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banjjakz · 1 month

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Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you. “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities. Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #jjk reader insert #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta reader insert #okkotsu yuta reader insert #jjk ao3 #jjk fic #okkotsu yuuta fic #okkotsu yuuta fanfiction #okkotsu yuta fic #jjk fanfiction #my writing #mine #commissions

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countessqin · 1 year

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Some voicelines of our dear Y/n as a playable character of Honkai Star Rail!

Charecter : Jing Yuan × fem!reader romantically (lovers); Yanqing × fem!reader platonically (mother-son relations)

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[Author Note]

I got this idea, so instead of getting ready for university I'm writing it. Purelly my headcanons are used, as well as my impressions of characters. I tried to do it in the way it's done in game!

PS.I have quite small knowledge conserning characters stories as for now, because I didn't finish all quests and didn't read all character stories.

Apologies for any typos and mistakes, English is my 4th language, so please bear with them, I'll edit mistakes when I'll have time. Thank you for reading it , hope you enjoyed!

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Small intro:

- Name : Y/n

- Age : ???

- Occupation : the advisor of the Luofu region

- Status : ???

- Path : [choose which one you want]

- Element : [choose which one you want]

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[First meeting]

- Greetings Traveller from afar. My name is Y/n, I'm the advisor of the Luofu region, shall you need any assistance...please, contact the Sky-Faring Commission or Divination Commission.

[Greetings]

- Oh, hello there! How is your journey? Aah... how facinating! Care to join me and general with a cup of tea to tell more?

[Parting]

-Oh, it's quite late now, you should go and rest...hm? Me, I still have work to do, the amount of work an advisor can have is...very big... Until we meet again, Trailblazer. May the stars guide you~

[Chat: work of advisor]

- You want to know about my work? Well as an advisor I'm resposible for some stategic things as well as helping with making some decisions, giving advises and of course I deal with bunch of different documents

[About herself: troubles]

- What troubles me? Hmm...What an interesting question...maybe the amount of money Yanqing can spend on swords or the amount of the work that general Jing Yuan currently has

[About herself: hobbies]

- You want to know about my hobbies? Why? Oh... I see. Well I love calligraphy and in my free time I draw, also I love history and antique things. Do I play musical instruments? Oh.....Trailblazer isn't that your friend, March 7th, standing there? I think she is looking for you!

[About Yanqing]

- Ah Yanqing, such a good young boy! I remember when he first won in our small martial arts and sword fight training! He was beaming with joy! And now, he works as leitenant of Cloud Knights, I'm so proud of him.

[About Jing Yuan]

- You want to know about my relationship with general?... hm... oh no need to worry, I'm not mad! I work as advisor of general for such a long time now, I don't even remember exactly for how long... oh? You wanted to know if we are together? Ha-ha-ha you should have told me, why beating around the bush, yes we are. For how long? That will remain mystery for you!

[About Yukong]

- Oh, she may look strict and intimidating, but when you get to know her better, you'll see that she is a kind soul!

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#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail jing yuan #hsr jing yuan #honkai star rail yanqing #hsr yanqing #qin's stories~

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mikathemonster · 1 year

Text

“under my skin”

author’s note: okay, SO. y’all seem to be eating these fics up ravenously, so here I am to supply food to the starving wolves. eat up, baby! I'm so nervous since this is my longest fic yet, but here’s some fun and sexy (slight) enemies to lovers smut to spice up the fluff I've been writing lately. don’t say I never did anything for you guys. happy holidays, happy new year, and happy reading :)

Pairing: Kíli / Gender-neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 14,873

summary: forced to be allies for the sake of preventing war, kíli could do nothing but find his way under your skin...

content warnings: Post BOTFA, Everyone Lives! AU, Enemies to lovers, minor injuries (but ouch man they hurt), a poorly written fight scene (im so sorry in advance), possible OOC Dwalin (let me know what y’all think), blood, mentions of violence (it’s LOTR, y’all), smut, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), praise, cursing

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGLESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

No matter the obstacle in your harrowing journey, the reward was all you needed to quickly motivate yourself again. What journey, you ask? Why, it was an adventure of great status and power. Commissioned by the King Under the Mountain himself, you (along with a hand-picked team of established dwarves and men) were tasked with hunting down and tracking a rather grisly enemy: Aevar Godfred. Once a man known for his high position among the ranks of Gondor, he was now an exiled thief on the run. His latest snatching had been of three precious jewels of Erebor. Now, these jewels weren’t nearly as precious as the Arkenstone, but they were still regal enough, crafted by Thorin himself to symbolize the current royal line of Durin. One for the king: an emerald that glowed with a radiant green shimmer. One for the crown prince: a ruby that flickered like the flames of the forges. And the last one for the youngest prince: a sapphire that reflected light just like the vast seas.

Aevar, under the cover of night and the kingdom’s banquet of Durin’s Day, had snuck into Erebor and stolen the Royal Jewels, his slippery self escaping into the night only to finally be noticed the next morning by guards when it was found that the jewels had left the treasury. An issued warning had been sent to Gondor, but after being informed that Aevar himself had been exiled, Thorin had decided to settle matters by his own means. A simple capture mission, one that Thorin was hoping would end with a blade to the thief’s slimy neck once he was returned to Gondor.

You remembered Thorin’s words the day this journey had been pushed onto you as clear as ever. It was night, and the torches had cast a glowing aura about the king as he sat upon his stone-carved throne. You, along with two other dwarves known as Dwalin and Kíli and another man named Sigfred, kneeled before the throne as Thorin’s gruff and commanding voice filled the bedrock walls.

“It is upon you that I delegate this mission,” he said. “Two weeks past, a sniveling thief fell under our noses and stole precious jewels of the kingdom. Jewels that belong to royalty.” His expression was proud and bright, but his voice held a dark tone that conveyed his authority with a scary countenance. “Word spread to Gondor, but it now comes to our own hands to deal with this sniveling coward. Under the guidance of Balin, I have assembled you four to carry out this mission. Word has come to us that the thief has been spotted south of Mirkwood. I suspect he may be running to Rohan or the Wilderland for shelter. You are to find him, hunt him if you must, but return him alive and restore the jewels. I promise you will all be handsomely rewarded upon your successful return.”

You all raised your heads to look upon the king, who now stood proudly above you all with a daunting presence. “To aid us in our mission, Gondor has sent Y/N.” With a raised hand in your direction, the king introduced you to your group, and you stood tall. “They are our insurance, and are in charge of keeping you all to our word that no harm comes to Aevar Godfred.”

You nodded in agreement, bowing. “While he is your enemy, I can assure you that we plan to deal with him swiftly. We exiled him in the hopes that he would rot away. Now, we plan to imprison him for the rest of his days so he can torment no longer.”

“That should’ve been your first decision,” one of the dwarves piped up, and you turned to meet his glare. Two fierce brown eyes met yours, their deep color matching the fiery attitude as the younger dwarf of your troop.

“Kíli, hold your tongue.” Dwalin warned, his own steely eyes now turned to the young prince.

“I’m sorry Uncle, but I cannot. I will not,” the young dwarf said, who you now knew to be Erebor’s Prince Kíli. And what an ignorant prince he seemed to be. “Why does Gondor wish to keep their thief after banishing him to be our problem? Why now do they intend to dispose of him?” The young dwarf stood now, palms open to Thorin in a silent plea of an explanation.

“To avoid battle.” You interrupted, growing impatient with him so soon after meeting him. He looked to you confused, before returning his quizzical glance to his uncle, who merely nodded.

“It was agreed that Aevar Godfred would be returned to Gondor as an insurance of no ill will between our kingdoms.” His voice was softer now as he approached his nephew, offering an apologetic hand on his shoulder. Carefully, he leaned into his shoulder, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We cannot afford to wage any kind of disagreement with Gondor over this man, nor can we afford his burglary to go unpunished. This is the only way to assure both.”

Though you couldn’t hear the words Thorin had whispered to Kíli, you figured you already knew based on Kíli’s reaction, his eyes widening and his jaw setting tightly. His tongue had left him, only responding with a small nod of acknowledgement before Thorin pulled away, casting a glance to you before returning to his throne.

“As I said before, Y/N will be your aid and your warden. I trust you all to behave.” Now back to his regular gruff self, he cleared his throat. “Offering his services to us freely, Sigfred here will serve as your guide. His knowledge of the Wilderland is vast, and I pray it will serve you well on this journey.”

Sigfred too now rose, a silent nod from the ginormous auburn-haired man, whose mustache twitched as his gaze pierced through you. You had heard tales of a wandering ranger from the Wilderland, their rumors passing off as myth as it was hard to survive without aid in those lands. After all, nothing came from the Wilderlands save for wild beasts of enormous strength. But here he stood, six feet and four inches tall, with hair covering his chest and arms as shown through his tunic.

“As for warriors, Erebor supplies the journey with Dwalin and Kíli.” Thorin finished his introductions, his hands offering the two dwarves, of which only Dwalin was left kneeling. But that didn’t last long as he finally stood, arms crossed.

“For the journey, I offer my axes,” he grumbled. His voice was deep and gruff, and scars littered his arms, reminiscent of battles long ago.

“And I my sword and bow,” spoke Kíli, who now seemed to know how to bite his tongue.

“It is done, then.” Thorin said with a nod. “By first light, you all shall begin your journey. Rest now, and be swift.” And with a single hand he dismissed you all, leaving you to return to your lodgings within the mountain halls. But as you left, you felt Kíli’s gaze bore stubborn holes into the back of your skull.

That was three weeks ago. It was the money that kept you here, you had to remind yourself. Nothing else but the bounty of gold promised to you by the King Under the Mountain himself, Thorin Oakenshield. Nothing else, despite the fact that you were already beginning to feel your patience wearing thin. In just three short weeks, the young prince of Erebor had been nothing but insufferable and unprofessional. Constantly up to pranks at the expense of you and your sanity (he had attempted to jest with Sigfred, but it seemed the poor dwarf prince was intimidated by the silent man who stood almost two feet taller than he), he was driving you up a wall. The few times Dwalin had put him in check were the only moments that brought you relief these days. That, and the quiet nights you all slept in the shadows. It seemed the only good thing Kíli provided was his skill with a bow and scouting. Though, a part of you was also entertained by his stories, which he told often to Sigfred whenever he could. Though intimidated, it seemed the young dwarf was also awestruck by the tall ranger. It was only when he told such stories of dragons and elves that you found yourself fully listening to him.

But as more days passed, he seemed to be getting bolder. To begin the next week, he had decided to swipe your clothes while you were caught unawares, hiding them while you were bathing nearby! You were lucky it was Sigfred and not Dwalin who found you panicking naked about the springs, pushing your embarrassment down knowing for a fact that the quiet man wouldn’t tell a soul. You were lucky he had helped by finding and bringing you your clothes (lest you be caught meandering naked just outside of Mirkwood) but still, a part of your dignity had evaporated that day. You could feel yourself being pushed to the brink by his antics, and weren’t sure just how much you could take it.

A few more days passed, and finally you had a lead on Aevar Godfred. You had caught wind of a strange man shirking about past the Brown Lands, headed west towards Fangorn. You thought that he was possibly trying to run to Rohan in hopes of sanctuary, as Thorin had theorized all those weeks ago. Mind set on tracking him, you followed Sigfred as he led the way, his fast legs leaving you and the other two dwarves quite winded by the time you set up camp the next night. Quickly, you all settled under the shelter of wooden ruins that must have been a stable at one point. Dwalin was quick to get the fire going, sending out Kíli to go hunting for tonight’s dinner. Sigfred, who was a vegetarian, was put on watch.

With a tired demeanor, you sunk to the ground, sitting near Dwalin at the fire. For now, while Kíli was away, you could relax. A sigh escaped your lips, and you tried to stretch your back, thoughts eating away at the back of your mind. “I worry about our journey ahead,” you said. Dwalin responded with nothing, but the glint in his eyes told you he was listening. “I’ve heard rumors about Fangorn Forest, and it’s not one to lose yourself in.” You straightened your back, leaning closer to Dwalin, your voice now a whisper. “They say the trees there are different, they’re not normal. They… they can speak to each other. Whisper, mumble, and moan. And sometimes, they say they can even walk.”

“And does someone of your status believe these tales?” Dwalin mused, and you could hear a slight mocking lilt to his voice, though you took care not to address it. He didn’t seem spooked by your words, not in the slightest. “Why lead us there then?”

“I hope to go around,” you replied. “But if Sigfred finds more tracks, we may have no choice but to venture into those woods.” You leaned back, laying on your back now among the grass and twigs. “I’m beginning to worry about how long this is taking. Surely Erebor wouldn’t claim war over something small like this.” You had muttered the last part to yourself, but Dwalin’s keen ears had caught it.

“Thorin would not choose war so easily, not since the days of the dragon,” he said. “But I say murder lies on his mind often with the likes of thieves.”

You nodded, listening. It made more sense to think of it like that, and it started to make you wonder if the council of Gondor had sent you here as “aid” merely to appease the stubborn dwarves. A milk run of sorts. A small errand to busy the minds of children. You groaned at the thought, not too pleased with the idea of possibly being a scapegoat for something as small as this.

The sound of returning footsteps stirred your thoughts, and you were quick to stand back onto your feet. You knew it was Kíli, and if Kíli was returning so soon, you had no doubt that his antics would as well. You weren’t in the mood to deal with him, especially now with all these doubts swimming in your head. You needed to clear your mind, and so you walked away from the fire and into the night. Not too far, mind you, but far enough to feel alone with the crickets and the stars. They were shining brightly tonight, and you wondered what it would be like to touch one as you sat back in the grass. You wondered what it would be like to fly up, up, up into the sky and sit on a cloud, far away from dwarven princes and thieves and political feuds.

You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed before you had finally decided you should return, standing up and dusting yourself off before a soft voice cut through your thoughts.

“Are you not going to eat?” The voice startled you, coming from right behind you and causing you to trip and fall backwards on top of the poor person. Well, maybe they didn’t deserve that much pity, as you quickly realized it was Kíli who had startled you.

“Gods, make yourself known next time!” You grumbled, annoyed, and you brought your fist to his chest in spite. But after a quick wince of pain, all he did was smile, and suddenly you realized how close you two were, with you still on top of him.

“My, my. Falling for me already?” He beamed, coughing out a pained chuckle with his cheeky grin catching you off guard as you hurriedly sat up and away from him, trying your best to regain your composure.

“Don’t get it twisted,” you said. “If I spend one more minute this close to you, I think I’ll go insane.”

He too started to rise, propping himself up on his elbows. “I think we finally agree, but don’t go making empty promises.” He chuckled, and you could have sworn he even winked. The gall! The nerve! Gods! Your cheeks heated up in anger and embarrassment at his words.

“The only promise I’ll give is my hands around your throat if you don’t stop.” You warned, finally finding the courage to stand.

He sighed wistfully, getting himself back up. “I’ll warn you; don’t go making promises you can’t keep, now. You’d be surprised to find I might like that.”

Your eyes widened, and your ears and cheeks flushed again. You were so unbelievably caught off guard by his flirtatious comments that you couldn't even remember why he had come to retrieve you in the first place. Now he was beginning to push his luck. “Will you stop these jokes, already?”

“Jokes? I can assure you that I’m definitely into-”

“No, stop! Stop it! I’m done!” You said, frustrated. “For two months now we’ve been at this, and for two months now you’ve made a complete fool of me! I can’t take these pranks of yours anymore, I refuse! Hiding my weapons was mildly annoying, painting my face in my sleep was immature, and don’t even get me started on hiding my clothes while I’m bathing! Is nothing sacred to you?”

His eyes widened, surprised by your outburst. A heavy silence fell as he studied your face carefully. He took a step closer, his eyes holding some sort of apologetic worry that seemed so foreign to you now compared to his usual grins. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” His words were honest, and his voice had softened. “It was all in good fun, I meant no ill will.”

“Good fun?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I was left to wander around naked because of you!”

“A sight I wish I could’ve seen,” he coughed to himself. “But really, I meant nothing by it. Despite how lovely it is to see you flustered, I don’t wish to make an enemy of you.” He spoke truthfully, though hidden was another truth you couldn’t fully discern. Offering a hand, he looked into your eyes with his own deep brown ones that shone in the starlight. “A truce. I promise to leave you alone for the rest of the journey, I swear.”

You were suddenly finding yourself taken aback by how quickly his mood had shifted from playful to serious. Before the journey had even started, he had been glaring daggers into your backside. What could have possibly made him change his mind in these last two months? Even his pranks had gone from tormenting the group as a whole to being more targeted towards you as of late. What was in his mind to focus so much attention on driving you insane? But his expression was earnest, and it suddenly made you second-guess yourself, now embarrassed that you had made such a big deal of it all. “No, you… You don’t have to do all that.” You sighed, swallowing your pride for the first time with him. “I just… If we are to continue being allies, then I can’t keep being some little game for you to entertain yourself with. I deserve some respect.”

He nodded, understanding now that his attempts of flirting with you had come off as harassment, and was feeling deeply ashamed. “You deserve so much more than that,” he said, retracting his hand. His voice had said those words so softly, like a feather caught in a breeze. And just as quickly as silence fell again, he was quick to do a silly little bow to you.

“From now on, I’m at your service,” he smiled. “Allow me to extend my services for your forgiveness, if you’ll allow it.”

You swallowed, not sure of what to make of his gesture. Perhaps he was simply joking again, but perhaps he wasn’t. And perhaps you were willing to risk those odds, for some reason. You stood for half a second before sighing. Your mind was made up. “Alright,” you spoke. “But one more chance. That’s all you’re getting, so you better not disappoint me.”

Relieved you accepted him for now, he beamed, and in the same breath realized just how much he was beginning to fall for you.

Finally, you were hot on Aevar’s trail. Two and a half months into your journey, with which Kíli had thus been true to his word, and you had found it. Hidden just in front of the forest’s entrance, in a now-abandoned shack along the main road, you had spotted a campfire. And not just any campfire, but the likes of which belonged to Aevar Godfred. You knew him well based on his face, for he had been born with a scar along his cheek that was hard to miss through the windows of the shack, and even harder to forget. Behind trees, you kept hidden, retreating back to tell the others of your good fortune. Finally, this would all be over soon. Or at least half of the journey would be.

It seemed the only one who had been excited by the news was Kíli, his eyes shining brightly and eager to get to work when you had told the group of your findings. Dwalin himself had also shown relief, though from all his years he knew better than to celebrate early. Sigfred, for once, showcased a small smile, though concern still laced his brow. Now, all that needed to happen was the forming of a plan. After quick deliberation, it was settled; you’d all wait him out and sack him in his sleep.

Hours passed by until the fire’s light was seen dying, and further scouting from Kíli proved useful as ever. Aevar Godfred, the scourge of both Gondor and Erebor, was finally asleep.

With careful steps and baited breath, you all surrounded him, wary of waking him. It had been decided that the “sacking” would go along in this fashion: Kíli, with a drawn bow and keen eye, would keep his sights drawn on Aevar in the event that he tried something nasty upon waking. Dwalin, armed with his sheer muscle, would guard the door of the building. Sigfred stood guard outside, for he was the last resort if Aevar tried to make a break for it. And as for you, you carefully made your way to Aevar’s sleeping figure, maneuvering his weapons away from his sleeping body until you were ready for the next step.

Quickly, you gave a glance to Dwalin, who nodded to let you know that he was ready any time. Turning your glance, you now looked at Kíli, who looked quite intimidating now that his weapon was drawn. He gave you a knowing look, slowly nodding, and you knew it was time. You drew a breath, unsheathed your dagger, and pounced.

You awoke the thief with a start, your blade drawn to his neck as you straddled his body, digging your knees into his wrists to prevent him from moving. His head whipped wildly about, assessing the situation, before his head made contact with yours, and hard. Your grip faltered for a moment, and Aevar took his chance. Springing up, he swung his legs at Kíli, missing the dwarf’s fired arrow just barely, though it cut his cheek. Down Kíli tumbled, and down Aevar flew to swipe at his weapons, but not before you threw your dagger as a quick-ditch method. It managed to pierce him in his backside, and the traitor let out a great howl of pain, dropping to his knees but still desperately scurrying to try and retrieve some sort of weapon.

“Dwalin, now!” You commanded, holding your head in your right hand. You wondered if it would bruise, but found yourself more annoyed that Godfred had gotten you with such child’s play. Kíli himself was also finding himself annoyed, not having missed a target in a long while. He would later blame it on the cramped space, but that was no matter for now.

Dwalin was swift as he was scary, kicking Aevar down onto his stomach and holding him there with his foot before binding his hands behind his back, all the while with the cowardly man howling and moaning. With one swift hit, Dwalin knocked the man out, and his body thumped on the broken wooden floors.

“Dwalin! We need him alive!” You said, worried.

“Alive,” he repeated. “And I’d rather think quietly, too.”

You groaned, not wanting to bicker. The important part was that you got him. You had ensnared your prey, and despite the annoyance you were thanking the stars that it had been so easy. Stumbling onto your hands and knees, you issued another order.

“Kíli, find the jewels. Quick.” You said, and Kíli wasted no time in searching, tearing apart Aevar’s things one by one. But he was starting to get frustrated, with each bag and nook and cranny turning up empty.

“They’re not here.. They’re not here!” He looked at you with exasperation, and you finally stood up, dumbfounded.

“Look again, Kíli,” Dwalin commanded. “Find them now.”

Both of you now searched, hands tearing the place apart together until just under the floorboards, you saw something shine from the moonlight trickling in the window. Quickly, you got on all fours, prying the floor open only to cut yourself on a sharp nail. You winced, a few curses expelling themselves from your lips as you stumbled back, catching yourself with your elbow. Kíli was quick to notice, casting a worried look to your current state before finishing what you had started. He pried open the floor, and there they were. Tucked and wrapped in a loose scarf sat the jewels, the sapphire peeking out in the moonlight. It was the sapphire that you had seen.

“We found them!” He called out, a laugh of relief escaping him as he raised them in his hand to show Dwalin and Sigfred, who had finally come in after realizing all had went well so far.

You smiled in relief, but quickly found yourself focusing back on your hand, which now felt as though it were burning and going numb at the same time. Though it was bleeding a lot, as being a long cut that ran from your middle finger to the base of your thumb, you were lucky it seemed to have only cut skin and not tissue. But still, it was deep, creating a thin gash on your hand. This plus your combined headache was making it harder for you to stay present in the moment. Your head pounded still from the impact, and you partially wondered if you were having a concussion. You ripped off some fabric from your tunic, quickly wrapping your hand for now, though you knew it would have to be treated sooner than later. But now, there was still work to do.

Just one hour later, you had all set up inside the abandoned shack. Quickly, everyone had gotten to work. Sigfred had been put on watch after tying and binding Aevar up to one of the shack’s foundational beams tight enough that you almost pitied him. Keyword: almost. Dwalin had rekindled the dying fire just in time for rain to begin falling, with droplets peppering in through the broken patches of the thatch roofing. Kíli had raided the rest of Aevar’s belongings to supply everyone with decent enough rations, and you… You hadn’t been much help, not that you could help it. You leaned against the wall of the ruined building, wincing at any slight movement in your right hand due to the placement of the cut. A part of you silently wished it had been your non dominant hand; at least then, you’d still be some sort of useful.

Taking a seat by your side, Kíli put both of your rations on the ground before leaning closer, his brows furrowed and laced with concern. “Let me see,” he said, awfully close. And reluctantly, you offered him your hand. You had half the mind not to just because of how much he seemed to get on your nerves, or how much you wanted to seem strong despite the burning feeling, but you were worried too much about it being infected to be in any position above him right now.

His thicker fingers delicately unwrapped the tunic scraps off of the cut, soaked in blood that now looked dark from the amount you had bled. His jaw set tightly after getting a good look at it, and he drew a skin from his bag. “We need to clean it,” he said. He opened the skin with his teeth, pouring a liquid on your wound that you quickly realized from the smell and awful sting alone was liquor, quite possibly ale. You hissed, tensing everywhere as your head fell back against the wall in pain. It ebbed in your hand, a burning and stinging sensation that made you want to chop the whole hand off and be done with it. You bit your lip hard, groaning in pain. You had tried jerking your hand back to you, but Kíli’s once delicate hold now gripped your wrist tightly to make sure he didn’t miss any spots.

“It has to be cleaned,” he explained, though you already knew that quite well. “You’re doing well, it’s alright.” His reassuring words startling you as you quickly met his gaze, a sense of uncertainty in your eyes. Perhaps he pitied you right now, you thought to yourself. He was being too nice, and you didn’t know how to respond to it. It seemed like another prank, another ruse. You broke the eye contact held between you, your pride getting the best of you as you only nodded. Eventually, the pain dulled down, and Kíli’s grip loosened, setting your hand down to retrieve some fresh gauze to wrap your wound.

“It’s not too deep,” he said. “But you won’t be able to make much use out of your hand for now.” You turned back to him, refusing to take your eyes away from him now as he wrapped you up. No, it wasn’t refusal, now that you thought about it. You simply couldn’t look away. You had become all too interested in the concentrated gaze he held, his hair falling in the front of his face. Without a thought behind it, you raised your other hand to his face, tucking away the loose hair behind his ear. He tensed at the contact, quick to look at you all wide-eyed like a deer caught at night. You couldn’t read his face, and soon realized just what you had done. Coming back to your senses, you cleared your throat, sitting up straighter.

“It is… Um, is it finished?” You asked. Kíli took a second longer to bring himself back, before he too cleared his throat.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “But be careful. Here.” His hands left your own, and you found yourself being disappointed by it, though you didn’t understand why. He handed you your food for the night, and you softly thanked him, being careful with your injury as you ate.

“He’ll be waking up soon,” Dwalin grunted, and you were reminded that you had an audience this whole time. “What’s the plan from here?”

“Gondor isn’t too far from here,” you spoke carefully, envisioning the route home in your mind. “But the jewels and prisoner must be returned to Erebor.”

“And so they shall,” Kíli nodded, now seated next to Dwalin, leaving his spot beside you. Again, disappointment crept into your mind from the gesture, but you still didn’t understand why you felt such a way.

“Aye, they will.” Dwalin agreed. “But traveling with a sniveling thief won’t be easy. I doubt he’ll be more than willing to come along, and I don’t want more dead weight for the journey back home.” He grunted disapprovingly, not liking the idea of traveling with Aevar. Not that you blamed him, though.

“As much as it doesn’t sound appealing, it’s what your king wanted us to do.” You said. “Gondor, if they even still want him, will want him from your kingdom more than my own hands.”

Kíli quirked an eyebrow in confusion, looking at Dwalin and then you. “What do you mean by ‘if’ they still want him?”

You sighed, finishing your meal quickly. “My orders were more vague than I told you; I’m not entirely sure what will happen to him once he’s brought to Minas Tirith. But regardless, we should follow along as we have. We should leave early tomorrow and make use of the light. I’ll take first watch.”

Kíli was still curious of your orders, but decided against discussing further. It was late, and everyone was tired from the journey. Sigfred let out a small sigh of relief after being relieved from his duty, and soon everyone was preparing for the night to sleep.

Night crept on, much like the thunderstorm that raged overhead, and you had been at watch for a few hours now, with everyone sleeping at the other end of the shack. You too had begun to start feeling tired, but the thunder clapping flooded your ears and kept you awake. It seems it managed to stir others at times too, for soon Aevar awoke, tied down and gagged. You rolled your eyes at the sight as he began groaning and sputtering muffled curses at you through the fabric stuffed in his mouth, quite enraged to be in his current state.

“Silence,” you ordered, keeping your voice low. “You have no one but yourself to blame. We’re taking you back to Erebor, where your punishment awaits.”

But Aevar was a fool, and a stubborn one at that. Managing to spit out the gag to your surprise, he then spat venom at you. “Do what you will, but as soon as you fall asleep I’ll unbind myself, slit your disgusting throats and be off with what’s mine. I stole them once and I’ll do it again.”

“Oh, don’t make me laugh,” you scoffed, glaring at him. “Give it up; you have no power here, nor anywhere else for that matter.” Your words were fueled by your distaste for his pitiful arrogance. “Did you really think you were so smart? So clever? You stole something when nobody was watching, and now act as if you’ve hung the stars themselves. Get a hold of yourself, Aevar. You’re nothing but a worthless cheat.”

“So says you, who bends every which way for the sake of a man you call King.” He said. “And I’m the one without worth? If I’m but dirt, then what does that make you?”

You didn’t answer at first, but your expression became stony as your free hand held the hilt of your dagger tightly. “It’ll make you nothing but a distant memory by the time we arrive in Erebor. Now be quiet if you know what’s good for you. It would be wise for you to keep your tongue once you’re there, unless you’d like for me to cut it out?”

“You don’t scare me,” he hissed. “You’re just a slave to your government. A pawn to your politics. And a whore to your-”

Quickly, you decided you had had enough of his mad ramblings, grasping the blade of your dagger to strike him in the head with its hilt, knocking him unconscious once more and right in tandem with an awful clapping of powerful thunder. He made another slimy grunt before going out cold, and upon seeing the slight cut on your hand from your grip, you dropped the blade, watching it clatter to the floor. You were lucky this cut was lighter than the one on your dominant hand, and even luckier that your dagger was dull. Only a few drops of blood escaped before you wrapped your other hand as best as you could, relieved that you could still use it despite your rashness leading you to now have two cut hands.

But you hadn’t been quiet enough, it seemed. From hearing the clatter, Kíli awoke, his eyes squinting in the dark to find you standing over Aevar’s body, which had sunk back into his original position. He stood up, making his way behind you as he peered over at the thief, who now lay unconscious. His gaze shifted between the dagger on the floor and the thief tied up. “What happened?”

“He woke up, just like Dwalin said,” you spoke plainly. “So I put him back to sleep.” Now starting to ebb away from your dark thoughts, you turned to look at the dwarf. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he lied, his voice soft. “The thunder. It’s just loud tonight.”

You nodded, sitting back down against the wall like you had done earlier. “I see. It’ll probably continue on until the morning, too.”

Concern laced his brow as he studied your face, kneeling now in front of you. “Y/N…” Your name sounded so delicate on his tongue. “Is… Is everything alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “He just… He got under my skin, that's all.”

Now Kíli nodded, and repositioned himself to sit next to you. “I see.” A small pause as he attempted to cheer you up. “And here I was, thinking that was my job.”

You gave a weak chuckle, smiling softly as your head leaned back, hitting the wall. A comfortable silence fell over you two, or as silent as you could get with the commotion going on outside. “Listen, Kíli,” you whispered.

“Yes?” He looked at you, his eyes shining like stars in the dark sky. You didn’t understand why you thought of them like that, but you did.

“About earlier. I wanted to thank you for patching me up. I should’ve said it earlier but I let my pride get in the way. I’m sorry.” You spoke earnestly, wanting to wipe the guilt out of your memory by setting the record straight. “You’ve been true to your word since our last conversation, and here I am still finding myself not trusting you. It’s unfair. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he smiled, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m nothing but trouble in your eyes, you have every right to keep looking over your shoulder. I’m just glad you didn’t suffer anything worse.”

You sighed, nodding with a hum of acknowledgment, but his words seemed to bite you on the inside. Another pause came, followed by your voice. “You’re not.. You’re not trouble.” You spoke carefully, not even entirely sure where you were going with this yourself. “I’m just not used to such antics, least of all from a prince.” He chuckled at this.

“Sometimes,” you looked away, not being able to look at him while you admitted the next bit. “I suppose sometimes, they could even be considered funny.”

You kept your gaze away, but saw in your peripheral that Kíli seemed shocked by your words. “Funny? Oh Mahal, how hard did he hit your head?”

You whipped your head back around at the accusation, finding it already annoying that it had taken so much pride to give the dwarf a compliment. “Oh please! If he had hit me any harder I may have said I was in love with you,” you said sarcastically, but it seemed that Kíli didn’t find it as funny. Or not at first, at least, as a gruff chuckle left him a bit delayed.

“Ah, I see.” He said. “Well, it’s good to see you’re not hurt in the head, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to insult me nearly as easily.” He gave a cheeky grin and you rolled your eyes, shrugging off his teasing. “I like seeing this side of you, Y/N.”

“What, injured?” You raised your wrapped hands, confused by his statement.

“Open,” he said, and continued to elaborate at the sight of your raised eyebrow. “When we first met, you were so cold and kept mostly to yourself. I’m glad the journey has brought us closer.”

“And when we first met, I could say the same of you,” you retorted. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your glares and sneers when I left each room.” Kíli shrunk a little at this, finding himself embarrassed.

“I was…” He explained. “I was rather rash in my thoughts, I’d say. But I know better now. I think I know you a little better now, too.” You scoffed at this, rolling your eyes.

“Oh really? And what have you found out, you little spy?” You taunted, raising a brow.

“That you’re just as strong as you are stubborn.” He began. “That no matter what happens, you always seem to be able to motivate yourself and get back up again. And that you take your job seriously. So seriously that you never seem to have time for a joke or a laugh. But when you do laugh, your eyes crinkle up like paper. It makes me wish to see your laugh more often.” He looked over at you, meeting your eyes now. Your face was flushed from hearing such words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to escape his stare. No, you found yourself lost in it. Two swirling pools of a deep brown that seemed to drown you. So deep, in fact, that you feared if you dove in, you might never come up for air. You found yourself speechless, not sure of what to say or how to continue such a conversation. Kíli continued it for you.

“You also have quite a temper,” he laughed. “You get wrinkles on your forehead, especially when you’re cross with me. And your fist stings just as hard as your glares. It reminds me sometimes of my mother; it seems you both think I’m reckless.”

Finally, your words returned to you as you cleared your throat to find them. “Well she’s right, you know,” you said. “You are reckless. A complete idiot driven by impulse. But you’re smart, nonetheless.” You sighed, pushing your pride aside for just a moment, long enough to admit your favorite things about him. “You’re incredibly skilled with a bow, I’d say you even rival elvish warriors.”

“You think so?” He asked, smiling. You nodded.

“But your strategies need more work. You’re smart with a blade, and you’re incredibly determined, but you’re still impulsive. You don’t look out for yourself enough.” You tried your best not to scold him, but still found yourself frustrated at the facts. “You try your best to look out for everyone else in the group, but do nothing for yourself. It’s exhausting. If you continue to do so, you’re only going to get yourself hurt.” You wanted to say more, but bit your tongue, lest you admit a tiny part of yourself cared about him.

“So the immovable Y/N truly does worry about me,” he teased, but his face dulled at the thought. “But you’re right. At least, that’s what I’ve been told many times by many people. I let my emotions get the best of me, it seems.”

You felt bad for chiding him, shifting yourself to face him more as you sighed. “It’s not entirely a bad thing, you know.” He looked back up at you, curious for you to say more. “Emotions are good, it means you have a heart, and that’s very rare to find these days in times of war. You have the heart of a warrior, Kíli.” His smile returned at your words, and he found himself falling deeper into your eyes this time.

“You know,” he spoke, his voice soft. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a soft spot for me.” You flushed again, your eyes going wide. “Either that, or you’ve gone delirious with infection. I think it’s poisoning your mind!” Your breath of relief (that you weren’t even aware you had let out) left him laughing at your disposition.

“Well if that were the case,” you grumbled. “It would be from your own lack of medical expertise.” Kíli smiled, rolling his own eyes, and you were beginning to find yourself very tired from the night, your eyelids growing heavy and your yawns coming in more frequently. The thunder outside now seemed so distant in your sleepy mind. How long had it been? Four, five hours? You stretched your exhausted body, trying to find comfort against the wall.

“I can take over,” he spoke, stirring you from your thoughts. “I don’t mind. You need the rest, anyways.” You shook your head no, stubborn as you were.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“You’re tired,” he said. “Just rest. I’m quite awake now, don’t worry. I can stand watch.”

You sighed, not wanting to bicker. “Fine, but only for an hour. Not a moment longer, wake me up once it’s over.” You groaned, resting your head against the wall to sleep, not bothering to move from your spot, still intent on watching later as you shut your eyes.

Kíli huffed at your stubbornness. “Y/N, here.” You felt his hand come across your face, guiding your head into his lap. Your eyes shot open for a second, startled at the gesture.

“What… What are you-” you tried to speak, but were interrupted.

“Shh, rest now,” he said. “I don’t want you to have a stiff neck for the journey back. Unless you’d rather take the floor?”

You said nothing in response, not having the energy to fight or the courage to taunt him back. A small sigh left your lips and you closed your eyes again, drifting off to sleep.

The next few weeks seemed to fly by. You all wasted no time in hurrying back to Erebor, though the journey itself would take another month and a half. Your days were filled with hiking the forests, hills, and mountains as the sun rose and set around you all constantly. But despite the fast progress you had been making, the journey was far from quiet. Aevar made sure of that, constantly whining and groveling only to spit insults whenever someone wasn’t giving him the attention he so desperately sought. You had all realized early on that rendering him unconscious never solved the problem like you had hoped it would. So instead, you had chained him up, tying his hands together with a long rope you could pull on to ensure he followed. It was mostly Dwalin’s job to do this, being one of the more physically strong ones. Sigfred had been in charge a few times in the past, but quickly found he didn’t have half the stubborn determination that Dwalin did.

Kíli had been put on as the leader of the pack lately, often scouting ahead and helping ensure the road you all traveled was safe and swift. He seemed to have a new energy about him lately too, but you chalked up his eagerness as just wanting to be home soon. You too were ready to return to Erebor already, the journey having set a new ache in your bones that you wished a decent bed would soothe. But you’d be lying if you said you also didn’t share a newfound energy. And it wasn’t because your hands were healing up quickly, either.

Ever since that first night with Aevar, you had found Kíli invading your mind much more than you deemed necessary. You now watched him closely, catching yourself studying him like a prey does of a hunter, though you knew in your heart that he was no such thing. But still, you found yourself strangely timid around him now. His smiles slowly became contagious, his laughs leaving you flustered now. You had no clue what to make of it, and silently cursed yourself all the while. You didn’t want to address the fact that you were finding yourself more and more drawn to him, and had silently chosen not to address any of these feelings until you reached Erebor’s mountain gates.

But it was on days like this that you were finding it harder and harder to do such a thing, as Kíli seemed to always want to be at your side whenever there was a break to do so. Not that you had any courage to deny him, though. A secret part of you enjoyed the way his face seemed to light up during your conversations, a stark contrast to how you two had originally gotten off upon meeting each other.

The night was young, and you had all just reached the dense and dark forest of Mirkwood, setting up camp quickly. It was better to go through Mirkwood during the day, for it was so dark at night that you couldn’t even see your hand if you waved it in front of your own face. Sigfred had gotten the fire started, with Dwalin taking first watch, tying Aevar to a tree, much to the thief’s dismay. It was your turn to hunt tonight’s dinner, as your rations were all running low, and so you set out just a little ways away from your campsite.

Determined, you snuck around the fields surrounding the forest until you found a small river. With eager eyes, you stepped into the shallow end of the waters, drawing your daggers as you let the moonlight glimmer off the stream, waiting eagerly to see the shimmer of fish scales. Though it was a lot of waiting, you were eager and patient for the reward of fresh fish. One by one, you managed to stab each fish with great accuracy, only gathering enough to eat for tonight; any leftovers would probably spoil during the remainder of the journey. Waiting just a little longer to catch one last fish, your focus was stirred by footsteps approaching you. You looked up, keeping your dagger taught in your hand, until you realized it was just Kíli who stood at the top of the riverbank, peering down at you. You sighed, relieved it was just him.

“You know, for a dwarf,” you chuckled. “You’re quite the master of stealth. It’s starting to scare me how quiet you can walk.” He smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Apologies, I meant not to startle you. I actually came to offer aid; there’s not much to do at camp.” His hands drifted to his bow, holding it up for you to see. You nodded in acknowledgement.

“I appreciate it, but I’m almost done. You can help me carry these back though, if you’d like,” you gestured to the fish, and he nodded with a delighted hum, climbing down to the edge of the river’s shores to get a closer look after putting his bow away.

“A fine dinner, I’m sure,” he grinned. “Caught by an even finer hunter, no doubt.” You flushed at his words, fiddling with your dagger to avoid looking nervous. His words were like honey, and if you weren’t careful, you’d find yourself stuck in their sweetness. A part of you wanted to talk about your newfound feelings, though this was all foreign territory to you. You didn’t even know where to start.

“You’re too kind,” was all you could mutter out before hunching back down into the waters to search for the glimmer of fish again. You needed a distraction, something to pull you out of the enchanting reverie of Kíli Durin, and he could sense this, growing a little concerned.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, seating himself next to your pile of caught fish, all of good size for tonight’s dinner. You dare not look back at him, feigning ignorance.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You spoke absentmindedly, trying harder to focus on your hunting. And soon, you saw another shimmer of scales heading right your way.

“It feels like you’ve grown a little distant, ever since that night we caught Aevar,” he said, causing you to slip up and narrowly miss the fish. You huffed quietly as you watched it dart away with frantic speed. It seems there was no avoiding this, no matter how hard you wanted to. You stood straight again, looking at him nervously.

“What do you mean?” You asked, hoping it was enough to make up an excuse for. What you hadn’t expected was to see Kíli’s expression so worried, almost afraid. But not the fear one has in danger, no. It seemed like an emotional fear, an anxiety over the anticipation of your conversation. And it seemed you shared it, too.

He chose his next words carefully. “You talk less, at least when you’re around me. You no longer seem to enjoy being near me once we make camp. I just… Is it something I did? Did I make you uncomfortable in some way?” His eyes seemed to hold a slight hurt in them, and it broke you in two to see him in such a way.

You mentally cursed yourself, not realizing in your own emotional troubles that you had also brought Kíli some pain. You quickly shook your head, denying his questions. “No! No, I promise that isn’t it,” you said. But you didn’t know where to go from there, your words catching in your throat. Kíli stepped forward, his boots almost submerging in the river’s waters.

“Then what is it, Y/N?” His voice always spoke your name so beautifully, so delicately, and you wanted to tell him that, but now wasn’t the time. You weren’t even sure if you could bring yourself to tell him. You yourself didn’t even fully understand how you felt towards him, and it seemed to only bring frustration to you, especially right now when all you wanted to do was shout about how you couldn’t erase his smile from your mind.

“I…” you tripped over your own thoughts, finding yourself frustrated to tears that you couldn’t even say such a simple thing. But then again, it wasn’t simple. Not to you, at least. “You don’t bring me discomfort,” you reassured. “I just… There’s so much in my mind right now, and I have no idea how to tell you about any of it.”

Kíli took a step further, now in the waters with you as he approached, his hands reaching out for your own. Gingerly, you took them, drawing a breath. His gaze was so gentle, so patient. “Is there anything I can do to help ease your mind?” he offered, and you frowned, unsure of what would even help at this moment.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m not even sure I know what to make of these thoughts for myself, Kíli.”

“Then tell me what ails you,” he said. “And I will do my best to help.”

You exhaled, nodding as you collected your thoughts. “It…” you started nervously. “It’s so strange, the way I feel about you. At first, I thought you must have hated me. Why else were you always out to get me with your pranks and your jests? Or your mocking, flirting comments? But as soon as I addressed it, you were so quick to stop…” You looked back at him, and he nodded, begging you to continue. Encouraged, you took a breath.

“And then that night, the night we captured Aevar Godfred, and you patched up my hand… You looked so beautiful then. Your kindness made me feel so many different things, so many things that I haven’t felt in quite some time, if at all. And your words, oh your words!” You chuckled, both frustrated and amused at your current plight. “Every time you speak such beautiful words to me, it’s like reading poetry. But even ink on paper cannot compare to the things you speak of sometimes. And your smile is like starlight; it makes the sun hide away, knowing it cannot shine half as bright. You make me feel so many different things that I cannot begin to explain or understand, Kíli. And it hurts me to see you hurt because of my struggling mind. But I don’t know what to call these things I feel towards you, I really don’t.”

You had gone from smiling to now sad again, realizing that despite getting all of these feelings off of your chest, you still didn’t understand what they meant. Kíli opened his mouth to speak, his eyes glittering again as the stars above reflected in them, but you cut him off short. “But I can’t keep avoiding you anymore, not if it hurts you like this. But I also can’t bear to part from you. My heart, it aches for your smile, for your voice, it aches for you.” You were starting to realize just what your words and feelings met, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit you might be in love with him until you heard him answer you.

“Oh, amrâlimê,” he smiled, tucking some wisps of your hair back behind your ear. His voice was so delicate as he spoke, and your eyes widened at the use of his native tongue. You had no idea what he had said, and wanted to ask, but knew it wasn’t the time. Not now, at least, when you awaited his answer. Your eyes searched his, anxious and confused at his smile as you awaited his answer. “Only you can be the one to say what this feeling is, but I can finally admit in confidence that I too feel the same.” He brought your hands to his lips, kissing them gently, despite them smelling of fish.

“You’ve set my heart on fire,” he said. “And no matter how you try to put it out, there will always still be at least one ember burning brightly, smoking only for you. My heart burns for you, amrâlimê. I burn for you.”

“You know your heart so well,” you smiled, feeling immensely happy at his words. “But how can you know for sure that it is I who it belongs to?”

He stepped forward, closing the gap between you two even moreso, his left hand coming to rest on your cheek, and you leaned into his touch as he wiped a runaway tear away. “You might not like this, but I’ve known it ever since I hid your clothes that day in the river.” You laughed, finding yourself amused by this.

“Really?” You chuckled, poking fun. “Making me miserable made you fall for me?”

He grinned, laughing. “I was never doing it to make fun. Well, maybe a little. But every comment, every joke, every prank, that was my way of telling you I liked you, though I’m a little embarrassed that they were interpreted so wrongly.”

“Every comment?” You mused. “Even the ones about wanting to see me-”

“Yes, but that’s not the point right now,” he cut you off, embarrassed. “Those words are for a different mood entirely, not right now. But yes… They were all true.” He muttered the last sentence, avoiding your eyes as you laughed. It was all falling into place in your mind. How could you have been so stupid, so blind by your determination towards the mission?

“Kíli…” you breathed, and his eyes met yours once more as you looked at him nervously. “Can I kiss you?”

He smiled, all too happy at the question. “Of course, amrâlimê. Always, now and forever.”

And slowly, as your eyes darted between his own and his lips, you leaned in, meeting his lips in a soft and light kiss. The act itself was quite foreign to you, but it felt right. Gingerly, your hand went up to his face, and his other hand moved up to gently place itself over your hair as your lips danced together in a beautiful song sung by the words you two had just exchanged. His lips were slightly worn and rough from the journey, but you didn’t care as you wrapped your injured hand around the back of his neck for support as you leaned in. It was such a lovely thing between you, a token of your mutual feelings for one another, that you thought you could kiss him like this forever. But all too soon, you pulled away at the sound of much heavier footsteps, your senses going on alert. Kíli did too, taking a step back to look behind him.

“What’s going on down there?” It was Dwalin, and he sounded quite annoyed. “You two have taken so long we thought you drowned.”

Kíli laughed and you breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been some stranger. “I can assure you, we didn’t drown!” He called back, causing you to look away in embarrassment, eagerly grabbing the fish.

“Well if you don’t hurry back, then I’ll make sure it happens myself!” Dwalin warned, casting a disappointed glare before finally leaving the riverbank. You sighed again, this time out of anxiety. But the grin of a madman that lied on Kíli’s face was more than enough to raise your spirits again.

“Amrâlimê,” he said, walking up to you as he grabbed the remainder of the fish from your hunt. “I love you. And I understand if you need more time to think upon it, but I want you to know how I feel. I’ve never been more sure of anything. When we’re back home, I want to show you just what you mean to me, if that’s alright with you.”

You drew a breath, finding yourself speechless at his declaration of love. Thinking for a moment and silently thankful he would give you time to think, you nodded with an eager smile. “Then I’ll be waiting for that day, when it comes.”

Finally, after two months since capturing Aevar, your group had completed the long journey back to the mountain halls of Erebor. It all seemed so long ago from when you had all first set off on this trek, parts of it fading off into distant memory.

You all had been welcomed warmly by Balin and Thorin, and upon the sight both Kíli and Dwalin seemed overjoyed to be back home to their lives and their friends and their families. You and Sigfred were both glad that the journey was now over, but it seemed as though the both of you felt out of place within the stone caverns. After all, you had only come as aid; this wasn’t your home. Though home, for the both of you, seemed so far away. A selfish part of you would’ve preferred to stay here and not worry about the troubles of Gondor, but you could tell Sigfred was itching to return to his homelands in the Wilderland.

Hours later, you were all summoned to a meeting with Thorin, most likely to discuss your success, your rewards, and the new objectives surrounding Aevar Godfred. You weren’t too excited about having to travel back home with him; it was safe to say you had barely tolerated the journey thus far with the cowardly thief. But for tonight, you could relax. After all, there was to be a banquet held in your group’s honor, a celebration of the return of the royal jewels (with tighter security, of course).

Slowly, you came into a side room of one of Erebor’s many halls, finding yourself in a sort of gathering area, a war room of sorts. A strong stone table lined the middle of the room, and you could see Kíli already seated at the end of it. Everyone else had yet to arrive, and you found yourself growing nervous at being alone in the room with the prince. Butterflies tickled inside you as you made your way closer to him, and his eyes lit up upon seeing you. Gods, those deep brown eyes that had you hooked since you first saw them. Only now instead of rivalry and arrogance, love lay behind them.

“Amrâlimê, there you are.” He smiled, standing out of his seat to pull your own chair out for you. Taking your place next to him, you returned the smile as you sat down. “Will you be joining me at the banquet tonight?”

“The banquet?” You said. “I’d like to, yes. But I’m not sure I have anything to wear for such an occasion.”

“Nonsense, you’re perfect the way you are,” he smiled, taking your hand in his as he placed a gentle kiss on it. You couldn’t bite back the smile that crept onto your face again.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you that-” And just before you could tell the prince how you truly felt, in walked the rest of your party.

“My apologies for my lateness,” Thorin said, followed closely behind by Dwalin and Balin as he sat at the head of the table. Balin, carrying four large pouches, stood beside him. Dwalin sat down just as Sigfred entered, and soon the entire party was seated. “Now, onto business.”

The meeting droned on for about an hour or two, as it began with you all recounting your journey to the King Under the Mountain. You told him all about the journey of capturing Aevar, who you were told was locked away in the dungeons. The whole time, Thorin was silent, his stare unreadable. Finally, after finishing your recollection, he nodded to Balin, who gave each of you one of the heavy pouches. Peeking inside, your eyes widened at the glittering jewels which lay inside. Thorin was no cheat when it came to rewards; this was more than you had ever expected!

“And now to our next ordeal,” he said, and you returned your gaze to the king. “We sent word to Gondor shortly after you left, asking what we were to do with the prisoner. They still request he return with Y/N to Gondor, but not before they send a caravan to aid in the journey back. We expect them to arrive within the next few days.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding, both relieved and upset about the opportunity to return home. Though you missed the White City, you knew that it also meant parting from Kíli, something you weren’t ready to do just yet.

“Y/N, we’ve arranged a room for you to stay here for the time being until the caravan arrives.” Thorin said. You nodded in respect.

“Thank you,” you said. It was all you could let out.

“As for you, Sigfred,” the king turned to the tall man, who seemed much uncomfortable in the stone chair, though he tried his best not to show it. “It seems this is where your service ends. On behalf of Erebor, we thank you. You are welcome anytime within our gates.”

The two men shared a nod of respect, and soon the king stood tall. Or as tall as one could when he was 5’2”.

“I shan’t keep you all any longer. This group is now dismissed, but leave not before treating yourselves to tonight’s banquet, as a token of our thanks to you.” And with a strong nod, he dismissed himself, leaving the room with Balin trailing behind. Sigfred was the next to leave, followed by Dwalin shortly after. You rose from your seat, about to leave when a hand took yours.

It was Kíli. “Y/N, you had something to say earlier, before everyone came in?” He stepped closer towards you, and you had to push away the sad thoughts as best as you could. You didn’t want to risk crying in front of him again.

“Ah, right,” you said, chewing your cheek to keep your voice from breaking. “I’ll be leaving soon, it seems.”

He nodded, sensing your sadness. He shared it. “Yes, it seems so.”

“But I…” you swallowed. “I don’t think I’m ready to go, Kíli.”

He stepped forward again, his hand cupping your cheek. “What is it, my love? What troubles you?” His voice was so soft, and you couldn’t help the tears that slipped past your eye.

“I love you, Kíli,” you breathed. “And I feel so selfish because it’s taken me so long to figure it out and yet I still have to leave.” Tears fell from your eyes as you looked down at the man who had stolen your heart. But he only smiled at you. A small smile, one that hid sadness with hope.

“Amrâlimê,” he spoke. “There is no one else who could occupy my heart the way that you have, and even distance couldn’t change that.” Both of his hands now clasped themselves around yours as he brought them to his heart. “I am yours, Y/N.”

Desperately, you leaned in with the need to feel his lips on yours, and he was much obliged to provide such a thing for you. “Can we just…” you breathed. “For tonight, can we pretend that I’ll stay? Please? Just for tonight.”

He gently placed a kiss on your lips, a smile gracing his features. “As you wish. Tonight, I won’t leave your side. I am yours for as long as you want me.”

The banquet raged on all throughout the night as the flames of the torches and lanterns burned brightly within Erebor. The kingdom was joyous and generous in their celebrations, it seemed, as you witnessed several arrays of meats, meads, and cheeses served on long tables full of drunken dwarves. You relished each bite that came your way, knowing you hadn’t been treated to a feast like this for a while since your journey. Cheers and laughter rang loudly in tandem with the music, of which Kíli was helping to supply. For as long as you had gotten to know him, you found yourself still surprised by him as he wielded a fiddle before you, his smile so wide his eyes squinted tightly when he did. Even the ever-grumpy Dwalin found himself strumming the viol in the throng of musicians that bordered the ballroom!

Which of course, leads us to discuss the ballroom. A huge space in the middle of the banquet’s hall, dwarves and dwarrowdams alike danced like fire lay at their feet, their movements and jumps in accordance with the strong beat of the music that echoed off of the bedrock walls of Erebor. Even Sigfred, who hadn’t shown any hint of a smile on your journey, was cheering wildly as he dragged you onto the dancefloor with him, his tall stature helping to make space for the two of you to dance in the crowd. It was a wonderful night, and you had quite forgotten your troubles of hours earlier.

Soon, you felt arms wrap around your waist, and you turned just in time for Kíli to give you a cheeky wink and whisk you off away from Sigfred in a dance of your own, your bodies syncing up with the rhythm as laughter kept your bodies moving to the beat. Your hands never left his as he jumped about, his hair creating a mess all over his face as his smile grew a slight sheen of sweat from his abundance of movements. Though you were one to talk, as you were sure you were quite sweaty yourself from all the movements you had been putting your body through on the dance floor.

Soon, the previous song ended, and you dragged Kíli off of the floor and back towards the end of the hall where the food and drink lay, your body desperately needing water. Quickly, you found a pitcher, bringing it to your lips.

“My, you’re so quick on your feet! I didn’t take you for a dancer, my love,” he grinned, taking the pitcher from you as he stole a gulp for himself. Gods, you still found yourself getting giddy every time he called you his love.

“And I didn’t take you for a musician,” you said. “You surprised me!”

He smirked, winking at you. “Well, I can guarantee there’s plenty more where that came from.”

You took back the pitcher, raising a brow in curiosity. “Oh? Like what?”

He offered his hand, leaning in closer, a newfound mischievous glint in his eye. “I can show you, but first, why don’t we find somewhere a little more private?” Your heart skipped a beat at his words, knowing their hidden meaning as you set the pitcher down and took his hand, eager to follow with a grin.

He led you through the twists and turns of the stone-carved halls until he eventually brought you through a pair of deep oaken doors to what looked like a beautifully carved bedroom. The stone bed that lay in the center of the room was wide and exquisite, draped with fabric that formed a canopy above the soft mattress below. Shields decorated the walls, along with Kíli’s sword and bow hung on a wall to the left. A fire lay glowing in the fireplace to the right, which glittered with gems that were embedded in the mantelpiece. Another door lay to the right, one that you figured led to the bathroom. This must have been his own bedroom.

He guided you with him as he sat at the foot of the bed, with you taking your seat next to him. “I tried to make it more comfortable, wondering if you’d ever join me here.” He said, and you smiled, still tipsy from the ale as you kissed his cheek.

“It’s gorgeous in here, Kíli. They tell no lies about dwarven hospitality.” You sighed, letting your back hit the mattress until you sat up quickly. Kíli raised a brow.

“What’s wrong?” He said.

“It seems I’m quite winded from dancing,” you said, feeling the back of your shirt. “I’m in need of a proper wash.” You sighed to yourself, amused by how hard you had been going during the party. Kíli took this as an opportunity to feel his own tunic, laughing at his own sweat.

“You’re not the only one, then.” He said. “If you’d like, I can draw you a bath.”

You raised a brow. “You won’t wash up?”

“After you, amrâlimê,” he smiled, planting a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll let you have the hot water first.” You leaned into his touch, smiling. Ever the gentleman, he was, as he got up from where he was seated to go run the bath. But with some new courage, you stood up to follow him, gently taking his arm.

“Or,” you said slowly, stepping closer over the shorter man.

“Or?” He questioned, stepping closer and closing the gap between you two as a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “Or what?”

“Or maybe,” you continued. “We could share the hot water? Together?”

“Together?” He said a bit too eagerly, a cough escaping him as he tried to hide his reaction. You smiled at this. “Together, together! Amrâlimê, I’d love to.” He couldn’t hide his grin, too excited about the idea.

“Good,” you said. “So why don’t you draw the bath and I’ll join you in a few minutes?” He shook his head all too eagerly, like a puppy dog when you mention the words “treats”. Quickly, he left you to prepare the bath, and soon you realized just how fast your heart was beating. Where had this sudden boldness come from? You chalked it up to the energy of the party mixing with this ale in your system; yes, that had to be it.

Soon, after ridding yourself of your party clothes (a.k.a. the clothes you had been traveling in for the past few months) and finding a towel to cover up with, you gently knocked on the door to the washroom, your heart hammering in your chest. You heard a distant hum from Kíli on the other side, and took it as your sign to enter.

Opening the door to the dimly lit room, you smiled at the sight of so many candles lit, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A waft of warm, steamy air hit your face as you entered, a relaxing sigh drawing from your lungs at the scent of the woodsy oils he must have used for the water. It was at the end of the room where Kíli sat in the tub, suds covering him as the ends of his hair were damp, a soft smile on his face as his eyes welcomed you in. You felt all warm inside, he made you feel so safe.

Which was good for your nerves, as was the dim lighting, as you crept closer to the tub until you were now standing in front of him. He looked at you with admiration in his eyes as he offered his hands to ease you into the tub. Gently, you took them, letting the towel fall to the floor and trying so hard to meet his gaze as you heard a small gasp leave his lips. Slowly, you crept into the tub, and he guided you to sit in front of him, leaning your back against his chest as he peppered your shoulder with kisses and soothing rubs.

“Amrâlimê,” he whispered in between kisses. “You’re beautiful…”

“Really?” You asked, a part of yourself feeling unsure as to believe him.

“Even the greatest masters of stone in Erebor could not carve a figure as divine as yours,” he said, and you felt your face heat up. You couldn’t help the smile that slipped into your face. “Mahal took great care when he thought of you, my darling.”

“Let me see you,” you said, now eagerly wanting to gaze upon your newfound love. You turned your head to look at him, to which he chuckled as he sat up straighter in the warm waters of the tub. You twisted yourself now to face him, your eyes transfixed on his own figure, which was worn and weathered with hair and scars of years past. His body was history itself, like a book you so desperately wanted to read. Carefully, you hovered your hand over his chest before letting it land right over his heart. His heartbeat was steady; so calm, so soothing. You could fall asleep listening to it.

“It beats for you, amrâlimê,” he said, bringing your gaze back up to his face. “Only you.”

You leaned closer, dangerously closer, as your other hand went up to cup his cheek. Your noses touched from how close you two had gotten, and you thought that you wouldn’t be able to breathe unless he exhaled. Your eyes flitted to his lips for a split second, but the young prince keenly caught it. “Show me,” you said, and with those words you began a wild night for yourself.

Kíli closed the gap between you two, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that was slow and full of young love. His hands roamed from your face to your shoulders until they found their places in the curve of your hips, holding you closer to him. In an effort to be more comfortable, you sat between his outstretched legs, sitting back on your knees in the sudsy water. He smiled into the kiss, a culmination of all his feelings for you taking over as your hands reached his hair, tugging lightly. That was all the encouragement he needed.

Pulling you closer, the kiss slowly became more intense, filled with more passion and even more pent up urges. His thumbs carved their prints in your hips, and you let out a small whine from the feeling. Quickly, he pulled back, chest heaving from lack of breath as concern laced his brow. “Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?” His eyes darted across your features as you flushed in the dim room.

“Quite the opposite, I promise.” You said. “Do it again.” And with a crazed smile, he dove back into your lips.

Soon his tongue made a quick swipe between your lips, and you let him in with open arms and a drawn out whine as he deepened the kiss between you, your tongues dancing with each other as you found yourself hooked on his taste. You wanted more of it, and desperately.

Wanting to change it up, you moved your kisses to his jaw, trailing down lower and lower until you found your perfect battlefield: the little dip between his neck and his shoulder. With eager intensity, you bit down softly, tracing little kisses and bites wherever you could, resulting in a breathy groan leaving his lips. “Y/N…” his voice whined, needy and full of want, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you came back up.

“Yes?” You feigned innocence, wrapping your arms around his neck as you looked down at your love, and he sat up, his grip on your hips tightening a little as he found his opportunity to attack your own neck.

You gasped as the touch, a small sigh leaving your lips as he placed love bite after love bite until he found the one spot that left you weak. “Fuck,” you breathed out a moan and you felt him smile against your skin. “I need you, Kíli. Please.”

“Begging already?” He smiled. “Amrâlimê, we only just started. Now relax, my love. I’ve barely begun.”

A small huff left your lips as his own returned to your neck, peppering in a few more bites that would later develop into beautiful bruises before trailing down to your breasts. His touch as delicate as his tongue darted out to lick a stripe over your nipple before taking it into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the swell of it as his eyes never left yours. Your breath hitched, and you felt yourself growing more and more needy, rubbing your legs together for some sort of friction as the warm water was beginning to feel much, much hotter. Your hands dug into his hair, tugging and twirling as his tongue danced shapes over the swell of your breast, biting softly. A moan escaped your lips in surprise.

His hands now moved from your hips to your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart as you helped him spread your legs. His calloused fingers, which were softened by the water, traced circles on the inner part of your thighs, slowly inching their way closer and closer to your heated core. “Come now, Y/N,” he purred, pressing a kiss to your breast before shifting to give the other one some attention. “You can get louder, can’t you?”

With a shaky breath, you nodded, and he smiled in return, his fingers ghosting along your slit until he gently pressed one further, allowing it to slide into you with ease. You couldn’t help the delicious groan that left your lips as you finally began to feel some sort of stimulation down there that you desperately needed, your hips rocking to swallow his finger up to the very knuckle. You wanted more, and he was more than happy to oblige, dipping a second finger into you as his thumb found your clit, delicately tracing shapes onto it. You clenched around his fingers as they slid in and out of you with curved expertise.

“That feels so good,” you mewled, your voice carrying out as a whine, and you were rewarded with a kiss as Kíli brought his lips to yours. His fingers slowly began to quicken their pace, his thumb never leaving your most sensitive bundle of nerves as his lips enveloped yours in a sloppy kiss. You broke away, needing to breathe as soft moans and pants left your lips. “Faster, please Kíli.”

“As you wish, my love,” he smiled, placing a kiss on your jawline as his fingers now curled inside your tight walls, the water beneath you sloshing with his rapid movements as his thumb continued its unrelenting attack on your clit. “I only exist to please you. That’s all I want to do right now.” You could feel yourself building up inside, the tension pulling at every nerve in your body as you could sense you were almost ready to snap. You looked down at him with hungry eyes, now seeing that he too was quite aroused, his erection poking out of the waters as he worked his magic on you. But just as you were about to bring it up, you felt yourself snap, a string of broken moans and whines leaving your lips as your vision blurred for a split second and you felt yourself come completely undone. But Kíli didn’t stop there, no. He continued his torture, keeping up his pace to allow you to ride out your high until he slowly came to a stop, pulling his fingers out of you.

You fell forward onto him and his strong arms caught you, tucking away some of the hair that had fallen in your face. He looked at you again with awe, drawing you in for a chaste kiss. “You look so beautiful when you’re wrapped around my fingers,” he said, a smile on his lips. But you weren’t done, no. You brought him in for a kiss of your own, a needy groan resounding in his throat as your fingers delicately went down to wrap themselves around his length. He shuddered at the touch, and that one act of his was more than enough to make you ready for another round of fun.

Gently, you ran your hand up and down the length of his shaft, bringing your thumb up to rub small circles over his slit, which was eagerly leaking pre-cum in your hand. “Please, amrâlimê, I can’t handle your teasing,” he whined.

“Begging already, are we?” You whispered in a mocking tone, mimicking his words from earlier as you lowered your face to his solid member, placing a kiss on his swollen tip. His breathing hitched, his eyes clouded with want. “But I thought we were only getting started?” His hips raised out of the water to give you better access as you placed teasing kisses along the length of him, your tongue licking a stripe that led you back to his tip until you took him into your mouth. He moaned loudly at the touch, his hips bucking ever-so-noticeably, and you felt so powerful in this moment. Slowly, you lowered your head along his length, wanting to see just how much of him you could take into him before you swallowed around him, causing him to curse.

“A-amrâlimê,” he stuttered. “Please.” His voice was so breathy, so whiny. You loved it.

Slowly, you began bobbing your head along his shaft, your hands busy with keeping your body from falling over him as your hair fell in your face. Ever the gentleman he was, he was quick to tuck your hair back and grasp it in his fist, careful not to force your head despite how much he wanted to feel you gag on him. His hips bucked again as you kept getting faster and faster, wanting to bring him to completion before he quickly grabbed your throat, forcing you to meet his face as he brought you in a forced kiss.

You pulled away to look at him as his chest rose and fell dramatically, breath leaving his body in his aroused state. “Did you not want me to-” You spoke in a confused lilt, but he cut you off.

“No, not before I feel you again,” he breathed. “I’m already jealous that I didn’t get to taste you first, my love.” You smiled, chuckling as you brought his hands to your hips again, letting him guide you over his length. There you hovered, bringing him in for a kiss in the hopes it would distract you from any pain that was soon to come.

“Kíli, I love you,” you breathed in between kisses. “I’ve never wanted anyone to touch me as badly as I do now with you.” His tip rubbed against your core, and you let out a small whine. “Please, I need to feel you inside me already.”

“Oh Mahal…” That was all the motivation he needed, it seemed, for soon he sunk you quickly onto his length, splashing some water around you as you cried out at the delicious feeling of him stretching you out, his length already reaching places you had yet to even discover about yourself. You let out a string of curses, all moans, as you clenched around him in delicious pleasure. Gods, he felt amazing. You rolled your hips over him, craving some more of that delicious friction you had felt earlier, and you felt him shudder again. Gods, it turned you on to see his eyes glazed over like that, looking at you with such want and love that you wanted to consume him.

“Amrâlimê, let me show you just how much I feel for you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.” Slowly, he rolled his hips in tandem with your own, slipping in and out of you with ease as his thumb quickly found purchase over your clit again, rubbing slowly in tandem with his thrusts. The water around you sloshed and splashed with your movements, but that was the least of your cares as pleasure rocked through you, tearing you piece by piece until you were nothing but putty to be kneaded by the man you loved, who thrusted into you with increased pace with each movement. He was hitting every spot inside you, filling you so deliciously until he eventually found your sweet spot inside, causing a moan to rip from your lungs.

“Fuck, Kïli,” you said, your mind melting and only thinking of the pleasure he was bringing you as his own moans rang in your ears. “Right there, please. Don’t stop!” You felt that same pressure building up in you, the tension pushing and pulling as you looked at Kíli with lust-filled eyes. His own eyes met your gaze as he planted more kisses on and between your breasts, biting and pinching at the skin as he maintained his pace, but he too was beginning to feel the tension you had so intensely started earlier.

With shared moans that echoed and bounced off of the stone walls, you found yourself coming undone around Kíli, pleasure taking over as he helped you once again ride out your second orgasm. Your skin felt like it was going numb while being on fire all at once, and you relished every moment of it with ragged breathing. With a few more thrusts, Kíli too came, pulling out of you just in time to avoid any unprecedented consequences as his back hit the walls of the tub, his breathing uneven as he gently pulled you into him, kissing all over your face which held a small sheen of sweat from both the party and your latest festivities.

“I’ve wanted this for a while now,” he said, his voice soft as he kissed your forehead. “It seems as though all my thoughts of you are improper as of late.” You chuckled, leaning into his touch.

“Well then we’ll have to spend more time exploring those thoughts, now won’t we?” You teased, and a fired up groan sprang from Kíli’s lips as he brought you into another kiss.

“I’d love nothing more, amrâlimê.”

And for a while, you two stayed like this, with not a care in the world of whatever was going on in it. For now, you could focus on nothing other than the intermingling of your two heartbeats. Time seemed to slow down for you two as the candlelight danced on the walls, and you were content. Because in this moment, nothing else mattered except for you and your son of Durin. Not the fact that soon you would have to leave Erebor entirely, nor the fact that there were probably some people searching for you two at the banquet. All that mattered right here, right now, was how much you were in love with this man and wanted to be with him. Nothing else.

“Come on,” your love said. “Now we really need to wash up.”

#kili #kili durin #kili fanfic #kili durin x reader #the hobbit #The Hobbit fic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic #LOTR #LOTR fandom #lotr x reader #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #kili x reader #kili x y/n #kili durin x y/n #kili / reader #kili smut #kili durin smut

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b-courageous1010 · 2 years

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Organization tips for Structured Productivity

It’s vital to be organized while working in finance as it is important to keep your priorities and routine tasks organized and completed in a timely manner.Things can get hectic in a blank of an eye so I highly recommend trying various time management and organization techniques to find what works for you. What works for someone else might not work for you but thats okay!

Below are 2 of my favorite organization tips and techniques I use in my day to day work life:

❥𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

Chunking your time during the day which basically means creating a plan to work on each task for a certain amount of time and after the allotted time is up you will move on to the next task.

This is ideal for those who might have long term assignments or side projects.

I use this method to ensure I am giving adequate time to each of the tasks and projects I currently have on my list while also determining the progress I am making on each task

Example of my day

8:30 - 10:00: Decluttering my email and addressing everything that needs to be addressed - I also use this time to plan out what I need to accomplish that day while also noting important meetings and side project status updates.

10:00 - 12:00: Balancing payables

1:00 - 2:15: Work personal/Team email

2:15 - 3:00: Side projects

3:00 - 3:30: Run team files

3:30 - 5:30: Continue Side projects

I would also like to note to be realistic about the amount of time you designate for each task. Make sure it’s reasonable amount of time while also accounting for human error.

❥𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 & 𝘖𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

Emails Folders

For my role it’s extremely important that I maintain a clean inbox because it’s a indicator of whether or not I am keeping up with my day to day tasks.

When I receive an email I will determine and complete the action items required and file it away for record keeping purposes. Thus only leaving emails in my inbox that are still outstanding. On average I get about 20 emails a day for various items and we are advised to not delete them ever.

So I developed a system that will allow me to archive emails in their correct folders so in the event that I need to pull an email for CYA (cover your a*ss) or for just for additional information I actually know where to begin to look for it. I created and grouped folders by the type of fee or fee process it pertains to and I will then make sub folders if needed as this also helps speedup the email search.

I have a folder for each of my primary tasks but they also have subfolders for example, I have a folder labeled “Ledgers” but within the folder I have sub folders for the different types of fees we process such as Holding, Commission, etc. and this is usually for tracking purposes.

I also made a MISC folder for routine departments emails such as the firms weekly newsletter as well as different routine alerts we receive. each routine email has a sub folder within the main folder. But I also have monthly misc folders for misc emails that are not routine and are received during the given month.

For example I have a folder in my inbox labeled “5/1/2022” which is where I would move misc emails received during the month.

❥Invest in a planner/desk planner

You can’t store all the necessary tasks, processes and additional information you will need on a given day all in your head. It is vital to get all your thoughts on paper or a digital planner as this will open up space to think critically for the new items coming your way. Not doing so you run the risk of tasks falling through the cracks because they slipped your mind.

It is also proven that writing information down not only helps with cementing information in your mind but aids with comprehension as well.

Personally I use a disposable desk planner for short term day to day tasks they tend to change everyday. I like to use my physical planners as more of long term items as it could get bombarded and messy with the more things I add.

My Fav

The pages on the above link are sectioned out for different purposes and it has a very minimalistic design while also being highly functional.

Box for today’s focus - Cleaning up ledger activity

Section to add to dos - Tasks I need to accomplish that day

Notes section - I might jot down a misc item or two over the course of the day

Meals - I like to keep track of my meals to reflect on my eating habits

Water tracker - I make it a game to see how many cups of water I can drink a day which has been very helpful with staying hydrated.

Schedule for the day - Here is where I notate any important time commitments for the day such as running the file at 5 or any meetings scheduled for that day.

It’s important that you develop your organization skills in finance as we are often pulled in many directions at the same time and still expected to perform at a high level. What I learned is that your organization skills and habits can either make or break you. You want to make sure you are not only putting your best foot forward but also building a solid foundation that can be developed over time

In Closing, I want to stress the importance of finding out what works for you! I personally have a couple of planners I write in for various reasons but I recently decided I wanted to include excel into my planner rotation as I often feel like I live my life through numbers 😅 but I say this to show you that the possibilities are endless! There is no one way or wrong way to do this just as long as your method works for you!

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frankendykes-monster · 11 months

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Jilian Kirby, Jack Kirby's granddaughter, posted this writing by Neil Kirby (father/son respectively) in which he responds to the new Stan Lee documentary currently available to view on Disney+:

"The 13th century Islamic poet/scholar Rumi said, "The Ego is a veil between humans and God." In the Disney+ documentary bio of Stan Lee, the veil is lifted. Presented in the first person with Lee's voice providing a running narrative, it is Stan Lee's greatest tribute to himself. The literary expression of ego is the personal pronoun "I." Any decent English or Journalism teacher would admonish their students not to overuse it. So, the challenge is extended to anyone who wishes to count the number of "I's" during the 86-minute running time of Stan Lee.

I (oooops!) understand that, as a "documentary about Stan Lee," most of the narrative is in his voice, literally and figuratively. It's not any big secret that there has always been controversy over the parts that were played in the creation and success of Marvel's characters. Stan Lee had the fortunate circumstance to have access to the corporate megaphone and media, and he used these to create his own mythos as to the creation of the Marvel character pantheon. He made himself the voice of Marvel. So, for several decades he was the "only" man standing, and blessed with a long life, the last man standing (my father died in 1994). It should also be noted and is generally accepted that Stan Lee had a limited knowledge of history, mythology, or science. On the other hand, my father's knowledge of these subjects, to which I and many others can personally attest, was extensive, was extensive. Einstein summed it up better; "More the knowledge, lesser the ego. Lesser the knowledge, more the ego."

If you were to look at a list and timeline of Marvel's characters from 1960 through 1966, the period in which the vast majority of Marvel's major characters were created during Lee's tenure, you will see Lee's named as a co-creator on every character, with the exception of the Silver Surfer, solely created by my father. Are we to assume Lee had a hand in creating every Marvel character? Are we to assume that it was never the other co-creator that walked into Lee's office and said, "Stan, I have a great idea for a character!" According to Lee, it was always his idea. Lee spends a fair amount of time talking about how and why he created the Fantastic Four, with only one fleeting reference to my father. Indeed, most comics historians recognize that my father based the Fantastic Four on a 1957 comic he created for DC, "Challengers of the Unknown," even naming Ben Grimm (The Thing) after his father Benjamin, and Sue Storm after my older sister Susan.

Through the conflict between Lee and my father concerning creator credit gets glanced over with little mention, there is more attention paid to the strife between Lee and Steve Ditko, with Lee's voice proclaiming, "it was my idea*, therefore I created the character," Spiderman [sic]. In 1501, the Opera del Duomo commissioned a 26-year-old Michelangelo to sculpt a statue of David for the Cathedral of Florence - their idea, their money. The statue is called Michelangelo's David - his genius, his vision, his creativity.

I was very fortunate. My father worked at home in his Long Island basement studio we referred to as "The Dungeon," usually 14 - 16 hours a day, seven days a week. Most of the artists, writers, inkers, etc. worked at home, not in the Marvel offices as depicted in the program. Through middle and high school, I was able to stand at my father's left shoulder, peer through a cloud of cigar smoke, and witness the Marvel Universe being created. I am by no means a comics historian, but there are few, if any, that have personally seen or experienced what I have, and know the truth with first-hand knowledge.

My father retired from comic books in the early 1980's, and of course passed away in 1994. Lee had over 35 years of uncontested publicity, much, naturally, with the backing and blessing of Marvel as he boosted the Marvel brand as a side effect of boosting himself. The decades of Lee's self-promotion culminated with his cameo appearances in over 35 Marvel films starting with "X-Men" in 2000, thus cementing his status as the creator of all things Marvel to an otherwise unknowing movie audience of millions, unfamiliar with the true history of Marvel comics. My father's first screen credit didn't appear until the closing crawl at the end of the film adaptation of Iron Man in 2008**, after Stan Lee, Don Heck, and Larry Lieber. The battle for creator's rights has been around since the first inscribed Babylonian tablet. It's way past time to at least get this one chapter of literary/art history right. 'Nuff said.

Comparison of the origins for The Challengers of The Unknown and The Fantastic Four, both involving the teams coming together in an altruistic fashion after a near death experience in a plane/ship crash, as presented in Showcase #6 (1957) and The Fantastic Four #1 (1961) respectively:

*Spider-Man is a Jack Kirby concept that originated between Joe Simon and C.C. Beck named "Silver Spider." Ditko has commonly stated that it bared too much similarity to The Fly, a character Kirby previously worked on at Archie, hence the change of hands on the project to Ditko. So far the presentation page and six page story Kirby did have been hidden by Marvel, with this Ditko drawing being our closest approximate:

**Kirby is credited in X-Men (2000) under "The Producers wish to thank the following for their assistance:"

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mersei47 · 1 year

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Commission status: temporarily closed

(5/5 SLOTS)

note: sketch will have sketchy lineart with a few hatching, colored sketch is a sketch with flat color while rendered will be full shading

more details below

Payment:

payment will be through paypal invoice in USD dollars

I will start the commission when I received full payment first

I retain the copyright to my work

all commissions are for personal use only. you may not use them for any commercial purposes

do not use or sell my work as a non-fungible token (NFT)

you can not use it for AI training purposes (such as using it as data to generate new image)

I may post the commission’s WIP/finished version on my social medias, unless you stated otherwise

I may include the artwork in my portfolio in the future

Process:

character’s visual references are required

if you prefer your commission to be drawn in a specific style similar to my other works (brushes, shading style, etc.) please let me know

I will send you a rough sketch for approval first before continuing it

while I'm working on your commission I will make reviews with you to make sure I make it just right for you

commissions will be completed within 4 days to 1 month. I will inform you if it can not be completed within that time period

after the commission is finished you will receive 2 rounds of revisions for free. After that I will charge an additional $4 per round

if the commission is canceled before I have started, you will receive full payment back

fill commission form below if you interest and you can check how many slots left too

📝 COMMISSION FORM | 📬 CURRENT SLOTS DETAIL

if you have more questions feel free to dm me

Tumblr | Twitter

or if you like my stuff you can tip me via Ko-fi

#update august 3 2023 #commission sheet

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helsex-moved · 8 months

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EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS OPEN

Style A:

Style B:

[I.D. in alt text]

My commissions are now officially open! I'm not super happy about it but I am hesitantly putting these at emergency status.

I have four slots available, you can contact me via Tumblr and from there we can continue through Discord if you prefer or stay in Tumblr DMs. (note: I may require your email to send a PayPal invoice and/or the finalized commission)

If you have any questions don't hesitate to send a DM or ask!

If you want to rb to spread this that'd be great! /nf

More information about my situation and why I'm calling these emergency commissions is below the cut. (Warning for abuse mentions)

My family, and parents especially are abusive, transphobic, homophobic, and very callous and resistant to giving me the help I need even after several professional diagnoses of autoimmune conditions and chronic illness. They are particularly obstinate to even acknowledging my worsening mental health, to the point of where I have completely given up.

They control and monitor every single place I go, everything on my devices, routinely search through my closet and drawers and take my items as well as being emotionally and verbally abusive. Even my brother is following in their footsteps becoming bigoted and physically abusive to me.

I don't want to go on too much of a rant but they are really bad and only getting worse. I'll never get the care I need, or any love or support from them.

So, if I'm going to survive I have to move away. I have a place in mind, and am putting together a careful plan, but I have no friends or IRL support system I'm doing this completely alone. I have about 11 months until I can attempt this, which might sound like a lot but it's really not. My job currently is destroying my body, pays barely minimum wage, and only around 20 hours a week. I'm good with money and saving (I already bought my first car outright) but at this rate I won't have enough to move out in time. So anything helps, I'm trying my best here. I hate asking for help, it makes me feel really guilty but if you don't want to commission and still want to support me here is my Kofi.

Thanks for reading!

#doc says stuff #kirby kreates #commissions #emergency commissions #artists on tumblr #tw abuse mention

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popculturebuffet · 8 months

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House of Claremont: Mutant Month: Marvel Graphic Novel #5: X-Men: God Loves, Man Kills (Comission Review for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy muties and welcome back to Mutant Month, my celebration of those mighty mutants of marvel. After a bit of a rough start with the X-Men's first animated appearance, i'm proudly taking a look at one of the X-Men stories ever,God Loves Man Kills.

This review also relaunches a feature on this blog that will likely exist as long as this blog does. It was supposed to be a full retrospective of Chris Claremont's 186 issue, 16 year run on Uncanny X-Men, also throwing in his 12 annual issues, various mini series, and other x-ongoing New Mutants. It was an ambitious idea brought about by me having collected almost EVERY issue of Claremont's run and various associated minis on comixology, with only a few stray issues and a few trades left to complete it. Thanks to that i'd seen what a deft, well crafted masterpiece this run is: while it has it's flaws, down periods, and various things that haven't aged well, it's a glorious nearly two decades long epic with lush character arcs, brilliant ideas, and tons of twists and status quo changes to keep things from getting too stale. While the run begins and ends at Xavier's School in between we have Thunderbird's tragic death, Jean becoming a living god before it consumes her and her apparent death, Scott leaving as a result and only returning on and off before leaving for good, one of their sworn enemies who'd done something truly unforgiable to a friend of theirs joining the team in desperation (More on that next week), Storm's slow change in personality and temproary (though still YEARS LONG ) power loss, the arrival of Rachel Summers from an alternate future, Rachel's departure coinciding with half the team being brutally decimated in the morlock massacre and Storm forced to rebuild the team from almost scratch, said new roster dying to save the world and being reborn in secret, and the ENTIRE TEAM scattered to the winds, leaving the book to focus on the individual members as wolverine slowly pulls them back together and Forge forges a new team to replace them, and finally the team merging with x-factor to create two new teams of x-men. And that was just what I could squeeze in reasonably A lot of great stories both noted forever and forgotten to the sands of time by all but those who read them in the 80s or read them all now are squeezed int his epic.

And that very reasoning.. is why I ultimatley coudln't do it. I tried streamlining the run and summarizing.. but at the end of the day i'm a man who likes to really analyze stuff. And make goofy jokes, but while I could do the latter as good as always it became clear the run was just too massive to quickly summarize it all and do it full justice, and doing it piece by piece in order would possibly take a decade. It's the double edged sword of relying on commissions and patreon reviews: it allows me extra money each month and comes in handy quite a bit, and allows me to meet nice respectful people who love my work enough to do it... but it also means I sometimes have to delay things I personally planned to do on my own time. And given my venture bros retrospective has already been a victim to this quite a bit, I decided an even LONGER project. There's also a simple fact: While I love this era of x-men and it's easily one of the best if not the best, no question... there are tons of OTHER great x-men and mutant stories out there and other retrospectives to do from peter David's masterful noir run of x-factor (and not to shabby government and corporate runs), to Leah Williams own great sadly short lived take recently, to the various epics currently spinning out of the krakoa era and into the fall of x from Hickman, to Gilleon to Ewing to Duggan to williams, and even OTHER x-books from the 80s and early 90's with Claremont's phenomenal new mutants, interesting excalibur, and Louise Simonsons deft work on X-Factor and later also New Mutants. There's just too much X for one lifetime of review work to spend most of it on one run.

So this is my compromise: instead of a long retrospective looking at it in order, i'll be taking ocasional looks at stories I like, and maybe the one or two I don't, here. Both on my own, with one of my faviorite parts of the run planned for next year if I can squeeze it in

And on comission's like this. If ther'es a stretch of this massive run or another x run you want me to cover i'm down for it.

And I was paticuarlly down for this one for two reasons: the first is God Loves, Man Kills is not only one of my faviorite x-men stories.. but probably the best of Chris Claremont's run. And given he had PLENTY of good work before and after this, the run of issues I just teased above was also happening around this time, that is saying a lot.

The other is the person who comissioned it: Kevin is both the first person to comisson work for this blog and the one who does it the most and has become a good friend. But while he's many things: great with duck triva, obessed with a lesbain owl, the #1 molibby shipper, and a great guy to work with... he's not really an x-men fan. Spider-Man yes, it's how I was able to spend a glorious half a year reviewing spiderman and likely will again in the future, both with a video game review planned later this year and tons of other stuff for the future. But when it comes to the strangest heroes of all he usually just shurgs and this month was something he wasn't really involved in at first. Which is fine, I don't do this blog just for one person and he dosen't have to like everything I do.

So it meant a LOT to me when he asked if I could cover God Loves Man Kills. He was curious after I mentioned this theme month coming up and looked into some famous x-men stories, thought this one was interesting as it's both rightly hugely aclaimed and still has echoes to the state of the world today. And since he watches and reads what he commissions it also got him to read some classic x-men and hopefully more eventually. He also has another one coming at the end of the month and much like this one it's a story I was bound to cover eventually. But you'll find out about that one later. For now join me under the cut to dig into one of the greatest x-men stories of all, a tale of frightingly realistic prejudice, tyranically faith, and perseverance in the face of overwhelming hate and a doubt if your dream will ever come true.

Purity: God Loves Man Kills comes to us from the Marvel Graphic Novel series, another thing i've been wanting to talk about. Marvel Graphic Novel was the brainchild of Marvel's Editor at the Chief at the time Jim Shooter. I'm not a huge fan of Shooter as while he WAS EiC during one of marvel's biggest boom periods, he was also a giant prick who was not great at the actual writing part most of the time but insisted on giving himself books, was a homophobic shithead who refused to let gay characters into his book (it's why Claremont had to imply as hard as he could Mystique and Destiny were a couple), and being behind famous writing debacles like Hank Pym's mental breakdown, the hobglin's true identity and of course the previously reviewed avengers 200. Aka

I'll be covering the followup to that next week, thank god. But for all the guys faults and serious lastingly damaging fuckups.. he still had his moments. For instance with X-Men itself he had Chris break up Kitty Pryde (14) and Colossus (19) which was both better for both characters in the longrun but the fallout of said breakup ended up being some of Chris' best work.

This is one of those moments: With Buisness picking up at the tale end of the 60's, Jim decided to capitalize on the "Album" format from European comics. So we go the marvel graphic novels, super sized stories following marvel's best characters, though usually not involving the main book's creative team for time purposes. We still got powerhouse names like David Michlinine, Chris Claremont, Frank Miller, JM Demattis, Larry Hama, Mary Jo Duffy, Ann Nocenti, Gerry Conway, Roger Stern, Doug Monech, Mark Gruenwald, Alan Davis, Jim Starlin, Bob McLeod, Walt Simonson, Jackson Guice, Mark Silvestri, John Byrne, Bill Sienkiewicz, Mark Evanier, Sergio Aragones, John Bucschema, Denny O'Neil, Bruce Jones, Mike Mingola, Paul Gulacey, and Ross Andru. And i'm sure I missed some. The books were a lot of things. They were a way for creators to work on characters they normally hadn't, to serve as an additional piece to big runs, or to launch less superhero oriented stuff and creator own books. Yes marvel actually did creator owned books at one point, something I never would've known without my good twitter friend Belle (Not caling it X, probably the only time something named x wasn't for me in any way shape or form), and was part of the reason for this line. It's also thanks to her getting me curious in this line again that I found out about oddities like an adaptation of willow by Power Man and Iron Fist's real mom Mary Jo Duffy, a full roger rabbit adaptation.. or a full SEQUEL to Roger Rabbit that I'm DEFINTELY looking at one of these days. It was mostly a marvel vehicle though.

Despite their isolated nature, most of these books are fully cannon to the main marvel universe and many of them had a lasting impact: New Mutants introduced the team to the marvel universe and took Donald Pierce out of the hellfire club, Spider-Man: Parallel Lives dealt with the revelation that Mary Jane had known peter was Spidey all along and showed her past with that new perspective in mind, Dardevil Love and War continued the vanessa fisk subplot from dardevil, the inhumans once shot introduced Black Bolt and Medusa's Son Ahurua, Dazzler: The Movie outed Allison Blaire as a mutant to the world, and the classic Doctor Strange and Doctor Doom: triumph and torment finally ended the longstanding subplot about Doom saving his mother's soul from mephisto.

So that makes it a surprise that this story wasn't strictly considered canon till 21 years after the fact. Part of this is the standalone nature: while the book DOES have some important steps in Magneto and Kitty Pryde's character arcs, it's pretty much the ONLY comic chris wrote he didn't somehow later factor into his x-men run. That's not hyperbole either: X-Men and New Mutants regularly impacted each other, with Xavier's departure leading to Magneto becoming their teacher, Selene being introduced fighting the New mutants before becoming a thorn in the big kids side, and Betsy Braddock, the future Psylocke, ending up at the mansion and eventually on the roster thanks to a new mutants annual.

Beyond that , Chris loved bringing in characters from other books he worked on: Jean Grey roomed with Coleen Wing and Misty Knight from his book iron fist, Jessica Drew Spider-Woman guest starred in an x-men issue then later in one of her comics found Banshee's daughter Siryn. And not stopping there many characters chris created for other books became mainstays of uncanny x-men: Mystique started out as Ms Marvel (Carol Danvers) arch enemy, Arcade was a one off villian in an issue of Marvel Team Up and Wolverine's arch enemy sabertooth started out as an iron fist villian. Most notably, and something we'll talk about next week, after the disaster that was avengers 200, Chris was so pissed off he took carol and added her to x-men for some time via avengers annual #10.. and in the process also introduced Rogue. Chris used everything he had so the fact this story just.. happened with so much fanfare and two big character moments and never came up is odd.

The other problem is that Chris kept a very tight order of events and had a lot happening... and as a result WHEN this happened is nigh impossible to figure out. It's down to the roster; The roster in this book is Cyclops, Storm, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Colossus, and Kitty Pryde. Cyke is the first issue as after Jean's death in the dark phoenix saga he was in and out of the team for a while: he left right after to find out if he even WANTED to go back, but this being the life of an x-man ended up stranded on Magneto's spooky elder god island he found and made into a headquarters, because I mean.. what else are you going to do with a spooky elder god island. After a fight with Mags in which he realized how far he nearly went and fled to parts unknown, the X-Men took the base for their own while the mansion was in the shop before Cyclops peaced out again to spend time with his dad who just got back, from outer space. To make matter's somehow even more complicated, the x-men were then kidnapped to space by the brood. Cyke would leave the issue after this adventure to go spend time with his dad and meet his long lost grandparents before he had to go back to space again and be a sexy mustache space pirate as earth had become too alien to him peter quill style.

And that issue is the other problem: the issue before that, after Xavier got his alien clone body.. he bumped Kitty Pryde, the x-men's cool teen who met the team during Dark Phoenix Saga and joined right after, down to the New Mutants. This is a problem as the only real window for this story to happen... is when she was busy convincing Xavier to repromote her.... and during that Window Logan implicitly left for his homeland of Canada before heading to japan to pick a fight with his girlfriend's abusive fiancé and even more abusive dad, who he of course murdered in a samurai duel.

So it' SEEMS impossible for this story to fit. And that's because it is. trust me I tried my best.. but going to x-men 168, aka

Logan leaves for the candian rockies.. and has Kurt drive him to the airport... taking Kitty and her bestie and colosuss sister who was aged up when she was kidnapped by a demon man on Magneto's Spooky Elder God Island, with them.. while Kitty was still campaning to join the x-men. Not only that Xavier's space girlfriend Illandra and the new mutants themselves are absent from the story, just to make ti clear

So yeah this story is canon , but fits nowhere really in canon.. and in an interview in the extneded cut (which I turned to to try and find out if it added anything to explain why it dosen't fit, which no it didn't it's just got some added wraparounds in the present day at the time continuity), that was by design. Chris wanted to make this story one that could be read by anyone, one and done. If you wanted to read more x-men great. if not , you still got your money's worth and got everything these characters were about.

The story itself came from the times: It was the time of Ronald Regan and a new wave of conservatives trying to bring back "the good old days" and morals and all the usual smokescreens "for when things were a lot WHITER and STRAIGHTER and we didn't have to reckon with our actions. " This call for moral panic nicely dovetailed into the rise of Evangelical Preachers, using tv as a means of indoctrination and trying to paint anyone against them as not in god's will and anything they didn't like as "not TRULY of god". Naturally given Chris wrote a book about a disenfranchised, if fictoinal group that happened to have a christian (Nightcrawler) and jewish (Kitty Pryde) person in their ranks and an arch enemy who lived thorugh the holocaust, the story was perfect.

To chris this kind of purity of purpose coupled with narrowmindeness was dangerous as hell, and made for a good story speaking out against it.. one that continues to resonate on as narrow minded assholes who GENUINELY think their doing the right thing by hurting and suppressing people and who they are haven't exactly gone away, simply changed shape. Heck while this still is mostly a one off story, the themes of someone trying to legislate opression and make it sound resonable were already in the main book with days of future past (which shows a nightmare world where this DOES happen.. and also gets hyjacked by giant robots), and would continue to be a key theme of the x-men to this very day.

So now the stage is set, we can finally begin a battle.. not one of the usual claws, optic blasts and thunder bolts.. but of survivial. Of ideas. Of one group trying to do the right thing in the midst of a direct call for them to be trotted out and murdered. To be wiped away in the name of some "higher purpose". It's a battle of faith. Let's see how it plays out shall we?

Not the First, Far from the Last:

The opening to God Loves Man Kills.. is one of the most chilling scenes i've read in a comic. And it's chilling simply because it could happen anywhere: Two black children are running for their lives.. but sadly don't make it, as their soon cornered by the purifiers, three people in black tactical gear. And why are they hunting these innocent children? Why have they already killed their parents?

It's an utterly haunting sequence. The fact the children are black isn't a remote coincidence, but to simply hammer home that this kind of shit happens. To draw parallels to the same sort of shit racist have done: killing innocent people.. then displaying the bodies as some sick trophy to show exactly WHY they just slaughtered innocents: they were not what these butchers considered a person and to them, they deserved to die. Thankfully before the Purifiers can get their intended show of stringing up the bodies, each with a sign saying "Mutie" on them, someone else comes along to take this horror show down so these children's bodies can at least have SOME dignity in death instead of being used as as sick prop

I love the small touches i'm only noticing now as I review this: the true PAIN on Erik's face after seeing this, him gently going over the body. It also speaks to his history: he's seen countless children die around him in his childhood in a concentration camp.. and saw his own daughter Anya die tragically simply because Mags himself was a mutant. It says a lot about who he is and that behind the vengeance, behind the vow of "Never again" he swears right after.. is a man whose simply seen too many of his peopled die... and will not let this happen again. And god help those who did this.

We then meet our main antagonist, Reverened William Stryker. Like the above.. this intro is brilliant. Stryker, head of his evangelcial "Stryker Crusade" is reading the bible in his office, before preparing to review some files and having some dinner sent up to eat while he looks over them. Said files are also a really neat way to show off the current roster of x-men and what they can do, with some really great art added. Stryker already has plans for them, but first he has to be at the studio: he has a show to put on.

We cut to Stevie Hunter's dance studio. For those less familiar with her Stevie was a major supporting character during Claremont's run. When Kitty joined the school, Charles, wanting to make sure she had a well rounded life outside of academics and surviving the experince, enrolled her in dances classes hosted by Stevie, a former professional dancer whose career was cut short by injury. He'd later do the same for the new mutants, and it's a nice character thing: it shows as gruff and standofish as Charles can be.. he wants what's best for his charges and wants them to have some normalcy in a life where that will be hard to come by.

Starting here , and with Kitty, isn't a coincidence: as Chris said in the aforementioned interview, the younger characters provided a vital viewpoint: the future and what exactly to do with it when it looked so bleak.

It's also a great way to start as once again Claremont makes sure things are well and grounded as Kitty.. is beating the shit out of some asshole named Danny.. to the point she's sent him out the door. He only gets a hit in once Peter, aka Colossus, mother russia's finest and kitty's crush, shows up distracting her. Kitty's held back by her bestie and borderline love intrest Illanya. Seriously why haven't they been a thing. Questions for later. For now Stevie comes out wanting to know what the hell is going on, her exact words. Kitty admits to starting the violence portion of the evening.. but only because Danny was talking about all the GOOD the stryker crusade is doing and how swell it is they want to commit mutant genocide. Peter suggests they end it there.. which is code for "You've said enough little bigot, just try me". It's also notable that peter is so angry: one of his defining traits is how he's a gentle, kind young man and abhors violence. He fights because he has to and because it's the right thing to do, not because he wants. So to get him angry takes a lot. Danny backs off.. but whispers once peter's around it's on because he has the self preservation of a goat. We also coincidentally never see him again. Maybe Logan gave him a talking to and he wisely left town after voiding his bowels. Who knows.

Stevie isn't pleased with Kitty and we get that moment I was hinting at the one part of the comic that dosen't entirely work for me

Now I GET what chris was going for and Kitty's point: that just because it's word's.. dosen't mean someone saying intolerent bullshit, ESPECAILLY since in this case the dipshit was advocating genocide, is something to just ignore or brush off. And it's MEANT to be a spur of the moment thing a teenager would say, hence it not ruining the scene.. but Chris STILL really shoudlnt' of had a privilaged white teenager say the n word to a grown black woman whose probably been through a LOT of this shit and has gotten used to having to ignore it. Even for the time the n-word should not have been used especialy in refrence to a fictional minority. The rest of the scene works.. but this REALLY dosen't and sticks out like a sore thumb in a work that otherwise holds up.

Kitty and Peter return home just in time for something on TV, greeted by

and Nightcrawler, everyone's faviorite sexy demonic looking christian. I LOVE Logan and Kitty's talk here too

I love everything about this. How casual logan is, how fatherly he comes off to her, and Kitty showing that Stevie's fears of her using her training unfairly were unfounded: Kitty was holding back and wouldn't use it on a civlian no matter how much he deserved to be ground into the pavement.

Turns out the show their all watching is the same one Stryker was preparing for: A debate with Xavier over mutant kind. And Xavier looses pretty badly as best summed up by this panel

It perfectly sums up hate groups like Stryker's best weapon: couching horrifying, nightmarish notions.. and making them sound ALMOST resonable. it's something I saw a few years back when JK Rowling tried to defend her transphobia; her "apology' letter TRIED to sound resonable.. but underneath you could see all the transphobia couched in her arguments and all the hate clearly there. It's just to some, sadly.. the argument is more pursasive and that's where the danger is: not in us who can see it.. but that some of us may not or may be indorcianted otherwise.

Kitty is understandably even more pissed after all of this and decides to break some stuff, so we get a few pages in the danger room. It's a fun sequence. I"m mostly glossing over it as story wise it dosen't really have a lot of function, but it's a nice way to slip in some more typical superhero action without undermining the story: the context of the heroes needing to work out how aggravated and scared they are with a good distraction makes it work, it's only a few pages so it dosen't take up much of the comic, and it has a fun solution: the heroes are all given individual assignments.. but only accomplish them when they help each other out, a clever exercise. IT's one of the reasons I love the danger room: it's a neat way to show our heroes training, something most superhero comics don't have time for and a fun way to interject action sequences into issues that may otherwise not have them.

Back at the Studio Stryker's preparing for his first attack on the x-men... and conviently Xavier brought Cyclops, team leader and certified badass, and Storm, also team leader and certified badass about to get even more badass during this time period with her awsome mohawk and change in character, with them. Xavier's already on edge as he noticed Stryker has Psy Screens.. which means he KNOWS Xavier's a mutant.. but sadly can't warn the rest of th eteam as they get ambusehd and Scott and Ororo are seemingly gunned down. It's part of what makes Stryker such an effective antagonist: while he does indeed have an evil over the top super villian plan... most of his methods are mundane. Simply using guns , subterfuge and careful cordinated strikes. Basic military tactics and espionge. He has fancy sci fi stuff to block xavier's mind reading and what not, but he uses pretty mundane stuff. It underlines that this is at the end of the day just a normal guy who happens to have a POWERFUl cultish following.. and that despite the powers, despite the training the x-men are as vunerable as anyone to a military strike.

We cut back to the mansion where Nightcrawler gets a night caller telling him the professor, jean and scott died in a car crash. The next scene is effective; Kitty mourns, and is baffled that something mundane as a car crash could take out her surrogate big sister, a genius tactician and her mentor.. and also Scott and Xavier. Turns out though Illanya isn't just there to comfort kitty.. and ask kitty about her crush on her brother Peter.. but to point out a weird survelnce divise. Kitty's response is clever as hell and speaks to how despite her age she's every bit an x-man: she disables the thing, then plans to wait to ambush whoever set it up.

At the scene of the accident Logan confirms Kitty's suspcions: the scenes for the bodies found at the wreck are all wrong and the wreck itself has all the halmarks of a staged accident.. a nice way to use Logan's CIA past as he admits to have done a few of these himself. He was also smart enough to have Kurt do survielnce.. and find the purifiers watching them ready to attack. It's a nice little show of Wolverine as leader: it dosen't come up a TON in this run early on, but under Ororo he's second in line to lead the x-men , wether he thinks he can or not.

The x-men turn the tables and ambush the purifiers for a change, in this case some goon Wolverine easily yanks out of a car and Anne, Stryker's right hand who tries ramming Nightcrawler with her car.. which fails horribly since you know, he's a teleporter and she should know this and colosus totals the thing with Nightcrawler saving her life with one heck of a line

Unfortuantley for our heroes not only does said attempted marytr escaped.. but she had some goons with her in powered armor who easily down colossus. Before they can get the rest of the x-men though.. they get some unexpected help.

It's one hell of a scene. Before this set of our heroes can react though, we cut back to kitty and yana. The goons arrive and Illyana is understandably scared: at this point, outside of the time in a demon realm, she's mostly a normal teenager and hasn't yet trained in her powers. So when Kitty goes to investigate and the purifiers find her, it's utterly terrifying to see.. and worse to see Anne shoot an unarmed girl. Her point blank shot somehow.. stuns Yana?

Thankfully not depriving us of one of the best new mutants... just kidding their all the best. It's hard to choose.

Kitty hides in the trunk, but turns out the Purifiers have sensors and spray some knockout gas in there.

Back with the X-men logan is using his usual charm and tact to interogate one of their suspects

Left one's charm, right one's tact, middle one's grace. Magneto suggets an alternative.. and procedes to somehow use magnetics to make the guy tell them what he knows

I love Magneto's line afterwrods too

It's a brutal line and sums up magneto in one line. Truly perfect.

While nightcrawler worries sinking to their foes level makes them no better we cut to

As you can imagine this scene confused the hell otu of Kev. It works thematically for me: Stryker is trying to brainwash xavier and is thus framing his students, his family, as murderous monsters. It's part of a brilliant and horrifying psychic ploy: their torturing Scott and Ororo, the only reason their still alive, right next to him so he feels their pain, but have doped Charles up so much he dosen't realize their not hurting him, letting his own inner guilt rationalize why they'd hurt him. Scott is especially a good pick for this: as I mentioned since Jean's death he's been questioning his place in the world and, after all the training Xavier's given him, if he can even LIVE a life outside the x-men. He's as much Xavier's son as his real son who he dosen't know about yet and thus his betrayal would sting the hardest while for Oroo he took her out of an innocent existence away from strife as a goddess to the harshness of the real world. His own fears of what he's done to his children, how he's weaponized them and the two he's lost.. .are the greatest weapon of all.

We then find out Stryker's back story.. and it is... utterly horrifying. Stryker was a decorated army guy who was driving home with his pregnant wife. She gave birth to their son and well...

That shot of the knife.. is haunting. It's something I never really focused on in previous reads.. and i'm not sure i'll be able to forget now. Stryker was so convinced his baby was an abomination, so unwilling to accept his child for what they were instea dof what he thought they were.. he murdered an innocent baby then SNAPPED his wife's neck for no good reason. All because in his eyes they were just a monster and the one who created. It breaks down Stryker and shows what he REALLY is inside: while he tries to frame this a sa crusade, that the birth of his child was God showing Stryker his new purpose in life, hence his founding of the crusade. But at the end of the day: he's a bigot. He saw his child was diffrent and stabbed him to death and instead of dealing with kiling his wife and child, instead of acccepting he acted on his worst instincts and did something truly horrible.. he convinced himself that no, GOD told him to do this. God told him this was the right path. and he should kill more, hurt more, do more. It's the real, pure danger of crusades like this: the absolute conviction that the horrible things your doing are right. People who just side with bigotry for their own self intrest are bad.. but it's the people who TRULY belivie what their saying who are the most dangeorus. To use JK Rowling the reason she's so dangeorus to trans people is that she GENUINELY thinks she's helping women. That she THINKS she's resonable and can convince other people.. and that like stryker she has the money and resources and influence to do real harm. It's easy to stop a hypcorite, just show them as they are to their followers if their not brainwashed enough. it's harder to stop someone who GENUINELY belivies the hate they speak and cannot be talked down or beaten with logic. The only way to beat them is with public opinon and that's a harder task than it should be.

We get a truly chiling ending to the scene as Stryker coldly orders Anne to execuite kitty and Storm, a surrgoate big sister to the girl can only wail in horror.

Lucky for kitty, she managed to phase the escond the gas hit, but some still got her.. so she escapes her execution.. but is still being hunted by Anne. And whiel she TRIES to get help.. she instead finds a gang who fully plan to assault her. Her only salvation is that Anne shows up and the gang is too busy with her and Anne's too busy killing them all for being in the way for either to notice her escaping. Kitty BARELY calls the school for help in time and even then all she can do is hide in a subway.. and watch as a police officer takes a bullet for her, the purifiers glad to let him die and blame it on her. Thankfully like her fellow x-men, Uncle Erik is here to save the day...

The x-men quickly clean up the rest of the Purifiers and Kitty's shocked to see Magneto on their side. He quickly proves his nobility though, saving the officer and giving the x-men a magic car door ride to go get the guy help

While he's showing them the world, shining shimmering splendor, he explains whose after them to the officer.

We then cut back to xavier whose finally been convinced to kill Scott and Ororo.. and stryker's plan becomes frightingly clear.. now he's capable of killing his two faviorite children.. what would he do to any other mutant?

Meanwhile Kitty and Kurt confront the guy who indocrinated Xavier, Doctor ramsey. I guess doug has a racist uncle? Anyway Nighcrawler gets some poetic justice, using his frighting facade to scare the crap otu of the racist. What I love about this is while the art makes kurt look terrifying.. we know him well enough, even just in this tsory to know he's bluffing. We saw earlier he was horrified with Magneto and Wolverine fully willing to toruture a guy. But this guy dosen't know that. And he's still wiling to mildly choke the guy, not at all sympathetic after all he's done. Kurtmay be one of the most noble souls ever put to comics.. but this scene is a nice reminder: he kicks ass for the lord.

At Stryker's headquarters, his goons and anne plan to take Scott and Roro to be cremated and Illayana to be examined.. but by now you know the bit: magneot is awesome, yanks the elevator out. His constant saves COULD get tiresome.. but they work as a show of power and the gap that still exists between him and the x-men: sure we get to see them all be awesome.. but these moments remind us WHY he can take on the whole team by himself, WHY he was such a threat.. and why him joining them is such a big deal. He could probably handle all this himself.. but despite being on opposite sides, despite having opposite approaches... he respects them. Okay sure he shoved them into a nanny robot prison a while back, but after they nearly sank him in lava he got respect.

He then proves the point by reviving scott and ororo. Turns out subcocnoiusly Xavier rebelled and thus only put them in a deathlike coma. Scott.. is naturally a bit nettled to see his arch enemy in front of him after he just nearly died, which leads to one hell of a speech from Mags.

Something that's really easy to forget, especaily after that.. is that Magneto started out.. as a pretty awful character. He was a bully, a dictator who wanted to conquer humanity because he could, cowed his subordinates into submission and kept Scarlet Witch in the brotherhood purely out of obliggation to him for saving her and pietro from an angry mob. And early on while Claremont had him as a BETTER villian, more intimidating and a larger threat, especially since two of the x-men were now weak to his powers, he was still a bit of an ass who decided the best way to get his revenge was to strap the x-men to chairs where they couldn't move and have a nanny robot feed them which gave me nightmares as a kid

It's only in his next apperance did Magneto shift from "Dr. Doom Clone" to "one of my faviorite characters in all of fiction. With I Magneto we not only found out his backstory as a survivor of asuchwitz but his next attempt to conquer the world, boosting his powers and giving the world an ultimatium: surrender or perish. And it's this version that's been the basis for the character ever since: a broken man defined by tragedy whose determined to conquer a world that hates and fears him so the tragedies of his past NEVER happen again. Never again.

It's this conversation that especially highlights that: Magneto asks WHY fight for people who hate and fear you, when he can change the world by force. It's a question superheroes in general struggle with and many mock superhero media for: how much should they do. Should they take the choice away from a humanity that's often misused their choices? And the answer is... no. While you can see WHY Max wants to do this, why he wants so badly to force a better world on everyone, to force a better future because he sees humanity as simply INCAPABLE of anything but hate and self destruction.. it's not the way. Humanity.. is fucked a lot of the time. True. But there's good in us and simply asking someone to fix all of the problems we, especially our goverments, should be working hard to fix isn't fair.

And as Cylclops points out it's just.. not sustanible. Even with Magneto's dream of the x-men joining him and following in his footsteps... what happens if someone decides to overthrow them? or take this world from them? And more importantly.. is it REALLY worth giving up all freedom and self control for a better tomorrow? It's why superheroes fight.. and it's why the X-MEN fight. The world their in is fucked up with tons of racists, multiple genocides and currently a giant hive of bigoted jackasses trying to wipe every last mutant out. But what makes the x-men so special.. is they fight on anyways. Against everything humanity does, against all their bigotry.. they fight for a better tomorrow. Even in the Krakoa era where they basically bribed their way to a homeland.. many of them still dont' abandon humanity, try to work with them and try and help. They may deserve a home after everything humanity's done.. but they don't deserve to be abandoned because of bad actors and hateful dipshits. It's why the x-men fight for a world that hates and fears them: because even if the dream's never been fully achived.. it's a dream worth fighting for. A better world. A dream that's always worth fighting for.

Magneto makes a point though: While this debate is engaging... they have bigger issues to worry about. Anne warns Stryker.. but his ego once again flairs up. "They're a handful of children annie and i'm a servant of the world. What can they do to stop me?" As I said before fraudsters, grifters, conmen.. their dangerous sure.. but it's the people who TRULY belivie their doing the right thing while advocating to destroy an entire people that are the most dangerous.

Stryker begins his sermon advocating for genoicde, with many other evangelicals apparently getting antsy according to a handy newsmans exposition. Granted it's likely less because they disagree with him calling for genocide, they just want him to say the loud part quiet again.

It's during this sermon Stryker's plan activates. And if you've seen x-2, which largely adapts this storyline but changes Stryker from preacher to soldier, you've likely figured it out: use Xavier to commit full on genocide of the mutant race. It's stronger CLOSER to him, so Nightcrawler's able to help a boy close to it.. but it's very clear if they don't do something SOON their going to die and the rest of mutantkind after. Wolverine poitns out the issue: they CAN attack but it'll make them look bad. And just to prove rule of three can suck his dick, Magneto once again saves the day, swooping in to confront stryker.. and thus providing a diversion. And to make his point for once Magneto .. dosen't attack. He breaks the roof to get in and make a minty fresh entrance, but he repairs it as poitned out by a sentator. Stryker,, high on his own hype, has Charlie strike him down. We get a really nice moment as Magneto has a revelation about his foe: all this time charles.. was holding back. And he's now seen just how dangerous his old enemy would be if he wasn't. Some protestors try to mob magneto, but some police break it up before they can win a collective darwin award for beating up a guy who in his previous appearance LEVELED AN ENTIRE CITY and a nuclear sub.

While the X-Men try to figure out how the hell to get to Charles before he kills them all, Annie goes to the reverned.. only for her ears to be bleeding like the other mutatns. She too is one... and instead of saving her like she begs for...

It's the final sign that there is no good left in Stryker, that even those loyal to him, even someone who tried their best.. must die simply because he says so. Not god. HIM. He killed a woman who did nothing but serve him faithlly and was wholeheartedly on his side.. and who he casts aside instead of even TRYING to save. After all if he would slaughter his own child.. why would Anne be saved? What makes this death all the more chilling.. is that after all Anne's done, her horrifying hate crime at the start, her attempted murder of kitty, and god knows what else we didn't see on panel... there's no catharsis. no joy in her death. There's no peace to be had. Just the senseless waste of her life doing nightmarisht hings in Striker's name, and the horrifying sight of her snapped neck. A life wasted in the name of a man who claims to speak for god.. but as our title tells us God Loves. Man kills.

We then pivot to one of the most awesome things Cyclops has ever done. So with so many people on the cusp of death, Wolverine feels they have no choice: they have to play it his way.. which means he teleports in and puts an end to the man who gave him a better life: to prevent charles from becoming everything he hates, Logan has to become everything he's tried to grow past. Thankfully.. Cyclops had a way around that.

And just to underline it right after, when Wolverine points out how close it is... Cyke explains his logic: He knew.. and also knew if his timing was even the SLIGHTEST bit off Charles might sense one of them too early. As for why let Wolverine attack it was simple: Charles is usually a non combatant. He doesn't have the countless hours of training nor the field experince and thus Scott correctly figured a two pronged attack would catch him off guard. If one side failed the other would succeed.. and Scott was FULLY aware that if Wolverine had to do it, his mentor would be dead. So to recap Scott pulled off a massive amount of precision ricocheting, with a backup plan that could kill his surrogate dad, all betting that he could both hit it and with the knowledge that if this failed everyone would be dead... and pulled it off without a hitch and with the utmost confidence. Just.. remember this the next time you hear someone call cyclops boring. Unless it's the movie version.. or the 90s animated series.. or wolverine and the x-men.. okay maybe just the comics and evolution.

So the day's saved right? Well normally yes. The villains foiled, Stryker outright killed someone on live tv. But in another awesome moment.. Scott notes.. it's not over. Ther'es one last thing to do.

It's the hard truth: in most other superhero stories, The X-Men already won.. but here if they back down now Stryker's message continues and he just picks it up, possibly even tries genocide again. Even if he gets arrested for Anne's murder i'ts not going to stop his message or him from preaching it. And I love how every x-man falls behind scott with not the slightest hint of hestation. Their walking right into an angry mob, no intention to use their powers, simply because walking away would let a bad man triumph and hurt other mutants. Because walking away is the easy thing.. but it's not the right thing and it damn well isn't what an x-man does.

So our heroes walk in.. and make their stand.

It's one last moment in a trilogy of awesome for Scott: tearing the fuck out of Strykers rehtoric and getting down to the core of most prejudice; Stryker thinks their less than human, that they don't deserve to exist.. and like any human .. they do. Their here. Their real. And he can't accept it. He'd rather destroy them. And when Stryker tries to fall back on the fact Nightcrawler simply looks diffrent.. someone steps up.

Now this moment's great on it's own, Kitty defying his trying to unperson kurt and standing bravely, pointing out what makes Kurt so awesome: he had every reason to turn in on himself after all the shit life's thrown at him: a mother who abandoned him, a step brother he was forced to kill in self defense, an angry mob nearly staking him before Charles saved his life... yet instead.. he's a jovial jokester. He loves, he lives, and he's a gentle soul. He's one who fears turning into his enmies, one who tries to take the righteous path. And like Stryker.. he believes in god. Nightcrawler is every bit as relgious.. the simple diffrence.. is that he dosent use his faith as a thin justification to slaughter everything he hates. To cast out what's diffrent. He uses it as faith should be used: to help others, to enrich his life, and to be kind.

What makes this moment for me beyond that though... is it pays off a long character arc for Kitty. When Kitty first met kurt.. it wasn't exactly a great relationship. She ran in fear the first time she saw him and even after finding out , no this is a good guy, she was still nervous around him for some time, gravitating more to the more human passing Roro and Peter. And yet over time.. the two became friends. They bonded.. and she felt ashamed, realizing Kurt.. is just a bit marshmellow. A kind soul who only wanted to be her friend. And this is the payoff for that: her going from a scared kid jumping to her assumptions about a man hwo just looks kinda spooky.. to being BEST FRIENDS with the guy and willing to take a bullet for him. Thankfully.. that blam we heard.. wasn't stryker's gun

The ending of this story.. speaks to it's tone. While our heroes still beat stryker morally and with words, they still won the battle.. what ultimatley strikes him down.. is a regular police officer. A cop simply not wanting a child to die. A normal person doing the right thing. And a ray of hope that maybe just maybe our heroes words got through to some people.

Said ray... dosen't last long as Magneto makes a valid point back at the mansion... and for once.. Charles listens.

It's a moment of weakness.. Charles accepting that maybe his dream isn't enough.. and it' smost fitting that the one to snap him out of it.. is the first person he brought that dream to. His son. And he makes the point I did earlier: this fight can't be won by brute force. This can't be won by FORCING people to accept them.. it has to be won through hard work. It may get worse (And it will), the tims may be tough.. but it's a dream worth fighting for. A better world not paved in blood... but in hope and hard work for a better tommorow. Is it idealistic? Perhaps. Unrealistic? entirely. But it's a noble ream: of a world of accpetince, kindness and love.. and one Scott and the others aren't willing to throw away. And as long as they aren't, charles realizes he can't either.

Naturally Max's response is to call them all fools.. but it's his last few words that really leave an impact

It's a nice touch that Kitty, who magneto nearly killed last time they fought not realizing she was a child and whose near death drove him to realize how far he'd fallen, is the one to speak up. And it's telling for where Magneto's arc is going under claremont.. that he relents a little. He can't fight for a cause he dosen't belivie in.. but he WISHES he could. He's gone from hating the x-men.. to badly wanting to be one of them.. but knowing his heart just isn't in it. From just seconds ago calling them all fools.. to deep down hoping they win. Showing that even if he still thinks eventually they will fall and it'll be his turn.. that maybe just maybe.. he won't have to. That maybe there's a future where he can fight for a better tommorow instead of forcing it.

So we end with Xavier tearfully thanking his students, and Ororo congradulating Scott for what he ddid. he tells her it's what he woudl've done for any of them and at the end o fthe day... it's love that drives this. Love for each other.. and hope for a world ran by love and not hate. But we're not there yet. But maybe... maybe someday.

So if it wasn't obvious.. God Loves Man Kills is a masterpiece. And having to go over it painstakingly for this review.. I stand by waht I said. This is the best x-men story ever. A story that sums up everything the x-men stand for in a neat package, pits them up agains ta unique an dhorrifingly real threat, and says a LOT. All in 60 bneautifully drawn pages. I ddin't mention him much in this review but Brent Anderson's art in this comic is next level stuff. Gorgeous, evocative, and hitting all the right notes. IT's some of the best art in comics and fits well with one of the best stories in comics. If you haven't read this one, do so immediatly. Even if you don't normally read x-men... this is a heck of a good way to start. Thanks for reading.

Next Time: We see the start for one of the x-men's greatest as she... steals an avengers powers and punches iron man in the face. So a bit of a mixed bag all things considered.