#your nephew watched you felled by a sword and he thought i must die a hero i must die a martyr it is the only way

[yarrayora]

servamp is like you will let your children inherit the blood that has been shed in your war and your children's children will teach their children that this is normal, this is what it takes to be a person. and then one day they'll realize hey this is wrong. the world doesn't have to be like this! but you have never taught them how to resolve conflict without blood. but they know hurting others will simply continue the cycle of violence, so the blood they shed will be their own

#servamp #this is about the eves #your son watched his mother died and he thought hey i can use this #your nephew watched you felled by a sword and he thought i must die a hero i must die a martyr it is the only way #you taught your daughter how to create weapons but you never taught her ethics and she ended up facing her own sin on the battlefield #where she finally learned what rage means and she was angry that the adults wont let her fight in this war THEY let her in #you sheltered your son and isolated him from the real world and he broke free from his cage and into the fire #because you told him to be the leader but never taught him to be one so he learned by mimicking his friends #he is a child he extended his hand for you still believing in you and you cannot grab his hand because you love him and want to protect him #from the flame of your vengeance yet you dont love him enough to admit you are not too far gone #despite pride is what killed you and the child you waged a war for #i can write more but lol

[stiltonbasket]

hi! i dont know if you've done something similar for renouncement verse but lwj getting baby rearing tips from lqr would be really cute uwu

(brief author’s note: please please reblog, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

Two weeks after Wei Shuilan’s full-moon party, Lan Xichen orders Wei Ying to get some fresh air and take a trip down to town with the juniors. 

“I’m ordering it as your physician,” he scolds, as Lan Wangji kisses his husband’s forehead and slips a packed lunch into his qiankun bag, just in case Wei Ying doesn’t like any of the delicacies Caiyi has to offer; having A-Lan altered his sense of taste, among other things, and made him more partial to sweet and bitter flavors as well as spicy-sour ones. “You haven’t left the Cloud Recesses in months.”

“Xichen-ge,” Wei Ying says, rolling his eyes, “you try taking those stairs when you can barely fit through the door. Or fly in a straight line without overbalancing, for that matter.”

He has a point, Lan Wangji thinks. A-Lan is a very round baby, big enough for her age that some of the guests at the full-moon feast asked if they were holding the party late, and it had certainly showed on Wei Ying’s slender figure in the weeks before her arrival.

“Well, you ought to go now,” Lan Xichen urges. “It’s a wonderful day, and A-Lan’s asleep. Go stretch your legs, and then come back and rest as soon as you feel tired.”

So Wei Ying had gone, leaving the Cloud Recesses with a kiss for Lan Wangji before flying off on A-Yuan’s sword and vanishing into the cloudy mist hanging over the Caiyi River.

After that, Lan Wangji settles down in the jingshi to wait for his husband’s return, placing his baby daughter on the bed beside him and starting on the mountain of official correspondence he’s been neglecting since A-Lan was born. Most of them are congratulations and well-wishes for the baby, along with a select few (which Lan Wangji sets on fire the second he opens them) consoling the Chief Cultivator for the one child of his blood being a daughter, and assuring him that the next baby will surely be a boy. 

Upon further reflection, Lan Wangji points a finger at the ashes in the hearth and incinerates them a second time. The thought of his little daughter ever facing anything but the honor and worship due to an empress sets his teeth on edge, and it takes only a moment of thinking until he decides to put off answering the guilty clan’s request for a second representative in Lanling’s council for as long as he can.

But unfortunately for him, the sound of the snapping fire jolts poor A-Lan awake, and she gives a soft, confused little gurgle before lifting her head and looking around. Lan Wangji lifts her into his lap, humming Wangxian beside her tiny ears as she begins to whimper—but his efforts are in vain, because the baby bursts into tears and refuses to stop crying no matter what he does to calm her. 

“A-Lan,” he says, more than a little shocked—because he has never heard A-Lan cry like this, not since that first shrieking wail when she first found herself out in the world six weeks ago. But A-Lan keeps crying, even after he tries changing her smallclothes (needlessly, since her diaper was freshly changed when Wei Ying left the jingshi) and puts her in another blanket to keep her warm, and no amount of rocking or singing or even a cool bath proves useful in the slightest. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Lan Wangji asks urgently. “A-Lan, baobei—”

Shuilan only draws her tiny legs up to her chest and sobs, rubbing her fat fists into her eyes as if the whole universe was against her, and the realization hits Lan Wangji so suddenly that he nearly falls to the floor, baby and all. 

“It’s because Wei Ying isn’t here,” he says wretchedly. “It is, isn’t it? You’re not sick, surely—he’s coming back, A-Bao. Don’t cry, your A-Die is coming back.”

But with such a little baby as A-Lan, how was she to know? All A-Lan knew was that she spent the first ten moons of her life safe inside Wei Ying, listening to his precious heartbeat and kicking out at his affectionate touches when he tried to feel for her head or her hands, and then she was in his arms instead, but still never so far away from him that she could not hear his voice. And now Wei Ying is gone, and A-Lan has rightfully taken his absence for the calamity that it is. 

Lan Wangji remembers his sixteen years of mourning after Wei Ying fell from his grasp and plunged to his death in Qishan, and wonders how frightened Shuilan must be that Wei Ying has disappeared without any explanation her infant mind can understand. Neither of them have left her side since she was born, so for one of her parents to disappear without explanation, and for it to be Wei Ying who had disappeared—

He nearly bursts into tears himself, just thinking about it. 

Naturally, it is at that moment—with half of Lan Wangji’s layers sliding off his shoulders, A-Lan screaming herself hoarse, and sweat dripping down her father’s pale face—that Lan Qiren lets himself into the house, apparently expecting to find a peaceful nephew and great-niece before he walks into the middle of a virtual tornado instead. 

“Wangji?” he calls, as Lan Wangji drags himself into the front room in all his miserable, disheveled glory. “What is the matter? Have you fed her?”

“I have fed her, changed her, checked her temperature, and made sure all her clothes were loose enough,” he says, distraught. “Perhaps I will take her to the healing ward, just to make sure she is well. Good afternoon, Shufu.”

“You examined her with your lingli, didn’t you? She’s not sick.”

“No, but—”

“Give her here,” his uncle sighs, holding out his arms for the child. “Now,  bring me that square blanket on the divan, and watch closely.”

While Lan Wangji watches, Lan Qiren lays the blanket out on the bed and folds it into a triangle, and then he places A-Lan onto it with her fluffy round head above the folded edge and packs her into a tight bundle with one arm waving freely outside it. 

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji ventures, brow furrowed. “What are you—”

“Quiet,” Lan Qiren instructs him. “Pay attention, Wangji.”

He folds up the bottom corner of the blanket, laying it over A-Lan’s chest and her chubby bent legs, and then he folds the other half around her like a bamboo string around a zongzi, trapping her flailing fist against her body before handing her back to her father. 

“There,” he says, satisfied. “See?”

A-Lan’s sobs are already calming down, and a moment later she blinks in confusion and goes straight back to sleep. 

Lan Wangji gapes at her. “What did you do, Uncle?” he wonders. “I already tried wrapping her, but this…”

“That is how a baby should be swaddled,” Lan Qiren scolds. “You and Wei Ying wrap her like a pancake roll, and it does well enough most of the time. But when a child this small is in distress, it can be helpful to remind them of their time in the womb, and put them in a similar position with a swaddling blanket. What made A-Lan cry so?”

“She missed Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says dully. “He went to Caiyi with Sizhui and Xiaohui, and she woke early from her nap and cried when she realized he was gone.”

I remember weeping because Wei Ying was gone, he doesn’t say. She seemed as heartbroken as I was, back then. 

“Ah,” his uncle murmurs. “A word of advice, Wangji. When you are overtaxed, and dealing with a child in distress, your discomfort will inevitably worsen theirs. I learned this by trial with your brother, and it ended with him stopping his tears and laughing for me because he hated to see me cry.”

It sounds so much like Lan Xichen that Lan Wangji feels his throat swell. “En?”

“In such times, seek help before you become overwrought,” Lan Qiren advises him. “I am here, as is Xichen, and the nursery teachers who cared for you both when you were little. You and your husband are not alone, in any aspect of your lives, and it would be a joy to all of us to aid you.”

And then Lan Qiren makes tea and shoos Lan Wangji back to the bedroom, where he sinks down onto the bed with the baby snoring quietly in his arms and falls asleep himself.

When Wei Ying returns an hour later, he declares that everything must have gone perfectly for both of them to be so at ease.

“I didn’t want to leave you!” he laughs, cuddling a squealing A-Lan to his breast and waving a handful of new toys over her curious little face. “But you were as cool as a cucumber, Lan Zhan! Why can’t I be like you?”

“It was not so smooth as I hoped it would be,” Lan Wangji confesses. “But everything was all right in the end, xingan. My shufu is a very good teacher.”

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wangxian arranged marriage au #renouncement verse #my fic #wei shuilan #lan qiren #lan wangji #wei wuxian

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 29 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: While Daryl and the others are fighting their way through Alpha’s trap, the reader comes face to face with their fear as Beta enters Alexandria. 

Word Count: 4826

Warning: Swearing, Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes

Note: So, this scene is a bit different. Judith is not in Alexandria at the moment as she’s with her mom in Hilltop. I am not removing Michonne from the story like she is in the show. So, this fight is gonna play out a bit different!

-------

Arriving back home in Alexandria, Enid words followed you.

She was right, Lydia should not have been out there alone and it would be your fault if she got hurt or worse, fell back into the hands of her mother.

Even as you walked down the darkening streets of Alexandria, there was a part of you that didn’t care if Alpha took more lives and that terrified you. You loved your friends, your family, but if collateral damage was necessary for Beta and Alpha to die, then so be it. 

The bitter taste in your mouth followed you as you walked towards home. When you noticed Rosita pacing outside the cell, you slowed.

“What are you doing?” you asked. Rosita looked up at you and then walked forward wrapped her arms around you. 

Confused, you hugged her back before letting go. “Ro?” you asked again. 

“Sorry, I’m just… A lot has been happening,” she said. 

“Like what? I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Gamma is here,” Rosita said, gesturing towards the cell. 

“What?” you asked, glancing towards the small window. 

“She arrived earlier, said she wants to help us,” Rosita said. 

“And you believe her?”

“I don’t know. That’s why she’s locked up,” Rosita explained. 

“You think she’s another spy?”

“No,” Rosita said, shaking her head. “Though, I don’t know what to do with her. I keep thinking about when Dwight switched sides.” Nodding, you understood where she was coming from. Dwight had given you valuable information that helped you win the war against Negan and his men. 

“Dwight had someone he cared about pushing him forward,” you reminded her. “Sherry was everything to him.” 

“Gamma has her nephew,” Rosita reminded you and you knew she was right. Earl had taken in the Whisperer baby after Connie had saved him from his mother abandoning him in the sorghum field. 

“Is Adam enough?” you asked. 

“I hope so,” Rosita said. “I don’t know if we can win this fight without her help.”

“Is that willingness I hear, Espinosa?” you asked. 

“It just might be, (Y/L/N),” Rosita countered. 

“Well, what does Daryl think? Michonne?”

“Michonne is a bit MIA at the moment. She’s travelling from Oceanside or to Oceanside, I don’t really know. Daryl however, is gone.” 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” you asked, suddenly concerned.

“He, Jerry, Aaron, Connie, Kelly, Magna, and Carol got a lead on the horde. They went looking for it,” Rosita explained and you could see that she was worried as well. Sighing, you rubbed at your temples. This was why Carol had wanted you home. She needed someone to watch the front lines so she could go find Alpha’s Walkers. 

“They should have waited for me,” you said, clenching your fists. 

“I think one unstable person is enough,” Rosita mumbled and then realized what she said. 

“Nice,” you quipped, storming past her. 

“(Y/N)!” Rosita tried, but you kept walking, not wanting to hear what she had to say. You weren’t stupid, you knew that you had been acting irrationally. That much was clear and you could see that when it came down to it, you were not thinking clearly. However, you couldn’t get Beta’s face out of your head. 

It would be a cold day in Hell before you let him win. Then again, you felt as if the last decade had been Hell on Earth. Still, you pushed on, ignoring the worried looks of your friends as you headed to your house. 

Gabriel was coming out of Rosita’s house as you passed the front steps and he looked as if he was going to say something, but didn’t. Considering how pissed you were, he must have figured it was better to give you a moment alone. 

Shoving open your front door, you let it slam behind you. You went straight to your garage. The overhead gaslight illuminated the myriad of maps laid out on your workbench only reminded you of the failure you had experienced when trying to find Negan. Lashing out, you swept your hand across the table, scattering the maps across the map. 

Bracing your hands on the table, you struggled to keep it together. “I really need you,” you whispered to the empty room. A single tear dripped onto the old wood and you scrubbed the second from your cheek. Your knees sunk to the floor as you began to feel the loss of him again. 

“He’s not dead,” you reminded yourself. “He’s out there.” Even as you encouraged yourself, Negan’s face remained behind your eyes. Negan being alive was the only thing that was keeping you going. 

Sitting there on the floor of your garage, you thought back to a conversation you had during the war against the Saviors with the one and only Rick Grimes. 

Eight Years Ago…

“Hey, Boss,” you said as you walked into Rick’s house. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Rick said with a small smile. 

“Ah, well, it’s a force of habit. You are, in fact, our boss. One that I am more than willing to follow.” 

“Well, thank you, (Y/N),” he said. 

“So, what’s up?” you asked, hopping up on the counter of his kitchen. 

“I need your advice on something,” he said. 

“Is this about Dwight?” you asked. “Because if it is, then I have to tell you that I don’t trust the weasel, no matter what he told Daryl.” 

“It’s not,” Rick said with a small frown. “It’s about Negan,” he said. 

“What about him?” 

“Carl thinks that he’s more than we think,” Rick said. 

“More than a psychopath who murdered our friends?” you asked, not liking where this is going. 

“Carl thinks we can reason with him.”

“And I think that the dinosaurs are going to come back,” you deadpanned. Rick gave you one of his looks, but you weren’t deterred by it. “Come on, Grimes, you don’t actually think that we can resolve all of this by a damn conversation, do you?” 

“I want the killing to stop,” Rick said. 

“I know, I know,” you said. “I just don’t want you to lose focus.”

“You think I should kill him?” Rick asked, but you paused. Taking a moment, you reviewed everything that had happened since the Satellite Station. 

“I think,” you began, “that you should do whatever is necessary to protect our people.” 

“What if that doesn’t include killing Negan?” Rick asked.

“Then it doesn’t,” you said with a shrug. “Look, I don’t know the man. I haven’t had the opportunity to actually speak to him or see what’s behind the cocky grin so I can’t speak on his character. I believe in a person’s actions and so far, Negan’s have been horrendous. Do I think that maybe one day he can be a decent person? Yeah, sure. I don’t think anyone is truly lost, but the future is a long ways away and we need to think about surviving now.” 

Rick was quiet for a moment before he looked back up at you and nodded. He then reached out and gripped your forearm and you mirrored the movement. “Thanks, Shots,” Rick said, using Carl’s nickname for you. 

“I’m always gonna be here, Rick. I ain’t never leaving you behind,” you promised. Rick smiled at you. 

“I know,” he said. “You never leave anyone behind. That’s why I love you so much, kid.” 

“Not a kid,” you reminded him. 

“Shut up and take the compliment,” he said and then you pushed him back. Rick feigned surprised and then pushed you back. The two of you ended up wrestling in the kitchen, laughing the entire time. Regardless of what was to come, you would be by his side as one of his closest friends and that was all that mattered.

--------

A loud thud pulled you from your thoughts. 

You waited, listening, and when you heard it again, you grabbed your sword and slipped out the side door, picking up a spare radio on the way. 

Pausing out front of your house, you searched the darkness around you. Something felt off and it made your skin crawl. Drawing your blade from its scabbard, you began to walk along the sidewalk, checking around every corner you could find. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but your breath remained steady. You were trying to rationalize that it could have been anything. Maybe a stray animal had gotten in and couldn’t get out. However, there was a part of your brain that knew how ridiculous that was. 

You never got this particular feeling unless it was for a good reason, or rather, a bad one. 

Slipping in between the houses, you searched darkened windows, checking in on your fellow Alexandrians, but everything seemed to be okay. That is until you came across a specific house. You could hear dull thuds as if someone was redecorating at the odd hour. 

Sneaking up to the front window, you peered into the dark living room. Suddenly, a pair of white eyes and a gaping jaw appeared at the window, startling you. As the freshly-turned Walker fought to get to you through the pane of glass, you noticed the slash mark on its throat. One that a very particularly large blade would make. 

“Shit,” you swore and pulled your radio as you stumbled back from the house. “Gabriel?” you whispered into the radio as you tried to get your nerve back. 

“What is it?” he asked, answering your call. 

“Walkers, there are Walkers inside the walls,” you said, finally turning away from the house. 

“What?” he asked, confused. 

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, looking around. It was then that you noticed a trail of fresh soil on the ground. If you hadn't been trained by the best tracker out there, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. However, the large boot prints in the soil only confirmed the fear in your mind. That fear turned to rage as your eyes began to scan for your target. 

For Beta. 

“(Y/N),” Gabriel said. “What is going on?” You went to answer him when you had a realization. 

“Gamma,” you gasped as you took off running, letting the radio crash to the ground as you ignored Gabriel’s worried tone that crackled over the line. You pushed your legs harder to get to Michonne’s house as quickly as possible. 

Throwing yourself down the cement steps, you burst into the jail that had its door broken down. When you beheld what was in front of you, however, you nearly crumbled to the ground. Instead of Gamma, you found Laura on the floor with blood across her face. 

Sliding to her side, you grabbed for her face and neck, checking for a pulse. “Laura? Laura, wake up,” you begged. Her eyes opened weekly as she saw your face. 

“(Y/N)?” she asked. 

“I’m here,” you said, trying to wipe the blood from her face. Her blonde hair was soaked in her own blood as she struggled to stay awake. “It’s going to be okay,” you promised her. As you pulled back your hand, however, they were drenched in red. 

“Beta,” she choked out as blood dripped from her lips. “Run,” she said, gripping at your shirt with weak fingers. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said to her as she kept staring into your eyes. “You’re not alone,” you whispered. Gripping her hands tight, you felt her trying to return the favor, but she was too weak. “Where is Gamma?” you asked her. 

“Got her out,” Laura said. “Safe… I… Think…” she said just as a tear fell from her eye. “I, I can’t,” she struggled. 

“Shh, don’t talk,” you said, trying to soothe her, but you didn’t have any more words of comfort to offer her. How could you tell her everything was going to be alright when he had done this? 

“Eugene,” Laura sputtered, choking a bit. “Tell him, thank...you.” 

“I will,” you promised as she reached for your face once more before her hand fell to her side and Laura drew her final breath. “No, no, no,” you cried as her pulse dwindled and then stopped altogether. “No!” you yelled, clutching her body to yours. It was as if the world stopped spinning. You knew that there wasn’t a guaranteed amount of time, you knew that and you had to finish it before she came back. There was a universal agreement across all the communities, nobody turned.

Pulling the knife from her belt, you quickly slipped it into the base of her skull, silencing her soul. As you pulled the blade, you fell into her again, hugging her close to you. Your tears mixed in with the dirt and blood on her skin as you clung to her, not ready to let go.

“I’m sorry,” you cried into her neck, holding onto her with dear life. “I’m so sorry.” As sorrow filled you, the anger began to boil over, nearly drowning you. Beta had done this. He had taken yet another person from you and probably enjoyed it too. Laura had been given a second chance after the war and he had stolen her life as if it meant nothing. 

Gently placing her down onto the floor of the jail, you shut her eyes with your steady hand. Taking a deep breath, you got to your feet and gripped your sword tight. Looking down at Laura again, you felt your heart breaking, but you ignored the pain and channeled it into fury. 

A loud crash came from above followed by a loud grunt. Turning from the body of your dead friend, you ran from the cell just to see Beta run from Michonne’s home, his knives in both his hands.

His large form was even more terrifying than you remembered. Daryl’s voice was in your head as you were reminded of what happened when Beta had fought him, but you weren’t Daryl and now, this was even more personal. 

As Beta turned his focus to Rosita’s home, you attacked. Drawing a smaller knife from your boot, you reeled your arm back and threw with all your strength. The knife embedded itself into Beta’s shoulder, making him stumble from surprise. You ran at him with all the speed you had left in you. 

Beta turned just as you raised your sword, aiming for his head. Beta ducked, parrying your blade with both of his. He knocked you back, but you returned with a strike aimed at his torso. Beta spun around, knocking you off balance, but you never stopped. 

Trading blows back and forth, you finally had another opening and aimed for his throat. Beta blocked once again, leaning in close as your blades scraped against one another. Looking into his eyes, you didn’t show an ounce of fear, but recognition lit up in his eyes as he groaned against the pain in his shoulder. 

“You,” he spat, his lips pulling back in a sneer. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Me.” Beta roared in anger as he kicked at your stomach, sending you to the ground. Rolling to your feet, you slashed at his leg, cutting into the back of his thigh. Beta stumbled again but remained on his feet. “Did you get my message?” you asked, lowering yourself into a crouch. 

He ran at you again, swinging his blades over your head. Ducking just in time, you avoided decapitation. “What did you do with Gamma?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” Beta said and then braced himself. “Yet.”

As Beta stalked towards you, all you could think about was Jesus and Tara and Laura and everyone else they had taken from you.

Red encompassed your mind as Beta aimed for your heart. With a quick turn, you pivoted on your right foot, ducked under his arms, and brought your sword up along his back. Your blade bit into his flesh as the leather tore. 

Beta yelled out in both pain and alarm as you drew your sword back. He whipped around, landing a blow to your head. You fell to the ground as stars danced in your vision. Beta kicked away your blade as it fell from your hand. Reaching down, he lifted you from the ground and got in your face.

“You are not worth death,” he spat in your face before throwing you against the curb. Your head hit hard and just before the darkness overwhelmed you, you swore you saw Beta smiling.

-------

Negan had no idea what Alpha was up to.

There were cryptic whispers around camp that led him to believe that Alpha had attacked Carol and the others, but he wasn’t sure of anything.

Then there was the Beta problem. Negan had no idea where the human Rottweiler had gone. 

Alpha was across from him, staring into the fire and she looked to be waiting for something. Negan wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but whenever she was that calm, it was never good. Just as he was about to speak up and ask her what was going on, her attention snapped to the shadows as Beta finally reappeared.

Negan watched as the second-in-command arrived and he looked rough. Even in the dark, Negan could see that Beta was injured. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think the Terminator douchebag could get injured, let alone bad enough to warrant a limp.

“Beta,” Alpha greeted as she didn’t move from her spot. Beta stopped before her, kneeling on the leg that seemed to be the less injured one.

“Gamma has betrayed us,” Beta reported. He then noticed that Negan was there, but Alpha kept her attention on her second, not caring about who was listening. 

“What happened?” Alpha asked, looking at the fresh blood. 

“She was hiding,” Beta said. “I couldn’t find her. These people are protecting her.” Negan had to hand it to Aaron, the man sure did know how to make friends. Negan continued to listen. 

“And the blood?” Alpha asked tilting her head to examine the wounds he had sustained. Her fingers threaded through the torn jacket and Negan could see the blood on her hands as she pulled it back. “Yours?” she asked, confused. 

“Ambushed,” Beta responded. 

“The archer is with Carol,” Alpha said. “Who else could have done this?” she asked. Clearly Alpha thought that Daryl was the only worthy opponent to go up against Beta, Negan thought. However, she had never seen Rosita when she went all “Mama Bear” and Negan hoped that he himself would never be on the other end of one of Espinosa's fists.

“Broadsword,” Beta bit out, the rage echoing out of him like steam on a train. At that one word, Negan’s blood ran cold. He tucked his hands under his legs before either of them could see the small tremor that was sneaking up on him. Negan fought to keep himself from swearing out loud as he put the pieces together. 

You had attacked Beta and you had nearly defeated him. 

“Are they alive?” Alpha asked casually. 

“For now,” Beta said. “I have plans for them. That one, dies by my hand.” Alpha nodded to him and then dismissed him to get his injured taken care of.

“What do you know about this sword-wielder?” Alpha asked him. Negan met her eyes and then relaxed further into the ground, shrugging one of his shoulders. With a lazy look on his face he vaguely waved a hand. 

Beta huffed and disappeared back into the camp. Negan watched after him, trying to keep it together. He knew that you had placed your sights on Beta, but now the man was turning his on you and that terrified Negan. 

“Absolutely nothing.”

-------

When you woke up, you were in a somewhat familiar room. 

An ache in the back of your head made you wince as you tried to sit up.

“I would take it easy if I were you.” Blinking, you turned towards the soft voice to see Enid standing over you. It was then that you realized you were in the medical trailer at Hilltop. “Here,” she said, reaching for your arm. Enid helped you sit up, placing a few pillows behind your back. 

“What happened?” you asked, trying to get your mind to stop racing.

“Beta knocked you out pretty hard,” she said with a sigh. “You hit your head and you’ve been out for almost two days.”

“Two days?” you asked.

“Siddiq brought you here to keep you off Beta’s radar,” she explained.

“That won’t last long,” you said with another wince as you rubbed at your temples.

Everything from that night was coming back in waves and it was making you feel a bit nauseous. Emotions swelled in your chest as you remembered the rage you felt when attacking Beta and the sorrow and dread you felt as Laura died in your arms.

Beta had done all of that just to find Gamma. A stranger had brought death back to Alexandria and you now had lost someone who truly understood you.

“Laura’s dead,” you whispered.

“I know,” Enid said, reaching for your hand. You squeezed hers back as you sat in silence.

“Where is she?” you asked. “Where is Gamma?” 

“Safe,” a new voice said as Michonne approached you. She was looking at you with concern but also relief. 

“Good,” you said, nodding. If Gamma had been taken or killed, all those lives lost the night Beta stalked Alexandria would have been for nothing. “I’m glad you’re here,” you said to Michonne. 

“We’re all here,” Judith’s voice piped up as she appeared behind her mother. 

“Hey, you,” you said, reaching out a hand to her. Judith walked forward and took your hand in hers. “I almost got him, kid. I was pretty damn close,” you promised her. Judith nodded as Michonne placed her hands on her shoulders.

“There’s something else, (Y/N),” Michonne said. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Daryl’s missing.” You fell back into your pillows at the news and you fought the urge to scream. You didn’t know how much more of this you could handle. It was starting to look as if Alpha may win and that made you want to beat her that much more.

--------

Holding a mask made from Walker skin was the last thing Negan expected to receive from Alpha.

"You've earned it," Alpha said as she stood next to him. Standing next to her, he could see the blood that streaked her clothing. Something had happened when she went off on her own hours before. Negan figured she had been in a fight, but he couldn’t be sure who she had gone up against. 

He did know that it wasn’t you. Beta was someone who would be a challenge for you, but Negan had a feeling that if you got Alpha one on one, she wouldn’t be standing next to him right now. No, this was someone else. Trying not to think about any of it, he returned to what was in his hands. 

"Why?" Negan asked, not liking the way the leathery skin felt against his calloused hands.

"You were right about Gamma," Alpha said. She then stepped forward and ran her hand down his arm. "She was the spy. You proved yourself to me."

"All I did was share my opinion," Negan pointed out as he met her eyes. Alpha was examining him and Negan knew what she wanted. His hand slipped into his pocket to rub along the marble, keeping his connection to you.

"You showed me that you want this. You are a crass man, but a smart one. The mask proves my loyalty to you as your words proved it to me."

"Well alright then," Negan said with a small smile. With a shake of his head, Negan pulled on the mask and secured it behind his head.

He could appreciate the irony, the act of putting on a mask when he was already wearing one. As soon as it was in place, Alpha reached up and ran her hands over his new face.

"Perfect," she whispered. Negan stared down, afraid of what he may have to do in order to keep his cover. He had done a lot of shitty things in his life, but sleeping with the enemy was not something he was eager to do, not when he still yearned for you and your touch.

The way that you lay your hands on his skin was as if you were searching for solidity kept him sane. He was your rock, grounding you into this world just as you were his. Without you, Negan wouldn't want to survive and he just hoped you hadn't lost that love you held for him because he sure hadn't. 

“Since we are trading trade secrets and all,” Negan began, causing Alpha to stop looming over him. “I had another idea.” 

“Go on,” she said.

“I know you are all about destroying everyone and proving you’re the alpha female. Though it’s not like you need to, you are the damn Alpha.”

“Your point?” she pressed.  

“How about we get them to join us?” Negan offered. “You were right when you said that these places with their walls and doors don’t last very long. I’ve seen many kingdoms fall since this whole shit show started and trust me, it’s only a matter of time. However, we get them to see how much better the way we live is…” Negan splayed his hands. “I’m just saying it would be something to think about.” 

Alpha was silent for a moment, thinking over his words. Negan was just hoping that she didn’t see the true intentions behind this sudden epiphany. The truth was, after Beta had admitted that you had done some serious damage, Negan was not eager for Alpha to exterminate you and your family. 

“What did you have in mind?” Alpha asked finally. Adjusting the mask on his face, Negan grinned at her. 

“I have some ideas.” Alpha raised her eyebrow at that but gestured for him to keep talking. “First, we’re gonna need a big ass tree.”

-------

Enid had finally cleared you and you were eager to get back on your feet. 

Walking out into the bright sunshine, Hilltop was bustling around you. You felt as if you had the worst hangover in history, but you pushed on. Dianne was on watch, Alden was over at his blacksmithing station, and you could see Ezekiel over at Barrington speaking to Kelly who looked distraught. 

Aaron spotted you then and jogged over. “Hey, you’re okay,” he said, grabbing you into a hug. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, pushing him back. “What happened while I was out?” you asked, gesturing to Kelly. Aaron sighed, running his hand through his curls. 

“Alpha, she trapped us in this cave full of Walkers. Her entire horde was down there,” he said. “We managed to find the exit, but…”

“But what?” you pressed.

“Carol tried to take out the horde with some old dynamite,” he said. “The explosion caused part of the cave to collapse.” The look on Aaron’s face told you enough. 

“Who?”

“Magna and Connie are trapped down there and we don’t know if they’re even alive,” he said. You hadn’t known Magna that well, but you liked her enough. However, Connie had become someone you turned to at times and you knew how much Daryl cared about her. Not to mention her sister who was her everything. This was too much after just losing Laura and now two more may be down.

“Are you okay?” you asked him. 

“Not really,” he admitted. You took him back into your arms, hugging him tightly. 

“Me neither,” you admitted, sinking into the embrace. 

“Open the gates!” you heard Dianne yell from her spot up top. You and Aaron split apart then and with a look, you both took off towards the main gate. 

You let out a breath of relief as you saw who was walking into Hilltop. Daryl and Lydia leaned on each other as the gates shut behind him. Daryl seemed dead on his feet as Lydia struggled with both of their weapons. You ran forward and grabbed the crossbow from her as Aaron took hold of Daryl. 

“Daryl fought her,” Lydia said as she breathed heavily. Daryl’s leg was bleeding, and he looked as if he had been run over by the horse and the carriage. Michonne came running behind you, helping Lydia stay on her feet. 

“You’re a moron,” you said to Daryl, grabbing at his face. “But I love you.” Daryl snorted and then you were taking his other arm and helping him to Enid. Lydia followed close by as Michonne carried her staff for her. “I’m sorry, Lydia,” you said to her. “I shouldn’t have asked you to go looking.”

“It was my decision,” Lydia defended. “I didn’t find him, but we have a new problem.” You, Aaron, Michonne, and Daryl all looked at her then. 

“What is it?” Michonne asked. Lydia grimaced. 

“My mother’s coming.”

TAGS: @lucillethings​ @cameronsails​ @stark-dreams​ @amaroho​ @thanossexual​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @boom-bunny​ @delusionalteenagewhispers​ @scootankle​ @ritajammer21​ @writteriguess​ @tea-atfive​ @jennydehavilland​ @waspyyy​ @yespleasejayhalstead​ @hoemadegrace​ @writingdeadangel​ @huffledor-able541​ @pulplorrd​ @felicisimor​ 

#the walking dead #walkerwords #twd imagines #the walking dead imagines #twd #negan imagine #reader insert #savior sessions #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Birashagammi?!

Part 1 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Who know how many more parts are going to follow...  Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings​ ‘Falling Stars’

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count:  2,158

Warning(s):  Accidental stabbing, a few swear words

Translation(s): Birashagammi:  Excuse me

~~~~

"Hey, Lass, whatcha doing?"  Bofur's loud call woke me from my thoughts as I tossed my dagger high up into the air and then caught it as it obeyed the call of gravity and fell.  Glancing his way, I totally forgot about the dagger currently slashing through the air; silver blade gleaming in the bright sunlight.

"Nothi--OUCH!"  I clenched my fists as pain ripped through my right foot.  The dagger had fallen back to earth, and had stuck itself in my leather boot, the razor-sharp tip barely digging into the top of my foot.

Quickly, Bofur and Oin swept to my side, preparing to care for my accidental injury.  I swore, I had the worst luck in the world, to somehow hurt myself on accident.

"What's going on?"  A deep voice broke the silence that followed after my exclamation of pain, and I looked up from my throbbing foot to see Thorin striding quickly into the temporary camp we had set up, Dwalin in tow.

Oh Eru, not now...  

Catching sight of me sitting with Bofur and Oin kneeling by my side, he quickened his already rushed pace, jogging towards me and elbowing his way past the two Dwarrows.  Dropping onto one knee, he took a good look at the dagger impaling my boot.  Lifting his head, sapphire blue eyes locked with mine.  His usual frown graced his darkly bearded face as he shook his head disapprovingly.  

"You seem to be the clumsiest Dwarrowdame in the world, woman."  He grumbled, and I held back a sigh of exasperation.  The moment I had joined this company, Thorin seemed to have a grudge against me.  I could never do anything right in his eyes; I was always too slow, too clumsy, too stupid, or too loud.  Never had I received a bit of praise from him--not even a smile or laugh!

And that was all just his thoughts now.  Eru knew what he would say if he knew how I had been brought up...  That information just might get me kicked out of the Company, no questions asked.

"I know that full well, Master Thorin."  I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.  "Now would you mind letting me get treated for my injury?"  

The stubborn, frustrating, down right idiotic Dwarrow let out a huff, grabbing the dagger as if to tug it out of my boot.  But he paused, raising an eyebrow at me.  "It does not go deep, does it?"  He questioned, and I shook my head, holding back a wince as he suddenly yanked the dagger out of the tough leather and tossed it aside.

With that, I expected him to be off, going back to whatever important duty held his attention and leaving me to be treated by Oin.  But to my utter shock and surprise, he proceeded to gently tug off my boot, peering down at the small stab wound the dangerously sharp point of my blade had created.

"Hand me the water and bandages," he ordered gruffly, and Oin passed him a flask and roll of snowy bandages.  

Thorin trickled the water over my foot, cleaning it of the blood that had stained my skin.  Then he wrapped up my foot with the bandages.  I stared at his rough, calloused hands as they roughly, but expertly bound my wound.  It was fascinating how his hands were so warm and gentle when binding a wound, but could be so deadly when handling a sword.

Clearing his throat, Thorin stood up quickly and nodded to me.  "Do try to be more careful, Miss Estel.  I don't want any delays in our journey."  He said in a deep rumble, and I nodded solemnly, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling of the butterflies rising in my stomach at the gruff, yet melodic tones of his voice.

"Of course, Master Thorin."  

With that, he turned around and strode off, back to wherever he had come from in the first place.  I looked over at Bofur with a confused expression on my face.  I only grew more puzzled as I took in his sly grin.

"What?"  I asked, beginning to wonder what he knew that I didn't.  "What's so funny?"  

Bofur shrugged, avoiding my question.  "Nothing, Lass.  But how 'bout you do something in return for Thorin?"  He suggested, winking at me.

The action only served to confuse me more.  What could I do to thank the Dwarrow who I was certain didn't even want me around in the first place?

Raising my gaze from my bandaged foot, I scanned the clearing we were camped in, looking for the familiar burly figure I most certainly didn't admire so often from afar.

Finding him lingering at the other side of the clearing, his broad back to me as he talked quietly with Dwalin and Balin, I puzzled over what could be deemed as an appropriate 'thank you' gesture.  My first thought was a lovely bouquet of the flowers growing wild in the forest, but then I remembered who I was currently with.

Nope.  Elves might appreciate that, but Dwarves certainly wouldn't.  Perhaps some sort of clothing item?  No, I didn't have anything for Thorin, nor would I be able to make something.  

Watching Dwalin fiddle with his dagger, a sudden idea struck me.  Thorin had broken his own dagger only a few nights ago when he was trying to start a fire and the supposed 'flint' he had been using turned out to be a bit harder than his blade.  Since then he had been complaining bitterly about the loss of it.

Looking over at my own dagger; one of a pair I had received from my foster mother before I set out with Gandalf to go to the Shire, I made up my mind.

Tugging my boot back on, I stood up, snagging the dagger and slipping it back into its sheath.  It would be better for him to have the other, which was a bit cleaner than its mate at the moment.

Strolling past the other members of our strange company, I hesitantly approached the quiet trio.  Dwalin noticed my approach first and gave Thorin a nudge, making him turn and look at me.  

The blood suddenly drained from his face, and he whirled to look at Dwalin, who was smirking at him.  The two seemed to have a silent argument for a moment as I grew nearer.

"Um, Master Thorin?"  I spoke up hesitantly, "I'm sorry to interrupt--"  

Dwalin interrupted, the smirk still very much present on his face as he looked at me.  "You're not interrupting anything, Miss Estel.  If you'll excuse us," he nodded to me and headed off with his brother, Balin.

That left me alone with a very nervous looking Thorin.  Was my presence really that bad?  The small, creeping tendrils of self-doubt began to cloud my thoughts, and I wondered if I was even doing the right thing here.  "I have something for you...  A-A thank you for bandaging my foot."  I tried, extending the dagger I had tightly clutched within my fist.

Thorin looked down at the dagger with an unreadable expression.  Then his head snapped back up to look into my eyes, his steely blue orbs scanning my face.  He swallowed hard and extended a hand that seemed to be shaking.  But I passed it off as my own nervousness; I sure felt like my legs were about to give out.  Thorin was much too stressful to deal with.

Taking the dagger from me, Thorin looked down at it, tracing the blade carefully.  His dark brown locks fell into his eyes, hiding his expression from me.  Then he slowly raised his head, seeming to look at me in a new light.  "Thank you, Miss Estel..."  He murmured in a soft voice, and I smiled hesitantly.

"You're welcome, um, now I've got to, uh, do stuff."  I fumbled out, turning around swiftly and trying not to run back to the rest of the company.  It would not do to seem too eager to get away from him.

Settling beside Balin by the fire, I stared into the dancing orange flames contemplatively.  "It is okay to give someone a dagger as a gift, right?"  I asked Balin quietly, and he slowly turned to look at me, eyebrows raised.

"Beg your pardon, Miss?"  He said in his soft voice, and I let out a long sigh, hugging my knees up close to my chest.

"Is it okay to give someone a dagger as a gift right?  I mean, in special circumstances, you know?"  I repeated, looking over at Balin, trying to settle the doubts in my mind.  

"Who did you gift the dagger to?"  He asked, orienting his body towards me as he clearly became more interested in my question.  

"Thorin.  He didn't seem very pleased with it though..."  I mumbled, glancing over at Thorin, who was leaning back against a tree, twisting my dagger in his hands as he stared down at it with  a furrowed brow.

Balin followed my gaze, and a soft laugh burst from him as he smiled.  "It's quite alright, Miss Estel.  Quite alright.  Just give Thorin some time.  I daresay you've surprised him a bit."  He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned to Bombur.  

I exhaled, staring deep into the fire and losing myself in my thoughts.

Long ago it seemed, when I had last seen my foster mother.  Like eons had passed since I had stepped out of Lothlorien and into the wild landscapes with the grey wizard by my side.  Long ago when I had first set eyes on the tall, bearded Dwarrow with a deep voice like the thunder rolling through the heavens.  Long ago when I had first felt the hesitant sparks of love within my heart.

Heavy footsteps approached, and I glanced up from the fire, blinking as I caught sight of Thorin's broad figure walking towards me.  Surely not.  No way.

I was going to die.

Well, maybe I was being a bit dramatic, but that's what it felt like in the moment.  The deep, brooding expression on Thorin's face kinda gave me that feeling.  Quickly glancing away, I hoped he was going to walk right by me and go scold his nephews for something.

That was far too much to ask apparently, as he settled himself beside me, taking Balin's vacated spot...  Wait, since when had Balin--and everyone else for that matter--moved to the edge of the clearing?  Was that why Thorin had come over to me?  Was he going to tell me off?

"I must say, you surprised me...  I hadn't expected this to happen so quickly, but that was due to my own hesitance I suppose."  Thorin's deep rumble interrupted my frantic thoughts.  I looked over at him, swallowing hard.  Just what was he talking about?

Thorin was looking straight at me, his gaze strangely gentle.  I bit my lip, trying not to flush underneath that heavy weight I knew as his stare.

"Here.  I know it's a bit unconventional, but it'll have to do for now until I can make you something proper."  He continued, extending a hand to point a short sword at me.  One that looked to be of Elvish make from the designs on the sheath and hilt.  It probably had come from the Troll Hoard we had stumbled across a few days ago.

My gaze flickered from the sword to him and back again.  Did I take it?  Why in Eru's name was he even offering me a ruddy sword in the first place?  Did he think I was really that clumsy and helpless that I needed another weapon?

By the Valar, no.

Fire suddenly filled my veins, and all my shy hesitance vanished.  Bolting to my feet, I looked at Thorin as he quickly followed my lead, watching me with a worried expression.

"Excuse me?!  Are you serious?  I mean, I might look helpless 'cause I'm a woman, but I'm actually pretty damned good with a blade if I do say so myself!  If you doubt that, I can prove it to you anytime you wish, Master Thorin.  As for the blade,"  I shot it a sneer, "thanks but no thanks.  I've got my own."

With that, I tossed my head and strode haughtily away from Thorin.  How dare he insinuate that I was no good with a blade!  My prowess with such was one of my highest valued qualities in my mind!  I had trained with the best back in Lothlorien, and it was rare for one of the Elves there to best me in combat.  

"Miss Estel, wait,"  Thorin called behind me, but I ignored him.  It was time for me to stand up for myself.  No more would I take his snide comments or remarks.  Womanliness be damned, I would show him how much I contributed to this company.  

#Thorin x oc #thorin #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield #a deep misunderstanding #the hobbit #the dwarves #the company #dwarves #gandalf #estel #fluff #angst #misunderstanding #thorin fanfic #thorin angst #fanfic #fanfiction

[jengajives]

So Fingolfin has always been one of my absolute favorites and I’ve just been thinking about how horrible he must have felt during the Bragollach to drive him to do what he did

The sky was a dull orange haze, the air a thick and poisonous fume that made the Noldor cough and the Edain retch. If a force were to march on them now, even the sharp eyes of the Eldar would not be able to mark their approach until it was too late. The smoke turned everything beyond a few yards to a grey smudge.

Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor, sat on a tumbled stone with his head in his hands.

Every once in a while the ground itself would heave. Every once in a while, screams broke the guarded silence and he saw the glow of fresh flame somewhere not-so-distant in the constant gloom.

His people were dying.

“Dôlhel,” he said weakly, as the lieutenant passed him by carrying an armful of soiled bandages. “Has there been any word from the south?” A horrible emptiness in his throat rose, difficult to speak around. “Is my son still alive?”

The assault had fallen heavier down near Mithrim, and of course Fingon had insisted on being there, when Fingolfin should have gone himself.

Foolish. Cowardly.

He should be there where the strike at his land came hardest. He should be there.

“The orcs haven’t breached the mountains.” Dôlhel pushed up the visor of her helmet, so he could more clearly see her one dark eye watching attentively. “I would guess that Lord Fingon still stands.”

He let out a breath, hoping that somehow it would help the mounting dread escape him, but the fear remained there, lodged in the back of his throat.

Dôlhel seemed to sense that he’d be asking for more news, so she put aside her bundle and lifted the silver helmet from her head, tucking it beneath her arm. Her hair hung in messy braids that would have to be redone if she wanted to keep it out of her eye.

Fingolfin tried to ignore the throbbing urgency that beat against his ribs. Reflexively, he gripped the hilt of his sword, resting next to him on the rubble.

“Turgon and Aredhel?”

Dôlhel simply shrugged. “No sign, Your Majesty.”

He had gotten very good at pretending the two of them were safe. Nowadays it felt more likely that the Enemy had somehow killed or taken them and all their people overnight, without a single trace. But Fingolfin tried not to think that.

If they weren’t fighting, he had to pray they were safe.

Far off, he heard a cry and a clang of steel. The sounds of frenzied battle lasted a few minutes this time, before all fell silent again. After a few tense moments, an Elf-horn blew. They had won the skirmish.

Fingolfin remembered to breathe again.

“Your Majesty,” Dôlhel said slowly. “You should be resting.”

“I am resting.” He had fought without break for four days. Now he had the chance to sit and breathe, when too many others were not so lucky. This was enough. “Finarfin’s sons. Where are they?”

“The last scouts to return saw Finrod and his host in the Pass, with Orodreth, but they don’t the strength to hold it. No one has heard from Angrod and Aegnor. Dorthonion is overrun. We... We don’t think they survived.”

A piercing cold shot through Fingolfin’s head. Cold as the Helcaraxë’s horrid bite, and a groan tore through his ragged thoughts, though he wasn’t sure if it actually escaped his lips.

He had promised his brother he would keep them safe. That he would take Finarfin’s children as his own, and see them protected.

Now two were dead, and the other brothers more than likely to follow.

And he could do nothing to help with the orcs pressing him to the mountains, pinning him there as they destroyed his family one piece at a time.

When the orcs broke through the Pass of Sirion, they would overrun the Havens and Nargothrond, and they would turn back north to crush Hithlum from two sides, and Fingolfin would die holed up in his valley like a cornered rat, and all of this would be for nothing.

His head swam. Again, he gripped his sword, trying to convince himself that he still had strength to hold it.

“And Maedhros.” The smoke curled gleefully in his lungs. “Has the east fallen?”

Dôlhel shifted uncomfortably.

“No one has returned with tidings from the east, Your Highness. Our messengers were taken by a company of orcs and most were destroyed. The others had to turn back. No one can get through.”

The urgency in his chest changed, and his entire body shook with a sob he couldn’t smother.

“He’s dead, then.”

Dôlhel paused, obviously unsure how to respond. Eventually she offered a shaky, “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

If Maedhros had fallen, that meant his brothers were dead, too. The east would be overrun and taken, and then not even Melian would be able to withstand the Enemy.

Middle-Earth would fall and Fingolfin would be the last of all his kin to die, if Morgoth even granted him that mercy.

His thoughts, for a moment, fled the lands that held nothing but sorrow, and flew back across the Grinding Ice and down the coast of Aman until he settled back home in Tirion, and saw his mother, and Finarfin, and the brilliance of sunlight glinting off the jewels of the sea. And he imagined his father was there, and Fëanor, and all his children and nieces and nephews; he saw things as they were supposed to be and it tore his heart to shreds.

He came here to avenge Finwë, only to join him in death without justice. He came for love of Fëanor his brother, who was dead. And he left so much behind, just to lose everything he had hoped to save.

His hands were remarkably steady when he reached down and put on his helmet.

He would not cower here and let Morgoth stamp out his family without repercussion. They would be avenged- all of them. Finwë and Fëanor, Turgon, Aredhel, Finrod, Orodreth, Aegnor and Angrod, Maedhros, Maglor, and all the Men who had died because they believed the Noldor would win this fight. Everyone who had died for a lie.

Fingolfin rose to his feet. The sword so familiar in his hand.

“Get my horse.”

#jenga makes junk #fic #fingolfin #dagor bragollach #fingon #finrod #maedhros #oc #this man got so sad he decided to cut off satan’s foot #don’t try to tell me the incredibly powerful elf man did not spiral

[free-pancakes]

A Fire in the Shadows

LeviHan - Avatar the Last Airbender AU

Characters: Levi, Hange, Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, Kenny, Zeke

Summary: Levi, the nephew of a fire nation captain, stumbles upon a ragtag group of 5 known as the Scouts, formidably known for foiling the plans of local fire nation control, living in the forests a few miles north of Ba Sing Se. Chapter 1: The Scouts

(crossposted to ao3)

Hey so possibly kinda niche, but I decided to try writing a LeviHan story in an ATLA AU! I don’t think you’d necessarily have to have watched ATLA to understand whats going on. Lmk your thoughts if you read! I surprisingly had a lot of fun writing this

CHAPTER 1: THE SCOUTS

Lightning flashed, illuminating a silhouette of tall, looming trees lying just ahead. Levi winced in pain. The burns on his leg were fairing worse than he thought—he had to find refuge from the rain, fast. He limped as quick as he could towards the forest.

He made his way deep into the cover of trees, and sat down on the forest floor. He carefully stretched his leg forward, out from the beneath the branches above him, letting the rain wash over his wounds. Gritting his teeth, he stifled a yell. His vision began to darken at the edges, and he quickly grasped for the oil lamp and blanket from his backpack before he’d pass out from the pain. The last thing he needed was to freeze to death. He pointed his hand towards the lamp, and released a small burst of fire from his fingertips. Soon after, his vision went black.

———

Levi woke up suddenly, his eyes in a daze, disoriented. He sat up and squinted at the warm sunlight that shined through the foliage above him. He noticed a cool, soothing sensation on his leg, and looked down. There were bandages wrapped around his burns, and the faint smell of some kind of ointment reached his nose. Levi lowered his head into his hands, desperately trying to recall the events of the night before.

He couldn’t erase the images from his mind—a village ablaze, and a defeated group of earthbenders on the ground, fear etched deeply into their expressions. He stood, shaking and staring at his hands, the shouts of his uncle behind him, telling him to finish them off already. Levi closed his eyes, knowing he had to make a decision here, one he didn’t want to regret. He looked forward and made eye contact with the group of benders, and they understood, scrambling to get up and run while Levi bought them time. Levi spun around to face his uncle, and the rest of his memories melted into a blur of flames, searing pain in his leg, and the faint sound of General Zeke and his other comrades shouting in the distance as he escaped the scene.

There was no turning back now, but he wasn’t sure what his end goal was. If anything, he knew he had to avoid running into his uncle Kenny again, or more importantly, General Zeke, but he was fairly sure he travelled far enough to be safe for now. He’d surely be jailed for his betrayal, as the targets he spared were quite valuable, controlling rebellion among the northern earth kingdom villages and cities. And if General Zeke found out this wasn’t the first time he spared the lives of those targeted by his fire nation regiment, he’d definitely suffer a fate worse than imprisonment.

Levi’s mind swirled with endless thoughts, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. First thing’s first: He had to figure out where he was exactly and more importantly, who found him and bandaged his wounds while he was out.

Suddenly, the sound of crunching leaves and branches echoed from the left, jolting Levi back to reality. He panicked, lifted his head from his hands. He turned towards the noise and found himself locking eyes with a bespectacled girl squatting next to him, her face only 3 inches away from his. He let out a startled yelp.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed.

Levi’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what to do. Who was this girl and how did she find him? More importantly did she see him firebending into the lamp last night?

No, she couldn’t have.

There was no way someone from around this area would tend to the wounds of a firebender. Luckily, he played an undercover role in last night’s mission, so he was in civilian clothes instead of his uniform.

“You scared me a bit—you’ve been out for a whole day. I created my own special remedy for burns and put that on your leg, so I hope that’s okay with you!” He tried standing up, but she gently pushed his shoulder to lay him back down. “You should probably get some rest before I go help you find your parents!”

“What?” Levi croaked.

“Your parents! I’m sure they’re worried sick.” she exclaimed.

“I’m NINETEEN.”

The girl threw her head back and burst out in laughter. Levi felt a vein pop in his forehead. “Oi, what the hell’s so funny, four-eyes?” She fell backwards giggling, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I thought you were the same age as my little brother, Moblit.”

“And how old is he?”

“Fourteen!” She burst out in laughter again, and Levi was sure some artery burst in his brain. He knew he was small for his age, but this was ridiculous. He knew this girl for a total of five minutes and he had never been so annoyed in his life.

After she finally calmed down, she crawled up towards Levi and sat back down next to him. “So, I’ve wanted to ask you— why are you here in the forest? And how did you get those burns? They were pretty severe, to be honest. Are they from fighting or escaping from fire nation soldiers? You must be pretty strong if you survived! Oh and where did you get this oil lamp, it’s pretty nice! And—“

“Enough!” Levi couldn’t think straight as the girl kept babbling on. “You’re not even giving me time to think before asking another question!” Levi replied.

“Well ~sorry~, I thought that the person who just saved your sorry ass deserved having some of her questions answered,” she pouted, looking deep into his eyes.

Levi rolled his eyes. “Fine, I… ran away from home.”

“Oooh a bad boy, huh?" she teased. "Where’s home?”

Levi hesitated so he could choose his words carefully. He had spent time undercover in Ba Sing Se, so he could probably get away with that cover-up. “Ba Sing Se,” he lied.

“Oh a city boy too! Oh you’ll HAVE to take me there some time! I could buy more supplies and ingredients for medications that I make. And I hear the tea shops in there are quite lovely! And better materials to build traps!” Her eyes sparkled with immense excitement and curiosity. Levi was annoyed at her constant talking, yet oddly enough, he was mesmerized by the endless energy in her voice. Who was this girl?

“Well I’ll spare you—I won’t pry into your life anymore… for now.” She smiled brightly at him. “You should join my friends and me!”

She looked upwards in thought, her right hand lightly gripping her chin. “Judging upon the fact you dragged yourself out here managing to survive your injuries and last night’s freezing temperatures, you definitely have the heart of a fighter.”

She looked down and carefully adjusted the bandages on his leg. “And with these burns wounds, my guess is that you’re not a fan of the atrocities that the fire nation soldiers have launched upon these parts either. So! I think you could be a great asset to our team!” She held out her hand excitedly towards Levi, and said, “My name’s Hange. What’s yours?”

Before Levi could respond, the sound of rope thumping against tree bark and rustling of leaves echoed from above. He heard faint sounds of whispering, and saw four shadows approaching through the foliage. A small boy suddenly popped out from the bushes.

“Hange! There you are!” The boy ran and clung onto Hange’s arm, tears welling up in his eyes. “We were so worried about you, you didn’t come back after the storm last night and—“ He immediately stopped talking and looked towards Levi, and his eyes diverted down towards his bandaged leg. Hange reached her hand towards the boy’s head and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t worry, Moblit, I’m alright. Sorry for worrying you. I ran into this shorty here and I couldn’t just leave his pathetic self out here to die of hypothermia!”

A tall, older boy with blonde hair appeared from the behind the trees, holding 2 hooked swords. Then, a much taller boy with bangs covering his eyes, and a girl with short blonde hair walked forward quietly, both holding a bow and satchel of arrows, carefully approaching Levi.

“Hi everyone! Look, I think I just found us a new friend to join our team!” Hange said excitedly. The three older teens approached Levi, glaring with distrust in their eyes. They loomed over Levi, Hange, and Moblit.

Levi mustered the courage to speak with confidence, unwilling to show any hint of fear in his voice. “Who are all of you?” Levi asked.

The blonde-haired boy walked closer, his fierce blue eyes meeting Levi’s gaze.

“Who is this, Hange?”

“A grumpy old shorty I found out here last night! Don’t worry Erwin, he has a good heart. I can just tell!” She looked back towards Levi and smiled warmly at him. He felt a knot form in his chest after hearing her words--if she knew what crimes he's committed for the sake of the fire nation, she wouldn't be saying such things. Despite Levi’s growing fear and sadness in the current situation, her smile put him at ease.

“And I was just about to ask him his name!” She exclaimed, turning to smile at Levi.

In contrast to Hange’s warm expression, Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, and Moblit shot a cool glare at Levi. He scowled and glared back at them, and then looked away from their darting gaze.

“Levi.”

“Levi?” Erwin asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, Levi. Just… Levi.”

“Hm. Well I’m Erwin. Just… Erwin.” Erwin crossed his arms, not breaking eye contact.

“Alright Levi. From the looks of it, you’ll be out of commission for at least 2 weeks with those injuries, but under Hange’s care, you’ll probably be all healed within the next week. Then we’ll decide what we’ll do with you.” Levi stared back towards Erwin, with a glare matching his intensity.

With a subtle, threatening tone in his voice, Erwin added, “And to answer your question, the 5 of us together are known as the Scouts.

”Levi’s eyes widened for a split second, and then he reverted back to his resting scowl, trying to cover up any inkling of fear he might have just shown. Levi knew exactly who the Scouts were, just like the Freedom Fighters out on the other side of Ba Sing Se, but from the rumors he heard, a lot more formidable of a group. They had successfully thwarted fire nation plans in several villages up here in the northern portion of the Earth Kingdom, but have been impossible to pin down, so running into them, let alone speaking with them… was quite a rare feat. But something was even more surprising than this. From the word that spread, the Scouts sounded much older, and he was shocked to find that these guys were just a group of non-bender teens.

Even worse, from the looks of it, none of them trusted him. With the exception of Hange. He could not believe that his fate rested in the hands of a four-eyed weirdo.

With his hand in his pocket, he slid his index finger, tracing the edges of the fire nation emblem on a good luck charm his mother gave him many years ago. However, luck was not on Levi’s side today—This was the probably the most dangerous group of people a fire nation soldier like him could have ever run into.

#levihan #levihan fanfic #levihan fanfiction #atla #i just really wanted to write about levi being a firebender #also i loved the freedom fighters so much and imagining the vets as them is just really fun #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XXXI

Warnings: dark elements, dub/noncon (sexy sex sex)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader tries to cope.

Note: This is late because I had a terrible migraine but I managed to do this! So yeah :) Hope you enjoy.<3

Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

It was your second to last day in Brook’s End. The chapel flickered in eerie candlelight as you knelt among the empty pews. It was your little secret; a trick of your own. You’d found that the king, nor anyone else, questioned your piety. None wondered after your private prayers or sought to disturb you. When you discovered that this castle had an altar of its own, you declared it a momentary refuge.

You were due to return to your husband shortly. You’d sent word that you would be in the private See for a time. You would savour those few moments of solitary; of serenity. You had forgotten the subtlety, the simplicity, of being alone. Your prayers were recited quickly but you remained on your knees.

You closed your eyes and thought. You would set out soon for Drissot, your sister’s marital home. Your heart danced at the prospect and you smiled against your folded hands. And you would meet your nephew; Edwin. Her last letter shared your excitement. She wrote of how lonely the manse had grown; of her anticipation for your arrival; her little japes about your new status. She’d even signed it “your loyal subject”. The paper was nestled in your pocket; a comfort to you throughout the long days.

You were jolted from your fantasies by the door. It wasn’t unusual to be interrupted and in the last few days, you’d found yourself across the aisle from another worshipper or accompanied by a servant scattering rushes along the floor. You didn’t look but instead stared up at the candlelit apse. You prayed again; for safe travel; for fortune and health; selfishly for yourself.

The footsteps neared and you were surprised and disappointed when they did not continue past you. You looked up at last and found a broad shadow walking slowly along your pew. You blinked as it turned and knelt beside you. Lord Barnes’ profile was limned in the low light and his blue eyes sparkled up at the holy basin that stood central to the chapel.

“Lord Barnes,” You greeted with a nod and made to stand.

“Your highness,” He returned. “Please, a moment? If you would allow me that.”

You paused, legs bent awkwardly below you as you considered him. He folded his hands and kept his gaze forward. You saw a nervousness in him which rarely broke his cool facade. You frowned and lowered yourself back to your knees. He took a deep breath and rested his head against his knuckles.

“I would beg your forgiveness but I do not expect it,” He began in a low voice. “For I have wronged you repeatedly but treated you as the sinner. And in my selfishness, I have caused your unhappiness; your shame; your pain.” He shook his head just a little. “And I am sorry for it completely.”

You stayed silent as you considered him. His dark hair was twisted back into a bun and a few strands framed his face. The lines along his eyes and forehead were thickened in the gloom. He slowly raised his head but kept his eyes forward.

“I am sorry for what I said to you for I did lie but more, I did say it to hurt you; to insult you, when you do not deserve my anger. When you do not deserve that distaste I have for myself.” He gripped his hands tighter. “That I did blame you for the circumstance that I, among several others, have thrust upon you. I do confess this at the altar to have my crimes laid out not just before my queen but before my lord. I am more sorry than you could ever know. Than I could ever express.”

Your mouth was dry as you stared at him. You fidgeted and turned to lean your head against your hands. You were unsure what to say. He was repentant, surely, but could he atone for all that he had caused?

“Is that what it took?” You asked shyly. “Hmm? For him to do… that?”

“I never thought--” He sniffed. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, I know what he’s become capable of. And it was entirely my fault. It is all my fault.” You glanced over at him as he shook his head and his hands fell. “I did drag you back to marry him, which has been in my life, my greatest regret.”

“My lord, please don’t--” You raised your head.

“No,” He turned to you, “I must. I cannot think of anything but that day. Of how I should have taken you and run. I could have seen you away; out of the country, across the world, the two of us.”

“No, please,” You breathed. “You cannot say this.”

“Would you… have come with me, if I had?” He asked.

You felt as if you’d been slapped. He stared at you as he awaited your answer. You could see his anxiety. His chest rose and fell as his eyes bore into you.

“Does it matter now?”

“I suppose it doesn’t but nothing can change how I feel,” He confessed. “My queen…”

“Don’t say it, please.” You begged. “Please, I cannot-- I suffer already.”

“I love you,” He blurted out as he grabbed your hands. “And I know this will do you little favour but I do and I must admit it.”

“No…” You gasped. “You would curse us both.”

“Tell him what I said,” He insisted. “For I would rather die than keep it a secret.”

“And what am I to do? Watch you die?” You hung your head as tears threatened. “You know I cannot do that.”

The chapel was quiet as he clung to you. He lifted your hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. You trembled but could not pull away.

“Do you love me too?” He asked.

“Lord--”

“Bucky, please, call me Bucky.” He intoned.

“Bucky,” You looked up slowly. “You know I cannot say it.”

“But you do,” He squeezed your hands as he shifted closer. “I see it. I feel it.” He let go of your hands and reached to cradle your face. Your vision blurred with tears. “My regret does eat away at me and I do lament that I never did say it sooner.” He was closer still, his warm breath upon you. “Or that I never did this.”

He pulled you to him and pressed his lips to yours. You shivered as a force so overwhelming flowed through you and for a moment, you forgot where you were and what you were. You weren’t the king’s wife, you weren’t queen, you were just a woman, and you were loved. And then you did and you were startled. You pressed against his chest until he pulled away.

“Why did you do that?” You quavered.

He just stared at you and your fingers bent to grip the front of his jacket. This time you pulled him to you; hungry for the same thrill. You slipped your arms around him and he hugged you against him. You nearly fell over as you were swept up in the heat. You kissed him until you were out of breath and then you pushed him away again.

You covered your mouth in horror and tore your eyes away from him. You dropped your face into your hands and whimpered. 

“It’s wrong.” You gulped. “It’s wrong.”

“But you feel it…” He touched your arm and you pulled away.

“A feeling cannot change our circumstance, sir,” You lifted your head. “We know that and it can only make it worse should we chase it.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. He mirrored the same helplessness you felt. He stood slowly and offered his hand. You took it and let him pull you up. When he opened his eyes, they glistened. He tried to smile but his lips merely trembled.

“You are right, my queen,” He said. “And I would not forsake you death for my foolishness, but I should offer you my loyalty as a friend. I should offer you my sword should it come to it. For if I ever hear that he should hurt you, I will not hesitate.”

“That is treason,” You hissed. “Do not speak as such.”

“Treason? Why, I do declare my devotion to my queen.” He bent and kissed your hand. “When so many do plot against her.” He stood and looked at you a moment. “I do apologize for interrupting your prayers. I shall leave you as you were… to reflect in peace.”

He let go of you and bowed. You watched him go as your heart beat wildly and his shadow disappeared up the dark aisle and through the door with a deafening click. You turned and sunk down onto the pew. You stared up at the large marble basin as it sparkled with water, coin, and petals; you would add another piece of gold for your atonement, though you suspected it would do little to cleanse your soul.

👑

When you returned to your chamber, the king was as he was nights before. He was bent over his desk as he scratched a nib on parchment. He didn’t look up as you entered and you were glad for it; convinced he should see your guilt upon your face. You greeted him quietly and he echoed you distantly as he continued on. You let him be and sent for Rita to help you out of your gown.

Steven still didn’t stir as the maid came and undressed you. She was as stone-faced as always and her pointed nose seemed to crinkle at you in distaste. You’d learned to ignore her quiet disgust for all around her. You wondered how a woman of her ilk could ever lower herself to serve such a despicable court. You dismissed her and she left with a grumble.

You crossed your arms as you watched her go and huffed. You remained in your thin shift and waited for the door to open and close before you returned to the receiving chamber. The king was barely disturbed by the maid’s departure and as you sat in the chair across from him, he remained intent upon his work. 

“My king,” You said quietly. “Might I interrupt you for a moment?”

His hand stopped and he looked up. He winced as if he had just awoken and sat back as he placed his pen aside. He smiled as he rubbed his cheek. His beard was thicker by the day, if not the second.

“I did wonder if you did eat,” You asked as you picked at the arm of the chair nervously. You wanted to convince him, as much as yourself, that all was normal. “I can send for a plate.”

“I did,” He assured you, “And yourself, my wife?”

“I did,” You lied. You had little appetite. “What is it that keeps you so busy?”

He tilted his head and his brows drew together. “Are you really so curious or do you merely wish to distract me?”

“If I do distract you, I will retreat,” You replied. “But yes, I do wonder. I am a queen and yet I feel little more than the lady I was.”

“You do not distract,” He smiled and patted his leg, “Come here and I shall show you.”

You stood and crossed to him. He pulled you down onto his lap and wrapped his arm around your waist as he leaned against you. He reached for the parchment with his other hand as his beard tickled your cheek. He held a list of scribble, beneath lay a map, and he inhaled your scent before he began.

“When we are to travel to Asgard, I shall seal the transference of The Beak to their prince. They have sent a preliminary contract but I make notes upon it for our final negotiations.” He pointed to a paragraph. “You see, they would take The Beak but we would keep our mines along the eastern border, but I should like the small villages as well as they do provide a variety of commodities. Though if I do wish that, I would offer a subsidy to Asgard to appease them.”

You nodded and squinted at his small notes in the margins. It was simple enough to understand that each king should want profit from the deal even if it had already secured the downfall of a queen.

“But if you were to attain these terms, to assure that they are met, would you not require some presence there? Perhaps an ambassador or even military?” You asked.

You felt him shift beneath you and he lowered his hand to your thigh. “Of course,” He squeezed. “My queen, you do betray an unhoned aptitude for this.”

“Well, I should think ink would have little power of enforcement,” You shrugged. “Though there is much still I need to learn.” You turned slightly in his lap so you could face him. He let the parchment fall back. “Shouldn’t I know these things before we do depart for this foreign realm?”

“I suppose you should.” He agreed. “Perhaps a tutor? Or I might have you attend council if you wish? Would you the time to do so?”

“I hardly need to guide my ladies in their sewing.” You answered. 

“Though as I recall you are quite gifted with your hands,” He took your hand and rubbed his fingers over yours. “I do wonder at this sudden curiosity?”

“Boredom,” You answered. “Restlessness. I tire of sewing circles and poetry. I…” You tried not to think of the chapel; of his closest man against you. You pushed down the guilt and smiled at him. “Some look at me as little more than an earl’s daughter still and I should like to prove myself; to you, most of all.”

“You needn’t prove yourself to me,” His hand ventured up your bare arm and played with the collar of your shift. “Are you certain you did not mean to distract me?”

“It is not difficult to do so,” You teased. His fingers felt cold as you thought of Lord Barnes and his warmth. Go away! Don’t think of it.

“I do not mind it so much,” He pulled at the tie along the front of your shift until it fell loose. 

You smiled at him and shook as he cupped your chest and pushed his face against you with a purr. You were stiff against him; as the first night he’d had you. Shy; afraid. You wondered if he would sense it. If he would know.

“Don’t mind it at all,” He hummed. He pulled your shift down to uncover your breast and took your nipple in his mouth. You gasped.

You reached up and grabbed his head as you pulled him closer if only to steady yourself. He continued to tease you with his tongue and you closed your eyes. That little tickle was so dull; so deep down it was little more than a glimmer. He’d surely know as his touch barely riled you.

And then you thought of the chapel and your core bloomed. You let yourself imagine that the king’s lips were Bucky’s. That the prod beneath you was his too. That the hand slipping between your thighs belonged to a lord and not your husband. You moaned and he pulled away suddenly. You opened your eyes and gaped at him.

“Why, my wife, I think you did plot to draw my attention, didn’t you?” He cooed.

You breathed, relieved that he had not caught you out. He took it as encouragement as he slipped his arm beneath your knees and scooped you up. He turned you sat you on his desk. The parchment crushed beneath you as he bent to resume his task. He pulled your shift down until your breasts were entirely bare and your arms were trapped at your sides.

You closed your eyes again and returned to the pews. The lips along your neck, your chest, your stomach, lower and lower. And when Steven bent before you, it wasn’t him. You giggled as the tickle along your thighs and sighed as a coolness met your hot sex. And as the tongue delved deeper you pressed your legs around the king’s head in delight.

He swirled and suckled. Intense and intent. Rougher than you thought it’d truly be with the nobleman but it hardly mattered as you were swept away by the fantasy. And the rise was so sharp that you did fall swiftly from the edge. You writhed atop the desk as the king dug his fingers into your crumpled shift. You came with a sharp cry and clapped your hand over your mouth before you could evoke the name of the man you truly desired.

You opened your eyes as the king rose but you were in such a haze, his figure did not appear as it was. You were still in your head as he unlaced his pants and stroked himself eagerly. He gripped your hips and pulled you closer as the papers crinkled beneath you. He entered you to his hilt. You squealed and bared your teeth.

“My queen,” He groaned as he began to thrust. “You do serve me well.”

He was impatient; unwavering. He slammed into you over and over. You knew it was not like it would be. Bucky could never hurt you like this. And yet it was delicious. You closed your eyes and arched your back as you clung to the image of him. The shadows across his face, the feel of his lips against yours, the layers of fabric the only barrier between you in that moment. 

Oh, how you should have let him have you.

You were torn back to your reality again. Steven grunted as he plunged into you over and over. He held you by your hips, his nails cutting into your flesh, as his pelvis clapped against yours. You gripped the edge of the desk as your body slid back and forth upon the the cluttered surface.

The king’s face was sinister as he watched his cock slide in and out of you. His eyes were dilated and dark. His beard lent a dire shadow to his jawline and his hair fell forward over his forehead as his nose was limned in lantern light. You bent your legs around him as you felt as you were pulled further over the edge of the desk.

His rhythm turned erratic and he thrust into you so harshly you cried out. You feigned pleasure though it hurt. Though you could not summon the face of another and were trapped in what was. When he came, you mimicked his peak so that he would not persist. He spent himself entirely and slowed to bury himself in you completely. He sighed and pushed back his sweaty hair.

“I could stay like this forever, my wife,” He bent over you and slid his arms beneath you. He lifted you, careful not to fall out of you, and sat back down on his chair with you atop him. He nuzzled your neck as he wrapped you in his arms. “But this night will do well enough.”

#tapestry #Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #marvel #mcu #dark!fic #dark fic #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

[37-children-of-the-dreams]

Day #31: Fearless

Dear Dave Filoni, thank you for being the next person who had hurt me through a fictional character. I saw the leak and now this fanfiction of Crosshair and Korkie has gotten a million times sadder. Especially because this means Crosshair would never be friends, let alone acquaintances, with Korkie. He'd just kill Korkie if they met.

Because of Dave, the next titles will just be Taylor Swift songs for reasons.

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

Crosshair had a long list of things he hated in life. Regs, war, discord and people.

True, bringing Korkie in his life brought some discord, but he gave him some stability in his new life. Also, Korkie mostly made sure there was some sense of peace. And he never saw Crosshair as just a clone, but a person he loves to marry.

But Bo-Katan? Crosshair was willing to put a technical war crime in his resume. As in kidnap the heir to the Mandalorian throne, and marry him so Bo-Katan can't do anything. Which was one part of their insane plan.

Looking at his Korkie and the aunt who abandoned him made Crosshair grab Korkie's hand to make sure they couldn't take him away.

"Drop your filthy hands off my nephew!" Bo-Katan barked.

"No," Crosshair declared. "I'm Korkie's fiancé, and only he has the rights to tell me anything."

Bo-Katan glared at Korkie. Korkie glared back in defiance and tightened the grasp Crosshair had of his hand. He can't break his stoic face and smile at Crosshair's declaration. He wants Bo-Katan to know who he'll listen to.

"Korkie Kryze, you need to stop this! Your relationship with this clone will destroy our House. Don't you want to bring glory back to this House? To Satine? The woman who raised you?"

"Don't you ever dare use my mother against me!" Korkie roared. "I was the one who had always stayed by her side while you ran off with Death Watch because you were a coward who couldn't argue with my mother."

Bo-Katan opened her mouth, but Korkie used the Force to shut her up. Bo-Katan felt her mouth closing and saw that Korkie had his free hand raised. She mentally gasped at the revelation and knew what Korkie might be capable of.

"I am not done," he added. "I know I'm just a young boy to you, but I've just found things about me that made realize how much I needed to grow up. One, I, and by extension you, came from a long line of Force Seers who could see the past and future. Two, I've been using the Force to see our family's history and you know I'm not wrong when I said you ran from Mother because you were never one to win an argument with words. And lastly, Crosshair is my future husband and I don't care if you hate him, you need to respect my choice or I'm going to make things harder on you."

Korkie dropped his free hand Crosshair hugged him in the back. Crosshair smirked at the sight of Bo-Katan freezing at the knowledge that she has no more power over Korkie. And even if she did, who's to say Korkie wasn't going to bolt and leave Mandalore for good?

Bo-Katan finally stopped being a statue and looked at the sight of her nephew with his lover. It disgusted and rocked Bo-Katan to her core that Korkie would follow in Satine's steps in choosing the wrong person to love. She didn't even need to guess who helped sired Korkie because she already knew, and she hated how he had picked a clone who might have worked with his father.

Bo-Katan must right this wrong before Korkie marries the clone and destroy his future as Duke of Mandalore.

"I will leave for now," she said. "But I'll come back with my Nite Owls. You know what must happen or else."

Korkie sighed. "Really? Threatening my nanny? You might be my aunt by blood, but Nanny Rana is more of an aunt to me than you."

Bo-Katan left the scene through jetpack, but she still heard the screams of a pissed off Korkie. The only way to right a wrong between Kryzes is a duel. Winner take all, loser must fall.

Korkie screamed at the air as Bo-Katan left. He almost fell to the floor, but Crosshair was still hugging him and he sat the angry former duke on the floor. Rana got to his side as Crosshair was running his hands through Korkie's hair. The nanny hugged her former charge and walked him through their old breathing tactics.

"She's the one who left me!" he argued. "I'm nothing to her. Nothing!"

"Maybe in your head," Crosshair said. "But you're actually important Korkie. You were announced as your mother's heir, and Bo-Katan has not right to say you're not."

"He's not wrong," Rana agreed. "You might have been under house arrest, but unless you die, Bo-Katan has no power over what you are. You might think of yourself as a former royal, but that's not true."

"But I haven't been active in almost a year," Korkie argued. "Bo-Katan has been in the spotlight, not me."

"But who was the one with the bounty?" Crosshair reminded. "They know how important you are. You're the real heir, not Bo-Katan."

Korkie sighed as the thought settled in. He was so done with the trauma that he basically let him down. He became so dependent on Crosshair's praises that he forgot how much he really cost to Mandalore and the throne. He forgot that Amis, Lagos and Soniee came for him because of who he is. He might have lost his Mother, but he was Satine's heir.

Korkie stood up as Crosshair steadied him. He looked at his future husband and laughed. Crosshair give him a confused look as he stopped laughing.

"You know," he said. "I know you never worked with my father, but you did say you used to work with Commander Cody before, who was my father's second-in-command. My mother fell in love with my father, and now I'm in love with you, who worked with his former second-in-command."

"And why is that important?" Crosshair asked.

"I think Bo-Katan wants to make sure I don't end up like my mother. Falling in love with the supposed enemy. Which makes me want to fight harder for tomorrow."

"But it's late!" Rana protested.

"I'm not losing to Bo-Katan. I want her and her Nite Owls to respect Crosshair."

Rana sighed and gave Korkie her blessing. Korkie left to find a perfect training area.

"Crosshair, come with me!"

Crosshair sighed as he went after Korkie. Korkie lead Crosshair to the basement. There hasn't been a good reason to use the basement in years. It wasn't really much as a basement as an underground training facility. Crosshair was amazed at the Kryze's details in how much they wanted to train their heirs. Weapons were placed everywhere and the floor was basically a battle court floor. Korkie took a sword from the walls and looked at Crosshair.

"Shoot me," he said.

"I know you hate Bo-Katan," Crosshair said. "But no."

"She loves using blasters. You have a rifle."

"Not the same thing."

"Then get one of the blasters here."

Crosshair looked around and saw the amount of blasters around the area. It seemed the favorite weapons in the Kryze family were blasters because there was not one wall that hadn't had a blaster.

"How in the world did you guys turn to pacifism?" Crosshair asked.

"Grandfather Adonai wanted peace," Korkie reminded him.

"But the amount of weapons here."

Korkie laughed as Crosshair picked a blaster. Korkie steadied himself with the sword as Crosshair shot him. Korkie deflected the blast with the sword as Crosshair smiled. They did it alone until Fennec came and help them.

The day broke and Bo-Katan came with her Nite Owls as promised, but she brought a few extras. Amis, Lagos and Soniee came with her to see that Bo-Katan did not end Korkie's life. They were in front of the entrance when the door opened.

Korkie and Crosshair greeted them along with Fennec, Rana, and Luka and Kristal Shand. Crosshair escorted Korkie to Bo-Katan and kissed him good luck in the duel.

Bo-Katan recoiled in disgust at the display. Her Nite Owls whispered among themselves with Amis, Lagos and Soniee keeping quiet.

"Are we sure Korkie Kryze can still be the heir?" one of her Nite Owls asked.

"I can't see him as the heir anymore," one of them replied. "He's allied with a clone."

Bo-Katan glared at her Nite Owls. And then at Korkie.

"You know the rules," she said. "If I win, you must leave that clone. He will never be your husband."

"And if I win," Korkie countered. "You're invited to the wedding."

Amis peeped a small laugh. The Nite Owls looked at him with concern, but the girls smiled at him. Even with the dread atmosphere, Korkie still managed to make a joke.

"Weapons are always used," Bo-Katan continued. "But they can't help you at all."

Bo-Katan pointed at Korkie's party.

"Same with you," Korkie countered again. "Also, is the Force technically a weapon?"

The Nite Owls gasped at the revelation. Their leader's nephew was a Force user? That might that Korkie was not Satine's nephew, but her son with that Jetii!

"Bo-Katan!" one of her followers cried. "You can stop this duel. He's not a Kryze anymore, he's dar'manda."

"Enough!" Bo-Katan ordered. "Korkie is still a Kryze. He just needs to lose the side that makes him a Jedi."

Korkie rolled his eyes as he readied himself with the sword. Bo-Katan shot him, but like last night he never let any blaster fire hit. He was busy closing the gap between them that he had a clear shot of knocking off Bo-Katan's blasters. Which he did making Bo-Katan freeze long enough to head butt her. Bo-Katan stepped back, but steadied herself and fought him hand-to-hand. Korkie was never the best in hand-to-hand, but he always knew how to dodge. He pushed Bo-Katan with the Force and made her land on the ground with her back. Korkie ran to her, sword on hand and stabbed the ground near her face.

"You know I can't kill family," Korkie said. "My mother loved you. As her son and your nephew, please let me be. You know what I am."

Bo-Katan screamed and attacked Korkie making him use the Force once again to scare her into losing. The Force fear was immense and instant that Bo-Katan dropped to her knees and looked at Korkie.

But all she saw was Satine's crying face. It was as if Satine came back to say she needed to accept Korkie's new life. Bo-Katan cried at the spot as Korkie knelt beside her and placed a gentle hand on her back.

"Please don't make me do worse," Korkie begged. "You can be the heir to Mandalore now. We both know they'll figure things out, and they will never accept a Jedi's bastard as a ruler."

Bo-Katan stood up and Korkie raised with her.

"Leave Mandalore," Bo-Katan said. "You've won your freedom. Leave and never use House Kryze's name ever again."

Korkie nodded and went back to Crosshair's side. The two left the mansion with Fennec as Rana and the Shands waved them goodbye. Amis, Lagos and Soniee also waved the three goodbye as they left. Bo-Katan stole one more glimpse of her sister's son and shook her head as the Nite Owls surrounded her with questions.

Korkie could have been the Duke of Mandalore. Now, he's a nobody with a clone for a husband. What a pathetic win.

#korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #fennec shand #the bad batch #star wars #bo katan kryze #mandalore #satine kryze #dave filoni #why dave

[inkribbon796]

Like a House of Cards Ch. 4: Meanwhile in Forced Vacation Land

Summary: While the battle rages outside, Dark is forced to take a vacation he never wanted to take.

A/N: . . . And now for something, completely different . . .

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Down in the south Atlantic — or at least a very accurate copy of it — was a large luxury cruise ship. Dozens of people milled about on the deck, families played in the large top deck water slide and pool.

And up in the dining area there was amongst the sparse crowd, a family setting in the shade and enjoying the comforting breeze shielding them from the scalding sun and heat.

“Lunky, come on,” King tried to convince his child to eat some more human food. So far the spawnling could be convinced to eat something on a good day but anything else they turned their nose at.

Today Lunky didn’t want to even try food he normally enjoyed.

“Keep trying, they’ll eat some eventually,” Dark smiled, swirling a glass of red wine as he sat back in his crisp white suit. He was looking as calm and composed as ever — despite not feeling it for a second.

“Hopefully,” King smiled, watching Lunky turn around in their chair and look over at Mini who was talking with Iplier and the Host in the next table over. Lunky let out a little screech and Mini turned to look at them. “Yeah, you two can go off, just don’t play near the water or edge of the ship.”

Lunky made an excited, happy steak and raced off with Mini, the spawnling running right over Illinois who was laying on a bench next to Eric. Illinois coughed when his nephew used his stomach as a springboard. He glared after Lunky, taking off his sunglasses. Then he rolled his eyes and stood up to walk over to Dark, the Host stood up to follow him.

“Your kid’s a pill, bro, you know that?” Illinois told King in a good natured tone. “To quote Anti, “a real fookin’[1] ankle bitter” and all.”

“Yeah?” King began to retort back, “when you’re up for 24 hours with a kid we can talk about it. Or, you know, you get fifty newborn kittens.”

“Right, whatever, baby bro,” Illinois rolled his eyes, reaching over to rough up King’s hair but King began batting and pushing him away.

Then Illinois looked around, “Where are the others?”

Dark took a sip of his wine, “Well ever since that Brazilian dance troupe came on Bim wanted to hunt one, Yan wanted to stalk one, and your father wanted to take one out for drinks; so when they might be down three members by the next show.”

“My dad, yeah right,” Illinois grumbled, his tone firm.

The Host smiled, “If the Host’s family will excuse him, he has business to attend to for a second or two.”

“Host,” Dark called out, before his eldest could walk away. “Thanks again, this vacation was unexpected.”

The Seer smiled warmly, “It was the least the Host could do.”

And then the Host walked off, knowing he had duties to still perform, a gamble to emerge victorious in.

The Host knew that the Entity was confused and shaken because unlike any other “bootleg anomaly field trip” as the King of the Squirrels liked to call them, this luxurious cruise was not the Entity’s doing.

It was the Host’s. A tentative bubble of protection that was designed to placate and entertain the main inhabitants like rats in an observation tank. The Host was one of those rats, but that was beside the point.

With a slow and casual stride, as if his whole world was not poised to collapse around his ankles, the Host strode to the other side of the ship from the Entity, opened a cabin door and walked inside.

His aura melded with the anomaly’s, taking on a dark color rather than his swirl of words. His eye sockets began bleeding. Then he opened the door he’d walked into, the outside just a mass of black aura and the Seer reached in to the swirling mass with two hands and pulled two things out: a blue solid state drive with three charms attached to it — one of the charms was hanging broken with the other two sleeping charms — and the second thing he pulled through was Roman.

The instant the creative Side was through the door it shut and the black aura dissipated and Roman’s sword and shield clattered to the ground.

“The Host greets Roman, and wishes for him to know that he is now safe,” the Host greeted.

“Ughh, where am I?” Roman groaned in disorientation.

“South Street, Egoton,” the Host answered. “But however it currently has the appearance of a south Atlantic cruise. Would the creative Side like some mimosas, maybe a cocktail with a little umbrella styled like a pride flag?”

Roman looked downright panicked, “Very kind, I will take you up on such a glorious idea in the future. But I must find Virgil, I must find Logan, and . . .”

The Side trailed off, realizing something, “Oh great Caesar’s ghost! Patton! What happened to Patton? He was supposed to pick us up.”

“The emotional Side is unharmed and resting,” the Host reassured and Roman looked instantly relieved. He reached down to pick up his sword and shield.

“Very well,” Roman sheathed his sword. “I shall journey far and wide to find him, and wake such a dashing gent from his slumber with a beautiful and stunning ballad of our love.”

“As much as the Host would enjoy watching such an act, he would like to inform him that the remaining Core Sides are all here,” the Host held up the drive for emphasis.

“Where?” Roman froze and looked at the drive, “Wait, this was on Logan’s desk when I walked in to find that fiend in there.”

The Host smiled and held up the drive. He pressed his palm to the center of the drive. The drive emitted a harsh blue glow before the energy seemed to be pushed out of it and the drive turned grey and Logan fell out of the blue energy. The logical Side shaking and wide-eyed.

Roman was on him in an instant, wrapping his arms around him, “Logan, my sweet darling, are you harmed?”

“No!” Logan screamed and flinched away in panic the instant Roman’s hand touched him.

Flinching back, Roman held onto his hand as if Logan had slapped him.

“It’s too much right now, please don’t touch me,” Logan didn’t look him in the eye, his voice was weak and shaky.

“Of course, of course,” Roman immediately wrapped them around his arms. “Whatever you need.”

Logan just stared at the floor for a bit before rubbing his hands on the cheap carpet. Then he rubbed his face in the carpet and let out a shuddering breath.

“This is real, right?” Logan asked.

“Pretty sure,” Roman sat next to him.

The Host took the remaining two charms off the drive, the golden heart locket and the thundercloud, and held them out for Roman. “Patton and Virgil are sleeping, and will not remember their captivity. They cannot feel anything.”

“Good,” Logan blurted out, almost like he was forcing the words out of his throat, he was still lying on the ground. “Good. That’s good. That’s a relief.”

Roman took the charms.

Then the Host walked toward the cabin door, “the Host will give the Sides a moment to themselves. They will need it, and should they need help with anything they can call out to the Host.”

After a quick nod from Roman, the Seer left the cabin and headed back to the main dining area where Dark still was, making sure to pick up Yan, Bim, and Wil on his way.

For a bit the two Sides sat in silence, the only motion was the occasional dipping and bobbing of the ship.

“Lo?” Roman tried to prod again.

“10 hours, 47 minutes, and 16 seconds,” Logan’s voice was almost choked with tears. “He kept me in that thing for all that time. He never let me out, and made me feel every second of it. Putting things inside my head. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t sense, and was only aware of the passage of time.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Roman felt his eyes growing wet.

At that point Logan weakly pulled himself over to lay his head on Roman’s lap, entwining one of Roman’s hands with his own.

Logan clutched onto Roman’s hand like it was an anchor, and started to cry, “You’re so warm.”

“I’m here, Lo,” Roman offered, taking his other hand and carding it through Logan’s hair.

The logical Side let out a shaky breath. “He told me people were going to die, he threatened me and told me that if I didn’t listen to him, you and Virgil were going to die.”

“I’m not dead, my sweet,” Roman bent down to gently kiss Logan’s head holding him as he cried. “I’m here now, my dear nerdy. I’m not leaving you.”

Logan nodded, as Roman looked at the charms again.

“We should get them out,” Roman decided.

No!

They’re sleeping.

Keep them safe.

None of these thoughts came from Logan, but they were inextricably his all the same.

“Let’s wait until he’s gone,” Logan forced out, in an almost desperate panic. “I don’t want him to harm them. I just want . . . I . . . Those thoughts aren’t mine. They’re his. What did he do to me?”

Logan sat up and Roman gently kissed his forehead.

“Maybe we get Patton out here and all four of us talk about things,” Roman offered. “And then we can figure out what to do?”

Hesitantly, Logan nodded and the two Sides broke open the locket and the thundercloud charm. With two soft clouds of light, Virgil and Patton came back and the two Core Sides were once four again, as the dome silently covered them from the chaos raging in the rest of the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. fucking

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #footnotes #mentions of kidnapping #Darkiplier #Illinois the Adventurer #ahwm Illinois #Eric Derekson #King of the Squirrels #Lunky #Mini Bing #the Host #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Logince #Logan's not doing well #but then again no one is this week

[woundedheartwithin]

Tsujigiri

Ghost of Tsushima | Ryuzo | one shot

—

Author’s notes can be found on AO3!!

—

“Tell me about our quarry again.” Tadashi Matsuda says to the ronin riding to his left, slowing his horse to a walk and signaling his men to do the same.

“Getting forgetful in your old age?” Tomotsugu chuckles, reaching out to punch the Straw Hat leader’s arm. Tadashi chuckles and returns the hit, then looks back at the young ronin to his right.

“Ryuzo, would you be so kind as to remind me of our quarry?” He asks. Ryuzo grins.

“A bandit by the name of Tatsuo. Last seen to the north of Sago Mill. Has a bow and sword and is reasonably skilled with both. He leads a band of highwaymen known for butchering merchants when they try to fight back. He sometimes lets them go if they cooperate.” He answers, shifting in his saddle. “Our employers want him alive, but if that’s not possible, they will be happy enough with his head. His band is fair game.

“So who wishes to try him first?” Tadashi asks, twisting in his saddle to smirk at the retinue that follows closely behind him.

“I’d like a shot at him.” Kanetomo crows, a vicious glint in his eyes.

“They want him alive, not cut to ribbons.” Shinzo huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Ryuzo just said the bastard's head was acceptable.” Kanetomo retorts.

“Yeah, if we can’t take him alive.” Ryuzo says, laughing at the other man’s sour expression. “Restraint is not exactly a strength of yours.”

“Oh, what do you know?” Kanetomo snaps. Tadashi laughs.

“All right, that’s enough.” He says lightly. “It might be an all hands sort of job anyway, depending on how many crows circle him.

They continue along the road, chatting and laughing and enjoying the unusually warm day, and Ryuzo tilts his head back and closes his eyes, all but basking in the sunlight. Hiro and Shinzo snicker at him, teasing their friend when he glares at them half-heartedly. He breaks and laughs soon enough, unable to contain himself.

And it’s nice to finally have this. To finally belong to something, to be a part of something and to matter, to finally be more than just an outcast riding the coattails of samurai. It’s nice to have friends he doesn’t feel he needs to compete against or keep up with, and who value him because he is Ryuzo, instead of just a body to swing a bokken at. With that, his mind begins to drift to darker waters, and so he shakes his head hard to clear it. He won’t let thoughts of stupid, selfish samurai ruin such a lovely day.

“Gods, what has he done?” Tadashi says then, breathless with the beginnings of ferocious anger, and Ryuzo follows their leader’s gaze to a man standing at the crossroads ahead of them, covered in blood and surrounded by bodies.

It seems stupid, selfish samurai are determined to ruin the day regardless of what Ryuzo wants. Fucking typical.

“Hail, ronin! Care for a friendly duel?” The samurai calls to them, raising an arm and grinning broadly. The blood smeared across his cheeks and half-mask make the expression grotesque. “It seems I’ve run out of playthings. That boy I let escape must have warned the peasants in Sago that Lord Furukawa of Clan Kikuchi has a new blade he needs to test, and so traffic through this intersection has all but ceased.” He runs his offhand along the spine of the blade, admiring the blood he hasn’t bothered to clean from the edge, then looks up at them with a raised eyebrow. “But a band of ronin would be a much better challenge than filthy peasants anyway, wouldn’t it?”

“Demon.” Tadashi snarls, shifting in his saddle as he prepares to dismount.

“Wait, leader.” Ryuzo says, his own voice surprising him. “I’d like to accept his challenge, if I may.” Tadashi stills and looks at him, then smiles mirthlessly and nods.

“As you wish, Ryuzo.” He replies quietly, and Ryuzo dismounts, passing his reins to Shinzo and stepping forward. The other Straw Hats cast out into a circle around the center of the crossroads, blocking all four paths and creating a ring that is large enough to comfortably duel in.

“Rather cocky, aren’t you, ronin?” The samurai jeers, chuckling at the hissing that erupts from one side of the circle.

“Send him to hell, Ryuzo.” Yasumasa sneers, spitting on the ground in the samurai’s direction.

“How does it feel to look death in the eyes?” The samurai asks with another chuckle.

“The same as it always feels to look a dead man in the eye before he’s slain.” Ryuzo retorts, rolling his shoulders. The samurai laughs outright at that.

“Ronin are always so sure of themselves.” He says, his lip curling over his teeth in a cruel snarl. “We shall see who dies today, boy.”

“We shall.” Ryuzo replies. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to make a deal with you, samurai. A friendly wager.”

“I’m listening.” The samurai smirks.

“I will be the last opponent you face today. If I win, you will die, and that will be that. But if you win, you will sheath your blade and go home satisfied that it can fell a ronin who trained at the end of a shugo blade from the time he was small.” Ryuzo says, reaching to grip the handle of his katana. The samurai’s eyes widen.

“Which shugo?” He demands. Ryuzo chuckles softly.

“Perhaps if you win, one of my companions will tell you.” He replies easily, then sinks his weight into his heels and draws his blade.

“You must not have been too impressive, then.” The samurai says, shaking himself and puffing out his chest. “Or else the shugo would have made you samurai.”

“It was not my skill that kept me from that title.” Ryuzo says darkly, gritting his teeth against the sting of those words. And that’s true. If Kazumasa Sakai hadn’t fucking died, Ryuzo has no doubt he would have been a Sakai retainer by now instead of a mangy ronin. But he’d only been 11 when the elder Sakai had been murdered, too young to formally hire, and the jito had been much less interested than his brother in-law had been in the peasant boy from Kishibe who had tripped over his nephew’s heels all across Toyotama. And Jin Sakai’s motive for leaving Ryuzo out in the cold is another story entirely, and one that still hurts too much to dwell upon.

He huffs and takes his stance, eyeing the samurai with sharp eyes and preparing himself.

“By your leave, my lord.” He growls, and the samurai laughs and sinks into a stance of his own.

“As you wish, ronin. I hope you have lived a good life.”

He slides forward on the balls of his feet then, advancing on Ryuzo and brandishing his soiled blade. Ryuzo stands his ground, watching the other man and waiting to see what he does.

The samurai lunges, swinging his sword at Ryuzo’s shoulder, and Ryuzo side steps him, dodging cleanly, grinning when the samurai turns and snarls at him. He lunges again, and again Ryuzo dodges, and again and again and again.

“Come now, I thought you were samurai!” Ryuzo laughs, ducking under a wild swing and darting in to rap his opponent’s side with the flat of his blade. The samurai yells, frustrated, and tries to engage Ryuzo again. “This is rather sad, really. I wonder how your lord would feel watching you flail about like this. And against a cocky, unimpressive ronin, no less.” Ryuzo teases, spinning away from another strike and slapping him again with the flat of his blade. The other Straw Hats jeer at the edge of the circle, laughing and heckling viciously.

“I hope you meet the peasants you slew in the afterlife.” Tadashi says above them all, chuckling darkly. “I hope they can see what a spectacle you are making of yourself right now, and they never let you forget it.”

“Shut up!” The samurai screams, charging at Ryuzo with his sword raised. Ryuzo sighs and side steps him again, tired of this dance, and pivots on his back foot, finally unleashing an attack of his own. His sword glints in the sun as it slashes through the air and finds a home in the samurai’s shoulder. The samurai cries out and drops his katana, his arm falling uselessly to his side.

“How disappointing.” Ryuzo murmurs, circling the other man as he drops to his knees.

“Please, ronin. Have mercy.” He begs, and Ryuzo feels a bolt of white hot anger flash through him. He tightens his grip on his katana and curls his lip.

“Mercy?” He says lowly. “How dare you beg me for mercy?” He turns and gestures to the bodies lying on the side of the road. “How many of them begged you for mercy?” The samurai looks at the ground and trembles. “The question was not rhetorical. Answer me.”

“All of them.” He whispers.

“All of them.” Ryuzo repeats. “And how many were granted it?”

“None.”

“None.” Ryuzo laughs humorlessly and bares his teeth. “Demon, do you think you deserve mercy?” The samurai says nothing. Ryuzo rests the point of his blade under the man’s chin and forces him to look up. “Answer. Me.”

“I beg your forgiveness. And a chance to prove I can change.” He whispers, his voice shaking and his eyes filling with tears.

“Do. You. Deserve. Mercy.” Ryuzo demands. “Yes or no.”

The samurai stares, his tears spilling over his cheeks.

“No.”

“Then die with dignity, and beg forgiveness from the poor people you killed when you get to whichever hell you belong to.” Ryuzo says, taking his sword in both hands once more and raising it.

“You won’t take me to be judged?” The samurai asks, raising his head and meeting the ronin’s gaze. Ryuzo rolls his eyes.

“I am not samurai. Why should I follow your stupid code?” He snaps, then swings his sword and liberates the samurai of his head.

“Nicely done, Ryuzo.” Tadashi says warmly as Ryuzo bends and picks up the head by its hair. “Shall we deliver your prize to Lord Kikuchi? Hold the bastard responsible for the actions of his retainer?” Ryuzo hums and holds up the samurai’s head.

“What do you think, Lord Furukawa? Shall we pay your shugo a visit?” He asks it, grinning when the other Straw Hats laugh.

They ride to Lord Kikuchi’s estate, laughing and enjoying the sunshine again, and Ryuzo almost forgets about the dripping bundle tied to his saddle. Shinzo and Hiro recount the fight to him as though he hadn’t fought it himself, telling him their favorite parts and praising him for them. Kanetomo grumbles that he should have been the one to behead the wayward samurai, and Kiyochika and Hirotsune laugh and tell him he probably would have been the one beheaded instead.

When they finally near the estate, Tadashi drops back to ride alongside Ryuzo and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me do the talking when we get there. Kikuchi will be pissed that you killed one of his men, and he’ll more likely listen to your superior than to you.” The old ronin says.

“Of course, leader. I understand.” Ryuzo replies, grinning. “Will I still get to throw the bastard’s head at his lord’s feet?”

“Naturally.” Tadashi laughs. “Just don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

“Yes, leader.” Ryuzo says, and Tadashi rides ahead, satisfied.

By the time they reach the gates, most of them have fallen silent, nerves getting the better of the youngest Straw Hats, and the gravity of the situation getting better of the older ronin. The only ones left speaking are the ones who don’t give a shit, like Kanetomo, and the ones who hate samurai with every fiber of their beings, like Yasumasa. Suddenly, the wet slap of the cloth-bound head against the skirt of his saddle is very loud indeed. It makes Ryuzo’s stomach turn.

They ride through the front gates of Lord Kikuchi’s estate, and Tadashi hails the shugo loudly, drawing him and his retinue from the house.

“What is the meaning of this, ronin?” One of Kikuchi’s retainers demands, stepping in front of his lord as they stop before him.

“We have a delivery for you, my lord.” Tadashi says evenly. “And a story, if you’ll hear it.”

“Why should I, ronin?” Lord Kikuchi asks, sounding more curious than anything.

“Because it involves one of your men, and his gross misuse of the power you gave him.” Tadashi answers, his voice low and dark.

“Well? Let’s hear it, then.”

And so Tadashi tells him what they’d found at a crossroads outside of Sago Mill. He tells him about the bodies, about the samurai’s challenge, and about the resulting duel.

“And so, where is my man now?” Kikuchi asks, narrowing his eyes. “Did you take him to the jito for judgement? Or did you leave him to his sport and run here to tell me so that I can take care of it?” His retinue titters at that, murmuring rude sentiments to one another and sneering at the ronin. Tadashi snorts and grins like a shark.

“Ryuzo, show his lordship your prize.” He says, not once looking away from Lord Kikuchi.

“With pleasure, leader.” Ryuzo replies, then reaches to untie the bundle and pulls the head from it by the hair. He holds it up, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the samurai gasp and recoil, then tosses it to the ground before them. It rolls across the dirt and comes to rest against Lord Kikuchi’s feet. “You’ll find the rest of him right where I put him down like the mad dog he was.”

Lord Kikuchi’s face turns red with rage, and he begins to splutter. “How dare you kill a samurai, you—“

“Enough!” Tadashi shouts over him. “He killed himself. He stood at a crossroads and slew dozens of innocent people for sport. He targeted peasants because he knew they couldn’t fight back. He deserved to die for his crimes. You’re only upset because a ronin dealt the justice that those poor people deserved.”

“The jito will hear of this.” Lord Kikuchi snarls, his voice shaking. “You will answer for this, boy.” Ryuzo sneers at him.

“By all means, tell the jito what I have done, and tell him why.” He snaps, wiping the samurai’s blood from his hand onto the leg of his hakama. “Be sure to tell him that it was Ryuzo of Kishibe who took the bastard’s head.”

Weeks go by and, as expected, the jito does nothing to Ryuzo. The kill was deemed justified, the samurai’s family was disgraced, and Lord Kikuchi was forced to pay restitution to the families of the victims. Then, nearly two months later, Tadashi hands him a letter he’d received from a Clan Shimura retainer who had been instructed to pass the message along to the next Straw Hat he encountered.

It is addressed to Ryuzo, from the jito himself.

He’s not sure if he wants to read it. He’s not sure if he can stomach more of Lord Shimura’s disdain. And so he simply tosses it into the fire instead, unopened and unread. The samurai could all go to hell for all he cares.

#ghost of tsushima #ryuzo #fanfiction #my writing

[homesteadchronicles]

Kingdom Come: Writing Excerpt (“A Baptism by Blood”)

With my hiatus nearing its inevitable end, I’ve found myself looking for a means make writing natural again. Not having done so for a long time left me feeling anxious whenever I wanted to wipe off the rust and write my heart out. Thus, I want to try something new: writing prompts.

These won’t always be canon, these won’t always be excerpts from the actual project itself. They’re glimpses into the past, into the could-be future, into alternate timelines. They are what will allow me to expand my imagination and hone my skills until I feel confident transforming my outline into a draft once more.

For now, enjoy a snippet into the pasts of two protagonists: Royan and Oeden. Before friendship, before prophecies, before princehood...before the Vault.

___

EXCERPT DETAILS

Project: Kingdom Come Timeline: 5 Years Before Book One’s Beginning Character(s): Oeden “Halflife” Sincairn, Royan Godewine, Sigurd Godewine, Elyk Sincairn Content Warning: Blood, Warfare, Character Death, PTSD

___

The battlefield drank the felled king’s blood with vampiric patience. Each inch of soil sat agape, holes dug from the rush of boots and hooves sitting open like anxious mouths awaiting dinner. Common bodies could not satiate this thirst - the ground hungered for a royal feast.

Oeden could taste it, too. His tongue, his lips, his fingertips: each bore the gravemaker’s stain. Blood had baptized him, a life of innocence laid to rest. He had expected to die somewhen in this war. He had not considered death could take his youth but leave his life.

Royan, however, had not just lost life - he had taken it. And it, in turn, took its toll on his soul.

Hundreds of soldiers, Norian or otherwise, encircled them like a carrion banquet. Anointed armor lay entangled between the mangled limbs of their unnamed assailants. Whoever wished them harm had done well to ambush them. Swords, arrows, the clash of steel and Seals: all an unexpected prelude to this newfound cemetery. 

How had they survived when so many a knight met their end? I almost didn’t, Oeden realized. I wouldn’t have, if not for Royan.

Their king, however, had not his nephew’s fortune. Sigurd Godewine, once seated on the Frozen Throne of Norire, now sunk into a basin of bone and snow. The lance that stole his life still sat lodged in his torso, its tip stretching upwards as though it might break through this bodily barrier at any moment and continue its skyward course.

Yet, of the innumerable bodies of knights strewn about, none looked half as bad as the only survivor amongst them.

Royan shivered from a cold no winter could summon. His hands gripped the spear that pierced his uncle’s chest, the very thing that felled his family now allowing him to stand. What armor of his remained intact would soon rust from gore. Most remained in place, despite the casualties - a lost plate strap, the misplaced bracer.

But even through the blizzard, Oeden could see the shine of magic thrumming from Royan’s bared skin. He could feel it, the power a song that beckoned him. Oeden ignored the summons and approached Royan.

Mumbled apologies - or were they prayers? - fumbled from his mouth into unhearing ears. Noticing an unexpected presence, Royan spun about. Blue eyes froze upon recognition of a friend, a glare thawing into gladness. His knees buckled, tipped, spilled onto spoiled dirt. 

Royan crumbled, but Oeden caught him.

“Royan? Listen to me,” Oeden pleaded. When his requests went unheard, he yanked his liege’s helmet towards him. “Look at me, Royan. Not at him. At me.”

Royan’s gaze flickered away but once. He met Oeden’s eyes without thanks.

“There you are.” Royan’s face did not mirror the smile in Oeden’s tone. “You see me, right?” A pause, and then a nod. “Then hear me: I know you want to stay, think you need to, even, but we must leave. Now.”

His eyes followed a red tear trailing down the metal helm. Before there be no more blood to spill. The teardrop dripped off of the visor, both boys watching its descent, until it rippled across the back of Royan’s hand. Crimson waves could not drown the truth beneath: a Seal had surfaced on his flesh.

Not an hour ago, that skin had remained devoid of defect. Now, the Timekeeper’s mark made its home on his hand. Had it always been lying dormant within him? Or had Sigurd done something to awaken it in his last moments on earth?

Oeden would have lingered in his dread, had that Sealscarred hand not lurched forward to clutch at his cloak. It searched for an escape Oeden could not provide.

“What do I do?” Royan asked, his voice a quiver. “Everyone will know what I am. They’ll want to make me king, Oeden!” He screamed the word as though it were a curse. “I can’t hide it, can’t ignore it, can’t discard it.” He sobbed: a single, broken howl. “I’m...trapped.”

Oeden knew all too well of such bindings, had borne invisible shackles that chained him to pariah-hood since conception. He refused to let another life be lost to unwarranted imprisonment. “Not if I can help it”.

One hand ripped a strip from his cloak. With the other, Oeden sought a weapon. A knife, a sword, anything would work. The only solution within reaching distance - as Royan made no motion to rise - came attached to the once-king’s corpse: Sigurd’s clawed gauntlet.

Before Royan could protest, Oeden had unbuckled the straps that kept the armor intact. You’ve already doomed his future, Oeden thought with a spite he was glad only God could hear, at least spare his present. One last tug and the gauntlet came free.

Oeden did naught but mumble an apology as Royan stared on with muted confusion. This might hurt, he thought, and swung the gauntlet across his master’s hand.

Royan scrambled backwards with an unseemly yelp. For a beat, the fear of betrayal ran rampant across his face.

Oeden waved the fabric like a white flag. “Trust me.”

Whether out of need or desire, Royan obeyed. The prince bowed in submission as his squire bandaged his hand - an unthinkable act elsewhere. But in the aftermath of battle? No one cared for class, race, creed. Those that outlasted death clung to the living with blind desperation.

As the treatment neared its end, Royan whispered what might have been a word of gratitude, if Oeden had not awaited the inquiry.

“...why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Oeden sensed from his lord’s blank stare that this trauma had overridden his survival instinct. “You can’t keep this a secret forever. But for now? Making it look like an injury will let you avoid suspicion long enough for us to - God willing - get back to Almsgard unscathed and out of enemy territory.”

“No, that’s not...I meant...” Royan fumbled, biting his lip. He seemed a child all the more then, somehow lost in a war zone. “Why, as in, ‘why are you helping me?’”

Oeden could have laughed, should have, even. What a ridiculous question! Oeden’s very existence as a squire meant ensuring the survival of his liege. Sure, they had never shared an intimate bond before, but that did not annul his duty. His occupation aside, who would not seize the chance to have the Northern royalty indebted to them - especially one as persecuted as he?

But the truth? That confession confused him, frightened him. But it spoke to him of a kindness he had not seen in all of Norire - a kindness, he hoped, could become consistent.

“You saved my life,” Oeden reminded him, “or have you forgotten already? Given the choice between protecting me and protecting your uncle, you came to my aid. Couldn’t tell you why you would do something so stupid - something I cannot, might I remind you, ever hope to repay. But I’d say I owe you this, at least, don’t you think?”

“I wasn’t looking for a refund...”

That sincerity warmed the frozen corners of Oeden’s heart. “Be that as it may, I’m indebted all the same.” He rose to his feet, dragging Royan’s weakened form along with him. “But we can decide on debts later. For now, we need to find the other survivors.”

If there are any, he thought. The battle’s gruesome nature left little guarantees of finding life amongst the carnage. Sealed God, if you’ve ever listened to me, let Lord Elyk have lived. Oeden didn’t dare imagine his mother’s reaction should she learn her husband died. She did not deserve to lose anything else.

The boys stumbled about the bodies, avoiding the ravens that had already begun their scavenging. They dared make no further noise, lest the survivor they see be an enemy in waiting. Oeden noticed Royan searching every face, some making his own fall.

These are his men, Oeden realized. His servants, his soldiers. Lifelong friends and family. All to save a king he damned...a king he might become.

When they had thought their search fruitless, Oeden heard a faraway cry. In the distance, obscured by sleet and mist, stood a host of knights. Two men, arms outstretched and voices raised towards them, awaited their arrival: Knight-Commander Magnus and Knight-Captain Elyk.

Our fathers live, Oeden thought, and the relief was enough to set him sprinting. Elyk did likewise, bounding towards his son until he could scoop him up in his arms. Oeden did not swallow his laugh or roll his eyes the way he would when his father embarrassed him elsewhere. Elyk did not think of dignity or disguise his affection for the sake of his men’s approval. Here, now, all that mattered to them both was that they had defied the odds. Their family had outsmarted death.

When both their breaths had been spent, Elyk placed Oeden back down, a kiss pressed to his forehead. “Thank the Seals you’re safe...”

Oeden curled further into his father’s embrace, but his gaze ventured beyond them to hover over Royan’s hand. No one is safe anymore...

#writing excerpt #my writing #original writing #writing #writeblr #write #writer #bookblr #author #drabble #kingdom come #oeden halflife #royan godewine

[allisondraste]

Temperance (39/42)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:   Liss wakes up from a nightmare, and Nathaniel is nowhere to be found. 

Notes: This chapter is a bit heavier with the canon-typical violence than most, so please take care of yourselves if that’s a trigger for you. 

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Vigil’s Keep, 9:31 Dragon

Liss’ eyes fluttered open, heart already rattling her rib cage before her vision adjusted to the dim light of the room.  Clanks and clashes of swords and shields rang out nearby. It was familiar, as if she’d read it in a book, saw it in her dreams, yet it was blurry, masked by a drowsy fog.  Where was she? Why was she so afraid?

A dog growled and barked just feet away, and Liss sat up abruptly.  Bear. It was unlike the quiet, gentle hound to make any sound in the middle of the night. So, distressed barks and growls spaced intermittently between bouts of pawing and scratching at the door was a little more than alarming.  Sliding out of bed, stone floor cold against her bare feet, Liss approached the door and knelt down to examine Bear more closely. He panted and whined, looking desperately between Liss and the door.

“Lady Elissa,” cried a frantic voice from the other side, followed by three sharp raps against the wood.  

Liss looked at Bear whose ears flattened down against his head.  She took a deep breath and quietly grabbed a spare fire iron that leaned against the wall next to the door, very aware she was in nothing more than her nightclothes and completely unprotected.  She straightened her posture and opened the door hesitantly.

“Soldier,” Liss said, holding her chin up and responding with her best attempt at authority, “You best have a good reason for waking me.”

“My lady,” the man said, relieved, sweat and blood dripping from his forehead, eyes wide, breath shallow, “Thank the Maker you’re alive. You have to—“

He was interrupted by the sword suddenly puncturing his chest.  Liss gasped and watched the man, one of Highever’s own soldiers, fall to the floor, dead.  She brought her eyes to the assailant who now prepared to attack her, shield and cuirass bearing the Howe family crest.  Bear pushed in front of her, growling and baring his teeth. Anger swelled in Liss’ chest and she lunged at the attacker, swinging the iron as forcefully as she could.  She knocked his sword out of his hand while he was staggered, picked it up, and used it to pierce upward into a convenient gap in his armor.

She had never killed a person before.  She never even thought she would have to.  She was a skilled warrior, trained in combat; however, she was trained in peaceful days.  Her swordsmanship was reserved for dueling rinks and tournaments. Not this. Not taking someone’s life.  She shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of the memory of the noise he made as he died, pretended that his blood was not spattered across her face, that it was not seeping into the hem of her gown.  She did not have time. There was more shouting and fighting just down the hall, and she was in charge of the castle.

With nothing more than a blink and a breath, she found herself kneeling on the floor in the room where Fergus’ family resided.  She cradled Oren in her arms, rocking his tiny little body as if he were only sleeping, ignoring the cold touch of his skin and the stiffness in his limbs.  Mama stood in the corner, with her back turned, sobbing and overcome with grief. Liss trembled as she lay her nephew back down on the bloodstained rug, glancing only briefly to the body of her sister-in-law that lay close by.  She could feel herself breaking inside, resolve to survive, to protect the castle dissolving beneath the weight of what she had already lost. Maker, take her instead. Please. Take her instead.

Another blink and she stood at the entrance to the family’s hidden passageway out of the castle, watching her mother hold her father  while she hummed and attempted to apply pressure to a deep wound across his abdomen. Liss’ blood turned to ice and she was frozen, numb, unable to cry and scream like the little girl inside of her wanted to.  Papa was dying. Her protector and idol lay bleeding on the floor and she was powerless to save him. Her world was falling apart before her eyes and there was nothing she could do to pull it back together. It took all of her strength to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.

“Elissa, don’t just stand there,” her mother snapped, voice like a splash of cold water to the face, “Bar the door.”

Liss looked around the room.  “But what about Bear,” she asked. She did not remember being separated from her dog, and now she worried for his safety.

An urgent “Sweetheart” was the only thing her mother said, brows slanting sympathetically.  

“R-right. Of course,” she murmured as she rushed to secure the room, ignoring the pit in her stomach and the ache in her chest as she did so.  As soon as the door was sealed, she returned to kneel beside her parents.

“Papa,” she said, words turning into tears, “I’m so sorry.”

“For what, my dear girl,” he rasped, bringing a shaking hand to her face.

“This is all my fault.  I should have been more alert, moved fas—“

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, voice hoarse, breathing labored. “You did all you could.”

He coughed forcefully, and a trickle of blood rolled down his chin.  Mama wiped it away with a makeshift handkerchief she tore from the bottom of her nightgown. She spoke to him calmly, voice so low that Liss could not hear what she said, but she looked frazzled and defeated, jaw set and hands trembling.  She smiled when Papa looked up at her, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  

“You must escape, Elissa,” Mama said abruptly.

“I won’t leave you behind,” Liss protested, “I can’t.”

Her mother reached forward and grabbed her wristed, squeezing tightly.  “You do not have a choice.”

“But—” “One of us has to leave, find Fergus,” she explained, “You and your brother must go to the King, announce to the entire country what Rendon Howe has done.  Do you hear me?” “Yes Mama,” Liss answered, dejectedly.

Before she could even say a final goodbye to her parents she found herself standing alone, engulfed by complete darkness.  She squinted her eyes and searched for someone, anyone, but no matter how far she ran in any direction, no matter how loudly she shouted, there was nothing but a completely empty void and she was the lone inhabitant.  Lost, terrified, and heartbroken, she fell to her knees and pounded her fists against the ground as her own thoughts echoed around her.  

You let your family die.

It is all your fault.

You should have died instead.

“No. No. No!” She gasped and shouted as she woke up, shocked to find herself clean and warm in a bed.  Still, her whole body shook convulsively until a gentle pressure fell upon her shoulder. She looked up and blinked a few times until the figure standing above her came into focus and became recognizable.  

“Shh.  Easy, love.  You’re all right.” It was the mage — the irreverent, overly forward one who called himself Anders.  He offered her a reassuring smile and continued. “The nightmares are nasty, aren’t they?”

Liss nodded slowly, still not entirely awake, waiting for her body to realize it was safe to relax. She was accustomed to nightmares, but nothing like the one from which she had just awoken.  They had always been brief flashes from the night her family died, as if it were happening to someone else and she watched from a distance. She had never had a nightmare that was so real, so vivid that it was almost exactly like living the horror all over again.

“Other people say they have nightmares about darkspawn, dragons and the like,” Anders explained, “I never have. They’re always about the bloody Circle. What I wouldn’t give for a darkspawn to eat me in my dreams instead.” He laughed, but it was empty and sad.

“Mine wasn’t about darkspawn either,” she answered, mouth turning to cotton as she spoke.

“Here,” said a different voice and Liss turned to see Velanna extending a cup of water to her as if she had read her mind.

“Thank you,” Liss said, taking the cup and steadying it with both of her hands. She brought the rim to her lips and took a long drink. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Around an hour,” Anders answered, “Which was a bit concerning considering that most people who survive wake up immediately.”

Liss took another drink and then sat the cup down. “Did something go wrong?”

“You had an unusual reaction to the ritual,” Velanna interjected, “You had symptoms of blight sickness, which Wardens do not typically experience.”

“Am I going to be okay?”

“You woke up, did you not?”  The elf smiled gently despite the directness of her words.

“I suppose I did,” Liss muttered, and recalled the memory of the other recruits strangling, dying just before her name was called.  She remembered the wave of dread and panic that crashed into her and held her under. It was all muddled after that, vision going black, falling to the ground, Nate’s frantic voice as he caught her.

Liss’ eyes widened. Everything was fuzzy after that, and Nathaniel’s absence worried her.  Their last conversation had not ended well at all, and shame burned under her cheeks as she remembered his confession.  She had dismissed his feelings entirely, feelings that she’d begged him to talk about for years, feelings that she’d prayed for even after she stopped writing to him. She did not regret her anger—she had every right to be angry with him— but walking away from someone she loved and leaving him to think she didn’t, as if it were some sort of justified response to his poor timing, had been uncalled for.  He had looked so hurt and heartbroken, jaw set as he stepped aside and let her head to her potential demise. She realized now that he had only been trying to protect her from something horrific, and she’d stubbornly accused him of not trusting her abilities. Maker, what if she had finally ruined things between them for good?

“Something the matter?” Anders tilted his head and waved his hand in front of her face.  

“Where’s Nathaniel,” she asked, ignoring Anders’ question about her well-being.

“Probably off sulking in a dark corner somewhere,” Anders joked, clearly not sensing the gravity of Liss’ question.  “You know how he is. I mean, at least I think you do. You two seem to have quite the history.”

Velanna rolled her eyes at Anders and sighed before looking at Liss sympathetically.  “Nathaniel was… rather worried when you did not wake immediately. I have never seen him so upset before.”

“Did he seem angry?”  Liss’ voice wavered as she spoke, betraying her most vulnerable emotions to people she barely knew.

“No.  Not at all.” The other woman frowned, clearly confused.  “Just worried.”

“He was more shaken than anything,” Anders added, “As soon as he trusted that you were stable, he left, said he needed to clear his head.”

“I need to talk to him,” Liss said, grunting and sitting up, struggling against the pounding and throbbing in her head.

“No. You need to rest,” Anders scolded carefully, motioning for her to lie back down, “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“I’m fine.” Liss grumbled as she staggered to her feet, a bit dizzy and nauseous, but no worse for the wear otherwise.  She made her way to the door, turned the knob and heading out into the hallway, stopping only to thank Anders and Velanna for taking care of her.

The halls of Vigil’s Keep were not as familiar and committed to memory as Liss had hoped they would be.  She was not even certain where the bloody stairwell was. She intended to head out to the courtyard. When Nate said anything about clearing his head, it almost always meant archery.  She recognized that it had been a long time since she had actually heard him say that, but she assumed he had not changed in that regard, so not knowing the location of the stairs was a significant barrier.  Unfazed, she continued down the long narrow corridor, taking at least a glance at each door, stopping in her tracks as she saw one that was not entirely closed. Remembering just three years prior when Delilah had given her a tour, Liss was confident that it had been Nate’s.

She knew that it could belong to anyone now,  but her curiosity was piqued and she stepped over to stand in front of it, rapping her knuckles against the wooden surface.  There was no answer, and although she knew it was rude, she nudged the door open further and walked inside, looking about the room.  There were no immediate and obvious signs that Nathaniel resided there, well, with the exception of the Howe family portraits stacked in the corner of the room, including the one of his father and hers that he asked Garavel to save.  She could not imagine anyone else finding value in those old things.

Entering further, she noticed several items littering a dresser near the bed.  The items were strewn about in a way that suggested that a pack had been emptied hurriedly in search of something specific.  Approaching the dresser, she noticed a small coin purse that was mostly empty, several lockpicks, and a whetstone. There were also some tools Liss definitely remembered Nathaniel using to craft arrows, and a small, bronze figurine carved into the shape of a bronto.  She picked it up excitedly, causing it to make a faint jingling noise, and she noticed the tiny crank where it’s tail should have been. It was a clever little music box, she thought as she sat it aside, eyes drawn to an empty envelope and crumpled up piece of parchment that lay next to it.

Taking the ball of parchment in her hands, Liss began to carefully straighten it out, making sure she did not tear it accidentally.  Immediately, she recognized the handwriting as Nate’s and the date at the top indicated that it was from just days before, from Denerim.  She moved her eyes down the page and her heart fluttered. The letter was addressed to her, and she no longer felt guilty for reading it. Walking over to the bed, she sat down on the edge, and began to read.  

Dear Liss,

I think we can both agree that this letter is long overdue.  I am not certain where to begin, other than to say that I am sorry for never writing to you .  I was young, stupid, and hurting so much that I could hardly stand it. Losing you was like losing a limb, some large part of myself that I could learn to live without, but only if I pretended I never had it in the first place.  I am not saying it was a good choice, but it was the only way I knew how to cope. It was selfish and inconsiderate, and I hope that you can forgive me.

I have many regrets, the biggest being that I never told you how I felt about you.  There is no time like the present, I suppose. Even if it is too late, I need you to know, or it will drive me crazy for the rest of my life.

The truth is, Liss, I love you.  I have loved you since the day you crawled out from under my bed on my first night in Highever, and I wasn’t even old enough to know what love was.  I just knew that being near you made me feel better, and that there was nowhere else in Thedas I wanted to be. It frustrated me to no end that you could not see all that I saw in you, that you thought you were so average. You could not be average if you tried.

I want you to know that regardless of where we go from here, no matter what happens between us, I won’t think any differently.  You were my best friend, and all of the memories from my childhood I care to keep are with you and your family. I do not know what I would have done without you.

I missed you, Liss, more than words could accurately convey.  I know you are tired of apologies, but I don’t care. I am sorry that I never told you any of this before.  I am sorry that I was so terrified of my father that I let him come between us. I am sorry if I ever once made you think I didn’t care about you.  I am sorry that I waited until the night before I left to dance with you, to kiss you. More than anything else, I am sorry that I wasted nine years of my life pretending that I could be happy without you.

It is good to finally see you again.

Sincerely Love,

Nathaniel

Tears fell from her eyes, crashing onto the paper as she read, dropping more and more quickly as she reached the end.  It was everything she wanted to hear from Nate, jotted down succinctly in one letter, a letter he’s clearly written just after their reunion and carried around for days, waiting to find the right time to give it to her, or to just say it out loud.  Everything had been so chaotic, he probably hadn’t even had the chance. Each time it seemed they would have a moment alone together, one of them was pulled away for a duty of some sort. Then, she asked to join the Wardens, and one misunderstanding and wrong conclusion after another led them to hang on the delicate thread where their relationship currently dangled.

It was all ridiculous, so completely unnecessary.  They both wanted the same thing. They both needed to have the same conversation.  Liss couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, even as tears continued to fall.

Liss was drawn from her amusement by an abrupt shuffle of footsteps in the hall nearby, too light and quick to be any of the guards.  Before she could move to stand, to return the letter to where it had been, the door creaked open further and Nathaniel stood in the doorway, brows furrowed and head tilted in confusion.  Clearly, he had not expected to find her sitting on his bed when he left his door open. He should have known better.

“Liss,” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. She could hear the ragged edge to his voice, the emotion that dared to burst loose. She wanted to see it, hear it, even if it hurt.  It was time that he let her see past that wall of propriety and stoicism he always attempted to maintain when he was most upset.  

“Hey Nate,” she said, attempting to keep her own composure.  She stood up from the edge of his bed, letter still in her hand.  Holding it up to show him, and smiling through the tears. “I finally got your letter.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #temperance #update #my writing #i am sorry in advance

[bluebellhairpin]

The Girl Who Knew The End {4}

While We’re Here

Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Chapter Three // “I Was With Child”

Chapter Four // (You’re Here!)

Chapter Five // Faster and Faster

A/N: I re-watched An Unexpected Journey and now I need to lie down for a while. -Nemo

Summary: Thorin’s Company has now reached Rivendell, and (y/n) finally has some truthful light shed on her purpose in Middle-Earth.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist  

{Edited 25-02-2020}

After a nice hunt through the troll’s cave - and then being hunted yourselfs by orcs and their horrible wargs - you’d made it safely into what you recognised as an entrance to Rivendell. 

On your travels to Bag-End, you’d passed by the outer-rims of elvish territory. It looked amazing from  what you distantly saw, but you weren’t really prepared for how amazing it was close-up. 

You were near the front of the group, wanting to be out of earshot of Thorin and his grumblings about the elves despite your recent agreement of further tolerance. You wanted to enjoy this, which meant not having the experience tainted by the grudge-filled king.

“(y/n),” Gandalf said, a twinkle of something unrecognizable in his eyes as he spoke, “As you remember it?” you gaped up at him for a few moments before nodding.

“Better, if I’m honest. Nothing compares to the real thing, especially if you’ve only seen it through a glass screen.” you said, and he chuckled at your words. Some of the other Company members were confused at your remark, but they were mostly used to your incoherent phrazes- if they weren’t by now there was something wrong with them. 

“Good,” Gandalf started, “I believe you might like it here.” His final comment made Thorin’s gumblings a little louder, which brought a smile to your lips. He was becoming more tolerable, or maybe you were just getting used to how he acted in general. Either way, you found yourself not minding his upset demeanor, it was more enduring than annoying now. 

A little treck further leads you and your group down to an entrance to the main building in the water-filled valley. Thorin and the other dwarves were instructed to not speak, and leave it all to Gandalf, not that they were too happy about it. 

When what you recognised as Elrond and his hunting party approach, the others all got ready in fighting stances. You rolled your eyes a little, knowing the elf lord wasn’t going to hurt them, and couldn’t help but bring yourself towards the front of the group with Thorin and Dwalin. 

You couldn’t help but be drawn to Elrond. You were led here to find answers to the map Thorin had to Erebor, but maybe he’d know about how you got to Middle-Earth, and what you needed to do to get back home. 

“Does he offer us insult?” Golin asked, pointing at Elrond as the elf’s lips twitched into a small and amused smile at the dwarfs misinterpretation of the elves native tongue.

“No, master Golin. He is offering you food.”

“Well, in that case, lead on.” And at that everyone lowered their guard again. Well, except for Thorin. You had a feeling he would be tense for a much longer time, and you didn’t even have to be an ‘all-knowing other-worldly being’ to see that. 

“Milady, I believe I haven’t yet come to know you.” Elrond said, falling in step next to you as you all were lead up the flight of stairs, Thorin a few steps behind you - busy eyeing the elf.

“I’m (y/n), from Earth.” you said, “I… I think you might be able to help me get back there.” 

“Earth?” he thought for a moment, “I think I have heard of it before. However, isn’t it a place of fiction? A realm made up by our ancestors to yield stories from?” 

“Fiction?” You repeated breathlessly, looking up to see Gandalf swaying in his steps, clearly having heard your conversation, and was almost as shocked as you. How he didn’t tell you this before was bad- very bad for you - but very in-character for him. “That can’t be right. Earth is my home, I have family there - a life there! It can't be fictional.” 

Elrond shook his head, seemingly plunged into deep thought. 

“If anyone would know, Lady Galadriel would. But I do not wish to disturb her.” He said, looking down at you. 

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. Like you say, there’s no point disturbing her with something so strange.” You said, opposed to meeting such a higher being. Surely that’s almost like being in a room with an angel. You feared you might faint. That or Thorin might burst a vein from frustration at you seeming to like elves company more than dwarves.  

“Do you know her?” Elrond started, looking down at you, surprised, “You seem to know a little about her.”

“Um, you might say that.” You said after a few beats, and Elrond looked at you with a small hit of realisation. Nodding, he looked ahead, folding his arms behind him.  

“How about I speak to her for you? Gandalf and I need to speak to her anyway, and that way you can still get answers without having to leave your company.” You nodded at Elrond’s offer, taking a glance back at Thorin to meet his eyes. They seemed to soften when they reached yours, but you decided to play that off as a trick of the lighting.

Soon the company had all gathered for dinner, most unhappy with the food choices set out before them, but you, after such a long time eating food suited for travel, welcomed the change with almost opened arms. 

You were sitting at the end of Kili's table, next to Bifur and Nori. You could see Thorin from where you sat and decided he didn’t look happy with Elrond and Gandalf at all - abhit relieved when Gandalf came - but still annoyed. You caught his gaze once or twice, making sure to pull a face in hopes to cheer him up or make things more bearable. It seemed to work, considering he cracked a smile once or twice.

Night fell, and you knew that by now Thorin had gone to speak with Elrond, but you decided he could do that on his own, and instead stayed with the rest of the Company, listening to their stories and joyous laughter now they were in a place where danger wasn’t so dominant over their thoughts. 

Thorin soon came back, along with the others he took with him, and Elrond and Gandalf followed behind.

“Lady (y/n), a word, please?” Elrond said, standing near the doorway. You scrambled to your feet and almost teleported over to his side with how fast you moved if it weren’t for Thorin grabbling your forearm as you went passed. 

“Thorin.” You said, voice low as you tugged your arm lightly, warning him as to what might happen if he didn’t let go. 

“Let me come with you.” he said quietly, you had to take a moment to process what he said. He wasn’t stopping you, not at all. 

“Why?” You asked, looking back at Elrond, of which was patiently waiting a little ways off.

“You might need the… Support. Just in case.” he explained. You almost couldn’t believe it. Not only two days ago Thorin wouldn’t have cared much less, and here he was offering emotional support. 

You tasted some damn good character development.

You nodded at him, and soon after he fell in step behind you as you followed the elf towards a more secluded area. 

“I spoke to Lady Galadriel. She sensed you coming, wondered how long it’d take you to reach her or us for help, advice, or guidance. She was surprised at how efficient you were at reaching Bag End in such a short time, with so many trials.” As Elrond spoke he motioned for you to sit at one of the stone benches at the balcony you’d all reached. 

Thorin came up to stand behind you, and the warmth you felt coming off him was a welcomed reassurance. You almost felt sick at what Elorld might say about you getting home.

“I myself was shocked to find out why you are here, or what Galadriel believes you’re here for.” 

“And what’s that?” Thorin said, crossing his arms and widening his stance a little more.

“To protect you.” Elrond said, looking between you and him, “Or more specifically the royal line of Durin. You and your nephews. Middle-Earth seems to have decided the fate once set for you and them is no longer suitable.” Elrond continued, speaking between both you and Thorin. “(y/n) is here to change your fates.” 

“But, how do I get home?” You asked, voice quiet and eyes wide, less concerned for Thorin and more concerned for how you could get back to your world.

“Die in battle. Sword of steel or bronze, Dragonfire, Warg, Goblin or Troll.” He said bluntly, looking dramatically across the rest of Rivendell. “But not by sicknesses, or at the hands of orcs.” 

“Pardon?” You said, almost screeching as your knuckles started turning white from holding onto the cold bench beneath you. “Do you know how many orcs we’ll run into? How many of everything you just said that we’ll run into? I could die and not have protected Durin’s line! Or worse! I could die and not go back home!” 

“Galadriel did mention that, everything in fact. But in the end you’ll be fine.” 

“How do you know that?” Thorin said, stepping around the bench to stand between you and the elf.

“She has something inside her, a power or force. I felt it before you even came into the tunnel that led you here. Almost all the high elves did. I’m guessing it was how Gandalf found her to begin with. She’ll be a great help to you, and your journey. You must only trust her.” 

Thorin looked back at you, mouth opened a little, and you felt your expression mirrored his a awful lot.

“Do you trust her?” Elrond said, looking fully at Thorin now as the dwarf looked back at him. Thorin took a few breaths, and turned back to you. 

“Yes. It’s taken a while but I do. I trust her.” He spoke with a faint smile. You guessed it might’ve been a little bigger if Elrond wasn’t here, but at this point you’ll take what you can get. You were finding Thorin to be not so bad after all. Not anymore. 

“If you’ve heard enough, I’ll be on my way. Leave you both to it.” he said.

“Thank you, Lord Elrond.” You called to the elf, Elrond nodded, smiling at you, before starting off down one of the hallways, and he didn’t look back.

“So let me get this right,” Thorin started, turning back to face you with a hand in his hair, “We run into Dragonfire? Wargs and Orcs?” he asked, looking at you from through a few strands of hair.

“You mustn’t tell the others. It could ruin everything. Even knowing yourself changes the whole game. What I do in the future might not work anymore.” You tried to explain, but your limited knowledge of what happened to them, and what you could remember from other movies back in your world about time-travel and future-seeing was, well… Limited. 

“And what he said… About my fate, and that of Fili and Kili’s. Is that true too?” You could only look at him as he spoke, mostly in fear of having said too much, but also because you didn't want to hurt him. “I can’t believe it.”

“You must, Thorin. You have to trust me, and those around you. You don’t need to do things alone.” You said, standing and making you way over to him to rest a hand on his wrist, using your other to brush the hair away from his face. “Not anymore.”

“You really are special, aren’t you.” He said, his smile finding its way to his lips again as he slowly moved his hand to lace his fingers with yours.

“I know Thorin. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Series Taglist:  @pigeonsbones  @captainrainbowpanda @theabandonedchocolate @violentmommabear42 @thorins-queen-of-erebor

#thorin imagine #thorin oakenshield imagine #thorin x reader #thorin oakensheild x reader #the hobbit x reader #the company x reader

[theincaprincess]

Shards of a forgotten past

I adopted this little plot bunny from the lovely @sdavid09 "Before Smaug, there was an Elf princess, Thranduil’s twin sister, who fell in love with a dwarf prince (Thorin). When the dragon attacked, she didn’t hesitate to go to the oblivious prince’s aid. What happens when she turns up later to help the company?"

So this is my spin on this plot bunny and because I suck at just writing one chapter this will be a few chapters long haha. 

Thank you to @amyf20 for the cover art darling, it was exactly what I was looking for! 

Also, I am tagging you lot and hope you don’t mind :D  @blankdblank @deepestfirefun @catthefearless @moonfaery @meyoko10 @tolkienprincess @starlightintherain89 @southsidesarcasticwriter  @nikolett3 @j25m18c24 @makingmischiefandcausingtrouble  @letsbeinspiredby @shanty-lol @miabee0706  

Word count 1,855

Pacing up and down the halls of his kingdom he waited for news about his wife, hearing the door open he turned to the small elleth “my lord, it’s a boy” smiling to himself he smiled at her but the smile dropped at hearing his wife scream the elleth turned and ran back in the room closing the door behind her, a few moments later the same elleth opened the door to see the king on his knees “King Oropher, you have a daughter” feeling his mouth growing dry he hoarse voice asked “how?” “Twins my lord, the Queen has given birth to twins, you can come in and see them” raising to his feet Oropher entered the room and turned to his wife who softly smiled at him and looked towards the second elleth holding the babies, holding his hands out he softly asked “may I?” “Of course my lord” handing over the baby boy He saw the pale blue eyes looking up at him “Thranduil” his wife whispered, swapping over he held up the baby girl and smiled at her bright shining blue eyes looking to his wife for her name, she smiled “you can name her Oropher” turning his eyes back to the baby he studied her small frame and wet his lips before speaking “the boy is older?” “Yes my lord” “then she shall be known as Thennith” looking for approval Oropher turned to his wife and saw her eyes shut “love?” He asked handing Thennith to the elleth, sitting on the bed he placed his hand over hers and draw it back at how cold it was “my darling?” He asked once again the panic building in him, the elleth by the door rushed over to his side as the one with the babies placed them in the cot, placing her hand under the Queen's nose she gasped “my lord, your wife, the Queen is dead”

....

Walking though the halls Thennith was on her way to the family dinner, quickly braiding her long platinum blonde hair into an elegant side braid, her father still had no idea she attended archery and sword lesions, Thranduil knew because it was his idea, not wanting to have a weak sister arriving outside the royal wing she straightened her long grown and entered already seeing her brother in his chair holding his wine glass ranting to their father about something “and here is the lamb to the slaughter” Thranduil spoke while smirking at Thennith “we’re vegetarians Thranny” she replied with her own smirk as she knew he hated her nickname for him, kissing her Fathers check she took her seat as Oropher shook his head at the sarcastic comments his children offered each other, “Thranduil, Thennith, as you are aware the young dwarf prince Thorin will be coming of age soon, and I need one of you to go along to represent our kingdom” “Thranduil can go, after all he is the oldest” Thennith replied smirking, “But you are the fairest dear sister” Thranduil smirked back causing her to roll her eyes, “can you two just listen for five minutes” Oropher shouted at the siblings making them both jump at they fathers outburst, “I have decided Thennith, you are going as Thranduil needs to be here, as acting king” sharing a look the siblings looked to their father for an explanation “there is a battle soon to the east and I am taking some of the armies there, I will be gone no longer than 6 months, and that’s my final order, now both of you go get any of your business sorted” “yes father” Thranduil and Thennith said as they rose from their chairs and left their father alone. 

....

Arriving at the front gates of Erebor a few weeks after her father left for the war to the east, Thennith and a few nobles from the woodland realm presented their invitation to the guards and was told where to go, following their instructions the group walked through the halls while the princess studied every inch of Erebor, she had never seen such great craftsmanship and was in awe of the dwarven kingdom, “Thennith focus” the older noblewoman whispered to her while handing her a box “we are to walk up to Prince Thorin, and give him the box, don’t speak to him unless you're spoken to” nodding Thennith turned to face the door “one more thing Thennith a messages from your father, don’t be sarcastic” hearing that she let out a giggle just as the door to the throne room opened. Looking a head at the throne her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the throne room, it was much bigger then she expected tuning her blue eyes over everything the finally landed on the young raven haired prince, sitting proudly in the throne, studying him she watched as his muscled chest rose and fell with his breathing, how his leg was moving up and down, probably due to boredom, she thought to herself and the way he was rubbing his thumb and index finger together, a nervous tick perhaps, getting closer to him she could now see his eyes more clear and when the light hit them the right way they were shining like the rarest sapphires, feeling a soft flutter in her heart she knew that the young dwarf prince was her soulmate, “ may I present Princess Thennith and the nobles of the woodland realm” taking a breath she walked up to Thorin and handed him the box and slightly bowed “thank you” the young prince spoke making her sightly shiver at his deep baritone voice “you’re welcome, Prince Thorin” she spoke flashing her lashes at him “may I present” the older dwarf started as the noble woman pushed her aside, leaving the room the group was making their way to the guest room when one of the guards approached them “Princess Thennith?” “Yes?” “I have a letter for you” taking it from the guard she opened it, and gasped turning to the group “we must return home right away, my father is dead” feeling the world around her closing in, the elven princess fainted.

*years later*

“Pull it back all the way, and visually the target, control your breathing and when your ready to let go, let go” with a swoosh an arrow was released from a bow and landed in the target bullseye with an exhale Legolas turned “I did it Auntie Thennith, I hit the target” “you sure did little leaf, and it’s the longest yet” “Father did you?” “Yes I did, now go back inside and finish your work” Thranduil huffed “but Father....” “Now Legolas” turning to her nephew Thennith smiled “listen to your Father, little leaf we will pick this up later” “I’m not little, I am of age” Legolas protested getting a glare from his father making him rush inside, collecting the bow and arrows Thennith turned to her brother “what has you so grumpy Thranny?” “The  scouts have informed me of a dragon on the move” “a dragon, it can’t be, I thought you killed them all in the north years ago brother” “all but the one who gave me my scar, Smaug the foul beast, they have tracked his movements his on the way to Dale and Erebor” “do the dwarves and humans know?” “No, but we must make our kingdom secure” “Thranduil we have to warn them” “it’s too late Thennith, he’ll be there by daybreak” “then at least gather the army and help them, Father would have done it, and if you don’t warn them, I will!” Listening to his sister Thranduil knew he would be fighting a losing battle, if he kept trying to disagree with her, after all, she was the general of the army, and would take them without his permission nodding Thranduil waved one of the guards over "call all the  nobles to the throne room" waving his hand the guard rushed off,  "I will meet you at the throne room in half an hour Thranduil” Thennith said as she rushed off as well, huffing as he watched his sister run off Thranduil knew he was only doing this because she would have taken the army and probably get herself and them killed walking back into his kingdom he made his way to the throne room, to inform all the nobles and make plans for Legolas to be crown king if anything goes wrong. 

....

Standing at the edge of the cliff she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, Dale was in flames and the dwarves of Erebor were fleeing their kingdom in terror, smoke raising from both city’s was feeling the air making the day dark, and ashes falling like snow, searching the fleeing dwarves with her elven eyesight Thennith felt her heart beating faster she hadn’t seen Thorin yet and started to think the worst till a formally baritone voice hit her ears turning to her left she saw him waving his hands screaming for their help, “Thranduil we must help them” she demanded “why should we dear sister?” Looking at the two city’s in flames Thranduil remembered the night Smaug almost took his life, and he didn’t want a repeat of it, “Thranduil there is a dragon in there, the one that marked you” “and almost took my life, if you haven’t forgotten” Thranduil hissed “they will die!” “And how is that our problem sister?” Thranduil asked coldly. 

Looking back down at Erebor Thennith saw Thorin still waving for help “Thranduil you know my feelings for the Prince” climbing down off his elk Thranduil stood next to his twin sister his icy blue eyes looking over the scene below them, landing on Thorin “what you feel for him is not real sister, it was only a stupid childhood crush” “don’t you dare say that Thranduil, I know how I feel” Thennith turned to face her brother anger flashing in her once bright eyes  “you know nothing of love Thennith” Thranduil snapped at how foolish his sister was, for years she pinned over the dwarf prince, sending him letters but got nothing in return, he spent many nights listing to her crying, and vowed to himself never to see her hurt again and Thranduil was not on the best of terms with the dwarves as they still had not returned his late wife’s necklace, hearing her brother words Thennith starred Thranduil in the eyes as her anger exploded “and neither do you brother, or your wife would still be alive” watching her words hit a nerve in Thranduil she regretted them at once turning to Erebor again as she couldn’t face the painful look she knew would be on her brothers face  “no but I can keep you alive” was the last thing she heard, before feeling the hit to the back of the head “return to our kingdom” Thranduil ordered the army as he pulled his sisters body up and across his elk as Thorin watched them leave, vowing to never trust another elf in his life time.

Part 2

#Tale Teller’s Plot Bunny Challenge 2019 #Thorin x reader #Oc x reader #Thranduil #oc character #Thorin Oakenshield #Thorin Oakenshield x Oc #Thorin and Company #Oc and Company #Elf x Dwarf reader #Dwarf x Elf Reader #Shards of a forgotten past #Theincaprincess #Thorin x Oc reader #Thennith x Thorin #Thennith x Thorin reader #Thranduil twin sister

[falconsandfishes]

platonic relationship

i have a bone to pick with plato. see the socratic method is basically the scene in montynpython in which a woman is weighed against a peice of wood to determine if she is a witch. and this is pretty much also the measurement system women use for me judge a cardio junkie by his ability to withstand smoke fumes. ive been up all night listening to eminem because i wish that i had the mysogny that he had because logically i should be mad at these females who lie to me but apparently developmentally theyre limited. 

so pretty much i just want my neck not to hurt and my side and platonic love isn really the kind which could support my lumbar spine but if you think im angry you are right and maybe if i rhyme my brain will work this time and ill finally be able to explain was never targeted at my objects of affections at all i like to walk around the mall see a cutie with a skirt on and she sees me looking at her tells her grandmother to leave her there because this place looks fun as she smiles at me there comes abu my friend who judges me and judges you and as i stare at her i can tell she wants me too probably more emotionally mature than my mom and a virgin with her skirt on and its workun but i have the confidence of a plastic bag floating in the wind shes cheesing while i hide behind her even though shes 4 11 and im 6 4 and because he was there i didnt pass because i dont cross paths but even thinking about having a girlfriend makes him mad. if shes too young for me i would have figured that out but it doesnt help that no matter how young or how old even the weather lady im told shes not right for me so will you make up your mind please can someone define maturity because apparently there is a reverse correlation between it and age and socrates was no sage im not really impressed that he drank poison similarly i smoke weed which takes me back to age three and birthday parties then i think about how much my life failed but only because everyone always stood in front of me. so snitch on me when i talk to you when youre in front of me at your desk and say your story about butterflies is the best begging middle and end. meawhile i havent even gotten to the first page of my legend of the sword it had a much more compliated plot which was cut off. then tell me i didnt count to tenthousand while you were listening to the teacher say the is spelled t h e and put me in a remedial reading class with a bunch of girls and address us as the girls so we can read books about a mouse who lives with his family in a house but if girls and boys are the same how can you explain i was the only one in that group to be bumped up to the advanced on by 2nd grade. i guess reading the encylopedia of animals wasnt a wase memorized their latin names bufo sativa phylobates. so by third grade i was getting so good at math that they took me out of class and had me testing material meant for 5th graders and it was really lame how can i explain all the flaws in the system to all the other people who were also ruined by it.

finally one girl who was definitely old enough for me waved at me when i looked at her and i got a boner and walked over to the ladies at the tea shop who looked at me with a disgusted look on their faces then some gangster looking dude older than i am replaces me with his hand on her shoulder.

before i was 18 i could beat up my dad and ever since then i knew not many people in my generation had much of a chance against me but i looked so thin they were not understanding. high iq causing depression have anothe smoke session even though you have athsma everyone remember to complain that i prefer to get high off one big hit i stayed in high school till i graduated but i left.

unfortunately with brain damage i could still make straight as which made me think i was ok gpa jumping above 3.68 when i only show up an agerage of 3 days.

practice your sky hook do your pushups get embaressed when an asian princess sees you do them 20 hanlaps perfect form and im not even a jock wow id better stop. next thing the girl i like is sitting on my lap in class telling me she likes me back shes sitting on my desk shes rubbing my face my life isnt gay justnsaynsomehing and youll get laid.

nah ill let some kid with adhd steal her seat and ill help him with math instead because i didnt tell her this but im alread braindead. my soul probably died with my pet lizard or my kitten perhaps it was internet addiction. 

what makes you think youll be make it as a porn star? you know im hot. well maybe i just didnt want you to act like a slut. i still remember the blonde who waves at me and smiled my freshman year it was clear that the world was my oyster the only problem was i couldn make my own choices.

i wanted to be an actor but i was so good at acting nobody got it. was so good at debating everyone liked to argue. was so succinct couldnt get the last word. so fast nobody would pass me the ball so dominant in wrestling i had to pretend i couldnt win just to have a friend.

pretty much i feel like the last cro magonon stuck on an island without charlotte saisselin bounce baby bounce three story house you look so cute in a blouse. hey look theres charlottes stalker i think il wave my arms around.

bounce baby is a reference to eigth grade i was watching a 100 meter race and then some black guy said that she never raced again. weed turned her from a goth into a wigger and after that i figured id become one too but it wasnt till 2009 i started to dress like you. what happened was i got some clothes from olympia sports to wear as warmups on the basketball court and to work as a salesman i shaved my head smiled knowing i was dead but still i couldnt even say i wanted to kiss  girl without that not being cool enough for my nephew and her bowl broke too

it fell from her car on the pavement and she said that he didnt even get to hit it.

so now im living in my dads room on the floor and finally my back isnt sore i have a well paying job im away from mom i have iron lungs and dad still doesnt approve because now i play too much basketball.

hi im interested in going to california. i meant connecticut but califonia will do since its warm there. sure steve come on out west but read the fine print your 20s are dead.

prove you wrong shame on me. dont prove you wrong brag proudly. stay out west and let your dad die. watch him act like an asshole at home back east one more time. your reward for having surived on the street for years as a middle clas kid

your friend says he thought you were dead. by the way he has this girlfriend in connectiut. oh you were the one who set him up with her? theres a whole website or three centered around her? 

better get you to spend your money on heroin and make you seem like a jerk in front of my dad. my excuse is im skitzophrenic.

all because my dad shamed me for growing up even crazier than him. thats why i called up my friend and asked him to date my girlfriend. 

there must have been something in those amphetamines which made me keep stopping at her house. i found them up on the shelf years after i tried to spill them out.

it was the first time an adult had ever called me immature. he also said my handwriting was bad and i needed a cure. talking to him i began to get red where even to begin? i have a lot of prblems at home and this isnt fair. see my dad camps in the yard and gets drunk watches us through windows andmy sister punches me in the head. mom pretty much works till shes in bed.

every day she watches the same soap opera and oprah which i record for her on tape. my sisters friends call me gay so i go over and play with the kids from the other neighorhood all day. 

one of them listens to a lot of eminem. his favorite song is if you dont like it you can suck my dick. hes in reform school and proud to be off his meds. when i talk about biking down a steep hill and blending into traffic he thinks i meannliterall blend in.

two gay twin brothers end of the road honor roll kids. play baseball and have alcoholic parents. hey ill tell the girl steve likes he likes her then she will never talk to him again. accept his chalenge to a fight and he will bang my head into a tree which is the same thing i did to another kid who tried to jump me but got sperated from his friends. 

refuse to dance with the only girl in middle school who has hips. make fun of the girls intelligence who sits next to you in math and has giant tits. refuse to eat candy off the first girls tounge then your science teacher who pushed pills on you flips on the tv its 911

stare at a girl all day and say you dont like her. girls think youre gay if you have a boner. telll me a calculator doesnt mattrer for a test but i do worse without one. make a flag pencil it isnt cool enough for the other kids.

sit with the retarded kids timmy and jimmy. watch nick all night fresh prince and bill cosby.

your sister wont stop torturing you so hold her at knife point. buy knives at school try to resell them and for the first time ever the kids you sold them to ge caught witth knives.

stay in the program with three teachers who gave up on you. one leaves to become a dean suddenly your grades go up. kids are jealous because you dont do homework. girls smile at you knowing that your test scores are high despite that.

throw shotput as far as a high school kid without any exercise or practice. run around the track dozens of times in pants you still arent good enough yet.

go to an alternative program reluctantly in high school its sort of like jail. everyone smells like cigarettes the air is stale. this isnt good for you but we will make you think if you leave you will fail.

[averil-of-fairlea]

Honor your promise

Based on this from @thorinoakenshieldconfessions: “My new head canon is this: Just before Thorin’s love dies in his arms from a battle wound, she tries to comfort him. With her last bit of strength, she smiles weakly and jokes, “No sulking or frowning, my love, or I shall come back and teach you a lesson.” Then she dies. His heart shattered, from that moment on he often has a dour face, hoping in vain that she will someday make good on her promise.“   

And this from @imaginexhobbit:  “Imagine making up with Thorin against a tree.”

Notes: Angst, slight NSFW, humor. Flashbacks are in italics. I changed the “battle” in the head canon above to Smaug’s breach of the Lonely Mountain.

Written in loving memory of my husband, who died unexpectedly on August 5, 2017. He was my real-life Thorin, a complete Tolkien nerd who introduced me to “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings.” He was the absolute love of my life.

It seemed like a lifetime ago when Thorin last cradled your head to his chest under the canopy of a serene oak grove, the scene of so much passion and love, good-natured needling and laughter. But only a little while had passed since that bliss.

Farewell hurdled toward you, between you, as fast as the blood spilled from your body.

“You were supposed to hide.” Thorin didn’t mean for it to sound like a reprimand. You saved his life. Gratitude and a desperate plea rested behind the sharpness of his words.

“You knew I wouldn’t.” You touched his face and found comfort in the softness of his beard. But his heavy, wrinkled brow, falling like an avalanche, broke your slowing heart.

His tears fell onto your chin. He could hardly hear you through the din of sorrow and anguish, echoing inside his heart and all around him, strong as the overwhelming smell of fire and smoke.

“I have a better promise,” you continued through a hoarse whisper. 

“Stay.” Thorin touched your cold cheek. “Stay with me.”

You managed a small smile. “No sulking or frowning, my love, or I shall come back and teach you a lesson.”

                                                         ***

Thorin wakes up with your last words etched on his mind as always, and with a shred of hope in his heart that today will be the day.

As he collects his bedroll, pipe and the excellent pipe weed he stashed for himself, he hears but doesn’t participate in the company’s early morning chatter. Topics of conversation include Beorn’s monster-sized bees, the hearty breakfast the skin changer has prepared, and Dwalin’s nightmarish belches and farts lasting from a bean stew supper two nights ago.

In the midst of it all, Thorin catches chitchat between his nephews about him.

“Best to stay out of his way, Kee. He’s already grim. It’s written all over his face.”

“Of course he is. Mum said ever since his wife -”

“No, no, he smiles every now and again. Remember when Bofur sang in Rivendell?”

Kili nods with a wide grin. “Aye, he was tapping his foot and enjoying his wine, too!” The younger of the princes snaps his fingers, his eyes shining. “And he smiled at Mr. Boggins’ house - right at Mr. Boggins himself!!”

Fili nods, then with caution slides his eyes to Thorin, who does an excellent job feigning oblivion to the talk as he collects his bedroll into an uneven lump with fast, angry folds.

Convinced his uncle isn’t paying him any attention, Fili turns back to Kili and adds: “He had a little chuckle at Bilbo’s expense, too.”

“Didn’t everyone chuckle at Bilbo’s expense?” Kili’s words trip over his giggles.

Fili clearly wants to explode with laughter, but his shaking shoulders and several hard boot stomps on the hay in Beorn’s barn will have to do.

Within seconds, the brothers move onto the next subject - “what are the odds we’ll find a decent tavern during our travels? - while Thorin ponders Fili’s observation: “He smiles every now and again.”

Thorin’s mind moves as quick and as sharp as lightning, his musings piercing his heart.

Perhaps you had planned to fulfill your promise at the very moment his countenance changed from grim to blithe, he thinks. You may have mistaken his expression to mean he has forgotten you. That explains why you haven’t appeared to him as you promised.

“I have failed you,” Thorin mutters under his breath. “Again.”

And with those words filling his head, the memory of his last day with you plays out, as it does every day.

                                                      ***

“You have failed, Prince Thorin!”  

Wrapping your legs tight around his waist, you moved together as one through the last few waves of ecstasy. Thorin’s loosened belt kept his dark trousers from completely revealing his naked backside, but not by much. The rough bark of the oak tree behind you clawed at your hiked frock and scratched your skin, but the slight sting only added to the thrill of your torrid lovemaking.

“Failed?” The smile played on his lips sent you back to the sky. “Your moans tell me differently, amrâlimê.”

Oh, the power the simple act of smiling had on you. Your body quivered as you held each other for dear life, the pleasure between you generating such high heat that you were sure the whole of the Erebor could sense it, two leagues away.

“My turn…for failure…” He grinned that grin again. Your clenches below pulled  deep growls and thrusts from him that took you both by surprise with their intensity.

Several minutes later, as you lay under dappled sunlight on a plush gray blanket, surrounded by trees and birdsong, you clarified your earlier statement.

“What I meant was, you failed to take my mind off the fact that we argued yet again about you forbidding me to wield a sword over the next year.”

Stretched beside your body, his arm protectively around your shoulders as you rested your head on his chest, Thorin released a rugged chuckle before answering.

“I would say you wielded my sword very, very well a moment ago.”

Your face hot, you slapped his hand, making him laugh louder. When he settled down, his voice turned low and serious.

“Amrâlimê, please. Isn’t it enough that you still carry it?” He gestured toward your treasured weapon resting in its scabbard against a large rock. “And as I recall, it was not I who forbade you, but your midwife. It’s for the best. It’s for our child.” He patted your slightly rounded belly.  You lifted your head to look him in his beautiful blue eyes, the royal tailor’s inspiration for his striking cobalt tunic. It took everything in you not to rekindle passion’s fire.

“Well, if sparring is off limits,” you teased, “surely coupling should be also. Especially against trees.”

Thorin cocked an eyebrow - his “don’t-dare-think-it” look.  

“That was no mere coupling, my lady. That was -”   

“Magic.” You reached up to give him a gentle peck on the lips, and lay your head back on his chest. “Fine. I’ll follow the midwife’s orders. But I must tell you, I can hardly wait to practice again. I think I have some lessons to teach you.”

He scoffed. “Lessons? Need I remind you that I’ve been through more swords and battles than you’ve seen sunrises?”  

“Defending yourself and what you love is not always about experience. It’s about what’s in your heart.”

Thorin groaned. “That sounds like poetry.” He rolled his eyes, taking advantage of your turned head. If you’d caught him, his hand would get slapped again. He sighed and held you closer. “Heart alone doesn’t win battles or save lives.“

“Depends on what’s in the heart, my love.”

Thorin knew you would say that, and he had a response that he hoped would lead to more romance: “You’ll just have to show me.”

But he never got a chance to say it. All at once, a shadow of great and terrifying proportions crossed the sky directly overhead. The beast’s sweltering whoosh swept the forest floor across your embraced bodies.

You both scrambled to your feet and looked up, but the creature had already disappeared from your immediate sight. Its heat lingered, however. You thought you would burst into flames.

“What was that?!” you cried as you shook off the dried leaves, sticks and pine cone bits from your hair and clothes, followed by dousing yourself with what remained in your water skin.

No sooner had you asked the question did you hear a clamor of far-off screams and warning blows through a symphony of horns.

“Dragon!” Thorin stomped into his boots. “It’s headed for the mountain!”

Dragon. The word sent your heart into frenzied pounding. You fumbled into your shoes as Thorin tossed your coat to you. He grabbed your sword and secured it to his side on his belt, next to his own weapon.

“Thorin, give it to me! I’m coming with you!” You dove toward him, but he extended his arm and held his hand against your shoulder, keeping you back.

“You will hide here,” he said. Somehow, the urgency in his voice did not take away from the uncanny calmness in his tone. He sounded kingly, resolute. You’d never heard quite so authoritative a tone from him. He would make a fine king someday, and you, an exquisite queen, you thought. But first, the dragon needed to die. “I will send the first guard I see for you,” Thorin said. “Until then, put the blanket over you and wait quietly in the thicket.”

You reared your head back and widened your eyes. “A blanket?” you shrieked in disbelief. “You would leave me alone and defenseless?”

“I would leave you hidden and alive!” He approached you with fast, determined footfalls. In an instant, he took you into his arms and kissed your mouth hard. You knew what it meant. If his journey home resulted in his death, he wanted to make sure you knew how much he’d loved you. More than anyone. More than his own life.

He placed his hand over your navel, covered by your wrinkled dress.

“Promise me you will -” Thorin began, but another set of distant screams and distress calls interrupted him.

“Go!” You pushed him toward his pony.

He realized halfway to the mountain that you had deftly detached your scabbard from his belt during your embrace.

                                                     ***

As he pulled his grandfather from the mountain, Thorin heard you shout his name and scream for him to watch out.

“I am dazed…imagining things,” he thought. “She’s in the woods and hidden.”

But Thorin would learn much later from the guard he sent to protect you that you overtook the gentleman’s steed and rushed off toward the Lonely Mountain without him, hollering an apology in your wake.

Thorin heard your voice again: “FIRE!” you yelled that time. The dragon had its eyes fixed on him and his grandfather. An inferno glowed in its chest as the dragon opened its mouth.

Thorin couldn’t move as fast as he wanted, and he couldn’t get to you. He, along with elite fighters and commoners alike, raised swords to fend off the beast.  

He didn’t want to believe what he saw next. You, charging. You, roaring. You, screaming, “move!” You, drawing that blasted sword.

But too much rubbish, too many frantic people, and too little foresight got in your way. You lost your footing just after pushing Thorin and Thror out of the direct path of the dragon’s hot fury. You dropped your sword and stumbled in front of it. The blade got wedged in broken stone and sat upright, waiting for a victim.

Thorin lunged toward you just a hair too late. The sword sliced his fingers but slipped from grasp. He could only catch you after the fact.

“You were supposed to hide…”

                                                         ***

“Where are you? Honor your promise! Show yourself!”

The king’s mighty voice, deep and rough with anguish and madness, bounces off the streaked jade walls inside his reclaimed homeland. Outside, armies surround the mountain. Inside, his relatives and friends wring their hands and gnash their teeth, awaiting word from their troubled king.  

He looks around the vast halls for any sign of you. For the shape of you. Your voice. Your smile. Everything tugs at his mad mind, just as your heavy scabbard that he insists on fastening tightly to his belt weighs him down: War. Power. That sneaky, deceitful Hobbit. That conceited Elf. That dull bargeman, his loosing of a black arrow his sole redeeming quality. That daft, pointy-hatted wizard who egged Thorin on in the first place, practically ushering him into this disaster. That panicked Dwalin whimpering about Dain’s forces getting slaughtered instead of worrying about protecting the mountain’s wealth.

But at his core, Thorin wrestles the most with something else.

He remembers Fili’s remark months ago: “He smiles every now and again.” Thorin recalls laughing, merrymaking and feasting over the years, and those memories plague him.

Because as hard as he tried, he failed to stay absolutely solemn all of his days, the very thing that would have summoned you to return and teach him his lesson.

Because as much as he scowled and frowned, something would eventually remind him of life’s goodness: friendships, new and old; the kingly potential in his nephews; loyalty, honor, and a willing heart.

Dejected, he walks away from his fractured throne, off to the Gallery of the Kings and its dazzling gilded floor - yet another memento of his failure, when he led the company in an attempt to kill Smaug by drowning him in molten gold.

At that moment, as his mistakes and voices from his past overlap in his mind, your scabbard crashes beside him, right atop a vision of the dragon swimming beneath the floor, and your sword slides out, as if drawn.

                                                    ***

Thorin’s injury is grave from his final battle with Azog, but his healers tend to him day and night, cleaning the wound, applying fresh bandages and making sure he has every available remedy and comfort. A touch of Gandalf’s healing power seals his fate: Thorin will live.

The king’s closest friends, including Bilbo, Dwalin, and the rest of the company, bring him regular reports of his nephews’ slow but steady recovery and the rebuilding process. He’s gotten word that his sister and other Dwarves from Ered Luin will soon make the journey to Erebor.

As soon as his caretakers feel he can do it, Thorin takes on a few duties from his sick bed. The plans for a grand front gate and other repairs receive his approval. Along with the recently crowned king of Dale, he proposes new trade agreements and reinstates old ones. The Elven king, not yet a business partner but no longer a foe, has visited once, keeping a chilly distance but unable to conceal the relief on his face that Thorin will survive. 

And Thorin’s most formidable enemy lies dead in a lake.

All of this gives the King Under the Mountain a reason to smile; in Thranduil’s case, smirk.

Everything makes sense now. The love and devotion in his heart for his people and his home saved lives, won the mountain once and for all, and delivered him from madness and failure. .

Thorin finally understands what you meant when you said, “it’s about what’s in your heart.”

He still aches for you and the future you didn’t have, the child that never came into the world. He longs for your eventual reunion, many years from now if Mahal allows, to see you in all your beauty, magic and wisdom, just like the last time in the forest.

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