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lathalea · 8 months

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The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings. I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice).

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand.

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his. Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping.

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds.

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now!

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon.

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own.

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his.

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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#thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #richard armitage #thorin x reader #legolasbadass #the hobbit fanfiction #thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #hobbit fic #thorin

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seabeck · 5 months

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Misty forest on top of a mountain

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sorcererofsolitude · 6 months

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Enid has a bad mental health week. Wednesday helps... in her own way.

Enid, buried beneath a mountain of blankets and stuffed animals: I'm not getting up. What's the point?

Wednesday, flatly: I'm sure your overly-energetic friends will lament your absence.

Enid, rolling over to face the wall: They'll probably have a better time without me. You said it yourself, I'm "too much".

Wednesday, sighing: Enid, you are an absolutely blinding rainbow of vibrancy. Your very person contains an energy that I couldn't hope to achieve in a thousand lifetimes.

Enid, huffing: You're making fun of me...

Wednesday, stepping closer: And everything... everyone... you touch gains a small piece of your light. I am... pleased to have been one of those people.

Enid starts to get misty eyed, Wednesday had no idea how much that meant to hear coming from her.

Wednesday climbs into Enid’s bed and lays directly on top of her.

Enid: Uh, Wens? What are you doing?

Wednesday: I have found that pressure helps alleviate my own melancholy. Perhaps it will help you, too.

Enid: I think joining me under the covers would help. For... science.

Wednesday, obliging her request: Whatever you need, mon coeur.

AO3: SorcererOfSolitude

#netflix wednesday #wednesday #lesbian #wenclair #enid sinclair #enid x wednesday #wednesday addams #lgbtq #incorrect wednesday quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect wenclair #autistic wednesday addams #incorrect wednesday addams #jenna ortega #emma myers

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the---hermit · 3 months

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Misty mountains are always the best kind of mountains.

08|01|2024

I have only one week before my first exam of this exam season and I am so done. Due to the fact that I did not get more then two consecutive rest days during the "holidays" I am starting to feel burned out and I am not even half way into this. After my exam next week I will have a little over two weeks to fully study for another exam and I want to scream. I need to not thing about studying for a few consecutive days but I don't know how. And the week after my February exam new classes are starting again ugh. My physical health in the past two months has really fucked everything. On top of this can I say that I don't feel prepared at all for next week? Ugh this is not how I wanted my week to start.

calm hobbit winter activities and productivity:

read first thing in the morning

daily Irish practice on duolingo

finished my first outloud review for my exam next week

continued writing down the key phrases for each duolingo unit I have completed in Irish

continued my French review on duolingo

allowed myself to stop working earlier

updated my reading journal

crocheted a bit while rewatching the witcher (I am in need of fantasy to escape the horrors of reality)

📖: A Day Of Fallen Night by Samantha Shannon (I am two chapters in and I am already addixted to the story I need to know more)

#hi hello today i am whiny and you will have to accept me for the tired creature i am #i like to try to look at the positive side of things but rn i really can't so i am taking my right to complain and being annoying #studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #university #student life #journal #journaling #productivity #studying #notebook #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

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ducklingart · 27 days

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Romeo: "It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die".

Romeo and Juliet (William Shakespeare) 1595

Illustration of ineffable husbands, the statue of the supreme archangel and the longing for the kiss of 1941.

#goodomens #goodomens2 #ineffablehusbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #Crowley #Divorceineffable ❤️🐦

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable divorce #ineffablehusbands #aziraphale x crowley #goodomens fanart #crowley x aziraphale #good omens 1941 #good omens 2 #good omens 3

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lumiconic · 1 year

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things they remember

❥ summary: things they remember ab u and ur relationship!

❥ characters: diluc ; xiao ; thoma ; cyno ; arataki itto ; albedo ; tighnari ; venti

❥ content: fluff, gn reader

❥ note: just some cute fluff hcs!

… diluc remembers the smell of your hair, the intoxicating scent of apples and grapes that leaves him heady and dizzy, your face presses into his shoulder and his gloved hands twist through strands of your hair in a brief second of serene calm, and he inhales the most wonderful aroma that he wishes he could save forever so that all that clouded his mind was the thought of you, when he thinks back to his quietest, happiest moments, he remembers softness and sugar and apples and you.

… xiao remembers a color that gives him comfort, pearly, iridescent white, like almond tofu, misty opals, like puffs of your breath in the morning cold, the shade of the clouds that surround liyue’s highest peaks as you climbed them with him slowing down to stay with you, a determined smile fixed resolvedly on your face and the way you whooped, your gleeful voice echoing through the mountains when you finally ascended to the top, and your hands clutching his, that shade of hazy white he loves so much.

… thoma remembers the first date you had, a picnic underneath a maple tree with leaves as red as windwheel asters, a bouquet of flowers wrapped with gold ribbons on the cloth. the first time he heard you, really heard you speak after admiring you from afar for so long, and what a beautiful voice you had, what a beautiful smile, how you were so dazzling it almost was blinding. and today he’s recreated the picnic for your fifth anniversary, and you’re still just as beautiful as you were, even more so.

… cyno remembers that your favorite color is blue, that your favorite food is sweets with apples in them, that your favorite flower is padisarahs and your favorite person is him, your birthday, the name of your pet dog, the sound of your voice cheerfully singing out his name, your laughter at a silly one liner he made (and stored a thousand more in his brain to hear that sound again), he remembers the exact shade of your eyes, he remembers the feeling of you in his arms and warmth in his heart.

… itto remembers that you like the taste of sweet melon, one of inazuma’s popular flavorings, and every time he sees anything flavored with it he swipes it off the shelf, never mind how much it costs, and brings it home to you proudly with stars in his eyes. you laugh, try a bite of whatever it is – hard candies or smoothies or macarons – and then pull him into a hug and thank him from the bottom of your heart, and when he kisses you he tastes sweet melon, almost as sweet as you.

… albedo remembers clutching a caterpillar in his palm and crushing it into starry dust before opening it again and revealing a tiny, perfect butterfly that fluttered away in a breeze of silver glitter, your wide eyed look of absolute delight as you begged him to do it again, starstruck by his expertise and wanting nothing more than to see him do a thousand more feats of what looks like sorcery to you, and how you still treat him as though he’s a wonderful magician, a gift from the archons themselves.

… tighnari remembers an odd dream of his that he was lying in a field of flowers, soft cushions of pink and yellow, and he felt weariness drain away as he stared up at the sky with its golden sun, relaxed in the silence for once with responsibilities so far away, and then he blinked awake and found himself with his head in your lap, your fingertips tracing along his forehead, and you smiled down at him and cupped his chin in your palms as you gave him a kiss hello and his face flushed red.

… venti remembers blowing wisps of dandelion fluff off the green straw, watching the white puffs float away on a breeze as he wished, clutching clusters of dandelions to his chest with slender fingers as he bowed his head and prayed to a more powerful god than he that you could be his, that you could see him the way his throat choked up every time he looked at you and was struck silent for once in his life by the power of the love he felt for you, that one day you could reciprocate his longing.

thank you so much for reading, and pls leave a like + reblog + follow if you enjoyed!!

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thelarksang · 1 month

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Clues on Neil Gaiman's Tumblr

Three identical posts of a script preview with one changed word

Crowley's Present-Day Filter

No nightingale

I'm still combing through Neil's Tumblr and I'll add to this if I find any more.

Case 1: Neil posting this message about the script three times; twice with the word "Dailies" and the most recent one with "Sides". Neil claims it was a Tumblr error but it's too fishy to not be intentional.

Case 2: Anytime the screen is slightly darker, it's considered "Crowley's present-day storyline".

For example, Tiffen Bronze Glimmerglass were paired with bookshop scenes; Black Pro-Mist was used for Hell; and Black Diffusion FX for Crowley’s present-day storyline.

Neil mentions there are a lot of secrets in that article and this stood out the most. I'm going to rewatch the series and see which scenes are dark.

The Gabriel memory scene seems to also be a clue which I'll expand on at a later time.

Case 3: There was indeed "No nightingale" but there was a lark

There's a huge emphasis on Crowley saying "It's too late" throughout the series (plus Anges Nutter and her time of execution) and the "No nightingale" line comes from Romeo's speech to Juliet. which is another metaphor for lateness.

It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Which seems to mean:

"No nightingale; the lark was there instead. It is morning and it is too late. I must leave."

If the lark was there instead of a nightingale, does this point to a wrong timeline? Or maybe that their story doesn't end here and they must continue on?

The lark can be heard when Crowley leaves the bookshop.

Scene:

youtube

Lark sound:

youtube

Morever I feel like "Night's candles are burnt out" can go hand-in-hand with Job's passage on the matchbox which is "Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out."

Side Thoughts:

Is Crowley the key to all of this? His memories being different from everyone else's, the oddly specific filter for "his present-day" scenes, the fire needed to light the lamps/keep the lamps going, him noticing there is no nightingale singing... (Btw, he is now one step closer to be eligible to ask God questions after fulfilling the ostrich question; not too sure about the peacock part though.)

What if there are actually three timelines if you consider the rule of three in a lot of scenes? Including the three concept art illustrations of the bookshop, the three telephone booths on the promo posters, etc.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #go meta #good omens analysis

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blackmetalnature · 1 year

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I am back from my slumber.

"Dents de Morcles, Switzerland"

#switzerland #swiss nature #nature #mountain tops #misty mountain top #lord of the rings #lotr #the lord of the rings #black metal #atmospheric black metal

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

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Who did this to you? - 5

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, swearing, wounds,

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Faint, scarcely perceptible footsteps resounded throughout the mansion. The world was remote, and the storm had ceased, had travelled across the land, but ruled with an iron fist in her mind. Y/N couldn't find peace, needed a map, a guide to find the trail through the endless labyrinth of greyed memories.

Yellowish shades dimmed the vibrant light of the two lamps in the far corners of the richly decorated room. The walls of wood were silent, did not speak nor chant a forgotten tale of wrath and destruction. Her eyes did not search for the enemy, was safe in the unknown. The heavy curtains touched, forbid curious gazes to fall upon the woman dressed in the tattered and torn garment. The heavy coat caring the smell of alcohol and cigarettes protected her skin painted in wicked colours, deep shades of purple and blue with a hint of greenness, a deep tone of algae swaying in the depths of a raging torrent running wild across the emotionless face of the mountain.

Closing her eyes, Y/N rested her head on the pillow, leaned back, busied herself with her fingers, and played with the hem of the holey fabric covering her frame sparsely. The urge to cover herself, hide to aching wounds, the marks of a fight with the too large coat, at least a dozen of sizes, did not exist. Gazing at the door, she wondered if it was a wicked dream, but steps echoed and Y/N remembered Alfie left to fetch a first aid kit from another room.

Realisation hit her like a wave, a ripple swallowing ships, lonely islands, knew she was safe, and calmness flooded her body and mind. Not a word, not a single prayer, nor a complaint crossed her lips. Memories had fled, failed to overcome the high walls of defence protecting the building, failed to push open the door and shatter the windows.

Floral vines adorned the teapot on the round, dark wooden table. The calmness of his eyes healed the wounds. A friendly, almost encouraging smile graced his lips, partly shielded by the thick, dark beard. The scent of lavender rose and banished the stench of copper lingering in the air into oblivion. Steam was rising from the bowl in his possession. Swiftly, Alfie entered the room and attempted to prevent the warm liquid from spilling over the edge. The dimmed light caressed his features, but fear was beyond the layer of confidence, but Y/N couldn't see it, the fear, agony, and pain.

The hat was missing, revealing tousled hair in the same shade as the freshly trimmed beard. The top buttons of the button-down were undone, like the buttons of the waistcoat. He placed the white ceramic bowl with a golden frame on the table next to the teacup, followed by a bottle of transparent liquid. Alfie didn't push her, didn't ask questions, assumed what had happened, had read the answer her misty eyes carried. He laid the blanket slung around his shoulder on the floor within reach, followed by the first aid kit he had dropped a few times, and dragged the table back. Striding towards the sofa, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up until the material was above his elbows, accentuating his masculine upper arms. Critically, Y/N eyed him, had heard too much about the ruthless man, but she doubted the accuracy of the unforgettable tales laced in terror, questioned the words, and thought the man was not the feared Alfie Solomons.

Desperately Y/N searched for a way out. Her eyes widened in horror, stared at the man standing right in front of her on the red carpet with the fine black embroidery. His hands were clean, clear of dirt, the marks of a struggle. He dropped to his knees. Flinching she leaned back, pressed herself against the soft material, but she couldn’t escape him. Tears were clouding her vision. He was too close far too close and he placed his hand on her knee, touched her skin in a reassuring gesture, telling her to calm down, not to fear, that everything was alright.

"May I?" Alfie asked.

An answer was needless, superfluous, wouldn't allow Y/N to close her eyes to find a moment of peace with untreated wounds.

"You are safe, Y/N/N. I won't call anyone; you can stay as long as you need to heal but it's a matter of time before your husband will search for you and find you.” he breathed.

Bitterly Y/N laughed, was applying pressure to her aching side, didn’t trust her ears, couldn't believe what the man was saying.

"You foolishly think Thomas is going to set out to find me? Why would he do that?", "He's your husband," Alfie said.

The words sounded plausible, the most obvious thing in the world but not to Y/N. Ashamed, she lowered her gaze and listened to her thoughts, but she couldn’t pronounce the words laying heavy on her heart, unable to say how unhappy she was in the marriage, was longing for love, yearning for someone to let her know she was loved and missed. Alfie wrapped himself in silence, said nothing, watched over the breaking woman, accepted the silence, and moved closer to the edge of the sofa. Wordless the man turned, faced the table, set the ceramic bowl on the floor beside him and dipped a cloth into the warm water.

"I'm going to undress you." the words shattered the silence.

A cold shiver travelled down her spine and shadows formed into faceless creatures, but they all were grinning, laughing, and dancing around the fire feasting on the wood.

"Do you think you can undress? If not, I can help you.” Alfie continued.

She did not answer, couldn't, and pressed her lips into a fine line.

"I wouldn't dare touch you." he clarified.

Faint rivers of crimson escaped the freshly torn open wounds of her lower lip. Self-hatred pulled her into the depths of the sea, hating herself for not being able to speak, for not telling him to finally rip the soaked dress from her skin, free her from her suffering, needed to be naked, didn’t need to be reminded of how weak she was, was a mere woman incapable of defending herself like a boxer facing the opponent in the ring.

"And not because you are the Shelby's wife, but you are a woman and should be treated as one. I will treat your wounds. Afterwards, I will cook you some food and tea. In the meantime, when you eat, I will set up a bedroom. And as I said, you can stay as long as you need." Alfie explained in a calm voice.

Water dripped and darkened the carpet.

“I'll wash the dirt and grime off your body and I have got you a shirt and a pair of trousers,” he added.

Patiently the man waited, remained calm, and clasped his hands in a praying gesture on his lap. Y/N consented, had never exposed herself, and he sensed it. She stiffened under his gentle touch. His fingers were rough, seemed as if he had worked his entire life in the depths of the woodland. Like a doll on a thread, a marionette Y/N rose as Alfie demanded it. Heat rose into her cheeks. The clock was ticking. With a thud, the heavy cloak fell from her shoulders and shaped into a pile next to the dark-coloured sofa. The fabric tore. Coldness feasted on her flesh. He undid the brown buttons of the dress, loosened the belt around her waist, and stepped back. Slowly, as if he feared the answer, his eyes slid over her battered body and almost shyly, as if he had never touched a woman, he freed her arms from the dress. Her breasts and intimate area were covered.

The light was not dim enough to make them unseen, to erase them. Like an eagle circling the fields in search of food, he followed the strange trail across her torso, witnessed wounds worse than discolouration's and huffed angered as his gaze fell on the marks around her calves. Marks coiled around her arms, telling a story, letting him know she was being held against her will, forced to stay. Her hands were maltreated, lightly stained with blood, had tried to defend herself from the voracious hands of men. His warm breath brushed her skin. Narrowing her eyes, she remembered who stood before her, but she did not trust the words resounding in her head like a melody. From his trouser pocket, he took out a hair tie, pushed her hair, framing her face like a heavy iron curtain away, and tied it into a loose ponytail at the back of her head. Wordlessly, Alfie pushed her down onto the sofa and lowered himself in front of Y/N, knelt, and inspected the wounds her body bore. He turned to the table and filled two glasses with the very strong liquid. The stench of alcohol filled her nostrils. Y/N wrinkled her face in contempt and turned away.

"Here drink,” Alfie said.

Brows touched.

"Seriously, it will help you, believe me," he explained.

Hesitantly, Y/N accepted the glass and guided it to her mouth, but before she could put her lips on the glass, she gagged. Disgusted Y/N turned away, had to collect herself, and she gathered strength, and emptied it. Wrinkles deepened. The taste befuddled her senses, filling her mouth and numbing her tongue. Goosebumps spread over her body like an unstoppable wave. Alfie dipped his fingers into the warm water in the white bowl with the golden frame, took out the cloth, wrung it out and carefully washed her right leg, removing the mud glued to her feet.

"Do you want to talk about it?", "You don't have to talk about it, but it will do you good," Alfie interjected, sliding his hand carefully over her leg.

Washing the traces of the fight away, he apologised, raised the cloth as he accidentally brushed across open flesh. Gingerly the cloth glided over her body, swept over her calf, but no lust lingered in his eyes, filled with anger and worry, and the very first thing he planned to do during the early hours of the next day was to figure out who had caused the harm.

"What about your husband?" Alfie asked.

"If he were my loving husband, then I wouldn't lie on your sofa, covered in blood and grime. He would take care of me instead of you." Y/N whispered, not trusting her voice.

The wood worked, creaked, and sang out.

"What are you going to do when he calls you?", "What should I do?" he asked.

Pain welled in her eyes, smiled faintly, remembered the unforgettable, the days when he didn't even dignify her with a glance and the touches cold as the unforgiving north, icy and emotionless.

"Nothing, don't answer the call or say you don't know where I am. I'm sure you'll find a good lie. I can't and don't want to see him." Y/N replied gruffly, couldn't imagine meeting her husband's eyes even in her wildest dreams, knew she would collapse like a house of cards under his stern gaze.

"Why?" Alfie questioned. "If I had a wife, I would search every house, every forest, and not stop until I find her," Alfie replied.

She was speechless, swallowed, but couldn't swallow the ever-growing lump in her throat.

"He doesn't love me. He forgot. I waited. He promised to pick me up, but he wasn't there. Thomas was not there to protect me.", "Do you love him?" he questioned.

Do I love him, Y/N wondered.

"Yes, but he makes it impossible for me to love him. I fell for him when we met. He looked at me differently than the other men who asked my father for my hand in marriage. They all wanted one thing, money, power, wealth, a name many people know, but with him, I had the feeling that he loves me. Me and not the money and all that goes with it, because a Shelby doesn't need even more money. He has everything, money, wealth, all these things a heart desires, and I thought he loved me, but I'm sure he didn't even notice that I am not home, that I disappeared." Y/N breathed.

She was not ashamed of the tears, let them fall.

"And it's only a matter of time before he finds someone else, someone who can give him what I can't, someone who can satisfy his cravings. Bless him with an heir. A good-looking woman worthy to rule at his side over his empire." Y/N couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't force herself to end it.

"Why would I do such a thing?" a dark voice asked.

Water dripped down, slid down the darkened coat. The shirt was soaked. The strands of dark hair, dark as nightfall, stuck to his face. His eyes were bloodshot. How long Thomas had been standing in the doorway, Y/N did not know, but she sensed he had heard everything, all the words, the fears and concerns loud and clear, but she was not ashamed of the words escaping her heart.

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ao719 · 4 months

Text

…Sometimes Not (Part 12)

It’s Always Been You

This is a submission for @choicesflashfics, using prompt # 1.

Title inspo: It’s Always Been You - Phil Wickham

A/N: This is an au mini series to my Always You story. Not beta’d. Please excuse any errors.

Book/Pairing: TRR; Liam x OC (Reyna)

Rating: M • Warnings: mild nsfw … some lemon zest, if you will.

Word count: 2016

Catch up here

Reyna wasn’t supposed to arrive in Cordonia until later in the evening, but after days of poking and prodding from her aunt during their week-long trip to the mountains, wanting to know what was going on between her and Liam, she finally caved. She detailed Liam’s confession of how he felt, their last conversation and how she’d tried to tell him she felt the same but how he’d been so convinced she’d fallen out of love with him over the years that he wouldn’t let her say anything, and how she’d given him her journal that was filled with three years worth of letters to him expressing what he refused to let her say out loud.

Next thing Reyna knew, Aunt Elsie — who’d always been the biggest cheerleader when it came to the two of them being together — was on the phone with an old friend of hers, cashing in what she claimed was a long overdue favor to get her on an earlier flight, cutting their trip a bit short.

When Reyna arrived in Cordonia that morning, she headed straight to the palace. The first person she ran into was Leo; he told her Liam wasn’t there, but that he was set to return that evening. She planned to wait for him, but Leo — who noticed his brother had been acting a bit oddly since his return from New York — knew Liam would probably enjoy the surprise, and insisted that she go to him; he pulled a guard aside and instructed him to take her to Valtoria.

And now, here she was.

Hovering in the doorway of the master suite inside the estate, Reyna stared at Liam; he was seated on the bed, hunched over with the palm of one hand pressed against his temple to prop his head up, shielding his face from her view. His other hand gripped the top of her journal to keep it open as he read what appeared to be the last page.

Hearing his breath hitch, Reyna’s brows rounded in concern. “Liam?”

When he lifted his red-rimmed gaze and Reyna saw his tear-stained face, she felt her chest tighten as she took a tentative step over the threshold. His brows knit and more tears started to fall as he stared at her for a heartbeat, and in the next, he was standing and moving towards her.

Liam’s arms wrapped tightly around Reyna and she instinctively returned the embrace; his wet cheek pressed against hers as he tightened his hold. His whole body was taut and his shoulders shook as he silently cried.

“Liam …”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I should’ve listened. And I’m … I’m so sorry, Rey.”

Reyna closed her eyes against the sting in them as he held her even tighter. She drew back just enough to look at him, needing to slightly arch because his hold on her wouldn’t loosen. Shifting her arms from around his neck, she cupped his face in her hands, gently brushing away the tears from his cheeks before they were replaced by more. She held his misty blue-eyed gaze for a moment as her own tears started to fall. “Now you understand,” she said, and his chin trembled as he nodded. “I never stopped loving you, Liam. Not for one single day.”

Hearing her words, Liam felt his heart — which was beating so hard in his chest he swore she could both hear and feel it — swell, and every heartachingly, longing-filled word he’d read in that journal filled his head again. All this time … the three years they were apart and even in the last year since they reunited … she had loved him through it all.

With her hands still cupping his face, she tilted hers toward him. She brushed her thumb against his bottom lip before drawing him to her, closing the scant distance between them when she pressed her lips to his. He sighed into the kiss, tasting the salt from both their tears as an otherworldly force pulsed through him.

It was like a long-missing piece had finally returned and locked itself into place right where it belonged. It felt like home — she felt like home.

And for the first time in years, he felt whole.

“I love you, Liam,” Reyna whispered against his lips; she barely got his name out before he kissed her again.

Hearing her say those three words again after so long awoke something inside Liam that he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again. “I love you, too.” He kissed her again. “I’ve always loved you.” Another kiss. “And I always will.”

Liam kissed her again, and when her lips parted against his, a rush of air escaped him and his body shuddered when his tongue met hers. Keeping his one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his free hand came up, sliding across her cheek and into her hair until it curled around the nape of her neck as he deepened the kiss. It was all-consuming, stealing the very breath from his lungs.

When Liam heard a whisper of a moan slip from her lips, something inside him snapped at the sound, his usual ability to keep himself controlled shredding at the seams. His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt and he was lifting it a heartbeat later, only breaking the kiss to pull it over her head, and as he did, she was tugging at his. He took the cue, reaching back with one hand to pull it off, and dropping it to the floor as his lips found hers again.

Wrapping one arm around her, Liam spun her away from the door, swinging his other arm out and closing it before effortlessly lifting her; her legs wrapped around him as he carried her toward the bed.

There was a tangle of arms and hands as they stripped one another of their remaining clothing between passion-filled kisses and their hands exploring each newly exposed area of skin.

With the rest of their clothes now strewn haphazardly on the floor, Liam finally drew back to take in her bare body beneath him. The years of painful longing — of wishing for just a single kiss, touch … even a mere word — came to a halt. He had no more reasons to wish, to yearn for her. She was there. They were together. And he knew it was going to be different because there was nothing standing in their way this time.

It was going to last.

It was going to be forever.

Liam slowly skimmed a hand along the curve of her body, pausing on her thigh as his gaze shifted back up to hers. “Say it again,” he whispered.

Reyna softly smiled. “I love you.”

A breath fell from her lips as they parted when she felt Liam’s hand slip between them and a finger slide against her. When he felt how ready she was, an impatient groan escaped him; he had every intention of savoring every part of her later, but at that moment, he needed to feel all of her.

In the next moment, Reyna gasped followed by a moan when she felt him filling her; Liam slowly pushed home inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. He dropped his head to her shoulder as a moan rumbled from deep within his chest at the feeling of being wrapped around her again.

Another moment later, Liam lifted his head when he felt her fingers lace with his, and his eyes searched hers as he began to move. “You’re mine,” he whispered with a thrust of his hips, the words spoken with a hint of question behind them.

“I’m yours,” Reyna assured him. “I’ve always been yours, Liam.”

Another moan escaped him, in part from her words, in part from the way she took him even deeper when her legs wrapped around him. He found her lips again with another thrust as her hands curled around his neck and into his hair. “I’ve only ever been yours,” he whispered.

Liam drew out each stroke, prolonging the moment as long as he could until they were panting between impassioned kisses and moans, both on the edge of release.

When he picked up his pace, Reyna clung to him, and Liam didn’t relent until her back arched off the bed and his name dripped from her lips in a mantra of breathy moans. He followed a moment later, a gravelly groan ripping from his throat and his entire body going taut as he dropped his head to the crook of her neck.

After several long moments, as they both still trembled and tried to catch their breath, Liam lifted his gaze to hers; Reyna brushed a few stray locks of his tousled hair away from his forehead before she lifted her head to press a soft kiss to it, then to the bridge of his nose, then to his lips. He returned the kiss, savoring the slow curl of her tongue against his.

“I love you,” Liam whispered when they parted for a breath. “I love you so damn much, Rey.”

A sated, heartwarming smile curled on Reyna’s lips. “I love you, too.”

****

A while later, Liam and Reyna lay curled up in the bed; his arm was wrapped around her as he stroked his fingers idly along the length of her spine and their limbs were tangled beneath the sheets. Neither was in any rush to leave the other’s embrace.

Liam’s gaze shifted down to where her head rested on his chest; her fingertip traced lazy shapes against his skin as she stared off, seemingly in deep thought. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Reyna answered with a sigh before tilting her head back to look at him. “You and this and … us.”

“What about it?” Liam asked as he gently swept a few wisps of hair off her cheek.

“How we’re going to make this work. Because I don’t …” Reyna dropped his gaze, biting her lip somewhat self-consciously. “I don’t want to be without you anymore, Liam. I want to be wherever you are.”

Liam’s thumb scooped beneath her chin and tilted her gaze back to his. He searched her eyes for a moment before capturing her lips in his as he shifted, guiding her back against the mattress. He wanted that, too. After spending so long apart and knowing what he knew now after reading the letters inside that journal, he didn’t want to be without her. Not ever again.

And he had but one thought at that moment.

When he drew back, Liam’s thumb softly stroked her cheek, staring at her with nothing but unadulterated adoration. “Then marry me …”

“What?” Reyna gasped as her eyes widened. “Liam, we … we just got back on track. Hell, we’ve only been on track for like … an hour.”

“Rey … had the past gone differently, I have no doubts that I would have already taken that leap with you, but … things didn’t turn out that way. Yet, in all the time we were apart, nothing about our feelings — about the love we have for each other — changed. I don’t want to be without you either because we’ve spent long enough apart.” Liam was silent for a few moments as she took in his words. “You love me?”

“More than anything,” Reyna answered without hesitation.

“And I love you. That’s all that matters.” The pad of Liam’s thumb brushed over her lips. “I told you four years ago in Applewood that you were it for me, and those words are as true today as they were back then. It’s always been you and it will always be you. There is no one else I want to be with … to spend my life with … than you, Rey. And there never will be.” She took in a breath … and then smiled as she held his blue-eyed gaze. He smiled in return as he leaned down, grazing his lips against hers. “Say yes,” he whispered. “Say you’ll marry me …”

***************************************

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