#this was an old sketch and i threw a horn on it and spent another 8 or so hours cleaning it up

[mortimerlatrice]

[daveleddenwriter]

The Tortured Artist

The Tortured Artist

By Dave Ledden

For as long as I could remember I wanted to be an artist. My earliest memory is of my three year old self finger painting on the driver side door of my dad’s vintage Mustang. His face went blood red with rage and tears built up in his eyes when he caught me. I can still hear my mom’s words, vividly. “Calm down! She’s just a baby, she didn’t know what she was doing!” Needless to say he kept me well the hell away from his car for the rest of my childhood.

  For years I was the top art student at every school I went to. I continued painting, sketching, sculpting etc..  I got marks that were excellent, so I began studying art at college. I moved into a small place with my friend, Sasha. Well, at least I did for my first year of college. She dropped the philosophy course that she was doing and planned on moving closer to her home and her boyfriend. I was relieved to have some privacy, It meant I could have more space in the flat to work on my creations and she wouldn’t be here to force me to not stay up all night working. I was secretly excited the day she left.

 “I hope you won’t be lonely here by yourself.” Sasha said, putting clothes in a suitcase.

“Maybe a little, but I’ll manage.” I said, trying not to grin. “So you’re moving in with your boyfriend?” I never referred to him by his name because to this day, I’ve no clue what it is.

“No. We’ll move in eventually, but I’m not ready yet.” She replied. I nodded. Sasha then took a peak at the picture I was currently drawing. It was a ink sketch of a  cemetery with Tim Burton style headstones and trees.

“That looks darker than your other pictures” She said.

“I thought I’d experiment with a new style.”

“What has you experimenting?”

“You’re meant to experiment in college.” I replied, smirking.

Sasha laughed, then she became serious. “I hope you take care of yourself when I’m gone.”

“Yes mom.” I replied, sarcastically.

She continued  “Sleep, bathe, eat regularly.”

“Breath, blink.” I joked.

 We chatted until she had to leave. I helped her carry her luggage to her car. We finished loading her bags into the car. She hugged me.

“I’ll call you when I get home.” Sasha said.

“Okay.” I replied.

“Marian, please promise you won’t work yourself to death. Get some sleep and don’t shut yourself off from the world.”

I looked into her  eyes and saw that she was genuinely concerned. I didn’t want to promise her that, I knew if I did I’d be lying to her, but I didn’t want her to worry about me. So for what felt like an infinite amount of time, I couldn’t give any form of response. I stood quiet and expressionless. Sasha waved her hand in front of my face, snapping me back to attention.

“Marian, promise me!” Sasha said, with a stern look on her face.

“Ok…” I said, weakly.

***

I slammed back four cups of coffee and two cans of monster that night. After finishing my graveyard sketch earlier in the day, I had a new project to start working on. I was enjoying trying out the gothic art style and I wanted to make a sculpture in it. It was a doll, a girl with a white face and a long black dress and long black hair. The dress was made with some spare cloth I had and the hair was made with wool. I made her thin arms with some silver metal. Her face was also made with metal, but I painted it white. It took close to four hours to finish the doll and the sun was coming up. I looked at the sculpture with satisfaction and placed it on the shelf facing my bed. I finally crashed and went to sleep.

I woke in the afternoon, groggy and tired. I was blinded by the sun rays that invaded my bedroom through the curtain-less window. I rubbed my eyes until they adjusted to the light. When they did, I looked at my shelf, wanting to see the doll. My shelf was vacant and I was immediately wide awake from shock! I shot out of bed and stood frantically glancing around my room! I calmed down when I saw the doll lying face down on the carpet, about a foot away from the front of the shelf. The doll didn’t look damaged when I picked it up to inspect it closely. I was relieved because I wanted to work on a new piece tonight instead of repairing this one.

***

I created at least one art piece a night, sometimes more than one. I had a two week long break from college and I spent all of that time locked up in my apartment. I slept most of the day and worked nearly all night, every night. I never admitted this to Sasha whenever she would call. My groggy voice would always almost give me away, but I was able to reassure her any time she would become suspicious. My routine was working with little to no hassle… until halfway through the first week of the mid-term.

I heard strange noises at first. It sounded as if an animal was scratching the inside of the vents. I naturally assumed I had mice and I was quite angry that I’d have to leave my apartment to get traps or poison. I didn’t deal with the problem right away. I didn’t want to waste time. I had started a new sculpture that was gonna be far more complicated than any other ones that came before it, and thus required a lot of time to complete. It was a life sized self sculpture made from clay. The porcelain coloured skinned statue stood at 5ft 7’, and was clearly too large to fit into the kiln that I keep in the kitchen. My plan instead was to go over it with a hair dryer until it was bone dry. I got started and continued to work diligently on it. I neglected so much sleep, sometimes working the whole night through. When I actually did sleep it was only for short naps. I was beginning to hallucinate from exhaustion. A couple of times since the college break, I thought I saw my doll walk around my bedroom, through the cover of my eye. When I turned my head around to get a better look, she was always on her shelf where I left her, stood as he’d always been.

I only ate packaged foods that I didn’t have to waste precious time cooking or preparing. I also made sure that there was a cup of water next to me at all times so I didn’t accidentally kill myself with dehydration. I occasionally drank from the wrong cup resulting in me swallowing what I can assume to be a gallon of paint tainted water, in the course of only a couple of days. It was worth it. As long as I finished my piece, I didn’t mind having to withstand a bit of poison. Sasha rang a few times while I was focusing on the sculpture, so I didn’t respond. I was far too busy for guilt.

The scratching from the vents didn’t stop, in fact it had gotten worse. One night while I was making progress on statue me, so much It seemed that I would have it finished a few of days earlier than scheduled. The mice in the vent were going crazy! What was odd was the scratching didn’t sound like toe nails on metal, it sounded like metal on metal. It was pretty late, 03:35 A.M. according to my phone so I assumed I was just hallucinating again. I was too happy with my work to care so I powered through. All was going well until maybe a half an hour later. The scratching stopped for five minutes. I sat in total silence, glad that the mice were giving me some peace and quiet. Suddenly another noise emanated from the vent, but it wasn’t scratching. The sound that I heard this time, I can only describe as being demonic laughter. It didn’t sound like it came from a person. I’d never heard anything like it before, which is why I’m having difficulty describing it. It was high pitched, like a cartoon rodent, but it also sounded like metallic rattling!

My heart was racing and I was physically shaking. The laughter ended and when I calmed down I decided to not only get to sleep there and then, I also planned on taking Sasha’s advice to give up neglecting sleep in favour of my art, at last, before I completely lost my mind. I eventually did fall asleep after a while, but it didn't last long. I was forcefully woken up by what sounded like a fog horn. I sat up in my bed, terrified, “Ya know, I’m starting to think that it isn’t mice.” I said out loud to myself before exhaustion took over me once again. I was woken up again. This time by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. I sprang up in my bed again and switched the lights on. My eyes were drawn to my almost finished self sculpture. It was now headless. The wires that were inside the sculpture, acting like a skeleton were sticking out of the top of the neck where the head used to be. They looked like they had been chewed through by an animal. Statue me’s head was on its side on the floor, looking at me face to face. I looked into its hazel eyes, there was a crack running through its left pupil and iris. The head was scalped. Shards of black clay, that was the sculptures hair was scattered all over the carpet.

I almost broke down crying at the sight of it. I then noticed her, the doll stood at the foot of my bed, facing me. She had a still poker face, but it felt like she was mocking me. I garnered the courage to speak up.

“You broke it, didn’t you?!” I sounded  small, like a frightened child. The doll remained stationary and gave no response.

“Why did you do it? That’s so mean.” I realised how petulant I sounded but I was trying to keep my voice from trembling. Yet again, no response. The doll just stared at me with its dead eyes. She was really pissing me off at this point and I lost it and screamed at her.

“Why are you doing this to me?! What are you doing in the vents?!” I was still shaking, but this time it was a blend of both fear and anger. I tried my best to maintain a straight face. The doll and I stared at each other down like we were in a duel, waiting to see who will draw their pistol first. Neither of us made a move.

“What am I doing?” I thought, letting the ridiculousness of the situation sink in. I looked away from the doll and hung my head for a split second. When I did, I felt something being thrown at my forehead. The projectile landed on my lap and I saw it clearly. The doll threw a balled up sock at me.

“You piece of…!” I stopped myself mid-sentence by biting my lip. I snatched the doll up and ripped it’s arms off with my bare hands. Her face remained expressionless, so I pulled off her head and crushed it. I then pulled her wool hear out of her dented metal scalp, and tore her fabric dress into scraps of rag. I bunched up her remains into a ball and tossed it in the trash, leaving my apartment for the first time in almost a week.

 I got back inside and collapsed to my knees in front of my wrecked sculpture and cried. I tried to calm myself down but I couldn’t hold back. All of my anger, fear, misery, got the better of me and what made it all worse was the fact that I was so tired! Two solid streams of tears flowed down my cheeks and I started cradling the severed head of statue me. I finished sobbing and sat at the edge of my bed. I told myself that I could repair the sculpture another time, but for now all I wanted to do was chill. I was too afraid to go back to sleep. I planned on sitting in my well lit bedroom and waiting for morning to come. It’s too bad that that didn’t happen.

I woke up lying across my bed on top of the covers. I was blinded by the light and I could hear a now familiar and horrifying metallic scratching. I looked at the floor and saw the doll standing before me, fully intact as if she never been damaged at all. She stood next to the sculpture of me. She had broken off both of the sculptures arms and the head was so crushed if was practically powder. “Die!” I roared, chucking my phone at the doll. I missed. I finally saw the doll move, it was lightning fast but moved as if it was on the verge of breaking to pieces. It preformed a strange side flip and my phone passed right by it. She then hissed at me and sprinted away. I didn’t see where she went.

After that night she didn’t leave. I could hear scurrying around the vents every night from then onwards. She would laugh at me and make sure that I never got a wink of sleep. She mostly hid herself. Only letting me see her so that she can force me to watch her destroy all my art. She loved when I was afraid and crying, she was having way too much fun making me her pet. She wouldn’t even let me leave my apartment and she snapped my phone in half. I was eventually rescued after a few weeks of this torment.

I heard a bang at my front door,

“Marian, dear, open up! you’re scaring me!” Said a female voice.

I was so relieved that Sasha had come for me, but I didn’t even have the energy to give a verbal reply let alone answer the door.

“Marian, you’re class said that they haven’t seen you in a month and you haven’t answered the phone for much longer than that. Let me in, I’m worried about you!” Said Sasha.

After an hour the police broke my door down and they and Sasha saw me lying on the floor. I was thin, pale, bony, dehydrated and babbling incoherently to myself. “What happen!?” Screamed Sasha. I really wanted to have the mental capacity to form a response, but couldn’t.

FIN

[spacekru-sass]

the ice king’s queen (V)

A story based on a dream I had of a character set in season 4. But every character has their journey to take, their backstory that tells how they got to where and who they were. And with the hiatus til Season 5? We’ve got time to make up

part 1   part 2  part 3 part 4   Part 6

tag list: @lovelynerdytraveler@mischievousweasleys@floralfangurl @p3nny4urth0ught5

I LOVE LOVE LOVE FEEDBACK so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you love, what you don’t love, what you hope to see for this character! Feedback keeps me in touch with the reader and we all want to succeed, right? I want you to read a good story, which keeps me writing because you’re happy! <3

The next few days, Avie spent beside Raven. She knew her way around mechanics from her father and Raven was thrilled to have someone who was as knowledgeable as her around. She constantly jumped with joy that she had a second brain to tap into and the two had become fast friends. It was refreshing to have a break from Bellamy.

She didn’t know how to talk to him and he’d kept his distance respectfully. She had had nothing to live for when she’d slept with that guard for Bellamy’s freedom. She wasn’t ashamed, she was more hurt that she’d tried so hard to protect him and he found his way to this dropship on his own. Then again, he may have not have made it here if it hadn’t been for her.

After they’d watched the rockets launch into the air, everyone was cheering gleefully in hope. She stood between Clarke and Raven, watching anxiously as they approached higher and higher into the sky. Bellamy approached Clarke’s other side and she ignored his presence, walking back to her tent to get some rest. A few hours past and the flaps of her tent were ripped open.

“Hey,” she yelled, covering her chest instinctively as she glanced up at the source of light beaming into her tent. Bellamy and his worried expression. “Bellamy, I don’t want to--,”

“I know that but,” he paused and glanced behind her. “Have you seen O?”

“She’s probably chasing butterflies Bellamy,” Avie laid back down and closed her eyes.

“I checked, I can’t find her Avie,” Bellamy insisted again, sounding desperate. Avie’s eyes snapped open. A deep breath and a silence glance pushed her up onto her knees as she slid her jacket over her tank top, cap on head as she stepped out of her tent.

“Alright, I’ll help you look for her, but don’t think I’m doing this for you. Octavia is important to me.” she murmured. She may have been angry with Bellamy, but she would do anything for O. Bellamy nodded solemnly before the two split up, Avie checking the tents as Bellamy went to check the dropship floors. With no luck, they gathered a group to go find Octavia. Avie stood by Jasper, heading off into the woods as everyone glanced up, noticing the stars in the sky.

“That’s not a meteor shower, that’s a funeral,” Clarke breathed out, glancing to Raven. “They didn’t get our message.” Avie gasped out, covering her mouth as she glanced at Clarke. They headed into the woods, Bellamy sliding down to find Octavia’s things hanging from a branch. She glanced at the group, then to Jasper and Finn before stepping forward to slid down as well.

Bellamy’s hand dripped of blood as she approached and Avie had to close her eyes for a moment, shutting out the worst outcomes. Finn and Jasper quickly followed, noticing the footprints. “If they took her she’s alive,” Jaspar insisted, “Like when they took me.”

They continued down the path, approaching skeltons strung from the trees. “I don't speak Grounder... But I'm pretty sure this means keep out,” Finn mumbled and Avie glanced up at him.

“Wrong time, Finn, wrong time,” Avie whispered before readjusting her cap, lowering it over her eyes.

“Go back if you want. My sister, my responsibility,” Bellamy swallowed and pressed forward through the bodies. She moved instinctively forward to match his pace, his eyes glancing to her in surprise.

“I'd walk into hell to find her,” Avie replied with a curt nod, “Though I think we just did,” she glanced around at their location.

           She remembered the first time Bellamy introduced her to Octavia. They were hanging out on day in his home when he whispered in her ear that he had a secret he needed to share with her. She remembered giggling, her young thoughts fogging her mind. But when he pulled away from her and pushed the center table away, Avie’s eyebrows had knitted in confusion.

His hands had gripped the latch on the floor and pulled it open to reveal a small girl scrunched up on a makeshift bed on the floor. Her eyes widened brightly and she glanced between Avie and Bellamy as she awaited the older girl’s response.

“Who--,”

“Avie, this is my sister Octavia,” Bellamy slowly spoke, holding his hand out for Octavia to come out from her hiding spot. “O, say hello to Avie.” Octavia stepped forward and held out her hand, a small hello escaping her lips. Avie stared at her hand momentarily, unsure of how to react as she looked at the young freckled boy.

“I like your hat,” O whispered.

This was illegal and yet, Avie found herself wrapping her arms tightly around Octavia’s small frame. Octavia rested her head on Avie’s shoulder, her own arms wrapped around her as she giggled. Avie had been closer to Octavia’s age and the two became sisters quickly, Bellamy bringing her home often so that O had someone feminine and her age to talk with. The two often whispered about the big brother behind his back and he’d never been able to catch their conversations.

They’d stalked their way through the forest and it was already light out. They’d lost John, killed aimlessly by a grounder in a tree. They were surrounded. “We should run,” Finn mumbled as they took off through the woods, rushing along as the grounders caught up, arrows flying at them. Another of the 100 was impaled from a tripwire and Avie almost threw up as she moved past him. They followed Roma and she fell to her knees when she saw her lying dead on a rock, spear sticking out of her chest. She emptied the contents from her stomach onto the Earth’s surface, hands pulling her up, making her scream out.

Over the years, Bellamy had grown into his own, broad shoulders, long torso, strong hands, but he still had freckles speckled across his cheeks like constellations that Avie had mapped in her fellowship. She remembered staring out the window one day with a sketch book, Bellamy slumped beside her, biting loudly into an apple.

“Bellamy Blake, do you mind?” she asked, turning to glance at him. He grinned stupidly and swallowed before taking another large bite. The sight of her was adorable, her cap turned backward, a small tuft of hair sticking out the adjustable hole.

“Listen Hummingbird, I’m bored. What can I say?” he asked, his elbow resting on her shoulder as she leaned away from him playfully and glanced back out the window. “What are you looking for again?”

“Polaris,” she said, and turned to read from the old textbook she was researching, “Polaris, commonly the North Star or Pole Star, is the brightest star in the constellation of Ursa Minor. It is very close to the north celestial pole, making it the current northern pole star. It was supposed to help hikers find their way home,” she turned to look at him only to see he pretended to fall asleep. “I hate you,” she mumbled, pushing him as he began to chuckle, lifting his head at her.

It was only two weeks later when he showed up at her door and handed her a navy-blue mask on the day of the Unity Day dance. Octavia was stood on the other side of the room, clad in her own mask, excitedly exploring a room outside of her own. “I figured you could wear this instead of your hat for once,” he insisted, a bright smile appearing on his lips as your fingers grazed the hard plaster.

“You don’t like my hat?” you asked flirtatiously, removing your cap and placing it on your bed as he adjusted his uniform. He glanced down to look at her dress, Octavia scoffed and rolled her eyes at her big brother.

“I just thought you might match better this way,” he said, turning her as his fingertips tied the ribbon knot gently. She turned back to look at him and place the hat back on her head, “Well, you’re in luck because I can wear both,” she blew an air kiss to him and nudged him out of the way, locking arms with O and heading to the dance.

Bellamy heard your hurls, moving forward quickly to take in you and Roma’s dead body. He closed her eyes, pulling her up as a few grounders rushed you again, stumbling into each other. You braced yourselves as a horn began to blow. “Acid fog,” Finn pulled out a tent, “There’s no time.”

           They danced for a long time, enjoying the freedom of being out in the open together. Everything went south quickly though when there was a solar flare alert and the lights flashed on. “Masks off, I.D. Chips out,” one of the guards yelled out.

“We need to get you to Bellamy,” Avie insisted, moving to Bellamy’s side. “Bell, scan my chip and then you can get her out of her, I’ll create a distraction.” He shook his head and pulled out his weapon, ready to make his own distraction

“Octavia, get home,” he insisted but she looked up in fear.

“Bellamy, I don’t know how to get home.”

“Cadet Blake. Why is your weapon out?” he asked as Bellamy scanned your I.D. chip quickly, weapon at his side. He turned to look at O, “Mask off,” he said.

“Sir, she’s fine, I’ve already scanned her,” Bellamy insisted as Avie pulled your mask off and looked to the two siblings.

“You don’t have a scanner,” the guard demanded and Avie lunged forward, attacking the man to give Octavia time to run, but it was too late. She was caught by two guards blocking the entry way.

“Let her go!” Avie screamed, being pulled off the man. She struggled in their arms, fighting to get to Octavia who was being dragged off. A shockwave moved through her body, making her go limp and stop resisting.

“Take her to the Box,” the guard insisted and the last look she got of Bellamy was a horrified expression before your eyes closed and she’d past out.

           When they finally crawled out from under the tent, they noticed a grounder sprinting through the woods. “We need to follow them,” Bellamy said, “They may lead him right to Octavia,” he said, taking off after the grounder.

           “Bellamy,” she yelled, taking off after him. They found an entrance to a cave, following the path until they found Octavia, chained to a wall, a grounder at her feet with blood on his head. Avie watched at the two embraced. “Get the key,” Octavia said and Avie leaned down, grasping the metal and moving to unlock her from the cuffs.

“You came,” Octavia whispered and Avie wrapped her arms around the shaking girl.

“I had to make up for not being able to save you the first time, right?” the two chuckled.

“Hummingbird always finds a way,” Octavia insisted and this time, Avie shook her head.

“This was all Bell, he’s the brave one,” Avie glanced up to Bellamy who’d been standing over them, watching their moment quietly. Octavia stood, collapsing into her big brother’s arms, hugging him tightly again.

“We should go, now before the Grounder wakes up,” Avie hastily looked down at the man and back to Bellamy who grabbed a staff from the wall. Avie bent down next to Finn, admiring the horn across the man’s chest, when he suddenly came to. His hand swiped across the space in front of both Avie and Finn. Finn pushed Avie out of the way, as the knife found its home in Finn’s stomach.

“Finn!” she gasped, bending down to help him as Bellamy fought off the man. Octavia screaming for him to stop when Jaspar suddenly smacked him on the head, knocking him out cold. She’d never run so fast, moving ahead to get Clarke’s help. After Finn was moved inside, she turned to check on Octavia, watching Bellamy fight with her.

“Mom was floated for having you. She's dead because you're alive. That was her choice. I didn't have a choice. My life ended the day you were born,” he screamed out, grabbing her hand. She whispered something Avie couldn’t hear before stocking past her.

“O,” she called but Octavia shook her off. Avie’s gaze returned to Bellamy. She merely shook her head at him, disappointed. He scoffed in return, pointing to the dropship.

“Get inside.”

[joyfullynervouscreator]

When Thorin rants...

Thorin was ranting. He was also pacing, in what Dwalin privately – he wasn’t daft enough to say it out loud – had dubbed his ‘I-hate-all-Elves-but-I-particularly-hate-that-Elf-that-smug-Elf-bastard’-pacing.

The afternoon planning session had begun quietly enough, discussing provisions for the trek and trying to think up different places where they might be able to resupply during the Quest. Unfortunately, someone – here, Dwalin felt supremely justified in scowling at Glóin – had suggested that they travel through the Forest, perhaps even barter with the small settlement somewhere around the middle of the Old Forest Road. With the fickle nature of Elves in mind, it was no surprise that the settlement seemed to move from year to year in the minds of the oldest among their number who still remembered trading with the Elvenking. It did make accurate planning slightly more difficult, but still not as difficult as when someone – Dwalin once more felt a harsh glare was warranted in the direction of his Firebeard cousin – mentioned the name Thranduil in Thorin’s hearing. Frís would have sighed, and left the room to make a cup of tea when Thorin began his long-winded and surprisingly inventive – after 170 years, Dwalin was rather impressed that Thorin could still come up with new insults for the haughty Elf – rant about the Elvenking. Unfortunately, Frís was dead, going on eight months now, and no unobtrusive cup of tea would be appearing in Dwalin’s immediate vicinity as he pretended attentiveness – growling and grunting in the right spots had become a habit by now – as Thorin continued steaming. If I didn’t love him so much… Dwalin thought, sending another glare Glóin’s way for good measure. The normally boisterous merchant had a glassy-eyed look on his face as he stared at the King. Dwalin thought it had been about an hour since Thorin really got started, which meant it was about an hour until he’d run out of steam, at which point Dwalin would have to intervene physically, if only for his own peace of mind, unless he wanted to suffer a sulky, brooding Thorin for the rest of the day. Dwalin had far more fun ways to distract his love in mind, of course, and felt quite pleased that Dís had gone hunting with the boys, trying to cram as much time together into the short window of time they still had before they were to set off for Erebor. They had the house to themselves, and Dwalin planned to take advantage. As he half-listened to Thorin, Dwalin’s mind began spinning far more pleasurable scenarios in his mind.

“So, we’ll avoid Thranduil, then,” Glóin said, when Thorin stopped for a breath after a particularly solid insult. Dwalin wanted to groan. His cousin truly did not have the sense Mahal gave him at birth, or perhaps it had leaked out of him since the last time Dwalin had spoken to him, because why else would the numpty mention that name again?! Leaning back in his chair and folding his massive arms over his chest, Dwalin scowled at Glóin. At this rate, they’d have a very late dinner and he might have to shorten his ‘Distract Thorin’-plan, which was so not what he deserved for putting up with the both of them. Thorin threw up his hands, his face twisted into a rictus of anger as he nearly hissed at Glóin. Balin was calmly looking over some reports Nori had compiled, making notes in the margins. Óin had put his hearing horn down and seemed to be taking a nap, earning him a glare of envy from Dwalin. Sleep would be a more productive use of the time than listening to Thorin’s ‘Thranduil is a bastard’-rant for the Mahal-forsaken nth time, though Dwalin had to admit he enjoyed seeing Thorin flushed and agitated like this. It usually boded for a particularly satisfying time later, and Dwalin felt the trade was worth it. Losing himself slightly in staring at Thorin’s eyes, darkened with anger, Dwalin returned to the realm of his imagination. He spent several minutes thinking up other ways to use Thorin’s pretty mouth, ways to shut him up, just a while, until he couldn’t help but spill over with sounds Dwalin wanted to hear. Of course, those hands, fluttering like particularly frantic birds as Thorin gesticulated angrily, had their own tasks in his plans-to-come, and he could almost feel them gliding over his skin already, tweaking a nipple here, tracing a scar there. Thorin’s legs… well, Dwalin had always thought their strength was better displayed when they were wrapped around his waist as Thorin rode him as hard as he was currently stomping across the room. Of course, they agreed on the usefulness of Thorin’s long locks as a place to bury frustrated fingers – even if their frustration wasn’t currently quite the same type. Dwalin particularly liked wrapping his fingers in the soft thick strands, using the braids he had plaited this morning to steer Thorin’s mouth towards his own. Turning his attention back on Thorin for a moment, ignoring the sudden tightness in his groin, Dwalin realised that they had reached the cool-down stage. Glóin looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, and Balin caught his eye with a subtle twitch of fingers that told him the scribe would be leaving as soon as possible too, leaving Dwalin to deal with the aftermath of Thorin’s riled temper. Óin was snoring, rather loudly, which almost made Dwalin laugh. He caught himself in time, kicking his cousin’s chair lightly.

   Later, as they lay in their bed, sweaty and sated, Thorin looked at Dwalin, his lips swollen from kisses and grinned. He had often wondered why Dwalin always seemed intent on having him as soon and as often as he could after one of his particularly long rants, but he couldn’t deny that he took advantage of the fact to get himself some good hard pounding. Licking his lips, wincing slightly at the sting where Dwalin had bit through the skin, he studied the dwarf beside him. Scars dotting the landscape of defined muscle; Dwalin was a true warrior, raw power controlled by muscle and sinew, disciplined by an iron will to match his own. His beloved was beautiful, in all ways. Of course, in his own opinion, Thorin was every bit as sexy, even with his small nose and his slimmer fingers. Dwalin, at least, had never complained, had never considered him less desirable for it. Thorin kissed him, turning it soft and languid, the way they only did when they were fully satisfied, simply desiring closeness. “Is it my voice that turns you on so?” Thorin wondered, not realising he’d spoken the words aloud.

 Dwalin simply smiled.

For @kappathealien for Dworin week, who made the original sketch, plus a follow-up sketch based on my story: