you even harder than before. He grips your hips pulling you closer to him at the end of the bed, from this angle he has full control over your body, and can fuck you as you so desire him to.

The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release. 

“Just a moment more, my sweet, perfect Little Wolf. I’m going to breed you, and watch you swell with my pups. Wouldn’t you love that huh?” Aemond continues to piston in and out of you, the feeling almost too much, but still just as lovely as before. Nonsensical moans leave your lips, and Aemond laughs at you babbling, although not rudely. 

His hips begin to stutter as he nears his end, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” He mutters under his breath as you feel his seed coat your walls. The feeling warm, and full and lovely. Aemond remains seated inside of you as he rests his forehead once more to yours. You kiss his nose again, a new favorite spor perhaps. He offers you a small smile in return.

You both groan as he pulls out. Your cunt perfectly overstimulated and happy. Wordlessly Aemond leaves the bed, and begins to rummage around some drawers in one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. You worry for a brief moment that he will leave, and that he meant none of what he said. But as he brings a damp cloth between your thighs to clean you, your worries wash away. He tosses the rag aside, to be dealt with on the morrow. For now, all he wanted was to lay with his wife in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. 

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you move to covers to lie beneath them. Aemond pulls you to him, tucking the top of your head under his chin, he kisses your hair. You both think that perhaps this marriage will be fruitful, that over time you will learn to love one another. It seems as if you both are on a lovely start for that though as is. 

“Good night ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved),” Aemond mutters into your hair. 

“Sleep well, My Dragon,” you say in response. You both drift off into a peaceful sleep, held comfortably in each other's arms. No one knew what the morrow would bring, let alone a fortnight from now. But you both knew you would see it through together as equals, husband and wife, dragon and wolf.

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr @anukulee @darylandbethfanforever9 @stuckinaf4nfiction

[itsabouttimex2]

Ahhhhh the Tang Sanzang and Wukong fic was so good! I adore the interactions between demon reader and them- though i am curious how did the rest of the JTTW crew react to the mischievous scamp of the forest?

Taken Aboard

Pilgrim Reactions:

(I had to use this gif again because there is jackshit for Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing in the LMK gif community. Give me my boys….)

Ao Lie is… rather confused that his master saw fit to bring along a child on this dangerous journey. After all, the path ahead is fraught with many dangers and perils. Perhaps the little one would be safer in the care of a monastery? Or even a kindly pair who had long wished for a child? Sure, they may be a demon, but they’re clearly not malicious or cruel!

However, the monk is set in his actions. Your wrists are cuffed with blessed bands, set to restrict when a sutra (separate from Wukong’s) is chanted. Your ragged clothing is replaced with a proper, covering cossack and walking shoes that they had to force your feet into as you screamed and kicked.

But in spite of the confusion he bears, Lie is a little happy, too! He’s got a little sister/brother to dote on now! As one of the gentler and less troublesome members of this little gang, he’s often tasked with watching over them, especially when the group is attacked by demons.

Though it takes him a while to coax you into actually taking him up on it, the white dragon horse frequently offers you rides. At first, you’re a bit too proud to accept, trudging along even as you tire from walking. He wants so bad for you to trust him, and maybe; in time, to consider him an older brother. And if that means he has to pester and push you into accepting a little bit of doting? So be it!

And one day you will accept. Worn to exhaustion from another demon attack and thoroughly admonished by your master after another escape attempt, your body is worn and sore. The fillets around your wrists have ground your skin raw, leaving you to whimper with each step that makes the cuffs jangle against your fresh wounds.

So, finally… you clamber up and onto his back with a few pained noises, sniffling into his lavish white mane.

“Brother Lie,” you hiccup, arms snaking around his neck. “Master got angry with me again.”

“Oh dear… did you try to run away again? Little one, it’s much safer to stay with your brothers and master!” Though his voice is not without compassion, he clearly sympathizes more with the monk who’s been intent on keeping you around. Mostly because he agrees with not letting something as small and precious as your little self take even a single step out of sight.

He… he just doesn’t want to lose you, that’s all! It’s not strange to want to protect a fellow demon! Why, you’re hardly more than a baby! Look at you, you poor thing! Tiny features and scrawny form and big eyes!

How could he risk you being unhappy? How could he risk you being hurt?

“Stay with me, little one! Big brother will find you something nice to eat! And then I’ll see if master has something for your poor wrists, hmm?”

———————————————————————

Sun Wukong is somewhat baffled that you’re being brought along, honestly.

Baby? A baby? A little forest-dwelling baby?Why, you’re no taller than his hip! Here, come here and “let him check your height” and then he snatches you off the ground with a grin.

“I may be no tree, but you’re hardly even a flower,” the monkey teases casually, throwing you into the air. “You haven’t even sprouted, bud! How are you going to keep up with such little legs? Aren’t you supposed to be the ‘Keeper of Great Beasts’, Y/N?” He catches you, then another throw, higher into the air. “Kiddo, they’d crush you under their feet and not feel a thing!”

“Wukong! Be gentle with the child! And stop teasing them!”

“Aww, but they like it,” he calls back to his master, patting your head as you flail to gain purchase from the arm he’s tucked you under, strangled by the accidental grip he has around your throat.

He’s, uh… not the gentlest or most responsible.

But- he makes for a good playmate! And that doesn’t sound all too serious or important, sure… but Y/N has a lot of skills they need to build, and socialization is one of them. Under Sanzang’s watchful eye are you pulled into many games and chases, helping you build basic skills and strength as you and Wukong wrestle or race.

I like to think he carries you on his back like a baby monkey when you get too tired, clinging tight to his strong-as-iron fur, nestling against the near-invulnerable fluff from behind.

“Brother Wukong, tell me your titles,” you say sleepily, having gaining some modicum of respect for the simian through constant playing and occasional training with him.

“And then tell you how I got them?” “And then tell me how you got them.”

This exchange essentially boils down “tell me a bedtime story,” and “sure, sweetie” but the only one who realizes that is the Great Monk, Tang Sanzang- who is trying very hard not to melt from the cuteness of it all.

Y/N getting to enjoy some measure of a happy and harm-free childhood in the form of the Great Sage’s furry arms, one hand thumping your back as he recites an old tale or two.

This massively improves Sanzang’s opinion of him, too. Seeing Wukong genuinely tamper down the ego and potential bloodlust (assuming he’s anything like in the novel) to be truly gentle with someone who definitely needs someone to trust and rely on… it’s quite redeeming of his character, certainly.

Probably tampers down his yandere behavior the best… until you get injured, and then all the other pilgrims get to see the strength with which he used to wreak havoc on Heaven.

And there will be blood. And bone shards. And brain matter. And eventually, the utter and thorough destruction of what was once a demon. No one can sway him from the carnage, not even the tightening-fillet sutra.

After all, isn’t every “big brother’s” job to protect his little siblings?

——————————————————————-—-

Zhu Baije is probably the most resistant to having you along, mostly because he knows he’ll have to be “polite” and “patient” with you around, some whelp dragged to the world from the root of a fallen fruit tree.

Often tries to trick you out of food, but gets petulant when you try the same thing with him. And then he has the gall to ask you to help him identify poisonous plants and berries for him to snack on. Under threat of the sutra being recited, you grudgingly give him proper advice.

Now, it’s not that he can’t be sweet and doting-

It’s just that he doesn’t want to be.

Also, he brings out the idiot in you very quickly, causing Sanzang to try and supervise any and all interactions between the two of you. Because when he doesn’t, you get this:

“Y/N, there’s a stronghold of demons here! What are we supposed to do?!”

Y/N, who has lived in a sprawling forest with big scary animals from the moment they were born: “…maybe we should try to make ourselves look bigger.”

“Brother Swine, come and help me overturn this log!” “S-Swine?! You little brat, you better call me by my name!” “Or else what… Brother Swine?” “Or else I’ll-“

“Enough,” calls the Great Monk, stern and tired. “Enough squabbling, my disciples! If we are to see this journey to the end, we must all cooperate! Please, Zhu Bajie, lend your hand to Y/N. They asked not out of laziness, but as acknowledgment of your strength!”

“…huh. Alright, then! I can help!”

But, slowly, he does come to care about you. Letting you rest your head on his gut like a squishy pillow, carrying you when you get hurt, making sugar-sweetened herbal tea to share with you, letting you hide behind him when Sanzang is looking for you…

And then he eats the first human being who tries to hurt you. All across you is a messy shower of splattered gore and sundered organs, painting your face and body.

It’s proof, crimson and wet, that he really does love you, in spite of everything.

——————————————————————-—-

Sha Wujing, to start off- adores Y/N. They’re tiny! They’re cute! They transform into adorable animals! They can talk to beasts and trees!

And… they treat him like a person. An actual, thinking, feeling, person.

He definitely tries to dote on the kid, and I think he’s a strong contender for being their favorite person. How monstrous he is! How powerful! Like the great beasts that lived in their forest, tall and proud and imposing!

Wujing reminds them of home, essentially. Y/N is constantly crawling all over him as they would the beasts of their grand forest. He allows the strange behavior, understanding that the kid’s never had real interaction with other people outside of toying with travelers or waylaying attackers.

Always kneeling my down to their level and trying to make the child feel safe and heard. He often shares tales of his river and interesting passerby, and Y/N responds in turn, speaking of their forest. The two of them laugh and bond over their shared experiences.

And off the side, Sanzang is listening in with horror all across his face as they compare stories of killing and eating invaders who dared come to their homes.

Lots of piggyback and shoulders rides, and just barely being able to peel over his red mop of hair. He’s also one of the only people who you let mess with your hair, allowing him to comb and braid it.

“Brother Sand,” you call aloud, a nickname just a touch more affectionate than those you’ve given his companions. “Come look at the creatures I have found in the riverbank!”

And man drops everything to spend a little more time with you, happy to let you push little creatures into his massive palms as he teaches you their names.

And maybe, if things go wrong… the bloody butchering and head-piking/skull-stringing of anyone who even looks at you wrong. Maybe.

In general, just an absolute delight.

——————————————————————-—-

Tang Sanzang believes entirely in the possibility of anyone becoming a better person through hard work and effort.

So little Y/N, the Guardian who Spreads Growth, Keeper of Great Beasts:

Put flatteringly: Is adopted by five men and treated as a cherished; if troublesome, little sibling who is doted on and allowed to become a better person. Lots of good food and cozy clothing, and they never go hungry or cold again. They’re taught to read and write, and never are without unconditional love.

Put unflatteringly: is forcibly displaced from their home and made to adopt new customs and styles, severed from that which they know and love to become someone else’s idea of “right”. Also they get torture bands slapped on their wrists.

Sanzang tries to be fatherly and kind with Y/N, attempting to delve into the “why” of any mischievous or cruel actions you commit instead of simply writing them off as “bad”.

“So… you thought that man was going to hurt you?”

“He smiled at me! With all his teeth! It was a threat, Master! And then he walked towards me with a hand out!”

“…I see. You were scared of being hurt, then?”

“I- No! No! I didn’t say I was scared! I wasn’t!”

Lots of “therapy sessions” to help work through your feral mindset and improve your problem solving skills.

In general, solving problems while trying not to be frustrated. For example:

Given that Y/N has never once cut their hair, it’s even longer than they are tall, and proves to be quite a bit of trouble. And they respond violently to his attempts to cut it, screaming and swiping like a feral cat. It takes a few weeks of nudging and asking, but Sanzang gets them to submit to a “trim” that cuts more than five feet of hair away and still leaves the little demon’s locks dangling down to their ankles. He’ll try for more later, but allows you to be for a while.

Then, cutting your nails. And washing the grime from your body. And getting you into shoes that you’ll keep on. He settles for boots with laces, given that you can’t tie or untie them. Y/N, you’re sitting on the ground in front of him seething because you aren’t flexible enough to bend forward and chew through the twine lacing. Also, in order for him to get them on in the first place someone has to restrain you, so one of your “brothers” is getting the silent treatment. (It’s Wukong.)

He won’t ever be “Brother Sanzang�� or “Brother Monk”, but he will get something better:

“…father,” you’ll finally say after a full year of traveling with him, lying in a puddle of tears with your head in his lap. “Please… please forgive me, father.”

“Oh, Y/N… of course, of course. Come now, sit with me. Let me tend your wounds and wipe your tears. All will be well.. my child.”

And maybe, just maybe… he’ll think about taking one of your circlets off.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 3

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. She's finally here.

Word count: 3.5k Rating: M (nothing sexual; mostly topics that may be uncomfortable) Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+; Mentions of murder, violence, death, blood, gore (very minor), blood drinking, sexual acts. Angst, alcohol consumption.

Summary: Tav and Shadowheart finally reunite for a simple lunch date. Their discussion turns toward Astarion, and a particularly unsettling event.

Chapter track: Cry - Cigarettes After Sex

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

Dawn breaks over the horizon. The subtle stirrings of a city coming to life once more fill the streets. Maids and matrons pat down their mats just beyond their front doors. Street vendors begin setting up their carts. A young boy with a satchel carrying copies of the Gazette goes from home to home delivering the day’s latest print.

Tav kneels before her front window, watching the street below. A few days have passed since her meeting with Jaheira. Astarion hasn't been to see her; the longest stretch of time between visits since they began their ordeal. She fully expected a visit last night. However, he never came. She hates admitting it to herself, but she feels a shallow pit in her stomach beginning to form having gone without him for so long.

Standing up, Tav closes the window and brings herself into the washroom to prepare for the day ahead. An old friend has requested a lunch date; she hasn’t seen Shadowheart for many months, and owes her dearest friend an audience.

Tav pours the carafe of water into the wash basin, dipping a cloth into the water before bringing it to her face. Studying the various soaps and creams she has lined along the shelf, she chooses one of nettlebark, smelling of citrus and pine forests. This scent is one of her favorites, and she’s relieved she can still find comfort within the smell. Scents are still a trigger for her nausea at this stage in her pregnancy. The usually tempting smell of breakfast wafting about the air of the city turns her stomach upright, now. Tav has found that if she holds off eating until mid-morning, she's in the clear. 

Yet… odd cravings have begun. 

For instance, she's since gone back to the butcher's, profusely apologetic to poor Gideon. Of course, the kind soul that he is, he was nothing but understanding and even offered her a few rations free of charge. Tav politely declined his offer, yet as she stared into the display cases full of various raw meats, she found herself practically bewitched by the sight. Rich, bloody beef; cut straight from the animal. She recalls how intensely saliva pooled within her mouth staring at the provisions. Tasting the metallic twang of the blood on her tongue, swallowing thickly as Gideon returned with her order.

Patting her face dry with a small towel, Tav returns into the main room and begins rummaging through her dresser for the day's outfit. The midnight blue bottle Jaheira gave her sits atop the dresser. Tav considers the potion every morning, but quickly declines as her heart aches at the thought. 

She believes the weather to be rather warm today, so she settles on an airy, light blue sundress and a wide brimmed hat. The gray scarf she recently bought matches perfectly as she stands before her mirror, assembling the ensemble. 

The ghost of scars catches her eyes as she adjusts the scarf around her neck. They're light enough; most wouldn't notice, though to her, they blare. Permanent gifts from her months-long affair with Astarion during their journey to defeat the Absolute. His bite was always a clean one, never marring her tanned skin. Two faint fang marks are all that remain, Tav taking the index and middle fingers of one hand to press lightly over the imprinted flesh as she lifts her chin.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

The rhythmic beating of her heart can be felt beneath her fingertips as she pushes slightly into the artery. Accurate, Tav notes, a shiver running down her spine. She makes quick adjustments to the scarf and grabs her hat off the edge of her bed, placing it atop her head. 

Returning to the mirror, Tav smiles approvingly at her reflection as she gives herself a final glance over. The dress is loose enough that it hides the new softness of her body, something she's thankful for. Curiously, she places her hands over her stomach, pushing the fabric of the dress down and under the small swell of her lower abdomen. A pleased laugh escapes her lips while admiring the sight.

Tav turns her body from side to side, tracing the movement with her eyes. Her breasts now fill the top of the garment. The deep plunge of the dress’s neckline displays her new cleavage in a flattering manner. Feeling suddenly bare, Tav unwraps the scarf from around her neck, repositioning it lays across her chest like a bandana. Better. A bit more modest.

The satisfaction doesn’t last very long as she thinks of Shadowheart. How can she tell her? Will she tell her? While Shadowheart has never been anything but supportive, Tav worries how she may respond to news of her pregnancy. Tav is not ready for the backlash and potential lecture her best friend would give her, hearing Shadowheart's scolding voice echo within her mind. 

You cried over him for months! Tav envisions clearly, sour facial expressions and all. How many times did you come to me distraught in the middle of the night? Only to end up like this?

If the conversation doesn’t occur naturally, Tav decides on not discussing it. Not yet.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Tav grabs her satchel from behind her main door, throwing it over her shoulder and across her chest. She inspects the contents quickly to ensure everything is present. Slipping her feet into brown sandals, she makes her way down the stairs to face the day ahead.

----------------------------------------------------

The morning is spent strolling around the park not far from her apartment. Tav recalls an altercation with Bhaal’s followers in this very park so many months ago. Today though, people are enjoying the sun and the company of one another. Lovers lay out on the grass, hands interlaced as they speak freely of their devotion to one another. A book club gathers in the middle of the park to discuss their latest obsession. Tav overhears bits and pieces of mixed conversations, finding comfort in the fact that life is slowly returning to normal for the citizens of Baldur's Gate.

The midmorning quickly slips into afternoon, and Tav begins her trek over toward the Elfsong to meet with Shadowheart. A few people nod in recognition as she passes by. “That's our hero!” they shout. “The savior of the city!” Tav smiles and bows graciously toward them, never quite comfortable with everyone suddenly knowing of her existence. Still, she is thankful for their praise and support.

Upon entering the Elfsong, Tav scans the tavern and quickly finds Shadowheart seated at a booth along the wall. Their eyes meet, Shadowheart waving her over with a warm smile on her face. “There you are!” she exclaims as Tav draws closer. “My goodness, I feel as if it's been ages!” The two women exchange a quick embrace, planting chaste kisses upon eachother's cheek.

“Good to see you again, Shadowheart,” Tav says as she settles into the booth. She removes her hat and scarf, placing both items on the cushion to her left.

Shadowheart soon joins her, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “Shall I ask for another glass?” she proposes, nodding to hers. “We could just order a bottle,” she quickly adds with a smirk.

“Oh, no, I'm quite fine,” Tav declines, a sharp twist in her abdomen forms at the thought. “Truth be told, I haven't had the best stomach, as of late.” Bile begins to rise in the back of her throat as a quick wave of nausea passes over her. She quickly swallows it back down.

Taking another sip from her glass, Shadowheart cocks her head to the side. “Truly? Why haven't you been to see me yet?”

“Not to worry,” waving a hand in reassurance. “I've been to a healer. All is well,” Tav replies with a liar’s smile.

All is not well. None of this is well.

Fortunately, Shadowheart takes the bait and quickly switches subjects. Waiting for service, they begin a pleasant conversation about resettling back into their lives. They speak of their new jobs and all other mundane activities of day-to-day life, sharing a few laughs between remarks as they pursue the menus in front of them.

The waitress takes their orders – Shadowheart keeps it light, ordering salad with grilled chicken; Tav orders a rare steak with potatoes and a side of vegetables. “Rare?” Shadowheart comments as soon as the waitress is out of earshot. “You hate all meat, unless it’s well done.”

She's right. Any hint of pink in Tav’s portion would go right back into the fire. “I-I've been trying new things lately,” Tav explains, rubbing her neck coyly. The cravings only seem to grow as the days pass, and she briefly wonders if it's a consequence of having a half-vampiric pregnancy.

Shadowheart raises a brow again, but fortunately does not pry further. The women then delve into a discussion regarding their old companions as they wait for their meals. Tav talks of her efforts to bolster the city watch with Wyll, now the Duke after his father's unfortunate death. Shadowheart speaks of Gale, who she notes has since opened a school of wizardry back in Waterdeep. Neither has heard much regarding the others, though they agree that they're most likely doing well.

Shadowheart wastes little time once their meals arrive, forking salad into her mouth. “So, have you heard from Astarion at all?” she asks casually after swallowing.

A shudder passes over Tav as she begins slicing into her steak. “No,” she feigns with eyes cast downward, “I-I have not.”

Gesturing toward Tav with her fork as she chews, Shadowheart swallows. “I read something interesting in the Gazette a few days ago,” she suggests.

“About him?” Tav questions, bringing a potato wedge to her mouth.

Shadowheart shakes her head in disapproval around a sip of wine. “Not in particular,” she clarifies. “They don't name him explicitly, though it made me think of him.”

Silence befalls the table as Tav awaits her companion to continue. She doesn't trust her voice enough at this point to offer more to their conversation now that Astarion is the topic at hand. Playing idly with the vegetables on her plate, she chooses a small piece of broccoli to bring up to her mouth. The heavy pull of dread is beginning to creep in, her chest tightening.

“They… mentioned an incident that occurred in the sewers but a tenday ago,” explains Shadowheart, a sour expression befitting her face. “Some sort of deal gone wrong.”

Tav looks up to meet Shadowheart's gaze, puzzled. “How exactly does that involve him?” she inquires.

“Well, that's just the thing,” Shadowheart continues, “those first on the scene mentioned five victims in total, all young males.” She interrupts herself to feed another forkful of salad into her mouth, swallowing before resuming, “They were all reported as being exsanguinated, though only three had their throats slashed.”

Tav swallows hard around another piece of steak, silently savoring the rare flavor washing over her tongue as she focuses her attention on Shadowheart. “And the other two?”

Shadowheart looks sheepishly around the bar, discomfort evident. She dips her head. “Tav, I know of your history with Astarion. I don't wish to speak ill of him out of respect for you.”

Tav's fist tightens around the knife in her left hand. The tightness in her chest has traveled up to her throat. Her heart pounds rapidly as she drinks from the glass of water within her right hand. “What of the others?” Tav insists, placing the glass back down on the table with force.

Eyes falling closed, Shadowheart sighs heavily. “The other two…” she begins, voice trailing off. She pulls in a deep breath. “Well, they're reported as having two pin marks on their necks.” She gestures to Tav's throat with a soft nod of her head. “...Not unlike the scars you bear.”

A prickling heat spreads across Tav’s face. A tenday ago? she speaks within her mind. Rather close to when she'd last seen Astarion. Tav recalls again how miffed he'd been that night; impatient and direct, wasting little time coaxing her down onto the bed.

She pushes around a chunk of potato on her plate, anxiety mounting. “What makes you think it was Astarion? It could have been a kobold, or a spider, or-”

“They were gone the next day,” interrupts Shadowheart, bluntly.

Tav’s heart nearly freezes. She locks eyes with Shadowheart. “Gone? What do you mean gone?” she asks frantically, furrowing her brow.

“Gone,” Shadowheart reiterates, raising the wine glass to her lips again. “When the investigators returned the following day alongside the medical examiner, only the three with the knife wounds remained.” She pulls a long drink from the glass. “The other two were nowhere to be found. As if they'd simply gotten up and walked away.”

Tav shivers, entire body twitching with the thought. “T-that doesn't mean it's Astarion, Shadowheart. It could be-”

“Could be what? Another vampire?” suggests Shadowheart, sarcastically. “I don't think Astarion would take kindly to someone else moving into his territory.” She sighs, clicking her tongue. “I'm sorry to say it, Tav, but it sounds an awful lot like him.”

The sounds of the tavern flood Tav’s ears. Her vision narrows to a single pinpoint, the edges of her vision growing fuzzy. She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “We don't know that,” Tav states, trying desperately to calm the wild beating of her heart. “We don't know what happened.” She shakes her head, slowly opening her eyes. “We won't know until the case is settled.”

“Why do you still defend him?” asks Shadowheart bluntly, mouth pulling into a displeased pout. “Surely you remember how badly he hurt you. Why continue to defend him at all?”

The question echoes in her mind. Why does she defend him? The man is a monster; an abomination, as Jaheira had called his child. Tav knows not who he’s become. Small glimpses of the man he once was shine through now and again, mostly when they argue. The stubborn selfishness of him reveals itself, inevitably bleeding into raw passion once she works at him enough. It almost makes her feel at home in his arms, albeit for a few hours.

“He wouldn't, Shadowheart. It's not like him…” Tav says, quietly. She's unsure if she believes it or if she's lying in an effort to convince herself that it's true. She's suddenly lost her appetite, pushing the plate of food away from her.

Shadowheart is quiet for some time, eyes cast down at the table. “Well,” she says, cutting through the silence, “let's hope he's as innocent as you say.”

Silence stretches across the table before the two women agree to shift the conversation elsewhere. They inevitably tie up their gathering, sharing an embrace and chaste kisses to the cheeks once again. They vow to meet the following week, and head out on their way.

Walking back toward her apartment, Tav's stomach begins to sour as she thinks over her conversation with Shadowheart. Vivid images of Astarion sinking his fangs into the necks of the alleged victims flood her mind's eye. She feels a tingling sensation over her own scars as she imagined how they must have felt. Could he have really done such a thing? The sounds of the city are almost absent from her ears as she ponders the question.

“Wait a minute,” she speaks aloud, freezing in place. Her eyes are cast down to the cobblestone street below as her heart fills with horror. Her mouth dries quickly, choking as she tries to breathe.

The last night she'd seen Astarion coincides almost exactly with the timeline of the murders within the sewers. If the report is true, then Astarion's enthusiasm that night wasn't solely due to want, necessarily. Tav dips into a small alley between two buildings, leaning against the brick wall as her knees grow weak.

No, his insistence was not due to missing her. It was attributed to blood-fueled lust, a state Tav has seen him in a number of times. She clasps a hand over her mouth as a sob suddenly racks her chest. Her whole body shakes as the horrific realization sinks deep into her bones. The puzzle aligns near perfectly as the thought continues to blossom.

Astarion had come to her bed after draining two people dry. He didn't spend time on their typical foreplay because he couldn't. Tav knows the power mortal blood has over him, and she doubts the ascension has changed that. She recalls how it all but possesses his thoughts, his feelings, and his body, enslaved by the sheer power of unbridled desire running through him.

Lurching forward, she begins to dry heave; a million thoughts race across her mind. He couldn't have done this on purpose, could he? He wouldn't. There's simply no way he would. Denial clouds her thoughts as saliva drips freely from her open mouth, gathering it together to spit upon the floor. Holding a hand to her stomach she rises, leaning her temple against the cool brick of the wall next to her. She closes her eyes, trying to calm her excitement with slow, deep breaths.

“No innocents; you have my word.”

Astarion's past promise to her rings loudly in her ears. It was from this promise their almost nightly affair to keep him well-fed began. Tav tries desperately to block out the memories of what would transpire after their sessions; how could she have not noticed? All the signs were there.

Because he didn't drink from me.

Her stomach churns again and she rubs her hand in a circular motion above her navel. Her chest burns as she chokes back tears. What to do, now? Does she wait until his next visit to confront him? When will that be? The anticipation will burn a hole through her soul, she knows. But, what other option does she have? 

A small voice wrestles from within as she wipes her mouth with the back of a hand.

…Do I go to him?

The decision is made before the logical side of her mind can argue a rational point, her feet carrying her toward the Crimson Palace. She second guesses the choice; from some place within, a voice yells for her to reconsider. 

He'll tell me the truth, surely, she argues against her doubt. 

Right?

Aware that she's potentially putting herself in a grave position, Tav cannot rest until he tells her otherwise. She needs to hear from Astarion's own mouth that he didn't murder five people only to share her bed mere hours later. She needs to hear from him that he wouldn't do this, that he still abides by his promise to her, that her blood is all he's ever known.

“Why do I care so much?” Tav questions aloud to herself, practically running now toward the monastery. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts; he will eventually drink the blood of others. If he is to create an army of spawn as he'd so claimed after the ritual, that would be the only way to do so.

They're no longer lovers; no longer deeply acquainted. They just sleep together, and she fell pregnant as a result. 

Why does she care so much?

Before long, Tav stands before the immaculate palace. Grand mahogany doors stand proudly at the building's entrance, adorned with intricate carvings along the wood. Black metal knockers depicting the faces of gargoyles signal a way in. Tav’s hand reaches instinctively around the bell of one, pulling up.

Before she can complete the knock, the door creaks open. A faint glow from a distant light source cracks through the opening of the door and Tav releases the handle, stepping back. She freezes in place, fully expecting the door to continue opening. Yet, it halts, remaining only slightly ajar. Stale air greets her nostrils and a shiver passes through her.

Silence suddenly engulfs her, the sounds of the city falling dormant. As she surveys the area around her, Tav notes no other presence out on the street for as far as the eye can see. Her ears pick up the soft sound of someone humming, and she determines its origin lies within the palace. 

An assimon carved into the middle of the marble trim along the heavy doors catches her attention as she looks up. Tav turns her head as she studies the figure; a young woman with long hair, eyes closed and wings outstretched as she holds a lance within one hand.

The humming from within the building turns into a tune and cuts through Tav’s daydream. She shakes her head briefly, regrouping. She can turn away now and forget this entire thing. Forget that this was even a thought that crossed her mind, leave, and no one would ever know she was here.

A quick flash of Astarion’s fangs piercing into skin flits across Tav’s vision. She winces. I simply must know, she reassures herself. Drawing in a deep breath, she steps forward.

Resting the flat of her palm against the door, Tav slowly pushes it open. The old metal and wood fuss loudly as the door gives way under the force of her hand. The faint glow of the light from within now pours out, illuminating the street behind her. With some hesitation, Tav steps over the threshold, disappearing into the palace.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away Timestamp: Adopting Miracle

Summary: Dean has found a friend in Miracle, the dog whose owner perished in a fire. Unable to find a suitable owner, he reluctantly takes the pup to a shelter. Can Dean leave him there to wait for his forever home, or will he have a lot of making up to do with Y/N?

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Rating: General

Bingo Square(s): Adopting a Pet for @j3bingo and “Guess I’m just a sucker for stray dogs and naked guys.” for @jacklesversebingo

Warnings: Fire, dog licks and slobber, implied smut, ruined shoes, ruined roast dinners, a little bit of angst, fluff

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: You thought it was over for these two, didn’t you? I did, too, but when I finished TOTGA, looked at my J3 bingo card to see what was next, and saw “Adopting a Pet, " I knew I had to expand on how Miracle came into their lives. I hope you enjoy this fluffy little timestamp! 💖

My Masterlist     AO3     Ko-Fi

This wasn’t a fire; it was an inferno, and Dean knew they’d be lucky to get anyone out of this alive. They didn’t have long to sweep the building and listened intently for Bobby’s voice on their radios telling them to get out.

“Can you hear that?” Dean asked Benny, who shook his head.

“I can’t hear shit, Captain,” Benny responded.

Dean nodded but kept inching to where he thought he heard a whine. With the roar of the flames and the creaking wood and cracking walls, it was possible what he heard was just part of the fire. Then he heard a bark and saw movement ahead of him.

“Lafitte! Over here!” Dean approached the dog, faithfully standing by his owner, barking to raise the alarm.

“Hey, buddy. It’s alright. I’ve gotcha now,” he said, crouching to be closer to the dog.

“I’ll get him, Cap. You get the dog,” Benny said, and Dean nodded, picking up the dog and making his way out of the building before it crumbled.

“We need a medic over here!” Dean yells as he exits the building, Benny not far behind with the injured man over his shoulder. As Jack and Jo ran towards them with a gurney, Dean put the soot-covered dog down and held him close while the paramedics cared for the patient.

“It’s alright, buddy. They’re gonna take care of him. I gotcha.” The whining, distressed dog broke Dean’s heart, knowing his owner would be lucky to survive the journey to the hospital, let alone recover from his injuries.

“There’s a good boy,” Dean soothed. “I’ll get you a new home, bud. A real good one where they’ll take care of you. I promise.

As hard as he tried, Dean couldn’t find Miracle a home. Bobby had been kind enough to let the dog stay at the firehouse for the past few days. Still, none of his colleagues could take him because they either already had a pet or lived alone and didn’t have someone to look after him when they were on a twenty-four-hour shift. He’d asked friends, too, and no one was willing to take on the responsibility. After five days, Dean took the dog to a shelter, and his microchip at least gave him a name: Miracle. It was an apt name for him, considering how they met.

It’d be hard to leave him at the shelter, but there was no other option. With both he and Y/N working shifts, he couldn’t see a way to make having a dog work. Sure, he only did two or three twenty-four-hour shifts a week, so having a dog would usually be fine. Still, there would be an issue when they were working the same day or night because leaving him alone for at least fourteen hours would be cruel.

But as soon as a handler reached for Miracle’s leash, the poor dog whimpered and cowered behind Dean’s legs.

“He seems to have a good bond with you,” the handler smiled. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to adopt him?”

“I wish I could. My girlfriend and I,” it still sounded strange to say and made him grin stupidly every time he called Y/N his girlfriend. “We work shifts. It wouldn’t be fair on him.”

“We have flyers on the desk with highly rated dog walkers, and if you have family or friends who could take him when you’re working?”

“We sometimes work nights. I’m not sure we’d find a dog walker willing to do that. And my brother and sister-in-law just had a baby, so that wouldn’t work. My parents might, though.”

“Sounds like you have something to think about,” the handler chuckled.

“A dog, Dean. Really?” He’d be terrified at the look on Y/N’s face if it wasn't for Miracle licking and drooling all over her. “We work shifts. What are we—no, you know what? You. What are you gonna do when you’re working, and I’m on nights? Did you even stop to think about that?” Taking her seriously while covered in slobber and scratching behind Miracle’s ears was hard.

“I spoke to Mom and Dad, and they’re happy to come by and walk him when we’re working and take him overnight when we’re both on nights. Come on, Y/N! You think I don’t know you love dogs, that you’re literally on the floor showering him with love right this second?”

“It’s not the point, Dean! The point is, this is a huge commitment, and we’ve only been living together for two months, and suddenly we’ve, no, I’m sorry, you got a dog? What if it’s too much? What if it—”

“It won’t. I promise. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll take him back to the shelter, okay, Princess?”

“Alright, fine,” Y/N huffed. “He can stay,” she put on her best high-pitched doggy voice while pouting her lips and letting the dog lick her face, and Dean grinned, knowing he’d won this particular battle.

“Uh, you sure about that, sweetheart? You’ve gone from hating the idea to letting a strange dog lick your face in record time!” he teased. Knowing how much she loved dogs, he knew Miracle would win her over quickly.

“Guess I’m just a sucker for stray dogs and naked guys,” Y/N winked, and he frowned. Did she mean the dog? Or—

“Get your clothes off, Dean!” she chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do for bringing a dog home without talking to me first, and I’m going to start collecting. Bedroom. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the sound muffled as he spoke while pulling his shirt over his head.

Y/N had spent hours in the kitchen cooking family dinner. She loved these when she was younger. It was the one day of the week she could let everything with her father go and just be herself. Be a kid. At least until she got home. She wouldn’t go down that rabbit hole tonight, though, not when she had a house full of people to feed.

Grabbing dishes filled with potatoes and other side dishes, she walked from the kitchen into the dining room to put them on the table. “Dinner’s ready,” she called into the living room. Dean, John, and Sam were watching the football game, and Mary and Jess fussed over Matthew.

Smiling, Y/N walked back into the kitchen, and her stomach hit the floor. “Miracle, stop that right now!” she yelled, seeing the dog on his hind legs, front paws on the counter and eating the roast chicken. “Stop it!” she yelled again and walked over to pull the dog away. “Get down from—Dean! Get in here!”

“Bad dog!” Dean said, pointing at Miracle. “No treats for you!”

“No treats, Dean. Really? That’s all you got?” Y/N huffed and directed her attention to the offending pup. “Why is it always me, huh? Why do you never do this to your dad? You just love pissing me off, don’t you? You’re lucky you’re cute,” Y/N scowled at the dog while scratching his head. Miracle whined and put his head on her knee. “And cuddly,” she grumbled.

“Who wants pizza?” Dean clapped his hands and chuckled, trying to ignore the death stare his girlfriend was throwing his way.

“Dean!” Y/N screamed, and he ran upstairs and into the bedroom. Seeing the scowl on her face, he dreaded to think what Miracle had done now. The dog seemed to love tormenting her for some reason.

“These are Louboutin’s, Dean! My favourite pair of shoes, and he’s just chewed them to shreds!”

“Sweetheart, they’re just shoes. I can get you new—”

“These are not just shoes! These are eight hundred dollar shoes!”

“Eight hun—who in their right mind needs an eight hundred dollar pair of shoes?” It slipped out before he could think about it, and as he met Y/N’s gaze, tears swam in her eyes, and her arms dropped to her sides, each hand holding the remnants of a shoe. Dean swore she’d never looked more defeated than right now.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she stormed past him and out of the bedroom, fleeing faster than he’d ever seen her move.

“Y/N. Princess, come on! Let’s talk about this!” he pleaded, running after her. “Bad dog!” he yelled behind him at Miracle, sitting in the corner of their bedroom, looking all innocent and cute.

He got to the bottom of the stairs just in time to see her throw the shoes in the trash, pick up her purse and car keys and slam the front door behind her.

Dean sighed when he felt Miracle’s fur tickle his fingers. “What am I gonna do with you, huh? Couldn’t go for a cheap pair, could ya? You know I’m going to have to replace those, right? Eight hundred bucks for shoes! Lost her damn mind...” he mumbled as he grabbed the lead, Miracle trotting happily beside him, knowing it was walk time. 

She’d had her worst shift in a while. There had been a gas explosion near the elementary school that had sent multiple casualties to the hospital. The incident has been truly horrific and spawned multiple fatalities. These kinds of accidents were the worst part of her job.

Getting home a few hours later than usual and exhausted, Y/N went straight to bed. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but dealing with those types of injuries made her lose her appetite.

Slipping out of her shoes and pulling her scrubs and bra off, Y/N moved to her side of the bed, ignoring her usual sleepwear in favour of her underwear and the vest she wore under her scrub top.

Sighing at the golden lump sprawled out on her side of the bed, she sighed, not in any mood to have this fight with him again. Encouraging him to move with a gentle shake, Miracle raised his head to look at her.

“Time to move, bud,” she said, nudging him to get him moving, but Miracle put his head back down on the mattress, ignoring her completely, and she sighed, tears welling in her eyes.

“Dean,” she whispered, nudging him instead. Miracle might not listen to her, but she knows he’ll listen to Dean. He always does.

“Dean!” she says a little louder, and he jumps awake.

“Hey, baby,” Dean rasped sleepily.

“Can you get him to move so I can get into this damned bed?” Y/N asked, defeated.

“Alright, buddy. Time to get down,” Dean said to the dog, who immediately obeyed the command. Y/N sighed, and her shoulders sank, unable to stop the tears.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, noticing her slumped figure and wet eyes.

“Yeah. Bad shift,” Y/N replied, climbing into bed and wrapping herself in the duvet.

“I saw the explosion on the news. Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asked, and Y/N smiled slightly at the kindness of his gesture.

“No. I just want to sleep.”

“Come here,” Dean murmured as he pulled her into his body and wrapped his arms around her.

Miracle jumped back onto the bed and tried to settle in between them again, but Y/N knew if she let him, he’d shove her out of the bed.

“Miracle, down!” she commanded, and of course, he ignored her and began stretching his paws out, trying to push her to the edge of the bed.

“Miracle, get down!” Dean said sternly, and once again, the pup immediately obeyed and jumped off the bed and out of their bedroom; hopefully, Y/N thought, to spend the rest of the night in his own bed downstairs.

“That dog hates me,” Y/N huffed, and Dean chuckled before kissing her forehead.

“He does not,” Dean tried, but Y/N only scoffed.

“Alright, buddy. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s getting us nowhere,” Y/N said to Miracle, and Dean tried to hold his laughter as his girlfriend tried to level with a dog. “We need to call a truce so we can live our best lives and coexist without me yelling at you all the time and you chewing up all my shoes and eating the Sunday roast.”

Dean looked on, amused, as Y/N crouched in front of Miracle. “What d’ya say, huh? You think we can be friends?” she said, scratching behind his ear, and Miracle barked in return.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes! Now, let’s shake on it.” Holding her hand out, Miracle quickly lifted his paw and placed it in her hand. “Good boy!” Y/N said and scratched his chin, prompting Miracle to step forward and lick her cheek.

As Y/N walked Miracle in the park, she made a mental note to herself to find another route for the winter months. It was getting darker earlier, and she’d worked in hospitals long enough to know what could happen to women walking through parks alone in the dark.

Suddenly, Miracle took off running, pulling his lead right out of her hand, and sped off towards the bushes where he’d undoubtedly torment the life out of a poor squirrel or five.

“Stupid dog,” she mumbled as she briskly walked to catch up with him. “Would never do that to Dean, would you? No, because he’s your buddy, and I’m just… I don’t even know what I am to you. A pushover, probably.”

Walking over to the bushes, Y/N hears rustling and is about to call Miracle, but a man’s voice startled her.

“Well, hey there. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here alone in the dark?” The stench of alcohol almost made her reel back in disgust, but she knew the worst thing she could do was show weakness to the stranger.

Before she could answer, she heard the patter of feet and Miracle barking as he ran from the bushes and stood before her, protecting her from the man with vicious snarls and barks.

Y/N was about to attempt as swift an exit from the park as Miracle’s scare tactics didn’t seem to be working. The dog seemed to come to the same conclusion and lunged at him.

Finally getting the drunk to back off, she wasted no more time getting them both out of there quickly. “Good boy,” Y/N praised with ear scratches. “Let’s go home, buddy.”

For the first time since she’d walked Miracle alone—because he was always on his best behaviour for Dean, he didn’t pull ahead of her. Instead, he walked calmly right by her side all the way home.

“Well, it looks like you two are getting along better,” Dean said when he came home later that night, seeing Y/N and Miracle snuggled up on the couch together.

“We had a traumatic night, and I think we’ve finally buried the hatchet. Ain’t that right, my good boy!”

Dean climbed the stairs quietly, not wanting to wake Y/N. She was supposed to finish her shift at seven last night but had to stay on until the wee hours of the morning.

He walked into the bedroom and smiled at the sight before him. Despite constant protests about the dog being on the bed, Y/N was curled on her side, sound asleep, snuggled into Miracle’s back with a small smile curving her lips.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean whispered, scratching behind his ears. “Were you a good boy for Grandma and Grandpa?”

“He’s always a good boy.” Y/N’s voice was heavy with sleep, and she smiled hazily at him. “Your dad dropped him off at about eleven. He would’ve kept him all night, but I thought I was getting home earlier than I did.”

“Sorry I woke you, baby. Go back to sleep. I was coming up to take Miracle for a walk,” Dean glanced at the pup and frowned when he remained where he was, not even his tail wagging. Walks were his favourite thing, and usually, he couldn’t wait to get outside and cause mischief.

“It’s okay,” Y/N yawned, “I should probably get up anyway.”

“Uh, no. Absolutely not!” Dean placed his hands on his hips, trying to show her he meant business. “It’s only gone seven. I got off shift early. When did you get home?”

“Four,” Y/N yawned again. “Then I took him for a walk.”

Dean nodded, now understanding why Miracle wasn’t keen to go out again. Then again, he wouldn’t leave the bed with Y/N cuddling into him like that, either. “So you went to bed when?”

“About five-thirty,” she answered.

“Nuh-uh, nope. Not a chance in hell you’re getting up right now,” Dean huffed as he shrugged out of his flannel, unfastened his jeans, kicked them off and pulled off his socks. “We are going to sleep for a few more hours.” Dean insisted before directing his attention to the dog. “Daddy’s home now, so you’re gonna have to move, buddy.”

With a huff, Miracle stood from his spot and walked to the bottom of the bed, dropping down heavily on Y/N’s feet. “Did he just give you sass? Oh, how the tables have turned!” Y/N chuckled, and Dean shook his head in disbelief.

“Apparently,” Dean huffed as he climbed into bed. “Now, come here, baby. I need some sugar!”

“Sugar?” Y/N chuckled sleepily.

“Yeah. I want some of my girl’s sugar,” he grinned, shuffling as close as he could and opening his arms to invite her into his embrace. “Come here, Princess.”

Y/N gladly accepted Dean’s invitation, shifting as much as she could with a dog on her feet, and rested her head on his chest. She hummed contentedly as he wrapped his arms around her, and she quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[ltash]

Piss Poor Tea

Ghost has to drive you to the city and he is not happy about it so he has something on his mind.

Ghost! I need you to take her to the city. She needs to get her belongings from her apartment." Laswell said.

"Why Me? Soap can drive her." He countered.

"Because I said so, Lieutenant," Laswell replied firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, you have your car here. It's more convenient."

A heavy sigh escaped Ghost's lips, his reluctance evident in the way he shifted his weight. "Fine, I'll take her," he relented, though the frustration lingered in his voice.

"Soap will accompany you too." Laswell said.

"Ok! When do we leave?" Ghost inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance.

"As soon as possible," Laswell replied briskly. "I am giving you a day off. Try to make it quick. Tomorrow we will be finalizing our next mission." With that, she declared, "Meeting is dismissed."

Ghost turned to me, his gaze lingering for a moment before he stated, "Meet me in an hour. Get ready." Then, without waiting for a response, he left the room.

The journey stretched on for two long hours, with Soap's incessant chatter filling the car.

"Aye LT! Why was strawberry crying?" Soap quipped, unable to contain his own laughter. "Because it was in a jam."

"Put on some music, please. I'm getting bored," I interjected, hoping to drown out Soap's jokes.

Throughout the ride, I noticed Ghost's gaze fixed on me in the rearview mirror, his eyes unwavering. "LT! You have a staring problem?" I teased, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Look ahead, or we'll be in big trouble."

Ghost finally tore his eyes away from me in the mirror and refocused on the road ahead, his expression unreadable.

After a long journey, we finally arrived at my home in the afternoon. I turned the key in the lock and swung the door open, inviting Ghost and Soap inside.

"Welcome to my abode boys where I only got to spend 2 hours of my life. Make yourself at home." I joked around.

"Nice home lass." Soap added. Do you have a car too? He asked.

"Yes. They shipped my car beforehand. Its a Tesla. Its in the underground parking." I said. "And speaking of that I remembered it wasn't charged."

Soap replied. "A Tesla, huh? Fancy choice." He chuckled.

"Yeah, but not very practical if it's not charged," Ghost remarked.

"Don't worry, we can take care of that later," Soap said with a grin. "First, let's get your stuff."

"Do you drink?" Ghost asked.

"Yes I drink but only coffee. Sorry you won't find any Bourbon here." I chuckled.

"Good enough for me," Ghost said with a smirk. "But I drink tea."

Soap chimed in, "I could use a cup too, if you don't mind.

"Tea it is then," I corrected myself with a smile. "I'll put the kettle on."

I remembeed there was milk in the fridge which I hadn't even opened. Thankfully it wasn't gone bad.

As I was making tea Ghost came to stand against the counter. Soap was busy watching TV.

I added milk, sugar and tea altogether and put it on the stove.

Ghost was watching me closely and he intervened.

"You have to mix tea and water first and bring it to a boil then add a dash of milk and sugar according to taste. You are doing it wrong." He added.

"My mother used to make tea like that. I like it that way more." I said and gave him a smile.

"Its not English tea then." Ghost came closer and said very softly.

It gave me chills down my spine hearing him so close to me.

"You have to try it. Trust me." I replied.

"Jesus! Trying this tea will be more difficult than our Al Qatala mission." He scoffed.

He then went back to the couch to sit Soap.

After making tea I served it with biscuits and chips.

"Here you go gentlemen." I said placing the tray on the table.

"Thankyou Lass, for your hospitability." Soap chuckled.

Feeling the need for a change of clothes, I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom.

"Piss poor tea." I heard Ghost saying.

My blood started to boil at his remarks. Why does he have to be such a jerk?

My bags were already packed, untouched since my arrival. Retrieving my belongings, I selected a black, high-waisted leather skirt that hugged my curves, complemented by a velvet, noodle-strap blouse. Tossing on a leather jacket for good measure, I emerged from the room feeling refreshed and ready.

Returning to the common area, I found Ghost once again staring at me with his intense gaze. It was like his eyes were boring into my soul, igniting a fire within me that I struggled to contain. Sitting down on the couch opposite him, I tried to focus on anything but the way his eyes seemed to strip me bare with their intensity.

"Maybe we should hang out for a bit," I suggested, breaking the silence that lingered between us.

"I need to get something from my apartment too," Ghost muttered, his voice low and somewhat hesitant.

"Alright, let's go to a club then. You can get what you're looking for from your home, and then we'll head back," I replied, trying to keep the mood light.

"Fine," he agreed, his tone begrudging.

Soap, always eager to join in on the fun, chimed in, "I'M COMING TOO!"

"Of course you are! We won't leave you here," I laughed lightly, grateful for the opportunity to break the tension.

We arrived at the club, and Ghost ordered his usual bourbon while Soap opted for whiskey. As for me, I stuck to my usual coke, preferring to stay sober.

Soap indulged in drink after drink, quickly downing several, while Ghost kept a more measured pace. By the time we decided to call it a night, Soap was already passed out in the car, leaving Ghost and me to handle the situation.

"It's getting late. We need to get Soap home," I urged Ghost as we made our way to the car.

He drove to his apartment.

"We don't have much time Ghost. We need to leave. Make it quick please." I said.

Ghost glanced at me, his expression serious. "I can't drive a long distance properly after drinking. It's not safe. We'll have to spend the night here," he explained.

Concerned about Soap's well-being, I hesitated. "What about Soap?" I asked.

Ghost shrugged, unfazed. "Leave him in the car. Come with me if you want to. I won't take long," he suggested.

Despite my reservations, I knew he had a point.

Trusting him as my lieutenant, I reluctantly agreed. "Fine. Let's go," I said, steeling myself for what lay ahead.

The car came to a halt in front of a nondescript building, and I glanced over at Soap, who was sound asleep in the backseat.

Ghost opened the door, and I followed him inside the building, the weight of the night's events hanging heavy on my mind.

We rode the elevator up to the second floor, and I followed Ghost down the hall to his apartment, his confident stride unwavering.

As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, I followed suit, feeling a sense of unease settle over me.

He kicked off his shoes, leaving them neatly by the door, I saw him barefoot the first time.

I couldn't help but steal a glance at his feet, his toes were perfectly aligned, even this man's feet were perfect.

He opened his bedroom door and entered. My glance darting on his back, his cargo pants were tight around his thighs.

He looked so good in those.

Taking in my surroundings, I noted the simplicity of his apartment, the sparse furnishings lending an air of minimalism to the space.

"Come inside. I won't bite." His thick British voice echoed from his bedroom.

Reluctantly, I stepped into his bedroom, feeling a wave of apprehension wash over me. Ghost was perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on me as I entered.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say or do in this unexpected situation. But his reassuring tone eased some of my tension, and I took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance between us.

"What do you need from here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside me.

Ghost got up from his bed and walked over to a table in the corner of the room. There was a laptop and some files on the table. He picked up one of the files and started looking through it carefully.

He seemed focused on what he was doing, flipping through the pages with care.

"I need to give these papers to Capt. Price," he said.

I stood beside him, observing as he flipped through the pages. "What is this?" I asked, curious about the contents.

He remained silent for a moment before responding. "Forget it," he finally said dismissively.

But then he looked at me, and suddenly, a sharp piece of paper cut his thumb. He cursed softly, shaking his hand in pain. I did not know he took off his gloves.

"Show me," I said, taking hold of his hand and bringing his thumb to my lips, sucking away the blood from the paper cut.

The sweet and metallic taste of his blood touched my lips.

He stood there in total shock, his expression caught between surprise and confusion. A small groan escaped from his lips, his eyes narrowing at me with a mix of emotions.

I let go of his thumb, breaking the silence that had settled between us. "It should be fine now," I said softly, trying to ease the tension in the air.

He placed his hand on my cheek, the warmth of his touch radiating to my face, sending a shiver down my spine. "What have you just done to me, Angela?" he asked softly, rolling his balaclava up to his nose, his eyes locked on mine.

I struggled to find the words, but before I could respond, his lips crashed into mine, silencing any further conversation.

[gwen-ever]

Chapter 2: Axe or Sword

Hello, my beloved hobbits! 💖 Another chapter is here, and oh boy, this one is something. But before you dive in, let’s stir the pot a little, shall we? 😏 What do you all think happened between Thorin and Geira in the past? I swear, Thorin is the king of emotional constipation, but Geira? She’s not exactly innocent here either! 😘 So, are we getting a heated argument, a moment of soft vulnerability, or both? Who knows, maybe something entirely unexpected will happen… 😏 Let me know your thoughts—I live for your wild guesses and theories! Now, go on, enjoy the chapter! 💕

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived… whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin’s past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins’ house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC Rating: M Warnings: none. AO3 LINK: HERE

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Sunlight filtered through the treetops, forcing Geira to close her eyes. The day had turned out warmer than expected, and despite it being early spring, her shirt clung to her back with every step of Rosalie, her pony.

“You’re not too warm, are you, under all that fur?” Geira asked, stroking the pony’s grey mane with her fingertips.

In response, Rosalie let out a soft whinny and twitched her ears, signalling that the summer heat was Geira’s problem, not hers.

Rosalie was a very calm pony, her temperament so steady that for a moment, Geira could almost forget the heavy atmosphere still hanging over the Company. The pony’s serene nature helped keep her from glancing too often towards the head of the column.

From the rear, she could see every dwarf in the Company.

Occasionally, Balin would pull out a piece of parchment from his bag, examining it through his small golden monocle. 

Just as the years had passed for Geira, they had passed for everyone else. 

The only difference was that they had someone to remember them.

“My hobbit back isn’t exactly suited to long rides, and neither are my poor legs!”

Bilbo’s voice rose above the birdsong around them, snapping Geira out of her foolish, childish thoughts.

She cast a glance at the two horses trailing behind Gloin at the column’s forefront, her eyes landing on the hobbit, who was pressing one of his hands against his lower back.

“Oh, dear Bilbo, you have a long journey ahead of you. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy the wide horizon!” Gandalf sang, gesturing ahead with his staff.

“The very thought of standing is agony for my shoulders,” Bilbo shot back, craning his neck backwards. “I should have brought a cushion!”

“You’re right, Master Bilbo,” Dori agreed from directly behind him. “This saddle’s harder than the marble floors of the Emeralds’s Marketplace in Nogrod,” he grumbled, trying to shift into a better position.

“With this heat, brother, I’d much prefer a frosty golden ale from old Olaf’s tavern. Maybe two, if that thick-skulled dwarf would take copper coins for once!” Nori dreamily replied, leaning his neck back against the horse.

“ Kann barathgalt i’zuhu! ”

Bombur nodded, glancing over at his cousin seated just in front of him. “You’re right, cousin, that wouldn’t be half bad right about now!”

Despite the small talk, which briefly distracted her, Geira noticed Bilbo shifting and moving restlessly, still ignoring Gandalf’s advice. She barely managed to stifle a sour smile when she heard his neck crack yet again. And just as on the nights before, she felt a hidden side of herself ignite—one she hadn’t allowed to surface for years.

“Straighten up your back, Bilbo!” she called from the rear of the line, catching not only his attention but also that of several dwarves, shocked to hear her speak.

“W-what?” Bilbo asked, craning his neck to peer through three rows of dwarves to find her.

“Your back—keep it straight,” she repeated, tilting her head to the right so she could look him in the eye. “Otherwise, by the end of the day, you’ll feel like a pack mule if you keep hunching forward!”

Bilbo said nothing, merely furrowing his blonde brows as he turned around. Suddenly, he straightened his back, tilted his neck, and extended both arms forward in the most awkward posture imaginable.

Geira gave Rosalie a gentle nudge with her heels, urging the pony to pick up her trot. Quickening her pace, she wove past the dwarves until she reached Bilbo’s side.

“Like this—see?” she asked, keeping pace with him and demonstrating the correct posture by gesturing with her chin towards the alignment of her back. “Head and neck upright, arms in front of you,” she explained with a smile, ensuring her upper body was as straight as possible for him to mimic.

Bilbo gave her a confused look. “Well...” he began, examining his arms and locking his elbows slightly. Then, he straightened his back, lifting his chin high enough to see the sky but still low enough to look at the ground if needed.

“Like this?” he asked, holding the position.

She nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”

“Well, it’s not comfortable at all!”

“It’s not comfortable now,” she explained. “But you’ll thank me later, Master Baggins, when your bones aren’t cracking like broken branches.”

She swore she saw a faint blush form beneath his golden sideburns on his beardless cheeks. “Oh, well, I... thank you...” he stammered, embarrassed, but he maintained his posture.

She smiled again before turning her gaze back to the green hills just beginning to emerge beyond the dense oak grove that surrounded them.

“How much have you travelled? If I may ask?” Bilbo suddenly asked, his tone visibly curious.

The question made her lips part slightly.

How much had she travelled?

How long had she been making the same simple motions without even realising it? How many ponies  that didn’t belong to her had she ridden? How long had she been wandering, not at the orders of a king, but simply because she couldn’t stay still? Too long.

The impulse to retreat to the rear of the line struck her again, as did the urge to leave Bilbo’s question unanswered. But she found a shred of strength when she saw the hope in the hobbit’s eyes.

“Enough to know how not to exhaust yourself after a day’s ride,” she answered quickly, unwilling to elaborate.

“With men, I suppose? I can smell them on you since last night,” growled Dwalin’s voice from behind, sending a chill down her spine and up, all the way to the tips of her hair.

She bit her tongue to keep from snapping back.

Turning her head slightly, she met the stern, shadowed face of the warrior dwarf. His dark brows were furrowed, a scar arching downward through one of them. His thick black beard barely hid his scowling mouth.

As the night before, she couldn’t help but want to rip that grimace off his face with her bare hands.

“Most of them, yes—men. They pay well,” she replied, shooting him a sharp look before turning forward again.

“They paid for that fine bow, I suppose, and that coat of yours as well,” Dwalin continued sarcastically, making her grip the pony’s reins tighter in her hands.

“They pay me well, Master Dwalin. Well enough to survive without asking too many questions about me,” she retorted, keeping her voice calm as her gaze drifted to the bow hanging at the pony’s side. Its pale wood made it clear it hadn’t been crafted by her kin.

And how could it have been? She hadn’t spoken to a dwarf in nearly a century and a half, and Dwalin knew it—he knew it all too well.

“Because if they asked, they’d know you’d turn your back on them the moment you got a better offer. That’s why you don’t want them knowing who you are?” he spat angrily. The dwarf quickened his trot to come alongside her. “Maybe it’s because they’d find out why a dwarf warrior roams the Wild Lands alone?” he taunted.

“When they start asking questions, I move to another settlement,” she replied quickly. “I trade my weapons for a roof over my head. Isn’t that what you do? The last time I saw you, you were escorting their caravans from east to west. I just get paid to fight for them,” she reminded him, throwing him a sharp glance.

“That’s not the same thing,” Dwalin growled.

“Oh, it’s not? So that coat wasn’t paid for with their gold, was it? Or those boots? And you didn’t pay the smith with their silver coins, did you?” she shot back, turning her head fully towards Dwalin.

Dwalin’s brows furrowed deeply, his eyes blazing with pure fury. Before she realised it, he surged forward and tugged on her pony’s reins, forcing her to stop and nearly crashing into him.

Bilbo flinched slightly beside her as Dwalin stopped them both in their tracks, glaring at her as if she were an orc with a mouthful of blood.

“We do it to help our people—you do it for yourself!” he spat in disgust. “You’ve always done everything for yourself! You’ve never cared about your people! You’ve no right to speak of us!” he shouted at her, his rage boiling over.

Each word struck through the iron armour Geira had built around her chest, around those memories.

She could feel her blood boiling in her veins and her hands tingling with the temptation to grab her sword and hold it to the dwarf’s neck, forcing him to take back every word.

He knew nothing. Nothing!

“Don’t you dare, Dwalin, speak of my life as though you know it, as though you’ve ever known it!” she hissed.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. The birds had stopped singing, and the warmth around her had been replaced by an icy chill. No one in the Company dared speak or even breathe.

Dwalin clenched his jaw, leaning in closer to her. “What I do know is that you’re a traitor, filth who can’t make amends even with her hair shorn short. You—filthy—”

“Did I ever tell ya I used to own a goat named Rind?”

Bofur’s voice broke through the ranks, interrupting Dwalin’s words. “She was all white with a black mark shaped like a crescent moon over her left eye,” he continued from the back of the line, chuckling softly.

Geira didn’t turn, but she heard the birdsong resume, the warmth return, and a series of grunts rising from the rear of the column.

It was as if the entire world had started breathing again, yet she still felt the world behind her burning.

She continued locking eyes with Dwalin, and in his green eyes, she saw unspoken words hanging heavy.

Can you ever make amends for what you’ve done to him?

And what did he do to me?

She wanted to answer him, but Bofur had decided this was a conversation that shouldn’t take place—and perhaps, for now, it was better that way.

The ponies resumed their trot, leaving only her and Dwalin in the middle of the path. Several seconds passed before Dwalin, with an irritated glance, tugged his horse around and rode ahead, leaving her behind.

When his gaze left hers, she exhaled a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the confused and worried look Bilbo cast her way as he passed.

“…She used to sleep under me bed, y’know. Did I ever tell ya about the time I came home and found half of me furniture covered in her slobber?” Bofur’s cheerful voice reached her ears again, along with the inevitable groans that followed.

“Oh, in Durin’s name, Bofur, not again...” Nori muttered.

“So one day I went to the workshop, like I do every day, and I bought some cheese and milk for the next day...”

Geira didn’t hear the rest of the story as she stood motionless, letting the entire caravan of dwarves pass by.

It wasn’t until Fili and Kili passed her that she raised her gaze again, and her breath caught in her throat.

Thorin remained as still as she was in the middle of the path, letting the rest of the Company move on while he stayed behind, watching her with an unreadable expression. 

They both stood in silence, neither of them speaking, as though Thorin’s silence was shouting at her.

And yet, it was only at that moment, hidden from the eyes of all, that she finally took a proper look at him and noticed how much he had... aged.

Thorin’s black hair had lightened, streaked with silver strands. His once-soft profile had sharpened like a blade, a myriad of fine wrinkles adding to his regal bearing in a way that hadn’t been there 120 years ago.

Yet all she felt looking at him was unease and anger—too much anger.

Only when he turned and resumed riding, his back to her, did Geira force herself to remember why she was there. All she needed to do in this place was complete her mission.

She just had to not even look him in the face.

Geira dropped her sword and stretched, raising her arms and glancing around the rocky outcrop where they had found shelter for the night. The site was surrounded by small hills covered in fir trees and evergreens.

The iron pot was already over the fire, and the typical pile of blankets and backpacks lay scattered nearby. In a few hours, they would be claimed by the luckiest among them, those who had managed to dismount their ponies and toss their belongings to the ground before the others.

The two brothers, Bombur and Bofur, were hunched over the copper pot from which a mouth-watering aroma emanated, instantly awakening her appetite; she hadn't eaten a thing since that morning.

She glanced around, searching for Gandalf, who was sitting by the fire, puffing on his pipe and listening to Dori. Dori, the eldest of Nori and Ori's brothers, was chatting idly, mostly complaining about Nori's inefficiency. Gloin and Oin were busy cleaning themselves up, while Fili and Kili were already chuckling quietly.

The only one excluded from that joy seemed to be her.

Her argument with Dwalin that morning appeared to have left no impression on anyone—and why should it? It was Dwalin’s problem, and more precisely, her problem. She certainly didn’t expect anyone to say a word; they hadn’t even looked her in the face, and she definitely wasn’t going to start a conversation.

Grumbling at the slight soreness in her thighs caused by hours of riding, she tried to follow the others' example. She knelt on the ground and pulled out her bedroll from her bag, unfurling it  in front of her with a single motion.

"Pick a spot to sleep; Nori, gather the ponies while Bombur finishes cooking," Thorin ordered as he strode through the small campsite, his satchel slung over one shoulder and his sword firmly gripped in hand.

Nori nodded in approval before getting to his feet, brushing his hands against his jacket, ready to carry out his leader's command without question.

She caught Thorin in the corner of her eye as he arranged his things on the opposite side of the campfire from her. She knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

"Master Baggins, mind you don’t lean too far over," Thorin called sharply, addressing an unseen point behind her.

It was only then that she noticed Bilbo standing at the cliff’s edge, hands clasped behind his back, gazing downward. At the sound of Thorin’s voice, the hobbit’s pointed ears seemed to perk up, and with two slow steps, he moved away from the precipice, nodding at the dwarf as he did.

Oin was standing next to him, peering over the cliff with his ear trumpet in hand. "It’s quite the drop, my boy—are you sure you fancy tumbling off this cliff?" he asked dryly.

Bilbo began shaking his head, raising a finger to object, but before he could respond, Nori approached, leading two ponies by their reins.

"We could always send Bombur to fetch him," Nori said with a chuckle.

"And then who’ll fetch Bombur?" Gloin retorted, sparking a round of laughter in which even Bombur himself joined.

Bilbo remained silent, staring into the void, his small hands restlessly fidgeting.

She pushed herself off the ground and approached Bilbo, who still had his back to her. Passing the blazing fire, she ignored Dwalin's gaze as he rose from his bedroll to tend to the pot brimming with food.

"How’s your back?" she asked Bilbo, folding her arms across her chest.

The hobbit startled slightly, stammering nervously. "Ehmm, it’s—fine, really. I thought it would be much worse."

She nodded, moving to stand beside him near the ledge. "I told you, even the leg pain will ease over time," she said, referring to her own aches, which continued to cause mild spasms in her thighs.

Bilbo glanced around briefly before leaning closer, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Sleeping like this won’t help the pain at all," he said.

"Not at all, but it’s something you get used to," she replied with unvarnished honesty.

Just like the night before and the morning of that same day, she felt as light as a flower petal and as vulnerable as a child.

She knew what was going through his mind and envied Bilbo—deeply and shamefully, but she envied him.

That fear, that yearning to leap into the unknown and never look back.

It had been her dream, always her dream since she was young: to be free, to wander through the forests and valleys of Middle-earth, to gaze at the stars in the night while lying on the grass, to watch the snow falling and glistening in the twilight, and to feel the wind tousling her hair as she twirled her sword in the air. That had been her dream, until loyalty had triumphed over her desires and selfishness, until that same loyalty had taken everything away from her and condemned her to solitude.

Until her oaths, her devotion to what she loved and deemed right, had left her living as an outcast, accepting everything she once desired—but alone.

"It's so beautiful…" Bilbo exclaimed after a long pause, snapping her out of her dark and sorrowful thoughts. "But it's a beauty that fills me with a fear I've never felt before," he admitted, stammering with embarrassment while continuing to gaze at the horizon.

Geira nodded and looked at the mountain ridges, observing how they overlapped to form a small wall that blended with the wisps of clouds above them, tinged pink and lilac by the sunset's end. The evening breeze caressed her face, brushing strands of brown hair behind her ear and under the red shirt she was wearing.

She closed her eyes, savouring this brief moment of peace she hadn’t granted herself in ages.

"My aunt always used to say that the fear of the unknown is simply your body asking you to explore it," she murmured under her breath.

Bilbo drew a small breath, letting out a soft chuckle. "Your aunt sounds fascinating."

"She was… fascinating, I suppose you could say," she replied absentmindedly, unable to hide a thread of melancholy in her voice.

Bilbo’s green eyes widened slightly, and his mouth turned downwards at this realisation.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t…"

"Don’t be," she interrupted. "She left this world on her own terms, just as she always wanted. She gave her life for someone she cared deeply about."

"Your uncle?" he asked, curious.

Geira lowered her gaze slightly and glanced over her shoulder at the sword resting a short distance away from her, following its rigid lines, the black and golden engravings along the blade.

"Something like that, Master Hobbit," she replied curtly.

Before Bilbo could respond, two bowls entered their line of sight, interrupting their conversation: Bofur stood beside them, holding out the two dishes with an excited flourish and a huge grin peeking out from under his comical black moustache.

"And these last ones are for you two!" he exclaimed, extending his arms wider towards them.

Geira took the wooden bowl filled with hot stew and thanked him with a slight nod, to which the dwarf responded with a small tip of his hat before turning to Bilbo, who had taken the bowl in his hands, turning it around in his palms.

"What is it?" Bilbo asked, gesturing to the stew.

"Venison stew with carrots and celery, the finest stew east of Eriador!" Bofur proclaimed confidently, planting his fists on his hips. "Go on, have a taste," he urged, gesturing at Bilbo’s bowl and spoon before shifting his gaze to her. "Ya too! Don’t be shy!"

She couldn’t help but hide her surprise at the gesture, flinching slightly and looking at the dwarf with a touch of confusion. But he was undeterred, repeatedly glancing from the bowl to her.

"Come on, I want to know what ya think!"

She smiled and grasped the spoon in her fingers, scooping a piece of stew and bringing it to her mouth. As soon as it touched her palate, it melted instantly and slid down her throat without needing to chew.

Oh yes, it was probably the finest stew she’d ever tasted in all of Eriador.

She might have let out a small moan, quickly stifled with her hand, but the dwarf noticed and laughed softly.

"Told ya," Bofur said cheerfully. "It would’ve been divine with potatoes and dark ale!"

Geira took another bite, savouring the warm meal, satisfying her stomach’s demands and her palate. 

Yes, Bofur was right—if she had a good mug of ale, this stew would have been worthy of a royal banquet.

She could even picture it if she squinted: the coloured fabrics adorning the ceiling, the bonfire in the centre of the hall, the shouts, the music, the dances—all things she hadn’t seen or experienced in a long time.

Suddenly, a low growl distracted Bofur, who gestured towards the blazing fire and Bombur, who, with his plate still full, was heading back to the pot..

"In Durin’s name!" Bofur muttered under his breath before spinning on his heel and marching towards the fire. "Bombur, stop that! That’s for everyone, you daft lump!" he scolded, throwing his arms in the air.

Bilbo chuckled quietly beside her before resuming his meal, tearing his gaze away from the now starry horizon.

She, however, stayed and watched the scene unfold before her: Bombur darted back and forth, trying to dodge his brother’s grasp while attempting to dip his spoon into the pot. Meanwhile, Bofur, amidst a chorus of background laughter and genuine shouts betting on one of the two, chased him around the fire. What had just happened was strange—very strange—but she had to admit, it was pleasant. She never would have expected such a gesture under the eyes of everyone from a dwarf she barely knew. Twice in one day, Bofur had shown her the bare minimum of kindness due to any living being. And yet, she marvelled, as if a dwarf talking to her was a rare or even impossible event—although it was rare and impossible.

"Thank you, thank you so much," Bilbo's voice drew her attention.

Geira turned to look at him, noticing how he was gazing at her with a friendly, faint smile on his bearded lips.

Confused, she tilted her head slightly. "For what? There’s nothing you need to thank me for," she said.

The hobbit shook his head, raising a hand to stop her. "I thank you, Geira, daughter of Geiri, for helping me," he whispered.

Geira shivered slightly, doing her best to conceal what a simple thank you had stirred within her. She offered him a sweet smile, lowering her head to hide how much it was widening.

Perhaps kindness towards her was no longer such a rare and impossible occurrence.

Soon enough, more or less everyone had devoured every single morsel of stew from the pot. The echoes of laughter and the background chatter had faded completely, leaving only the howling wind through the trees and the faint crackle of the fire, interspersed with the light snores of the dwarves huddled around it.

The light chill in the air had intensified and sharpened, enough to make Geira curl up against the rocky wall and wrap the cloak she had loathed that morning tightly around her shoulders.

In Durin’s name, she absolutely needed a smoke! Perhaps it would clear her head enough to let her sleep, at least for a couple of hours.

She sat up, pulling the fur blanket along with her, and began rummaging through the bag next to her. She pulled out her pouch of tobacco and the pipe within it. Squinting, she leaned her back against the rock, feeling her leg muscles begging for mercy.

She opened the pouch, inspecting the finely shredded orange and brown leaves. She then searched her pack again, muttering in frustration. Damn!

She opened it wide but found nothing at all: her pipe cleaner was missing. She had used it the last time she smoked… on Bilbo’s bench.

She brought both hands to her face, shaking her head. Things were going from bad to worse. Her flint and steel were miles away, probably never to be seen again, and now she was stuck with a clogged pipe and stale tobacco from the entire journey.

She turned the pipe over in her hands before glancing toward Fili and Kili, who, thank Mahal, were still awake. Kili, in particular, was cleaning his pipe with a pipe cleaner—so they had one.

Even though the idea of talking to either of them was far from appealing, she had to ask for the favour. Her sanity depended on it.

"Kili?" she called softly, leaning toward the fire.

The young dwarf stopped cleaning his pipe and looked at her, tilting his head to the side, waiting for her to continue.

"Could you lend me your pipe cleaner, please? I… I don’t have one, unfortunately," she asked, holding up her pipe to show him.

Kili looked at the pipe, then at his brother seated beside him, giving him a small nudge on the shoulder to grab his attention, making the gold embroidery of his blue shirt catch the firelight. "My pipe cleaner, you say?" he asked, dangling the small wooden object teasingly in front of her face.

Children.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she nodded. "Yes, your pipe cleaner, Prince Kili."

Kili’s grin widened even more, and with a swift movement, he closed his hand around the pipe cleaner and hid it behind his back in mockery, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on her.

"Only if you come here and smoke with us!"

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes—after all, she had asked for it.

"Kili…" she muttered, sighing.

"Forget it then!" he cut her off, slowly raising himself to his feet and hiding the cleaner even further behind his back.

Reluctantly, she sighed heavily, placing the pipe stem in her mouth. Using both hands for support, she moved closer to the fire, taking a seat not far from Fili, who was watching her with satisfaction. Picking up her pipe again, she extended her other hand toward Kili, who still had the cleaner tucked behind him.

"May I borrow your pipe cleaner, Kili?" she asked, observing how the younger prince’s bright eyes lit up slightly.

He smiled at her and handed over the small wooden tool, but suddenly jerked it back at the last moment, making her flinch and start to lose her patience.

Now she was certain—they were the princess’s children. That insistent, mischievous character could only be inherited from her.

"How old are you?" Kili asked slyly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward her.

"You talk too much for my liking, young prince," she replied sharply.

"I’m curious as well, to be honest," Fili chimed in, exhaling a puff of white smoke from his pipe into the air as he watched her from above. "I’d like to know how old you are."

This was becoming blackmail, and she’d had enough of Durin’s sons mocking and teasing her all day. She was too tired—too tired even to be angry, or to stand up and snatch the cleaner from Kili’s hands.

"I don’t want to smoke anymore," she declared, raising both hands in surrender, preparing to return to her resting place.

"Oh, come on," Kili interrupted, raising his voice slightly and earning a glare from Fili. "Just answer the question, and I’ll give it to you!"

"I don’t want to answer that question."

"And why not?" Fili asked this time, ignoring her refusal. He gripped his pipe tightly between his fingers. "Either you’re really old, or you’re really young and you’ve tricked us. Is your age such a big secret?"

That simple sentence silenced her and made her heart pound, confronting her with the truth: was she truly afraid of them knowing?

They weren’t fools. They had seen the engraving on her sword, and perhaps now all they needed was the final piece of the puzzle to confirm their suspicions. Then they, too, would view her as others had—a traitor, without knowing her side of the truth.

Fili remained silent for a long time, studying her face, illuminated by the interplay of orange light and shadow created by the fire. "How old are you?" he finally asked bluntly, removing the pipe from his mouth.

"One hundred and ninety-one," she replied just as swiftly, turning toward him and locking eyes with the piercing blue gaze so typical of his lineage, awaiting his reaction.

She waited in silence, bracing herself for judgment, a word, or even a glance toward her sword, still resting nearby against the rocky wall. But nothing came.

Fili and Kili exchanged sidelong glances, speaking to each other in a way she couldn’t hear. After a few looks and subtle nods, the dark-haired dwarf finally unclasped his hands.

"Seems fair to me!" Kili exclaimed, tossing the cleaner into her hand with a cheeky grin.

Geira took it with resignation and sighed, finally beginning to clean her pipe while leaning her back against the rough but warm stone of the small bay.

Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed through the darkness of the night, sending chills racing down her spine and raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Geira clenched her hands and quickly sat up straight, scanning the dark landscape before her and the thin veil of mist settling over the mountains.

"What was that?"

It was only when she heard Bilbo's voice that her focus shifted from the shadowy horizon to the hobbit, who was moving towards them, pointing nervously over his shoulder.

She was about to answer, setting the pipe and cleaner aside, but someone beat her to it.

"Orcs," Kili said, his expression serious and concerned.

"Orcs?!" Bilbo repeated, quickening his pace towards them.

"Throat-cutters. There’ll be dozens of them out there," Fili added, puffing on his pipe and lowering his voice dramatically. "The Wilds are crawling with them."

Bilbo’s eyes widened.

"They strike in the dead of night, when everyone’s asleep. Swift and silent, no screams. Only blood," Kili concluded, lowering his voice even further while theatrically glancing around.

But Bilbo, evidently missing the irony, gaped in terror, glancing over his shoulder while the two brothers began to snicker, their gazes falling to the ground as they gave each other playful nudges.

If their goal was to terrify Bilbo for weeks, they had succeeded.

Geira let out a heavy sigh, fixing the two brothers with a piercing glare as they continued chuckling under their breath.

"Don’t you…" she began.

"Do you think this is funny?"

Geira stiffened when she recognised Thorin's voice, cutting through the air with anger. Rising from his seat to pose the question, he now towered over the two princes. Previously sitting apart, he now loomed over them not far from her. His sharp profile cut through the firelight as he advanced, still glaring at the princes.

"Do you think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" he asked again, his voice gravelly.

Kili lowered his gaze in guilt. "We didn’t mean anything by it," he murmured weakly.

"No you didn’t!" Thorin barked. "You know nothing of the world!"

Geira gripped her pipe tightly in her hand, her body tensing immediately upon hearing those words. But even just hearing his voice angered her so much that she continued to follow him with her eyes, watching as he turned his back and strode heavily towards the edge of the rock, which overlooked a steep drop.

"Don’t mind him, laddie," Balin interjected this time. Geira lifted her gaze slightly as she noticed the elder dwarf approaching the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. He was addressing Kili directly. "Thorin has more reason than most to hate the orcs," he continued, leaning an arm against the stones behind him.

Geira noticed Bilbo watching the older dwarf in confusion, while she knew exactly what he was referring to.

"After the dragon claimed the Lonely Mountain, King Thror sought to reclaim the ancient kingdom of Moria…"

Upon hearing those words, Geira’s grip on the pipe tightened as memories came flooding back—stories told by travellers, passed from man to man, from merchant to merchant, over the years. Tales of death, despair, and everything that had afflicted her people, all of which she had only heard about second-hand because she hadn’t been allowed to take part. She had been forbidden to save her people or reclaim her ancestral home, where she would never set foot again.

In an instant, the meadow before her transformed into dust. Her hands no longer gripped a pipe but the hilt of a sword. Her face was not streaked with sweat but smeared with drops of enemy blood. In an instant, she was transported—thanks to Balin’s words—100 years into the past.

"But our enemy got there first."

"Moria had been overrun by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of their kind: Azog the Defiler."

From the mass of bodies and swords emerged a white orc. Swinging his mace rhythmically, he easily swept aside every warrior in front of his fur-covered eyes. Commands in the Black Speech spilled from his mouth like the darkest of curses as he slaughtered anyone in his path.

"For years, he prowled those corridors, turning those mines into his lair. He knew that if he wanted complete control, he needed to make one final move. The great orc of Gundabad had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin," Balin said.

Amidst the smoke and flames of the pyres emerged four figures, each close to the other, covering each other’s backs. King Thror, with his gleaming crown, advanced through the ranks of orcs. Prince Thrain blocked arrows or blows aimed at his father, covered in blood from head to toe. And behind him… Thorin. Sword in hand, shouting and protecting his younger brother from every danger, while the dark eyes of Frerin glistened with tears.

"It began… with the beheading of the king," Balin continued.

Geira clenched her teeth.

My aunt gave her life to protect someone she was deeply devoted to.

But she wasn’t there when she was needed once more.

Thror’s glittering crown fell to the ground, into the mud and filth, as his head was raised high in the orc’s fist—a grim trophy of victory over the dwarves.

"Prince Frerin charged the orc alone, but he was slaughtered before he could even reach him."

Geira felt a sharp pang in her chest as the scene playing in her mind dissolved. She raised her gaze to Balin, who continued speaking to Bilbo, his eyes veiled with grief.

Frerin… was… dead?

In a flash, she lowered her gaze in disbelief, then lifted her eyes back to Thorin, watching his silhouette bend forward against the night.

Frerin had died at Azanulbizar, and she hadn’t known. She had never known. For all these years, she had believed he was safe with his family—with his brother, his sister, his father—but he was gone.

"Driven by grief, Thrain, Thorin’s father, led a charge towards the Dimrill Gate. It was a slaughter."

A line of dwarves broke away from the rest of the army, raising their shields high to create a passage through the orcs. They ran relentlessly, cutting down every enemy in their path. But with every orc they killed, three more fell from their own ranks. By the time they reached the gate, less than half of them remained.

"Thrain was driven mad by his sorrow. He vanished—whether taken prisoner or slain, we did not know. We were leaderless."

At those words, Geira’s thoughts turned to one person and one alone. Her heart began to race in her chest. She could picture the figure clearly: a line of silver amulets and long blue cloaks, one darker than the others, streaked with black iron veins. A square circlet on the forehead held back a long, blonde braid.

No, it couldn’t be true.

"Herja?" she whispered, raising her gaze to Balin.

The old dwarf nodded silently, looking at her as one might look at a wounded animal.

She immediately cast her gaze downward, clutching her cloak tightly around her shoulders. In that moment, everything became clear: this was why Fili and Kili knew nothing. This was why Gandalf had called on her, and not someone else.

If Thrain had disappeared, Herja was dead. Her aunt was dead. She was… the last one left.

"Our defeat and deaths were inevitable, but it was then that I saw him—a young dwarven prince—facing the pale orc."

On his knees, Thorin rose from the ground, his teeth gritted. His black hair clung to his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. But in the depths of his blue eyes, there was no fear—only rage, honour, and vengeance. A vengeance that burned with pride, the spirit of his ancestors filling his body and taking over, making him stronger than any earthly calamity.

"He was alone, facing this terrible foe."

Through the mist, Thorin leapt at the massive orc, sword drawn, and began fighting with all his might, shouting from the depths of his chest. She could see him struggling to strike, limping, hunched under the orc’s powerful blows. Yet every time he was knocked to the ground, he rose again.

"His armour was torn, and he wielded only an oaken branch as a shield."

Thorin’s hand reached for the branch lying on the ground and seized it, shielding himself from the relentless force of the orc’s strikes. She could hear his cries and groans as the bones in his arm fractured.

"Ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for his people."

More real than ever, she saw Thorin kneeling, blood on his face and dripping from his mouth. Groaning in pain, he fought on, shielding the front lines behind him and allowing them to advance towards the main gate.

"Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be broken so easily."

Thorin let out a piercing battle cry, summoning the last of his strength to sever the pale orc’s arm completely. Black blood sprayed across his face as the orc collapsed in agony, falling to his knees before the triumphant dwarf prince.

"Our forces rallied and drove back the orcs. Our enemy was defeated."

The dwarves behind Thorin stared in awe, inspired by the final act of strength from the son of Durin, who stood tall, mighty, and legendary on the hill before their ancestral home. He shone like the Seventh Star, unstoppable as Mahal’s hammer on the anvil. He was the king of all dwarves, the lord of all the Children of Aulë.

Victory was theirs.

"But that night, there was no celebration, no songs, for our dead were beyond counting. We, the few, had survived."

And yet, amidst the joy, the bodies of the fallen remained fallen. The pyres continued to burn, and Frerin’s body lay lifeless on the ground, beside his grandfather’s shattered armour. Warriors clung to each other, foreheads pressed together, doubled over with grief. The bloodshed had given way to tears and the relentless awareness that the massacre of that day would echo through all the ages to come.

"And it was then that I thought: there is someone I could follow. There is someone I could call king," Balin declared, his tone filled with hope and love.

Only then did Geira raise her gaze and realise that the rest of the company had awakened. Now, they were staring at Thorin with wide eyes. Some placed a hand on their chest, while others simply remained silent, admiring their… king. She, however, felt an abyss open beneath her, swallowing her whole as Thorin turned, silently observing all his companions—except her.

Geira lowered her head, hiding her face as a storm of conflicting emotions rose in her chest: pain, anger, pride, and guilt, all consuming her like a fire.

"And what of the pale orc? What happened to him?" Bilbo asked curiously, drawing his knees to his chest.

"He crawled back into the hole he came from!" Thorin growled, striding back towards the fire, his heavy steps grinding into the dirt. "That filth died of his wounds long ago and he will not return," he said.

Dead.

Geira stiffened at the certainty with which Thorin had spoken. Among the villages of Men, in recent years, there were whispers of a massive white orc, of wargs and orcs pillaging every settlement they came across, leaving only bones and ashes in their wake.

In the silence, she glanced at Gandalf, who was watching Thorin with a frown. Thorin didn’t know. And no one had had the courage to tell him.

Another battle was raging within her: it was essential to tell him, it was only right that Thorin knew. But was it her place to do so? And why? Why should it fall to her? His companions ought to take care of him, just as he had taken care of them. She owed him nothing.

And besides, he wouldn’t believe her. He would shout at her, call her a liar.

Biting her trembling lip, she finally let the words escape, carried by something she couldn’t quite define.

"There are rumours in the East that say otherwise," she muttered, fixing her gaze on her black boots, avoiding meeting the dwarf's gaze, which now bore down on her again.

"No one asked for your input in this conversation or your opinion," Thorin replied coldly, turning towards her bed with a harsh glare that, if it could, would have set her aflame on the spot.

"I don’t need to be included in the conversation to dispel one of your certainties!" she retorted, the first stirrings of anger rising in her chest.

"My certainty?" he scoffed, stepping slowly towards the fire. "I watched it happen before my eyes. I was there while they massacred my people. I was there to see them die. And you... where were you?"

Geira remained silent, unwilling to answer, for whatever she said, she would always be seen as a liar. Always seen through his eyes as a traitor and a pawn of his kingdom. It was better to stay quiet and tend to her own affairs.

But her silence only enraged the king further.

"I asked you a question. Answer me!" Thorin barked, his voice rising.

"I wasn’t given the chance to be there. I wasn’t allowed. And you brought this fate upon me! If only I had known about the battle before it happened!" she shouted back.

She stood up quickly, and now only the fire separated them.

With some apprehension, she noticed the others were watching silently. Even Bilbo, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his knees drawn to his chest, stared at her, stunned.

Here, everyone would side with their sovereign, whether he was right or not.

"You were the architect of your fate, and yours alone! You chose your side. I did not make your choice for you!" he hissed, his voice filled with fury.

"And it was you who denied me the opportunity, who denied my father the opportunity to..." She bit her lip, cutting the sentence short.

No, she couldn’t say it—not aloud. It hurt too much. After all this time, it still hurt too much.

She took a deep breath, trying to hold herself together, trying to stop the trembling in her hands.

She decided to make one last attempt to prove her innocence. "I only ask..." she struggled to get the words out, "...that you trust me."

She realised how foolish she had been when she saw the icy look he gave her in response.

"I did trust you, if you remember. And I remember well where it got me—where it got all of us," he snarled.

He turned his back on her, walking with heavy, deliberate steps towards the edge of the rock, which opened onto a deep chasm, ignoring her completely.

It felt like a slap on her face. Geira felt a sudden urge to scream at the top of her lungs, to unleash her frustration and fury. Did he think he hated her more than she hated him? Oh, that cursed dwarf understood nothing—nothing at all.

"I remember too. I remember an exile that should never have happened! I remember a blind king, deaf to the truth, ignoring the pleas of one of his most trusted counsellors. I remember the despair and shame. I remember when you made me kneel and cut my hair, condemning me to exile. I remember wandering the Wilds, forbidden from speaking to anyone of my kin. And I remember the pain and death that followed—all of my world erased!" Her voice, strong and resolute at first, wavered, too much pain still lingering in her heart from those memories.

Breathing heavily, she spoke quickly, hoping no one would interrupt her. A long silence followed, none of the dwarves daring to make the slightest sound. Their eyes flicked between her enraged and distressed face and Thorin’s broad back.

Everyone, more or less, was aware of the deep divide and discord between them, and they knew better than to interfere. Even Dwalin kept silent; this wasn’t something for them to meddle in.

"Exile is a just punishment for those who betray their people. It was just for someone who turned their back and chose to consort with the enemy, conspiring behind their king's back, and watching their city burn!"

"That never happened! I came back! I came back, hoping that you, of all people, would understand and listen to me!"

"There was no reason to listen to more lies from your mouth! To hear your selfish excuses for why you weren’t there that day! For how you put yourself first above all else! For how your father conspired with the enemy!" Thorin roared, refusing to turn and face her, as if she were unworthy of his attention.

That was too much. He had no right to speak to her like that, to treat her as if she hadn’t tried to explain herself, as if all the pain and tears she had shed for him that day so long ago meant nothing.

"For once in my life, I put myself first. Yes, I lied. Yes, I betrayed. Yes, I put love above everything else. But I also put my love for Erebor above all else. I put my love for my family above all else! Just as you put everything else first—your pride and your blindness to what was happening in that mountain!" she snapped back, pointing a finger at him.

"Do not speak to me of love for Erebor. You know nothing of love!" Thorin bellowed, furious.

She flinched at the sharp pain that pierced her chest, as though his words were a dagger driven into her heart.

Her muscles tensed, like a predator preparing to pounce on its prey.

"You fled!" he spat, his voice laced with disdain. "You covered for a traitor, despite swearing before Mahal, and while you were gone, our people burned in their homes!"

Geira opened her mouth, stunned but trembling with rage. Unexpectedly, she laughed—a bitter, sorrowful laugh, utterly devoid of joy.

"You want me to say it’s all my fault, don’t you? That if not for me, our people would still be alive? That if not for me, everything that led to this moment would never have happened? That if not for me, Erebor would still be ours, you would be king, and everything would be perfect, wouldn’t it?" she whispered, though her tone carried like a scream in the frozen silence that hung between them.

Thorin didn’t move an inch.

"Answer me!" she snapped in anger, unable to control herself. She was too tired, far too tired for this. "Say it to my face, damn it!"

At an agonisingly slow pace, Thorin turned, his piercing gaze meeting hers.

She trembled, her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails bit into her skin. She couldn’t calm herself, not now, not when the dam of her pent-up hatred had broken.

Thorin, in contrast, betrayed no emotion, as though the argument didn’t concern him at all. He remained silent, save for a furrowed brow and lips pressed thin, barely parted. Geira knew he would never be fooled by the sight of a few tears—tears he would never see her shed in his presence again.

Oh no, she swore in that moment, he would never see her cry.

"The love of Durin’s line for gold and wealth far exceeds your love for the people around you, leaving you blind. Your pride, your blindness, will lead you down the path of darkness, one way or another. And know this: I have no intention of giving my life for you just to see it wasted," she declared.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off along the steep, rocky path they had taken to the cliff, disappearing into the forest’s dense shadows. She stumbled more than once over protruding roots, running clumsily in the oppressive but oddly comforting darkness.

Geira wished the darkness would swallow her whole—a prayer she had repeated for years.

She fell onto the uneven rocky surface, tearing her trousers and scraping her knees. The sting in her palms as they hit the hard ground reminded her that even this time, the darkness had not taken her. She picked herself up, limping a few more steps ahead before finding a fallen log. She collapsed onto it, exhausted from both her flight and the despair that overwhelmed her.

Sharp pain came from her palm, and as the darkness made it impossible to see, she felt around with her fingers. A small, pointed stone was embedded in her skin, likely lodged there during her fall. She held her breath, trying to steady herself. It was hard even to suppress her sobs, and her trembling wouldn’t stop. She pulled the stone out of her hand with a sharp tug, gasping, and flung it far into the trees. The dull sound of it landing among them joined the eerie, unsettling noises of the forest, where it always felt like something was watching from between the tall trunks. But truth be told, at that moment, the strange sounds weren’t Geira’s biggest concern.

Tearing a strip from her red shirt, long enough to wrap around her palm twice, she made a makeshift bandage. With no water to clean the shallow cut or the blood trickling from it, she tied the fabric tightly around her hand, knotting it despite the stinging pain.

Every attempt to hold back her tears had failed miserably the moment she hit the ground. She didn’t care about the blurry vision—she had no need of her eyes. The tears poured freely now, as though she hadn’t cried in years. And in truth, she hadn’t.

She vividly remembered the last time she cried, and why.

It was, after all, the same reason she was crying now. It was always the same reason. And yet, despite the years that had passed since that day—during which she hadn’t shed a single tear, hardening her heart—here she was, back where she had started. All it took were Thorin’s accusations and the hatred she had silently endured during her years of exile to resurface, consuming her mind and heart. No matter how hard she tried to forget the past, she  could never escape it. It always came back, eventually.

All she wanted was to fulfil her oaths, to live her life in peace. But like this? It was impossible.

She didn’t know how much time had passed—maybe hours. But the moon was now high in the sky, and the pain in her hand had dulled. For the first time in ages, she wanted to be truly alone, with no one around. She wanted to drown in the darkness.

Alone.

Geira clenched her fists, ignoring the small silver bracelet that slipped out from beneath her sleeve. She had cried enough over the past that night, and she wanted it to stop.

After a few minutes of walking through branches and broken trunks, she was the first to return to the camp where the others were sleeping soundly, their snores and calm breaths steady. She quickly surveyed the scene, counting to twelve: one was missing. Geira didn’t need to think twice—she knew exactly who it was.

Returning to her spot as quietly as possible, she knelt before her blanket. On it, she found her pipe and a handkerchief—the handkerchief Bofur had given Bilbo. Her hand trembled as she touched it, and even more so as she glanced over at Bilbo, sleeping not far from her.

A small smile escaped her lips.

She lay down slowly. Despite her exhaustion, sleep was slow to come. Every sound pricked her ears, and many hours later, one finally caught her attention. Heavy footsteps were approaching from the opposite direction of where she had fled. They came closer, stepping into the perimeter of the firelight, then stopped.

With a jolt in her chest, Geira felt Thorin’s piercing gaze land on her back. She thanked the heavens she was turned away from him, so he couldn’t see she was struggling to feign sleep.

She felt his eyes on her for a long time, leaving her restless and uneasy. Finally, she heard him lie down in his place.

More time passed, and eventually, Geira felt the pull of sleep envelop her, her limbs heavy, her eyelids closing in the comforting embrace of oblivion. The last thing she heard before drifting off to sleep was a low, deep sigh.

[hannahssimblr]

Lucky Boy - Transition section commentary

If the story were a novel, this part would not have been in it - I actually don’t think that very much of it is important to the story, or particularly needed to explain any of what came before or what is to come in the future - it was purely for fun, and fun it was (aside from my aforementioned gripes about the format). The only thing I felt was important was the emails, and they could have stood for themselves. Mainly, I really didn’t want to be inside Jude’s head, or to make it obvious what he was thinking or feeling - I wanted people to read between the lines of his emails to Evie, and kinda decide for themselves. 

The major theme of this mini-section was transition - Jude’s journey from who he was in Ireland to who he will be in Germany, from boy to man, from his family home to his first apartment. The change is actually pretty abrupt - that much was already established in Lucky Girl. I just took the things we knew from Evie’s story and fit them into Lucky Boy. Jude never responds to her happy birthday email. She felt his attempts at communication were half-hearted, so that’s what I had to show. He also has a new girlfriend by at least January, because that’s when Evie obsesses over a photograph of them at a restaurant where his finger is resting against Astrid’s thigh. (Detective Kilbride). The other plot points were up to me to play around with! Woo-hoo! 

In the first half of this section, Jude is heartbroken. There're times when it’s obvious that he misses Evie,

And times it’s a little more subtle, but for the first month at least, she’s on his mind every single day. Everything reminds him of her, including poor Gabija. 

No prizes for connecting the dots and figuring out that Jude likes Gabija because she looks like Evie. His opinion of her is coloured by this fact for a while, but unfortunately for her, he really is just keeping her around because he’s grieving for someone else. He longs to be close to Evie. Their relationship is likely prolonged because Gabija wants to wait before having sex with him. I think if she had done it on that first date to the dim sum restaurant, he might have got the obsession out of his system, but she holds off until late October. When he visualises Evie in the throes of passion with Gabija, I wanted it to seem like his own preoccupation and unhealthy grasp on the past was staring him in the face. Afterwards, Gabija takes a shower, and Jude sits on the couch, sweating, and thinking about what a fucking weirdo he is. 

Because it took him a month to fully face what Gabija represented to him, Gabija now believes there’s something more profound happening between them. He’s spent enough time with her now, so he must truly like her. Almost instantly, however, Jude is completely repelled. He suddenly finds her company unbearable, and this is actually representative of the beginning of the end of his ties to Evie. Gabija and Evie are intertwined in his mind, so as he pushes one away, he also begins to lose the other. 

Jude’s immaturity comes up a few times around this point, his disbelief at being rejected from Berghain, his enthusiastic pursuit of women in clubs in order to prove that he can woo them, his kiss with Dalia, his conversation with Jonas at the thrift shop, in the way he treats Gabija in front of Shane, and the final, tragic end to the relationship, in front of Gabija’s unsuspecting housemate. 

It’s also worth considering that the things that rub Jude the wrong way about Gabija are traits he also possesses: her tendency to get ahead of herself, her overenthusiasm about being in a relationship, her fawning nature. Perhaps it’s something he secretly loathes about himself, and cannot stand to see it mirrored back at him. 

The end of the Gabija timeline overlaps with the beginning of the Astrid one, which I am excited to explore more of. LG readers know what happens with Astrid, how long they are together etc, so it was exciting but at the same time super important to capture the correct vibe at the beginning of their relationship. 

I wanted every moment of their every interaction to be controlled by Astrid - she curates it; she decides what she wants. She knows she wants Jude before he thinks he has a chance, and talks to Jonas as though it is his idea to pursue her. Astrid would have never entered the classroom to speak to him if she hadn’t already made a decision. Gabija is insecure in the moment, because she can feel it. Perhaps she’s not frightened of Astrid, but of what she knows will happen next. (Maybe this is why she buys the Bon Iver tickets and paints that birthday card) 

I love the flirtatious conversation between Jude and Astrid at Elias’ party, because it’s so different from almost every other conversation in the entire story! It’s so adult. They seem not like teenagers, but a grown man and woman. Everything about Astrid is womanly. She’s lived an exciting life already. She knows her own mind. She speaks and carries herself and even dresses like a woman a decade older, at least, than her almost 20 years. She is absolutely nothing like Evie. 

Think of how she responds to Jude’s compliment with “yes”, as though she’s hardly even bothered to hear about how good she looks, and how it contrasts with Jude’s conversation with Evie at the festival, where he tells her she’s pretty, and she’s so overwhelmed that she bursts into tears. She’s a girl that needs his approval, and Astrid is a woman who does not. For Jude, she’s leading a path away from his old life, of the person he doesn’t want to be, and the heartbreak that he’s sick of living with. 

The conversation about his gift is, of course, a thinly disguised metaphor for whether she will decide to have sex with him later or not. She likes the way he’s enraptured by her, how he watches her every move in the room. She knows he’s obsessed, so she decides to follow him onto the balcony. 

There are hints of the power imbalance that will be present in their relationship during their sex scene. Contrasting with Gabija’s, who eagerly gives him head on the living room couch, Jude instantly gets on his knees for Astrid, desperate to impress her instead. She compliments him on his enthusiasm, which does not necessarily mean he did a good job, but more that she likes how much he likes her. He will do.

[sheepkebby]

I hope you don’t mind my rambles, but I’m avoiding doing my homework, so I’m gonna analyze potential future plot of KVTW :3

So, in ch. 7, we find out that the survivors are at a military base is a desert somewhere. Since it’s a military base, we can guess they’re still in the US, so that narrows down where they could be.

For the sake of keeping this short since it’s pretty late for me, let’s say they’re in the Chihuahuan Desert. To be nice to Keith (and me), I’ll guess that the survivors’ military base is also in Texas, so I’m going to approximate them somewhere in far west Texas.

We know Virgil is taking Keith to Texas, but he didn’t say where. Some of the closest port towns to where they’re approaching from is Galveston and Houston, so for my measurements, I’m going to guess that’s where they land. If they don’t boat up any rivers, that leaves Keith somehow having to find his way from southeast Texas to west Texas.

Now lovelies, for some context Texas is pretty fuckin’ big. Let me put in a little perspective:

Here’s a great map I found detailing the survivors journey, and the blue line is our group. Through their campaigns, they travel from Savannah, Georgia to New Orleans, Louisiana. According to google maps, the straightest route from their start to finish is over 600 miles.

If Keith ends up in southeastern Texas and has to find his way to west Texas, to cross the whole state, his route is going to be ~600-800 miles, depending on his actual starting and end point. And that’s only if he takes the best path by roads. He doesn’t know Ellis is alive, so he doesn’t have a goal to even travel this far. A road trip through Texas could last days, and that’s if he finds a car, the roads aren’t blocked, and he has a motivation to head that way. This all also with the assumption that their base is even in Texas; it could always be further.

Keith has a long road ahead of him.

(I sleep now. Love KVTW sm!!!!)

MY JAW LITERALLY DROPPED WHEN I SAW THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOODNESS I'M. I'M GOING TO DROP MY JACKET INTO A PUDDLE FOR YOU SO YOUR SHOES DON'T GET MUDDY.

I'm absolutely astonished, like, I never ever thought that people would get so invested in my writing. I dunno if it's weird of me to say but thank you so so much for this. Really you've made my whole night

You're right on the money with "Keith has a long road ahead of him." too! I planned on chapter 7 marking the midway point in the fic, which is half the reason why I decided to turn it into a comic. In my eyes, it was a big milestone. (That, and the jarring switch to Ellis' POV made it special). But yeah, like I said, we're practically halfway through! Poor Keith hopped on that boat praying he'd see his loved ones in a day or two, mm-mm! Oh baby boy, I'm so sorry.

You'll havta wait a little while longer, my beloved bumpkin.

As for you, stranger, sleep well :3 and thanks again !!!

[flowersdaggersviolasandblood]

Blood, Flesh, and Tears

Name: Torment (He/Him)

Race: Zariel Tiefling

Class: Paladin (Oath of Vengence)

Background: Haunted One

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD!

So after getting his ass bit, Torment and the scooby gang (so far it looks like he'll be primarily traveling with Lae'zel, Wyll, and Astarion) met with what seemed to be apprentices of the Absolute cult. Their True Soul friend, Edowin, got got by a Owlbear and perished because of it. Torment has a brief conversation with the two individuals, Andrick & Bryanna, learning that the Absolute chooses individuals to be True Souls to serve as a mouthpiece of her will. She grants these individuals powers to enact her will and that soon they will rule everything.

Now at this point, especially since the Emerald Grove is a bit of a safe spot with very little combat, Torment has been deprived for too long of blood. The desire has grown to extreme lengths and wishes for it to be spilled. But he is not senseless. Since an Owlbear killed their dear friend Edowin, and these apprentices are followers of the Absolute, thus associated with the Goblins, he informs them to "avenge their brother" and go kill the Owlbear. Now, they say they won't do it without his help, but I followed them to the cave and watched them enter, hoping that they're just dead on the other end lol. Besides, there were other important matters at hand.

As stated before, Torment wishes to kill both Kagha and the Goblins. So we started with Kagha. After a brief fight to protect Auntie Ethel (who may or may not be a Hag), the gang was able to find a secret note in the swamps that points to Kagha being in kahoots with Shadow Druids. With this evidence, Torment felt justified in his blood-filled sense of justice to get rid of Kagha.

He brought this evidence back to the inner grove, exposing her in front of Rath. This caused few Shadow Druids to emerge from...Well, the shadows, and attack those that oppose them. With Kagha dead, the Tieflings are now free to live in peace until Torment finishes his bloody path into the Goblin camp and to kill their leaders.

So remember in my last post how he met a musical Tiefling? Well, her name is Alfira!

Despite being discouraged to continue her song and to take up arms, she suddenly came to his camp in the middle of the night asking to join him on his journey.

Although Torment would've pushed that Alfira stay at the grove, he thought it wouldn't hurt to have her tag along. Besides, he has spilled a fair amount of blood to sate him, what with Kagha dead. And he'll have Goblin blood to spill as he paves a path for the Tieflings, so no problem, right?

Oh boy was he wrong lmao. To be honest, I was honestly surprised by this, and not in a disgusted way (since there are some people who who forgot that this is a rated MATURE game and the Panels from Hell clearly stated that the Dark Urge would be a darker story). At first, I was excited to have Alfira join the party, believing that she was one of the few NPCs we could recruit in the same way how Halsin and Minsc can be later recruited. Especially since of all the character classes, we didn't have an official Bard companion aside from the Hirelings.

But then this happened! Torment would wake up from his slumber with Alfira ripped to shreds with a large bloody symbol that surrounds her corpse.

This is only poetically encouraged because my man has a -1 in his Intel lol. Now, Torment has essentially told everyone (save for Gale, rip in piss) that he has this innate desire to harm others. Something everyone kinda brushed off a little, with the expectation that he would be able to control his urges and direct them to more "killable" assets and not themselves and innocents (can't cause too much trouble, you know). And so far, Torment has been doing well, save for killing a few poor animals here and there. He though he was doing well, that he was able to control his hunger for blood and flesh. Only to wake up in the middle of the night with a innocents woman dead and he can't place how or why this happened.

Torment was scared. He has killed, and been bloody brutal about it. But he's only killed those who were "deserving" (bandits, Goblins, animals, and those who were openly hostile to him and his crew), but never an innocent life. He feared what his companions would say, what they would do. He felt embarrassed, shameful, disappointed in himself that he couldn't control himself. So when confronted about his involvement with the corpse of Alfira, Torment lied, pinning her death on a wild boar. And they took the bait!

He shouldn't giggle, he really shouldn't! He should be guilty like a sinner in church! He should be on his knees and openly praying for the gods to strike him down for what he's done. He should come forth and honestly confess that this was his doing. But instead, he felt relief, adrenaline coursing through his body as he got away with this untimely murder. He couldn't help but giggle at his foolish companions and their compliance to believe his awful lie. The thrill of being almost caught, how enticing.

Despite this, Torment would still catch himself and go through a depressive spiral. He needs to figure out what is his deal before he harms more innocents, or worse, his own companions that he has now considered his friends (except for Shadowheart, fuck her).

Not even a few nights after this incident, Torment would meet his...Butler?

Apparently this Goblin, Imp-ass wannabe is Torment's butler, who desires blood as much as Torment does. Despite knowing Torment on a seemingly personal level, he refused to exhume any information about his past. But he gave me a pretty bitchin cape so :D (by the by, those who know Sir Lora from Divinity: Original Sin 2 would know that the same VA did this lil gobbys voice!)

Also, looks like we got ourselves a romance going on!

Originally, I thought it would be Lae'zel for Torment since I do believe that this character would have some sort of affinity for her...But fucking Astarion XD!

Of course, Torment's chances to get that vampy booty was increased after allowing him to suck his blood and even going as far as to protect him from the Gur that came after him.

And after killing Kagha, Astarion stated his interest for Torment, which the poor Tiefling was confused as the concept of love and/or sex has taken a heavy backburner due to recent events. Personally, Torment isn't fully sure if he loves Astarion, and after the incident with Afira getting murked while he was out of it, Torment is scared that the same will happen to Astarion.

But the more his eyes linger, the more the idea of courting and fucking the Elf became more...Desirable. Eventually, Astarion came forth about his Vampire situation and his relationship with Cazador

When Astarion first met Cazador, it was when he was lying in his own blood after being assaulted by monster hunters (also known as Gur in a derogatory way). As he was nearly dying, Cazador showed up and turned him into his Spawn, and has tormented the pale Elf for 200 years since. Now that Astarion is no longer wrapped around his finger, there's a chance that the Vampire Lord is hoping to steal Astarion back.

EventuallyI get a near sex scene between Astarion and Torment. Astarion expresses his interest and Torment is at first unsure, his recent fears after the Afira incident still fresh on his mind. At first, Torment believes he's ready to take that step forward, but when he saw Astarion half naked, his mind immediately went to dark places, and not the sexy kinda. Immediately, Torment called it off, his fears overpowering his desires.

[pocketfullofnerdybby]

III. Troubled Waters

There is so much going on here! Let's just go ahead and put all the trigger warnings ok?

YourPOV:

You begin to stir awake, as consciousness begins to take over you. You're unsure why but your body aches, your arms are sore and your feet burn as if you were dragged across the entire town and back. You furrow your brows together and squeeze your eyes tighter in an attempt to maintain your sleepy state. That's when you hear the faintest shuffle behind you, "Mother?" you sleepily call out, "please I only need a few more minutes of rest, I had the worst-" your voice trailed off as you turned and slowly opened your eyes and took in your surroundings. Your eyes begin to dart back and forth trying to capture your surroundings, before landing on those beautiful icy blue eyes. 

You opened your mouth to speak, yet the words seemed to falter, questions fired off in your mind yet those eyes, they made you forget damn near everything. You're snapped from your thoughts when he clears his throat and holds out a plate of fruit to you, his tongue slowly parts his lips, following the curve before slipping back into his mouth. You try to fight the urge and fail miserably as your eyes follow his tongue on its slow journey to moisten his lips. You force your eyes back up to his, you hear yourself squeak out, "It...it wasn't-" you can't even muster the strength to finish your thought before the image of your mother and of your poor sick David come rushing to your mind. You feel a sudden burst of anger wash over you as your eyes drop back down to the plate of fruit in his hands.

With one swift movement you swing your hand across your body and send the offending plate flying across the room. You look back at Bucky, "I don't want a damned thing from you, pirate" the last word dripping with hate and sadness. Bucky's expression became one of a smoldering rage, his eyes followed the length of your body causing a shiver to run up your spine. "You keep that shit up and you can fucking starve pet. My kindness has its bounds." His voice low and dangerously toeing the line of arousing, you silently cursed yourself for considering it. This man, this pirate had his men kill your mother and kidnap you.

"I'll starve before I accept anything from you. Maybe I can use the starvation to loose some weight and start a new life in the next town, besides I hear men like their women with less meat on their bones." It was less than a second before he was towering over you. His arms landing on either side of your head, his eyes baring deeply into yours as his beautifully chiseled face hovered a  few inches from yours. You could see his jaw clench as he hissed, "You have no idea of what I like, not yet at least. Boys might like them smaller, but men," he paused taking in the image of you under him smirking before continuing, "real men. We like our women with a fuller figure. And if you say anything like that again I'll make that pretty little mouth of yours regret allowing those nasty words about yourself to escape your lips. As far as starting a new life," he paused as his gaze wandered from your eyes to your lips then back, "welcome to your new life love."

Your body trembled as cold shivers broke out all over your skin, you gave a small gasp as your chest began to heave with fright and a hunger to feel him caress you. Why can your body react to this man this way? He's practically a stranger! You mentally scolded yourself as you nodded in response to him. He pulled away from you painfully slow as his eyes scanned your face, almost as if he was trying to memorize it. As he left the cabin he turned back over his shoulder, "I'll forgive this little outburst this time because you just went through a trying time. I won't be so nice a second time." His voice seemed to soften a bit, "stay in here as long as you need, just don't touch anything. I won't be able to save you from my father's wrath if you do." Without another word he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. 

You swung your legs back up onto the "bed" and laid back. You turned and faced the wide windows that covered the back wall of the ship. The sea was so vast it appeared as if it swallowed the horizon. The sun felt warm on your face, yet you felt empty. This wasn't the same sun that shone on you yesterday. No. That sun was healing and inviting. This sun felt harsh and unforgiving. You wanted nothing more than for the ocean to open up and swallow you whole. To relieve you of this waking nightmare. You shoved your face into the pillow and screamed until you could no longer. You allowed the pillow to soak in your tears. You wouldn't give him or anyone else on this blasted ship the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You allowed the tears to flow until nothing but shaky, quiet sobs escaped you, until sleep over took you.

—-Later that night —-

You awoke later with the pain of hunger deep in your belly. As you opened your eyes you could see the black night sky littered with countless stars. You couldn't remember the last time you've seen this many stars in the night sky. You sat up and scooted closer to the window, pressing yourself to the cold glass to try to see more of the beautiful night sky. Your hunger hits you harder and snaps you out of the enchantment of the stars. "Damn I need to eat." you tell yourself as you begin to push off the bed, steading yourself getting used to the way the ship sways softly. You looked around on the floor for remains of the fruit that you tossed aside earlier. "fuck, how was this cleaned up so quickly? Aren't pirate ships supposed to be dirty?" you whisper as you look around not finding anything. 

You begin to take a better look at your 'holding cell'. Your eye catches a small library with beautiful leather bound books. You take a small glance around to make sure no one is spying on you, when you're sure you are alone you step to the books and allow your fingers to gently run across the spines. Your fingers had just enough time to touch the edge of one book before it was being snatched away and the pain caused by the pressure on your wrist began to radiate through you. Your eyes looked to the site of the pain and saw a rough, dirty hand wrapped around your wrist. They continued their journey up to see a man, tall and dirty towering over you with hate radiating from his gaze. 

"Pray tell dear, what you think you're doing?" His grip growing tighter by the second. Your words begin to falter as you begin to try to relieve your aching wrist from his harsh grasp. As you begin to open your mouth to offer a defense, the door swings open and you see Bucky standing in the doorway, with anger overtaking the beautiful features of his face. "Release her right now!" His voice a low rumbling growl seeming to come from deep within him. A smirk crawled across the man's face, "and what are you going to do about it boy?"

Bucky took long, purposeful strides to clearing the area between him and the man, "Father, I will do what I must to protect this woman from you," his voice a harsh raspy whisper as he placed one hand over his father's and the other around your waist wedging himself between you two, "now, LEAVE. HER. BE."  You could feel the heat growing in the deep of your core. Your eyes traveled down to where his hand laid on your waist, then slowly back up to his face. There's no doubting it, this man was gorgeous, but seeing him this angry, this fired up over you, he was heavenly. 

His father finally relinquished his grip on your wrist and moved back causing Bucky to fully place himself between you and him. He slid his hand around your waist, never allowing it to leave its place from your waist, causing your body to erupt in chills and a shiver to run up your spine. His father stood there staring at you with disdain. Before turning to leave he turned to you, "If you touch another one of these precious books, my son won't be able to save you. I'll make sure of it." With that he was out the door and you released a breath you weren't aware you were holding. 

Bucky turned to look at you, "are you hurt?" His eyes scanned over you as he took your hand into his and turned it over, examining your wrist and gently running his fingers over the spot where his father's grasp was. You shook your head in response to his question. Bucky breathed deeply in relief that you were okay. Almost as if without thinking he brought your wrist up to his lips and placed a soft open mouth kiss on your sore wrist. His tongue darting out to softly draw small circles on your skin, before slipping back into his mouth to savor your taste. Immediately your body begins to react to him, your head falls back as your eyes close and you inhale sharply. Your other hand grasps at a bundle of your skirts. You pull your head up and force your eyes to open as you fight the urge to give into this murderer, this oddly kind and sweet killer. 

Bucky brings his gaze up to meet yours and you clear your throat as you pull your hand away. You won't give him the satisfaction of knowing these feelings you unexplicably are beginning to feel for him.  He clears his throat and stands straighter, "We'll be docking in a small port town soon, you can only leave this ship unless you are accompanied by myself or Steve. I'll be on the deck when you are ready." He turned to leave you once again in the solitude of the cabin. You sank to the floor and covered your mouth as the sobs began to escape from your mouth. It was in this moment that you decided that you were going to gain his trust so that you may escape.  

—-Three days later —-

Bucky's crew had docked three days ago in the hellish port town of Isla de Lago. True to his word Bucky allowed you to venture into the town while accompanied by himself or his best friend Steve. They were carful to not allow you out of their sights, and to keep you away from the brothels and rowdy taverns.

Tonight however you had convinced Steve to take you into a tavern under the guise of needing to pick up a bottle of Bucky's favorite rum to surprise him with when you got back to the ship. You begged and pleaded and even caused tears to gather in your eyes as you looked up at him. "Please Steve, I want Bucky to be impressed. I want him to like me and to like that I'm thinking of him." 

After what felt like an eternity of begging Steve finally caved, "Bucky's going to have my hat if he sees you, we better hurry." He smiled down at you and rolled his eyes and smiled as he tilted his head toward the tavern. You let out a small squeal and began to make your way to the bar pulling Steve behind you. 

You walked into the crowded tavern, your eyes trying to adjust to the dim lighting, while scanning over the many faces in the crowd. You begin to push your way through the dirty, smelly drunk men and women to reach the bar counter. The live music seemed to envelop the small establishment. It was so lively and up tempo you couldn't help but feel a small surge of happiness. The tall counter reached just under your bust allowing you to be able to cross your arms and lean against it as you looked around for a bar maid to help you.

Suddenly your eyes stop on a face that looks strikingly familiar, then you realize that the face belongs to none other than Bucky.

As you start to walk over, you stop short as a beautiful blonde barmaid steps up to him, handing him his tankard of ale, proceeding to run her hand up and down his bicep, as he turns his face to follow her hand that is now snaking down his chest and to the helm of his pants. 

You watch as Bucky's eyes scan up her arm to her face, as his tongue darts out to lick his lips before reaching to take a drink from the tankard.

"If you are free tonight, Captain, I'm done in an hour. You can show me how you would plunder me?" She says overly sweet, her hand never leaving Bucky's body. 

Before Bucky can say anything, his gaze casts over to meet yours, as your cheeks flush with heat as you turn and stalk out of the tavern, tears threatening to fall.

You don't see Bucky abruptly get up from his seat pushing the barmaid aside in his haste. You couldn't focus on him right now, all of your attention was focused on getting to the exit before your tears could make their escape. As you made your way to the door you looked around for Steve to take you back to the ship, "no this is your chance to escape. Forget Steve, forget-" your thoughts were cut off by your body being jerked backwards right as your hand was reaching for the knob. You're quickly whipped around and forced to look deep into the icy blue eyes that were staring deep into yours. 

Your body kicked into fight or flight as he gripped your arms and attempted to anchor you in place, the adrenaline causing your hearing to seem blurred as he repeated your name in an attempt to get your attention. You mustered all the strength you could and broke one arm free. You could feel the sting on your hand before you could see the shock on Bucky's face and his hand quickly came up to the place on his cheek where you had struck him. 

In his disbelief he released his grip on you and stumbled backwards a couple steps. It wasn't much but it was enough to allow you to make your way out the door and crash directly into Charles "Black Beard Charlie" Barnes. He pushed you off him, yet held firmly onto your arm. He turned and looked to Bucky, his face darkened with disgust. Shoving you towards his son his words slurring yet still strong and commanding, "get her to the ship now. We're leaving." 

Bucky dropped his head and took your hand, enlacing his fingers with yours. You quickly snatched your hand away causing Bucky to grab your arm just as his father had, and he began guiding you on the long walk back to the ship.

As Bucky strode towards the ship, your feet falter causing you to try and keep up. Pissed off and embarrassed, Bucky stops, turning around and throws you over his shoulder, never breaking his stride to the ship the rest of the way.

You began to beat on his back in hopes that he will let you go. The only sign of acknowledgment that you receive from Bucky is a stinging crack on the ass as his hand leaves a burning imprint on your skin. You can already tell it will leave a mark. Cursing yourself for changing into the thin fabric skirt that Bucky had given you after taking you onto his ship because he could see you overheating with the full skirt you had been wearing.

"Let's just call that payback for the slap you gave me pet. Next time I won't be so gentle with it!" He says, his tone harsh and dark.

You endured the rest of the way back to the ship where he marched right up into the cabin and threw you onto the bed. "Don't move, and don't TOUCH anything!" He growls slamming the cabin door.

With the click of the lock, you throw yourself onto the pillows and cry yourself to sleep.

[valdederon]

FLAMES JOURNEY CHAPTER> < # 12 creation of the mewn and the story of its creator as well as the world around them

{ this is a short break from the story to rechrage and also get some lore out.. please note this is not a story for those who want a simple and cute read yes i will have cute and funny moments.. but mine is more twords the harsh reality of life in a more fantasy maner. a dark but also light read yin and yang.. life and death please be patient with me and enjoy the storry as best you can descriptions of injuries will be detailed battles can and will get dark fast in some areas. }

in the world valdederon finds him self in full of stable trades and endless amounts of tradeable goods it can be easy to ignore the fact the mewn all thogh old by human standards in the world of pokemon were some species can reach ages of up to 1000 and further the mewn is new with in this worlds recent history.

(( the drying is a drout and will be mentioned a few times))

about 20,000 years back the world around was decrepid in terms of trade and comerce to buy from markets youd have to carry many bags of many currencies from stone chips to wood tablets bronze and copper coins to gold and silver blanks nothing was ballanced or fair.. were you could find a bag of onions at 3 copper coins that same bag some were else soon is suddenly 300 silver blanks .put simply crime was prevelant.. theft and murder was not uncomon.. teens killing a merchants guard holding a bag of moldy bread just to fead his siblings while he went hungry. life was cruel back then it wasnt un common for entire tribes to dissapear over night due to having not had food for weeks.

but that soon changed when a small village near what is now the pheonix valley guild to the south east near the top of a mountain lived the noble yet tricster prone zoroua and zoroark. a small family distant relitives of the tribes elders often foraged for food on thier own the eldest beeing a young 15 year old. some times moody boy named kelldeer he hunted frequantly in the valley near the mountains some times bringing a single small deer for his family and a large buck for the village only lasting them a week at most with rationing.. none complained knowing how scarece food has been with a drout during that time period.. the vilage poor but fending for them selves despite the cruelty around them keeping to them selves when one day a trade caravan full of sneasel and weevile a rare group who distained violence visited one of thier younglings sick and injured. the elders letting them in after seeing the fear in thier eyes despite the others protests as zoroaks know the history between both sides..

during thier stay kelldeer visits the sick sneasel whos crying only a year and a half old burns on his shoulder from a flame thrower attack .

kelldeer--- what happened

the leader a tired and old weevile scoffs

rex-- what the fuk do you care zoroark your elders let us in not you.

kelldeer--- mom always said to not cling to ones species past or struggles but to always look ahead.. look for peace.. you guys sell stuff???.. what does sell mean

rex thourougly shoucked laughs alittle

rex-- you mean your vilage doesnt trade or.. buy or sell.. uh.. ok say you wanted this stick in my paw… id ask for payment.. like these copper pieces i have.. this is money you give it to me for the value of this stick and i give the stick to you.. though each town and city has its own kind of money.. so you should learn about the worlds currencies first.. most caravans dont make it long because of how many there are.

kelldeer--- thats… horrible.. some one has to do somthing about it.

rex chuckles softly scars up and down his arms his ches and even a larg one across his face

rex---well that will be a day the world celebrates kid.. do your family a favor and forget you ever heard of trading.. kids yoru age are always victims of this worlds ineptitude..its impotence.. just look at my baby boy just last week a group of charmeleons attacked us.. my boy got cought in the cross fire . hes been sick ever since we have no medicine either..

the elder brings abottle of mashed oranberry juice and puts it in the childs mouth

kelldeer---- why.. why did.

rex--- food kid.. food sam reason it happens alllll over the place when your tired.. hungry.. your sitsers or brothers crying for even some molded berries.. your emotions take over and some times violence is yoru only answer in your brain all foged up with pain hunger and emotions.

kelldeer-- fine.. if you wont man up i will you have food.. fine give us a years worth and ill give you evry bit of valubles i have and then.. FOR MY DAM SISTER ILL MAKE THIS WORLD BETTER..

the room falls silent as the zoroark whos always been moody but other wise quiet and laied back is now near sobbing tears streaming down his face his mouth a snarl fists clenched as he growls and storms out the entire room dead silent.. as if not a single soul lives untill the infant coughs up alittle oran berry mush braking the silence.

kelldeer---- that kids somthing else..

elder saraphine--- hes got a kid sister.. he gives most of his food to her as shes younger and needs more to grow.. were as hes able to live off what the woods offer. hes out hunter.. one of a few actualy. always asking what can be done to bring us out of this rut we barely have a weeks worth of food with whet he and the other 4 hunters bring for 300 souls.. he worries me.

rex---his hear bleeds for his family.. that look.. i almost thought hed want to pry the food from me.

elder saraphine chuckling--- ha ha ha no he wont do that he cherishes life far to much.. he may not show it but the kids fallen for yoru caravan.. dont be go witten it of as him blabin to blab off hes willfull persistant and smarter then most of us elder folk.. dont tell him i said that we gota stay the wize elders wer are seen as he he he.

rex--- you sly old codgers you folks arent know as tricksters for nothing arent you

she gives a soft blep and smile before wiping the young kits face and cheking the poor kids now healed wounds giving a thumbs up while kelldeer talks to all the sneasel and weevile holding a note book and pen he crafted from a chared stick taking notes about trading and the various currencies they have encountered. soon kelldeer gives all the gems trinkets and other odds and ends to the trade caravan stuff hes collected over hi 6 years of hunting and gathering much to thier shock having enough value to purchase out thier entire food stock of dried fruits meats and even fresh veggetables even getting a toy for his 5 year old sister after they leave the sun is already setting as kelldeers mother prepares a hearty soup with the bounty he gathered.. with rationing a good 2 years of food in terms of dried goods about 2 weeks of veggies as well.

velma--- so i hear you saved the village for the next couple years.

lily--- big bwuva smawt

kelldeer--- lily. anunceate your words please… its big brother .. and its my big brother is smart sweet bean.

she sticks out her toungue making him sigh to tired to fuss with it

kelldeer-- you know the only reason im not drilling it in is because im tire dyou little brat.. behave for mom ok.. dad is out hunting still.

velma--- ha ha hes in for a super shock when he gets back.

they all smile as she servs the bowls of thick meaty sup with onions carrots potatoes deer and beef made with a thick broth and kelldeer looks at the bowl crying silently confusing his sister.

lily--- momy why is he crying.. is he upset the food is bad.

velma--- no dear hes not.. your worried about when the food runs out arent you.

kelldeer---a.and when i head out. im tired of us not having enough food to thrive.. this village used to be so much bigger ..when i was10 we hadd over 500 villagers most of them have left or starved out and now i find we could have been trading for food… 6 YEARS OF ME COLLECTING JUNK… and its suddenly enough for alll of the food i just got us.. more food then ive ever gotten in a week of hunting and gathering.. im going to go out learn about the world and create a universal currency that all can use.. and find trust worthy traders like those sneasel and weevile.

velma-- hun.. think about what that entails.. youl be gone fore ever and what if you dont make yoru coin.. if you want to go you can but be careful.. dont get your hopes up just to get them crushed ok..its ok to dream as long as you dont loose your self in it.

kelldeer--- i know mom.. you said the same when i siad i wanted to hunt ive kept us going this long. but the drying is getting worse.. the rivers are nearly gone the deer are spreading thin.. id i dont go soon it may be tolate to save the ..the world not just the village.

she puts her paw on his and smiles just as his father a rare albino kantonian zoroark often mistaken for beeing a hisuian zoroark

felldon-- somthing smells great

velma--- that would be your sons amazing junk saving us for a couple years.. all those things you thought were just random junk.. he traded for food.. and a toy for his sister..

felldon-- collor me shocked. then.i owe you an apology kiddo im sorry i judged your collections.. but ithought they were .

kelldeer--- food was far more important then my collections..ill miss my treasures but treasures dont fill the stomach..as you once put it.

felldon---i was pretty angry then wasnt i… i apologize

kellderr walks over and hugs his father purring and they all sit down to eat feldon seeing the tear stained fur on his sons face.

felldon-- you ok kiddo..youve been crying.

kelldeer nods eating his soup.

velma--hes a tad bit upset of the state of the village and our food ..hes got a plan aparently.. though i am worried. can you train little lilly to be a hunter when shes old enough.

kelldeer--- ill also show the others were i do most of my hunting in the valley before i head out i know my plan will work out some how. it has to .. for lilly and all the kits in the village and the elders.. those old bats need food just as much as the children.

felldon givs a quiet nod and dinner goes by with a almost sad atmosphere ervyone knowing that soon kelldeer will leave the village into the chaotic and unpredictiable outside world. the next morning kelldeer starts making breakfeast waking up before evryone making some sausage and tomato soup plating evrything up just as evryone wakes up.

felldon--- he he here i was thinking id need to cook thismorning ha ha ha ha

kelldeer--- morning dad. i made yoru favorite today im also going to need help gathering all the hunters so i can show them my hunting paths and such i have a map of the area were i hunt theres also lots of berry bushes deep in the valley as well.

felldon sits down as the others walk to the table

felldon--- sure i can help ya ther kiddo. as long as you tell me this plan of yours first deal.. i know your old enough to venture on your own but i .. im still worried.

kelldeer-- yea i can do that.. my plan is basicly im going to leave and travel the world learning evryones trading systems and currencies.. learn whats most common and use that to make a unified currency of some kind..

felldon smiles and puts his paws under his chin elbows on the table

felldon--- after having talked with the elders and learned more about what happend yesterday..i have to say thats a dam good plan.. just be carefull people out there are scared and hungry by the sounds of things.

kelldeer nods having already gotten more detailed accounts from the sneasel and weevile and the family sits down to eat together lilly beeing as messy as always her furr covered in bits of meat and tomato soup after eating and cleaning up felldon and kelldeer gather up other 4 hunters joanah, mako, nexus and lorkan.

kelldeer-- sorry for gathering evryone suddenly like this but.. i have to leave the village.. before i do that im sharing my hunting grounds with evryone.

lorkan--whoa whoa whoa wait aminute your doing what…

joanah--.. ok.whats going on

mako and nexus in unison--- shut up and listen to the kid

mako--- he did get us food for a couple years

nexus--- we have to ration it but its still more then weve ever had since the drying lets listen to our little hero

kelldeer blushes but explains his plan to them showing his hunting grounds the berry bushes and other fruit picking spots areas hes found wild veggies and.

felldon-- in the mean time we should start training up more hunters lily is only old enough to start learning how to track animals but i know some others who are 10.. and ready to hunt

kelldeer-- hunting when done right is fun.. ill miss it but..if my plan works we wont need to want for food any more.

lorkan and joanah sigh in defeat knowing they cant change the young zoroarks mind

lorkan--your as stubborn as your father some time syou know that.. ha ha ha.

kelldeer chuckles and gives the hunters friendly hugs and begins to pack his stuff after reminding them to collect any odd trinkets , gems or interesting items they find as they can be traded as well hugging his parrents and his little sister he ventures off exploring evry corner of the continent of neonis from the cintrus berry islands to the east to the west in the silva island cluster the mountains north of the river that flows north east into lake palicon alll the way to the most northern edge were a fairly barron but still habitable island houses 2 small citties thriving on mostly fish and birds. he finds that gold and silver tend to catch peoples attention more as wlll as n od choice of metal called xeracine. so he heads back home having spent 9 years traveling to find the hunters have begin finding a few more animals evry week keeping a steady meat supply going lately the drying easing up but food still quite scarce luckily trade caravans having been told of a friendly town have more then made up for the lack of animals.

he walks into his little village abit more lively then when he left it but still filled with un ease as food all though stable now has fluxuated frequantly and still does but now childrens lauging and joy can be heard and suddenly hes pounced into the dirt with a playful growl in his face as his sister now 14 is happy to see him.

lilly--- your back your back your back..

kelldeer---good lord could you be any more agressive ha ha ha ha ha.. i love you to baby sister

lilly---- hey im a hunter now.. im not a baby.

kelldeer-- youl always be my baby sister hun.. im older then you.

she smiles and helps him up and they head to thier house.

kelldeer-- i see we have new kits in the village

lilly--- yea about a couple years after you left the hunters managed to fin a small patch of gems uner a cave and collected them though they werent to happy about having to.. and that same day the sneasel and weevile carravan came back to trade food hasnt been fixed but at the moment.. its.. some what stable…… uh..we also have new sibling.. an

kelldeer rubs her head softly--- aww did my baby sister become a big sister now.. whats our siblings name

lilly--..w.what your not upset.

kelldeer---- hell no. im happy to have a new borther or a sister what ever the case may be

after saying that a small white zoroua runs out and jumps into her arms sticking his tounge out

lily-- fell why arent you in bed

Fell---nuh napp nawt tiwed..

lilly picks him up by his scruff and stares him in the eyes

lilly--- you get your white furred little rump back in that bedroom and go to sleep or ill tell mom you snuck into the cookies again

he yelps and runs inside after she sets him down

kelldeer--- ha ha he looks so much like dad..how old is he

lilly--he turns 3 tomorrow

kelldeer smiles and ruffles her main softly

kelldeer--- im proud of you sis..im sorry i was gone for so long but im home ti stay now..got some stuff i need to do still but i think the world is going to change… in a big way.

lilly--um..could i….kell..

kelldeer sees shes embarrassed on somthing.

kelldeer ---whats bothering you sis..

lilly blushes and whispers in hes ear

lilly---i.started having accidents in my nest again and i dont want to tell mom

kelldeer holds back a chuckle and just rubs her back

kelldeer--- mom wont make fun of you sis dont worry your secrets safe with me but.. i think the little rug rat might have loose lips if he finds out his older sisters secret so be sure to tell her your self.

she sighs embarresed but nods. and chuckles

lilly--- other then that can i help with your project

kelldeer--- definately id love the help the project is going to be making a coin the front will have mew and the back a zoroarks face.. your a better artist them i am so id love the help

lily--- he he and your a better hunter then i am guess were even

they head on in the house and he sits down at the table pulling his back pack over and putting materials on the able to stark making coins.

from this point on the world slowly found out about a strange new coin beeing celled the mewn a single xeracine disk with gold on the front silver on the back and intricutely carved mew and zoroark its.. with in 200 years the econimies of the world merged to this 1 coin kelldeers name next to the zorroark and the fron words saying in mother mew we trust.

[silavut-the-wizard]

Silavut the Wizard, Chapter 67

Sehlan has a talk with Nara, and Anielle makes a choice...

Alliances

Lothiren flies as fast as a dragon can. Though dragons are powerful, they can’t teleport, unfortunately. So Lothiren needs to stop every now and then to rest and recoup strength to continue flying. I hope I’m not too late, the dragon thinks. They better be OK. That Powers-damned woman… Lothiren shudders at the thought of what would happen if they were caught. Poor Tail and Vekta. Maybe the wizard can put them right again.

The beasts that were once Tail and Vekta steadily grow closer to tracking the group. They were farther ahead than Lothiren. Not by much, but enough the dragon couldn’t keep up. They had the advantage of solid ground to traverse. Sure, a dragon could use the ground, but they lumber along, getting far less distance than if they flew.

Back in her tower, she watched silently through a scrying bowl. Her scrying was currently more powerful than any other being on the planet. Even Silavut couldn’t compete. Though he was powerful, he still had a long way to go. She watched as the dragon and her creations raced to reach the group. The dragon was lagging behind, she noted, and giggled with devilish glee.

The next morning, after breaking camp, Sehlan whispered to Silavut she would try to talk to Nara. He nodded and finished readjusting his pack.

“Hey,” Sehlan greeted Nara.

Nara looked up from her packing. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“I… uh… wanted to talk to you, if you want. I kind of noticed you’ve been a bit… off… distant… lately. Is everything OK?”

“Yeah…” Nara sighed. “No… I don’t know.” She looked around and saw the other two a good distance away, finishing their packing. “Well…”

“It’s OK, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No! I mean, no… I do. It’s just… Hard.” Nara glanced at the other two again. “Are you sure it’s OK? I mean, with those two…?”

Sehlan looked back for a few seconds, then turned back around. “I’m sure. I told Silavut I’d talk to you. As for Anielle, well, I’m sure he’ll take care of her.”

“I see.” Nara talked a bit lower, to make sure only Sehlan could hear her.

Behind him, Silavut could hear parts of their conversation, but then it got quieter and could only hear whispers and murmuring, unable to make anything out. It was probably for the best. He finished packing and went to talk to Anielle.

Nara continued in her quieted voiced. “Well… I’m almost seventeen. I see you and him together and I start… feeling… things. Things I never felt before. I don’t know how to describe it.”

Sehlan nodded her head in understanding and helped try and explain. “It’s like even though you’re not alone, you still feel lonely.”

“Yes, exactly!” Nara hissed, excited Sehlan understood.

“I remember when I felt that way once, a long time ago. I saw people together and thought, ‘Boy, I sure would like to have that.’ Then it got complicated. Long story short, people wanted my body, not me. Until I met him.” She thumbed back at Silavut. “I… we… got lucky. He had never had anyone besides his parents and Vorin. I had everyone except myself, if that makes sense.” Nara nodded. “Then when we met because of… well, all this… I guess fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it, stepped in. Now we have each other, and you. You’re still young. You may not find what you’re looking for on this adventure, but I’m sure one day, on some magical journey, you’ll find the one.”

Nara nodded. “Yeah, OK.” She looked down solemnly as she slowly finished packing.

“I know it may not be what you wanted to hear, but there it is. At least you still have yourself, and us. I hope that’s OK for now.”

Nara sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, for now.”

“Hey, come here.” Sehlan lightly put her hands on Nara’s shoulders and gently prompted her to turn towards her. They looked at each other for a moment before Nara rushed to hug her. “You may still have these feeling for a while yet, but just know you’re our family now. We’re all in this together. Feeling better?”

“Yeah. A little.” Nara sniffled and nodded into her embrace. “Thanks, Sehlan. Thank you for understanding, and everything else.”

“Of course. Glad I could help. Any time you need to talk, we’re here. If you feel you can’t talk to Silavut, you can always talk to me. Or vice-versa. OK?”

“Yeah. OK.”

They parted and Nara wiped away tears as Sehlan turned to the other two. “Oh… Oh no…”

“What?” Nara looked around, not seeing Silavut or Anielle.

“Where’d they go?” Sehlan asked, more to herself than anyone else.

“I don’t like this,” Nara replied quietly, leaning against Sehlan.

“Me neither.” Sehlan looked around worriedly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Silavut and Anielle were in a dark place.

“Ah, the traitor and the wizard,” came a woman’s voice.

“We know it’s you,” Silavut said to thin air, looking around for the source.

“Do you, now? Well then, let’s get a bit more cozy, shall we?”

A flash. She was there, dressed in regular clothes, looking like any other commoner. They were sat around a table. It was unimpressive, just a seemingly ordinary table. Atop it was a bland centerpiece of a melted candle.

“That’s not fooling anyone. Where are we? What do you want?” Silavut asked, looking around the still-dark space save for their illuminated space.

“One thing at a time. We’re nowhere. This is just a primal void. Though we’re not really here, either.”

“How can we be nowhere but not here at the same time?” asked Anielle, puzzled at the statement.

“Tut-tut. A magician—or rather, sorceress—never reveals her secrets.”

Silavut knew exactly what she meant. Though he wouldn’t divulge it to Anielle, at least not at the moment. He might explain it to her later, if she proved useful. Instead, he said, “OK, now we know where we’re not. How about telling us what you want?”

“In due time, my poor, clueless, meddling wizard. Right now, I want you to see this.”

In the air above the center of the table appeared Sehlan and Nara, huddled together, searching for their companions, worried expressions on their faces.

“You see. Without you, they’re just scared little bunnies, waiting for the slaughter!” The last was said in a harsh voice. Then the vision changed to them lying on the ground, bloodied and torn open, as if attacked by a wild animal. No… the hunter beasts. Tail… Vekta… Silavut suddenly realized.

“No! That’s not real! You’re playing mind games again. I know those tricks,” Silavut said, waving his arm across the vision which vanished in a blur of smoke.

“Oh? How do you know? It could be a vision of the present, or the future.”

Anielle suddenly stood up, shoving her chair back. “Stop! We know it’s not real. You’ve had your fun. I know you. You raised me. Used me. You’re a cruel, vicious monster. I’ve decided… I’m no longer your puppet!” She said this with such voracious conviction, it actually took her aback, and there was a physical sensation as of a small explosion, but no actual physical effects. “My bonds to you are broken. You no longer hold sway over me. My alliance is now to them!” She pointed at Silavut. “Do to me what you will, but know that I am no longer under your power. I will no longer do your bidding.”

She laughed. “So be it, then, traitor.” She raised her arm to smite Anielle, but something stopped her. Silavut had somehow managed to sneak behind her. As she raised her arm, he grabbed it with all his might and pulled. “Let… me… go.” She tugged as hard as she could, but somehow his grip was stronger than she thought.

“No. You will not harm any of us—”

Before he could finish, another flash and she and the table were gone. They were alone in the void again. “You will never stop me,” came her disembodied voice. “As for what I want… I want all your heads on a giant, shining silver platter.”

With that, they felt like they were pushed out of existence.

[atlasdiatia]

Change Fates Design

Chapter 3 Dragon attack made me lateSummary:

Forgive me if I describe the fights poorly. You save George from dying by the dragon attack. Now let's try not to miss the feast your starving!

Chapter Text

Mrs. Fig left to go stay at their house in one of the local hamlets while Charles and Mr.Fig stayed in London to take a carriage to Hogwarts, and here it was finally the day Charles had been dreaming about since he started this whole journey. Knowing what would happen in the next few hours Charles asked that his personal effects be sent ahead to Hogwart which Professor Fig understood. Long ago Fig stopped trying to figure out the request Charles would ask of him thinking it was all from a vision.

Fig and Charles were talking when Charles pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it "And he will be arriving....now." Just as he said George Osric appeared Charles looked up at Fig with a side glance chuckling as Fig smirked and shook his head "Right again my boy." George looked confused by the ex-strange "What was that about Eleazar?"

Professor Fig chuckled "My young friend here is a very talented seer in the making. It was he who saved Miriam and I'm sure she too has mentioned him in her letter to you along with the request with the package?" George nodded almost dumbly looking back at Charles who was looking at his watch again "We should leave now sirs." Charles snapped the watch shut and placed it back in his pocket stepping closer to the carriage before looking back at the two gentlemen behind him "Well we do want to miss the dragon don't we?"

George looked over at Professor Fig who smiled and motioned for them to enter the carriage, Charles stops and looks at the shadows and smirked at it mouthing to it 'Good luck next time Rookwood.' before getting in Rookwood stood there in the shadows shocked that someone had seen him as he was completely canceled by the shadows.

Charles was looking out the window while George and Fig talked "Mister Osric?" Charles cut in just as they talked about him being a new student starting as a 5th year "Mrs. Fig sent you a container can you please hand it to me?" George looked at Charles who in turn looked at him from the side of his eye "Forgive me if I come as a little rube, but we do not have a lot of time." George looked at Fig "Eleazar? What in the world is he going on about does he know what is inside of it?"

Fig looked over at Charles who was back to looking out the window for signs of the dragon, "He told me it is the key to the start of something that is involved with Ranrok." Charles looked away when George pulled out the container "It's made of goblin metal alright, the glow is brighter than in my vision." Fig handed to Charles looking confused as much as George "I don't see a glow."

"Nor do I." Touching it a light flicked from either end to the center making it split down the middle and pop open "Godric's heart!" Fig was shocked but Charles quickly passed it to Fig "It's a portkey like you thought sir. Now ten....nine....eight....seven....six....five....four" Fig held the box and the side of the seat while Charles looked out the back window behind George bracing his feet.

Poor George was looking scared and confused "Two...one...NOW!" Charles shot forward grabbing George roughly by his waistcoat and pulled him forwards as the back of the carriage that he had once occupied was ripped away by a dragon. "MERLINS BREAD!" "FIG GRAB HIS SHOULDER! DRIVER JUMP NOW!" Once the driver was gone Charles looked at Fig "NOW US BE READY TO GRAB THE KEY KEEP A HOLD ON EACH OTHER! NOW! JUMP!"

Charles and Fig jumped pulling George with holding onto him a minute later the dragon was breathing by at what was left of the carriage before it could dive down at them, Fig grabbed the key portkey and in the next moment, they were gone.

All three landed on the sandy dirt of the cave Charles took the brunt of the force making him groan in pain, George sat up shocked and panting "What the bloody hell just happened!" Charles looked up at Fig as he handed him Wigganweld potions to help heal him back up. "We got attacked by a dragon and Charles here foresaw it and your death by it, so he decided to save your life." George stood up looking at the boy amazed "My boy you have an amazing gift! OH!...and thank you my boy for saving my life."

Charles stood up brushing himself off nodding, "I think you might want to head back to the Ministry to report that dragon attack." Making sure they would be ok Mr. Osric apparated back to the Ministry of Magic, Professor Fig and Charles made their way to the old ruins that still clung to a large rock formation with the ocean coast crashing and breaking agent the base of the large rock. Charles stopped and closed his eyes taking a deep breath as the raging high winds that were blowing so fiercely as if it was trying to throw them from the rock path that they now treaded.

Fig looked at Charles now seeing him in nature's light showed how pale he truly was, it was here away from the city he looked happier, even for a moment before the look of ghost hunting him came back. There was a flash of glowing blue in his eyes, but disappeared just as fast as it came before Charles turned and looked at him "We need to hurry Professor."

Coming to the magic ice-like wall, it was beautiful like a natural mirror that nature had made, Charles felt a little bit of shame on having to break it so they could move forward....the slide he could have done without; as he stood up rubbing his now sore bum. Climbing the wall was a bit of trouble for Fig since he wasn't as young as he once was Charles stood agent the wall with his hands cupped giving Fig a smile as he boosted his mentor up and over before joining him.

Making their way out of the tunnel the wind picked causing them to raise their arms to shield their faces before coming to the ruins of the only bridge to get to the structure before them. "Hold on a moment, REPARO!" Waving his wand Professor Fig repaired the bridge allowing them to finally cross.

Charles walked straight to the mural....or what was left of it raising a hand to run over one of the pictures of the seer and ancient magic user Percival Rackham, "He was a seer...I think this was his home Professor Fig."

Fig walked up next to him looking at the mural "I think you are right. Look over there at that statue it looks just like the man in the mural. Let's keep looking around, there must be a reason that portkey brought us here."

Charles headed straight to the next room seeing the enchanted wall Charles slowly made his way to it "Professor come see this!" Standing before the wall Charles fought the urge to raise his hand and touch it, knowing if he did he would end up leaving Fig and the key behind. Charles looked over his shoulder at the sound of the hurried footsteps of the older man.

"Another wall of that enchanted ice." Charles pointed at the wall "There is a room behind it." Fig looked at Charles then back at the wall not seeing what the boy was seeing "What room?" Charles grabs Fig's shoulder at the same time touching the enchanted ice....and suddenly they were transported somewhere else altogether!

"Godric's heart!" Charles looked around confused "Wait are we where I think we are?" Fig nodded "Yes we are at Gringorts, but I never heard of a private entrance to here before." Walking up to where the sleeping goblin lay resting his head on the open book like a pillow, snoring away.

Charles tried to wake him when his attempt failed Fig tried, it took a few more times but after one last loud clearing of his throat, Fig woke the sleeping goblin from his rest.

"It can't be..." he said in disbelief as Fig and Charles looked at each other only one of them was confused while the other just looked like not as much. "One moment please." The goblin asked before climbing down his stairs and around his books before coming to stand in front of them and bowing to them "Welcome to Gringorts Wizarding Bank for Witches and Wizards. Vault 12?"

Fig cleared his throat holding his hands before his back "Of course." Charles almost smacked his forehead before reaching over to Fig's coat pulling out the key and holding it up for the goblin to see "I believe you may need this." Nodding the goblin took the key before waving for them to follow to the goblin railcar "Climb aboard and please keep all arms and legs in if you want to keep them."

Climbing in the railcar and road the rails till they got to the stop station where the goblin alerts Ranrok that someone was finally heading to the vault, "Vault?" His gruff voice ratters through the air before the goblin banker could answer Charles jumped in "Vault 12. Now better hurry along and let your master know like the good little dog you are. Ranrok will be so happy with you. Won't he?"

Charles smirked leaning forwards on his knees the goblin guard glared at him but looked to the banker to confirm "Um..as he said...vault 12. Momentum occasion!" The guard kept his eyes on Charles who was still smirking and gave an air kiss to him with a wink.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he blushed when the young wizard did that before he bit out "On your way." Charles and the guard kept eye contact till he got on his own railcar and went in a different direction from them, Fig was talking to the banker before touching Charles's arm making the boy look at him, "What was that about?"

Leaning closer to Fig so the banker that was fated to die by his leader's hand "The armband the guard was wearing is made of goblin metal and is admitting the same dark energy as the collar the dragon that attacked us and of the weapons of the goblins that attacked that estate in Feildcroft was admitting."

"We have arrived." The banker announced as he pulled the railcar to a stop, everyone climbed off walking to the vault door Charles fell a few steps back as the banker opened the vault door.

Fig stepped in before turning back to the banker "Thank you." Charles stopped next to the banker and kneeled down to meet him eye to eye "Heed me, sir, do not trust Ronrok. He will kill you after you lead him here for defying him when you try to warn him of the rules of this vault." Then Charles stood and walked into the vault with the door closing behind them.

The banker stood there shocked but felt something stir in himself, never had a witch or a wizard even lowered themselves to his eye level nor had they ever looked him so straight in the eye like that. He turned to leave but not before looking back at the vault that held someone very special.

Back inside the vault, Charles steps forward staring at the wall ahead of them "Professor can you teach me the spell to reveal hidden things please."  "Ah, Revelio. Follow my movements, Charles."

Revealing the hidden door lead them to a larger dark encased charmer "Lumos!" making a small but very bright light radiate from the tip of his wand casting light not only over them but a large area around them. "Stay close Charles." Walking forward till the ancient magic pulled Charles to where he needed to pull it from the ground turning the floor to glass life with a reflection of a kneeling knight that was not there.

"What happened?" Fig asked as he stood back up with his wand aloft "I saw the energy that I saw on the goblin metal container that had the portkey inside it." Fig looked around at the changed ground "There is a reflection in the glass, here let me cast Revelio Professor." Casting the spell making a kneeling knight appear from thin air "The reflection isn't matching up...."

Charles looked up at Fig should he act like he didn't know..."Fig could you move the light this way to your left please." Looking back at the ground he watched the reflection move too "Seems I'm right." "Hmm?" Charles looked up while pointing down at the ground "When the light moves the reflection moved too."

"Hmm. Since you are the only one out of the two of us that can see it, it would be best if I taught you Lumos." Swiftly learning the light charm Charles moved the reflection to line up with its solid form causing it to rise and slam its sword tip down.

The moment the tip meet the tip in the reflection's on the ground caused a ripple of magic and energy across the glass-like floor and up the pillars around them in a perfect circle, the torches on the pillars lit up with blue magic flames. A sudden wind picked up going around and around the outside the circle of pillars like a tornado keeping them trapped right where they were at.

"Looks like we aren't getting out of this test without a fight." Charles kept his back to Fig "I agree with you there Professor." Suddenly more stone knights came falling from the pitch-black void that was above their heads all standing, coming alive with the light of fire magic in their eyes all ready to attack the pair.

Charles and Fig held their wands ready to fight, one wishing that he knew more useful fighting spells at the moment. One finally made the first move and swung its sword at the two triggering the others to start coming forward to do the same. Fig took the left while only using the basic cast and the shield charm Charles held his own, making stone swords bounce off the magic that encased him before flinging basic spell after spell into their chest till they burst into magical dust.

When the last one fell the wind started to pick up stronger and faster "STAY CLOSE TO ME!" Fig shouted over the wind, but Charles knew there was nothing Fig could do to stop what was coming next. Charles stood there arms at his side looking forward but his guard was still high, the magic took Fig back to reality outside the door he revealed earlier while he was left back in another dark room with more pillars.

"Lumos!" Raising his second-hand wand aloft Charles started walking forward, his face as blank and cold as the stone knights he destroyed just mere moments ago. Following the bits of magic to the next spot made an almost perfect clone room of the one Fig and himself had fought together in "Revelio!"

Three knights now kneeled before him, walking backward a bit Charles raised his wand "Lumos!" All three reflections lined up almost automatically triggering another round of fighting stone knights till they all crumbled to dust like before making the room go pitch black. Causing him to call light to his wand once more seeing fewer pillars as he was nearing the end.

Magic lead him to the last spot, as he called forth the magic making an archway appear showing a fogged picture of another room more lit than the one he stood in now. Charles didn't hesitate to step through, the first thing that greeted him was the sound of water falling down he could almost taste the magic in the air.

Looking around the room it was more beautiful than he remembered it looking from the screen of his tv, gasping Charles grabbed his head as it hurt so hard and sharply as if knives were being dug in from every direction.

His eyes clamped down tight, the pain bringing him down to one knee, tears running down his cheek. It was almost like he was watching someone wipe the words of the screen and other bits of tech from his mind, watching people and places he had been to and seen deleted forever before the pain finally released its grip on his head and mind...before he finally felt like he could remember how to breathe again.

Letting go of his head so he could slam his hands down on the smooth stone floor below him as he gasped and coughed, trying to catch his breath wondering if during that whole thing if he had been screaming. His throat was sore but that could have been from how he was breathing or how hard he must have been crying either way he needed to regain control of himself.

After collecting himself Charles walked to the pensive and took the locket, just after taking it in his hand the door opens revealing a very confused and worried Professor Fig, "Ah there you are! How did your? Where are we?" Smiling at Fig he held up the locket "This was floating above this, do you know what this is?" Fig looked at the pensive then took hold of the locket-like bottle noticing a fluid inside "This is a pensive. It is used for viewing memories...I wonder?"

Pulling the cork Fig poured the contents into the basin, which filled so suddenly "Follow my lead." Fig keeping his eyes open submerged his face into the liquid. Doing as Fig did and submerged his face, watching the memories with Fig of the men who made this vault and finding that this was the start of a path to something like a test.

Coming back from the memories Fig looked around before looking back at Charles "Was that the same light you have been seeing?" "Yes sir." Suddenly there were loud noises coming behind the doors "Someone is coming, be ready." Fig quickly put the locket away before pulling out his hand Charles already had his out and ready.

The door slams open revealing three goblins, one being the guard that had stopped them. Charles smirked not seeing the banker "Good he took what I saw to heart." Charles only said it loud enough for Fig to hear when the leader was almost fully armored in goblin metal covered in human skull designs. "Ranrok!" Fig stepped in front of Charles, but Charles did not break the line of sight with Ranrok.

"What you seek isn't here Ranrok, nor will you get your hands on it. For what you seek was never meant to be yours it will only lead to your death." Ranrok glared "And you know what I seek boy?" Charles nodded "Your ancestor's journal that will tell you where the last and largest repository is hidden...but I know where it is."

"Tell me then boy." Fig glared at Ranrok "We aren't going to tell you anything." Fig attacked Ranrok grunted but held the attack with his gauntlet hand before summoning the dark magic in his armor to push it back knocking Fig back.

Charles went over to Fig and put a hand on his shoulder as he got up, the room started to change as its alarm of the owner of the vault being attacked. A different-looking knight that was almost as big as half the room, started swinging its sword making all three goblins start attacking giving Fig and Charles a chance to look for a way out.

Charles pulled Fig to another archway on the opposite side of the room, touching the wall as the room started coming down around them. Bracing themselves they are teleported to a forest.

"Where are we?" Charles asked trying to hide his excitement about being in this forest, "I can't believe it, whoever wanted to find that key and vault, they wanted a person with your special gift to end up here."

"That goblin, he was so strong it's like my magic had no effect on him." Brushing his hair back into place Charles looked over at Fig "That's cause it didn't. Not with that armor, he was wearing anyway. It's infused with dark magic."

Sighing Fig shook his head, he really wished that he could understand this boy sometimes. How did he know so much? Was it all in the vision? Fig was just happy that Charles was such a kind-hearted young man. "Let's go we got a Sorting Feast to get to."

[burdenedreverance]

❝ yeah, well, can’t escape the past. right? ❞ (miss the boys 🖤)

"We can't change what we've done, or where we've gone, brother. But we might yet exert control to where we go next."

He is preparing for a long journey ahead of him, the destination of which is not yet known to him. He is sure Shunsui will make some excuse for him, he has already cleared with him his leave. This time he shall not depart without permission, permission which has already been granted. For now he stands on the edge of Karakura, prepared to depart into a human world which he has so dearly bled for. Try as he might, there's a thousand more battles that need him more than the soul cycle does.

He isn't sure, Jugram will understand. He might all things considered.

He looks down at the well-worn black combat boots. Their leather has been scuffed from countless years being used. The tread on the bottom of it's sole has been worn down. Bout' time he get some new ones. "This is world is a terrible thing. Injustices plague it. A thousand atrocities committed every day. All lost and unsung merely because those with people focus on grand issues. The protection of the soul cycle, the next big bad villain. Meanwhile, somewhere, a child goes hungry. A man works himself to the bone."

Mundane problems for a mundane world. Forgotten. Discarded. Uncared. He has perhaps millennium of life. He does not care to spend it fighting those mythical monsters among men. He has seen first hand the poor conditions of this world, of this life. He might yet do something about it.

"Before I came back to the Gotei, I did a great many things to rectify the wrongs of the world. I did not always succeed. But I tried, and did more than I could here." He pauses for a moment.

"Perhaps you might wish to see what good you could do, if you looked elsewhere."

@fortunescaling

[snugsunresplendence]

the umbrella is magical. as if some reached you a cup of hot chocolate. perfect for your soul

the scene in the last gif - god I had to laugh so much, that's my humor right there (have you seen Harold & Maude ? another gem that made it easy for me to laugh and love)

Cillian Murphy you never looked better. The costumes were a feast for my eyes - I'm still in awe

okay spoilers ahead so for all of you who dislikes spoilers - you've been warned!

They won me over from the very first scene. A little boy (actually trans girl) wears a dress and puts on lipstick - AND LOVES IT!! Kitten my beloved, my heart sang with delight.. only to hurt the second after when her foster mom comes in and is furious about it.

Kittens friends; I LOVE their friendship dynamic SO MUCH!! this unspoken sincere affection and loyalty to each other. not even a spark of doubt. that's true love under friends. Laurence your beautiful soul will never leave our hearts and I had the feeling you were always there watching over them. I like to imagine that their bond is unbreakable

It felt right that Kitten left her foster mother. and that she never showed up again.. said a lot

Kittens journey was full of ups and downs but the magician had an unforgettable impact (they all had but that was huge for me).. he was the first person that told her she's perfect, just the way she is and loves her for that? feels like a fairy tale, too good to be true and I was a little sad when Charlie came and pulled him out, but we want to see our heroine in more situations, so okay!

Father Liam/Bernard .. oh you poor soul. your position and the narrow-minded society in which you live in, have made you insecure about loving someone who truly deserves your love. it's a shame that it took so long, but it's a real joy that you recognized it and took the initiative to change it. "What will I call you? - Father." awwww my heart

Kitten found her mother and didn't tell her anything and sometimes it hurts to know more but it's better not to influence things to your own advantage. it hurts like phantom limb but you know where she is and that she has a good life.. that has to be good for something, right? and Patrick seems nice. soo thumbs up!

The end sends hope through my veins. Kitten was and will never be alone and she has a father who loves her. it will be fine and certainly not boring!

but fr I want more. I need more.. so the plan is to buy the DVD and the book!! Kitten has a place in my heart and is by far my favorite character Cillian Murphy ever played. Gosh darling it's a shame you didn't get an Oscar for this

and this one?

you're engraved in my brain. that's for sure

there are so many scenes that touched me emotionally but overall: I love the whole movie!!

lots of love to you Kitten, you never had it easy but you never let anyone take away your will, your imagination and your passion. your head will never touch the ground as long as you live. may you live a long and wonderful life, queen

did I read the tags right? did you just watch Breakfast on Pluto for the first time?

Yes and it was about damn time 🙏🏻