#memories of that spring chapter 05

[diabolik-art-blog]

Memories of that spring

AO3: Chapter 05

Fanfiction.net: Chapter 05

Summary: He is very brat. Of course, all nobles are like that. But what would you do if you were a serf? What will you do if this milk becomes your only food?

The blizzard had stopped for hours. The children moved with great effort in the heavy snow and darkness of the night to reach the hut of the old man Tenjin. Yuma lunged forward with all his strength, supporting Yui with his hand in hers.

The young boy was moving behind them and there was nothing but silence between them for a long time. Shu just stared at his boots, which were made of expensive leather, and moved forward. He didn't know what it felt like, but he could smell Yui's deliciousness. It was as if he wanted to attack her every moment and swallow or bite her.

He knew he was still too young to suck blood, but he didn't know what this strange thirst was for. Besides, Yui and Yuma are human and Shu didn't want them to find out about his identity as a vampire prince. That's why he didn't lose anything of his identity and only introduced himself as an ordinary nobleman.

Yuma, who was moving ahead of him, noticed his slow steps and his silence. Yuma really wanted to get to know this boy better, but he didn't trust him.

Yuma: Oi skinny boy... If you come at this speed, we won't be there until tomorrow.

Shu:.....

Yuma: Hmmm.... can you hear me?

Yuma didn't get any response from Shu, which made Yui worried. Without hesitation, she left Yuma and went to Shu. Shu was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Yui facing him and bumped into her, causing Yui to fall to the ground.

Yui: Oooohhhh.....

Shu: Huh.... Oh. I am sorry. I did not see you. Are you alright?

Yuma quickly ran over to Yui and helped her up, shaking the snow off her clothes so she wouldn't catch a cold.

Yuma: How are you, Yui? Did you get hurt, are you in pain

Yui: No, I'm fine Yuma. Do not worry.

Yuma angrily turned his head towards Shu and grabbed his collar and lifted him up and since he is taller than Shu, Shu almost hung in Yuma's fist.

Yuma: What the fuck are you doing? You might hurt her. YOU BASTARD.....

Shu: I... I... I'm sorry... I really didn't mean to.

Yui: Yuma!!!!! please stop I am good. Please finish it and put him down. Yuma!!

Yuma: Chhhhh.....

Hearing Yui's pleas and cries, Yuma couldn't see her upset more. He slowly loosened Shu's collar and placed him on the ground, and Shu began to cough.

Shu: *Cough*.... *cough*....

Yui: How are you, Shu-san?

Shu: I'm fine.... I'm just very tired.

Yui walked over to Shu and held out her hand to help him up. Shu blushed seeing Yui near him, staring at her beautiful face. He took Yui's hand and slowly got up.

As he stood up with the help of Yui's delicate hands, he smelled a more pleasant smell from her. Her smell was so good that he might attack her at any moment. Shu was worried because he's not ready to suck blood yet, but this thirst is driving him crazy.

Shu brought his face close to Yui's face. He smelled Yui's scent which made Yui blush in embarrassment.

Shu: *Sniff* *sniff*.... you smell so good. Your smell is like the smell of roses.

Hearing Shu's words, Yui blushed even more and could tell from a distance that Yuma was staring at them angrily. Yui quickly moved away from Shu because she didn't want Yuma to get angry with Shu again and beat him.

Yui: Shu-san... please don't go on any further...

Shu: Oh... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to upset you...

Yuma: Oi you two...move now. If you stay here forever, you will freeze.

Yui quickly turned away from Shu and walked over to Yuma, taking his hand again and they started walking. Shu was following them at a distance. He was going crazy with his thirst for Yui's good smell and he couldn't control himself. That's why I decided to follow them with a long distance so that he doesn't do something stupid again.

They were approaching the hut. Yui looked at Yuma's face while walking hand in hand and could see anger and sadness in his face at the same time and did not know what to do. She never likes to see Yuma so upset and angry. She wondered why Yuma had changed so much after meeting Shu. It was as if he didn't like Shu at all, or maybe he didn't trust him.

The three children reached the hut and saw that the old man was standing outside the hut with a bent back while throwing a scarf over his shoulders to protect himself from the cold. His old and weak body was shivering under the cold night air, and his eyes were full of tears and he had thrown all his weight on his wooden walking stick.

Seeing this scene, Yui immediately let go of Yuma's hand and ran to her father and hugged him. Feeling the warmth of his daughter, the old man started to cry and tightly hugged his dear little daughter. It is as if she has been away for a hundred years.

Tenjin: Yui.... Yui... Yui, my dear. Are you fine?

Yui felt guilty seeing the tears in his father's eyes. She took his father's old hands and kissed them and caressed them gently.

Yui: Papa, I'm fine. Please don't cry, I'm fine.

Hearing the pleasant voice of the girl, the old man took a deep breath and hugged her again. He wanted to feel the warmth of his daughter again and the beautiful sound of her breathing to feel alive again. He never wants to lose Yui. Yui is the reason for his life and happiness.

The old man looked at Yuma who was standing in front of them with a soft smile on his face. And behind him stands a young boy with torn leather clothes. The boy's cheeks were red from the cold and his face was scarred and he was looking at the ground. It was as if he was ashamed of something or felt ashamed.

The old man, who had just noticed the presence of the young boy, gave him a careful look. Just by looking at his clothes, he could guess that this boy came from the palace.

Tenjin: Who are you, young boy?

Shu: Hah... I... I...

Yui: Fufu... Papa, his name is Shu-san. He is one of the nobles of the palace.

Even without saying it, Tenjin was sure that this boy was a noble. Although Tenjin doesn't have good memories of nobles, his kind heart could never let a little boy freeze in the cold.

The old man Tenjin went to the young boy and knelt in front of him. He looked at his beautiful and innocent face and cleaned his wound with the corner of his scarf and caressed his cheek gently.

Tenjin: It's cold here, my boy. You are too far away from home. You can stay with me tonight.

Shu was embarrassed. He did not like to look into the eyes of the old man Tenjin. Shu knew him well. Tenjin was one of the people who was given a terrible whipping by his father for not paying taxes. Tenjin had never met Shu, but Shu secretly watched convicts being tortured from behind bars at the time, and he always hated it.

Shu hated himself and his family more when he realized how horrible they treated the people, but how kind they were to them.

The old man guided the boy to his house. When they entered the hut, Yuma threw the wood into the fireplace without pausing to light the fire. After lighting the fire, the three children sat by the fireplace to warm themselves and the old man brought them warm milk.

Yuma and Yui quickly drank the last drop of milk, but Shu was staring at the glass of milk without any reaction. Yuma gave a big grin when he realized this.

Yuma: Hahaha... Sorry, but we don't have royal food here. You should be satisfied with this one glass of milk.

Yui: Stop Yuma. Your behavior with a guest is not right at all. What's wrong Shu-san? Don't you like milk?

Shu: No... no... that's not the point.... I just...

Yuma: Just what?

Shu: I just don't know what milk tastes like?

Yui: ....! Really? Does that mean you haven't had milk yet?

Shu: Milk was never in my diet. My mother says that milk does not have the necessary nutrients and she never allowed me to drink milk.

Yuma: So what do you eat?

Shu: We eat other foods like meat, and honey for breakfast. Because according to my mother, it is very nutritious.

Yuma: Pfffffffff.... hahahaha.... you are such a baby brat..... hahaha....

Yui: Stop Yuma. You are very rude.

Yuma: Am I lying? He is very brat. Of course, all nobles are like that. But what would you do if you were a serf? What will you do if this milk becomes your only food? Do you know that in many winters, the people of our village have to be satisfied with only a glass of milk so that they don't die of hunger?

Shu: I... didn't know that.

Yuma: You nobles are always like that. You never care about anyone but yourself.

While Yuma was loudly scolding the nobles, the old man Tenjin approached them and sat next to them on the fireplace. He looked at the three children with a soft smile and gently stroked the head of his dear daughter.

Tenjin: Yuma, this way of talking to a guest is not right at all.

Yui: I told him this too, papa. But he is very rude.

Yuma: Am I lying?

Tenjin: It doesn't matter at all, Yuma. This young boy is our guest. We have to take care of him.

Yuma: Chhhhh...

Shu was overjoyed by Tenjin's kindness and still felt guilty. He had developed a strange feeling towards this kind family. Even though Yui and Yuma are not siblings, they are kinder and closer to each other than real siblings. Shu loved being a part of this beautiful little family.

He looked again at the glass of warm milk. He always wanted to try this drink even once and now it was his chance to try this. He drank the glass of milk and felt strange. It's true that this milk was not as luxurious and delicious as the food in the palace, but Shu could swear that he loved this glass of milk more than all the delicacies in the palace.

After drinking the warm milk, the old man told them to go and rest. Yui happily took Shu's hand and led him to her room in the attic. Yuma followed them to the attic.

Shu went to the room. The room was very small and dark and they must have used a lantern to be able to see somewhere. Her bed was made of straw and it's roof was thatched. Shu remembered his warm and soft room. He felt more guilty when he realized that these people were living in such conditions.

Shu: (If I become a king one day, I will help all the people of this land.)

Yui: Shu-san, welcome to my room. You can sleep in my bed tonight.

Shu: If you like, we can sleep on the bed together.

Yuma: Oi Oi.... Don't be too fast. Wherever she sleeps, I don't want her next to you. You got it? She is only allowed to sleep next to me.

Shu: Ah... well... ok...

Shu went to the bed and lay down on the bed. The bed was not soft at all, but Shu could not complain about this situation. Yuma and Yui pulled a blanket beside the bed and both fell into a deep sleep.

*TIMESKIP*

It was dark everywhere. The sound of a child's breathing and crying echoed in the darkness. A little boy ran to the girl with bare feet and hugged her small and wounded body. He was crying. His cry was so loud that it echoed in both ears.

The boy looked at the young boy with bloodshot eyes.

Yuma: I knew. I knew you could not be trusted. You bastard killed my best friend....

Shu was wandering. He did not know where he was. He looked at his hands which were covered in blood. He moved forward and looked at the little girl. It was not possible. This was impossible. He attacked the girl and killed her. Blood was around his lips. What does this mean? Does that mean he sucked the blood of the little girl?

Tears gathered in his eyes. The smell of blood was driving him crazy. He did not know where he was and why these things happened. He had a knife in his hand. He raised it and aimed it at his heart.

Shu woke up with a soft voice calling him. He was panting and looking around in horror. He was in the old man Tenjin's hut and all this was a nightmare.

When he came to himself, he saw Yui looking at him with worried eyes. He looked at Yui in surprise.

Shu: Yui... what happened?

Yui: You were crying in your sleep.

Shu: I...

Shu touched his cheek and was shocked by the tear on his cheek. He had never cried because of a nightmare. Realizing that he only cried because of a nightmare, Shu hated himself and thought about Yuma's words in his heart. He was right. Shu is really a spoiled child.

When Yui saw Shu's tears, she hugged him. Shocked by Yui's sudden embrace, Shu didn't know how to react. That's why he hugged Yui and cried softly in her arms.

Yui: It's okay Shu-san. Do not worry. It was just a nightmare. You are safe now. Don't worry, we will take care of you.

Yui's words hurt Shu's heart. No one has ever been so kind to him. Shu thought to himself if one day Yui found out that Karlheinz had tortured her father, would she forgive him.

Shu: Yui....I....*sniff*...*sob*... am sorry.

Yui, who heard his sobbing and crying, gently caressed his head to calm him down. Even though Yui never met her mother, she was taking care of Shu like a mother and this warmed Shu's heart.

Yui: It's okay Shu-san. Don't cry. You didn't do anything wrong. Like I said, it was just a nightmare. Nothing bad happened.

Shu relaxed in Yui's arms and smelled her again. Her smell was very sweet. Just like the delicious honey that Shu eats for breakfast every day. Shu liked this smell very much. As if he wanted to attack and bite her at any moment. But if Shu does this one day, will Yui still be his friend?

Shu: Yui, can I ask you something?

Yui: Of course Shu-san. What can I do to help you?

Shu: Please sleep next to me tonight, Yui.

Yui: Hah... sleep next to you? But....

Yui knew that Shu was scared and the nightmare was bothering him, but she still felt embarrassed to sleep next to Shu. She looked at Yuma who was in deep sleep and wasn't awake to complain about it. She thought to herself that maybe this was the only way to help Shu calm down and stop being scared.

Yui nodded her head in approval and sat next to Shu. A few minutes had passed, and even though Yui and Shu were sleeping on the same bed, they had moved away from each other. Yui had her back to Shu and was staring down at Yuma's sleeping face from the side of the bed. She would like to know the reason for Yuma's misbehavior with Shu today.

Yui was lost in her own thoughts when she felt the touch of a hand on her back. Yui slowly realized that Shu was hugging her from behind. Yui blushed and was shocked by this move.

Yui: Shu-san, what are you doing?

Shu: Zzzzz...

His steady breathing showed that he was sleeping.

Shu: You are.... very fragrant.

Yui noticed that Shu was mumbling in his sleep. She did not know what this meant. She wanted to help Shu. He seemed to be just a lonely boy who needed help. Yui let Shu hug her and slowly closed her eyes, wishing that one day she would understand the pain in Shu's heart and help her young friend.

Yui: Have nice dreams Shu-san.

[hunieday]

TRANSLATION MASTERLIST

🍑 includes a work in progress list at the bottom

Extra info since this is going to be pinned: Heya! I'm noda, 21 living somewhere in north africa. Japanese is my 4th language while English is my 3rd, and I'm mostly self taught, so I'm still learning and improving as I go. I started this blog as a dump for various media i create (hence the occasional art or animation post) but it's slowly transforming into a translation account LOL. my main hobbies are still animation & art, but I do enjoy translation and graphic design. I started learning Japanese in summer 2015 and I try my best to improve.

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[revivemyreverie]

Is the summer leaving filling you with a sorrowful gloom? Then don’t worry, here’s a wonderful story for you.

When memories are locked away, and those dazzling places fade without say…

In that miserable darkness, what always helps is a…

Thanks to a certain bargain from Toytoriya’s favorite dorm leader, you, Pat, Winston, and Zackery are all traveling to Brightinten Town! Excited for the town’s famous Spring Fair, the group is shocked to find that it has been cancelled! Can your group recreate the town’s eternal memory, or will you end up defeated by Brightinten’s depressing clouds?

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Pink Couldy Sky, Final Chapter – Recovery (Summarized)

Chapter 00 - 01 Chapter 02 Chapter 03 Chapter 04 Part 1, Part 2 Chapter 05 Chapter 06 Part 1, Part 2 Chapter 07 Part 1 Part 2

Before REM knew it, that year, too, arrived at Summer.

The weather forecast on TV spoke of high temperatures, but REM didn’t feel the heat at all. The days continued without sound or smell. Everything felt like it was happening on a distant star. REM’s senses were closed off and he didn’t sense or feel anything. With its long rains falling from black clouds, the gray droplets lingering remains of the rainy period, Summer was simply the season following after spring.

-

REM got warm support from too many people to count. His bandmembers, his friends from Yokosuka, Professor Arakawa. According to Arakawa, Takeshi-san was also concerned for REM. In August, REM and Takeshi met in Tokyo for drinks. REM doesn’t really remember what they were talking about, but he has a faint memory that it was very peaceful.

It was like swimming through a daydream. Of this summer, only the faint outline of a memory remains.

There weren’t a lot of things he could do. Only move his body. Play the guitar on autopilot, lose himself in the music. Everything else was beyond his capabilities.

His only outlet was his determination to fulfil, one by one, all his promise to hide that were yet unfulfilled.

Sometimes, something hide used to say some ten-odd years ago when they were practicing with SAVER TIGER all day flashed like lighting through REM’s mind:

“I want to become the best performer in Japan! Therefore, you have to become Japan’s best guitarist!”

On top of it all, REM lost another irreplaceable music friend that year. A vocalist named Otoya died of a heart attack just about one week after hide left for the sky. Otoya had been the vocalist of RANDY, the band that performed at the first live REM went to see after coming to Yokosuka.

The livehouse in question had been ROCK CITY and the second band REM had seen there was SAVER TIGER, led by hide.

On the day of hide’s funeral, REM and his music buddies got together for the first time in a long while to drink in his memory. Otoya had been there, too. They talked to each other for a bit, away from the others. They hadn’t met in 3 or 4 years, and when REM asked Otoya what he had been doing lately, Otoya told him that he had stopped doing music after RANDY disbanded.

In the face of hide’s sudden death, the conversation remained subdued and they did not exchange more than a few words. A few days later, REM learned about Otoya passing away.

REM remembers him as a vocalist with a unique charism different from hide’s, and a rare singing voice that he will forever remember shouting furiously into the microphone.

After a long, humid rainy season, dawn finally came on 11 July 1998.

That night, the new SAVER TIGER had their first live on stage after the revival. It was a concert called “Memories of hide” that they were able to give thanks to Rolly joining them as a guest vocalist, in hide’s beloved livehouse PUMPKIN. To them, it did not feel at all like a memorial live. It felt like a live they did with hide, a live where hide came to watch them.

They couldn’t believe that he was gone.

They had not yet grown familiar with the thought that they would never meet him again.

All of them – REM, Kosuke, Jimmy, and Rolly as well – felt that hide should have been there to watch them, listen to them, and witness the new SAVER TIGER become real.

It was a humid night, the hot wind blowing in from the sea.

Inside the narrow interior of PUMPKIN, people were filling in the dim gloom. No one spoke. Everyone was losing themselves in the atmosphere and the rock music.

REM wanted to scream out his tears across that crowd.

He wanted to howl his remorse.

Otherwise, he felt like hide would not forgive him.

Then, in this place on Dobuita-Street, in the middle of the night, in this atmosphere of sweat, tabaco, and alcohol, he is certain he saw something at the edge of his field of vision.

There, at the very back of seating area, in front of the wall smeared with graffiti, and close of Kiyotou behind the counter grumbling about the fucking heat, was a single man with a hat drawn low over his eyes.

In a perfectly clear pocket of air, a single leaf was slowly falling down.

The wind going through the building in the derelict warehouse district was already chilly.

1. November.

On this day, a music festival in connection with hide opened in Yokohama’s BAYHALL, and REM went to Yamashita pier in order to perform in it with SAVER TIGER.

It was the second live of the revived SAVER TIGER. In December, they were going to perform in Takadanobaba, and from February through Spring 1999 in a bunch of other places.

They also had plans to record their music.

As for the open position of vocalist, since the turn of the year, REM’s close friend Tony from Yokosuka joined them as a new member. Another friend from Yokosuka, Ken, became their manager.

The new SAVER TIGER finally took shape.

And REM felt like a was paying hide back at least a little, feeling a little better for it, like he could breathe deeply again.

The pavement was covered in scattered, dry leaves.

Feeling the dry leaves crumble under the soles of his work boots, REM chased the afterimage of that man he had seen in front of the wall at PUMPKIN that night. He wondered if that had been hide’s apparition.

No, that’s not it.

He is certain that hide has been there that night.

He’d rushed over to see the reunited SAVER TIGER perform on stage that night, in his beloved Yokosuka.

On Dobuita-Street, that he always returned to. Just for a moment, as bare-faced “Matsumoto Hideto”, he had returned to his friends.

“Welcome home, hide.”

That’s what REM murmured while looking up at the contrail cutting straight through the clear sky above.

P.S. To the Beginning og the End

[mikhalishyna]

2024

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[10/??] Kikazaranai Koi ni wa Riyuu ga Atte (Japan, 2021) - 13 jan 2024

[9/?] BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita: Crank Up Hen (Japan, 2023) - 13 jan 2024

[8/?] Mr. Cinderella 2 (Vietnam, 2023) - 07 jan 2024

[7/?] You and My Stars (Thailand, 2023) - 06 jan 2024

[6/?] Beyond the Star (Thailand, 2023) - 06 jan 2024

[5/?] Heartstopper 2 (UK, 2023) - 03 jan 2024

[4/?] Bake Me Please (Thaiiland, 2023) - 02 jan 2024

[3/?] Colorful Melody (Thailand, 2023) - 01 jan 2024

[2/?] Y Journey: Stay Like a Local (Thailand, 2023) - 01 jan 2024

[1/?] Love on Lo (Thailand, 2023) - 01 jan 2024

[degrootebrew]

First taste from the Pigtail

Welcome to this!

Meld your mind to mine as I attempt to share the inner olfactory and gustatory pathways of my brain, hard at work to produce the beers you enjoy at New Barons. These journeys are written after the fact, the recipe formulated, the inspirations experienced and the beer brewed. All that’s left is the moment, where the finished beer pours out of the “pigtail” - an instrument used by us brewers to taste a cold, carbonated sample straight from the tank, for the first time before it reaches any keg or can. 

Brew voyage #22 PALE PERMUTATION STRATA+ HBC 630

The craft beer industry seems to have no shortage of ingredients these days. Brewers everywhere are trying to be creative with never before seen adjuncts in beer. New Barons is no exception. From the Pecan Porter to the Spruced Black Bear Breakfast, I have waded into non traditional places from time to time. But much like a chef who swears that simple good ingredients can create the best food, I too feel myself gravitate towards the simplest brewing ingredients most often (Barley, Hops, Yeast and Water). Additionally, when you consider the variety of these 4 ingredients; the numerous malting processes that exist to create different types of malted barleys, the varietals of Hops that have been cultivated across cultures, the strains of Yeast that have evolved over the centuries and all the different global water sources - there is more than ample room for creativity. Let’s do some quick math. Assume for arguments sake, that at least 100 varieties of each ingredient exists (there is increasingly way more). Now, if we were to try all the different combinations of each ingredient that exists on earth today, simple statistics says you would take 100 x 100 x 100 x 100 or 100^4, to arrive at the number of possible permutations you could create. That comes out to at least 100 Million beers that can be brewed with just 4 ingredients! You could spend a life time never creating the same beer with that which is the crux of many a brewers’ argument for “less is more” when it comes to creativity. Which is where the idea behind Pale Permutation came from.

The concept behind Permutation is to alter only one ingredient: Hops. The rest is controlled for experimentation, Base/Vienna malts with Flaked maize to create a simple slightly sweet malt backbone, US-05 Ale yeast (common neutral strain for many an IPA) and that clean Brew City Water. From there, it’s all about the hops. Each iteration of the series, it’s familiar but different in that way. New aromas and flavors, we know, are only due to to the hops. This helps me catalog smells, logged away in my flavor head. What’s that smell? For me, it’s always associated with a memory.

The olfactory cortex (responsible for odor recognition) is implanted in the limbic system of your brain. The limbic system, among other things, is also responsible for memory formation. So it’s no surprise that often a culinary experience is tied with a time and place. The best ones are tied to memories. For me, my life is chaptered with meals and beverages. As I’ve developed my sense of smell, more and more of my life is cataloged by my nose. Today, a smell can remind me of things that occurred months, even years ago. Associative experiences like these also help me say “this beer smells like bubblegum,” because I remember that smell, from a different place, at a different time - when perhaps another brewer or Cicerone or bartender or waitress or friend, said “this hefeweizen has good bubblegum notes from the weizen strain used in this beer.” Once it’s there, it’s there forever - flavor learned, cataloged and ready for recall when my somewhat large schnozz dives into a glass again. Which is where we meet Strata...

Caption: ^Two tree beers face

Spring 2022: It was a wedding weekend in Nor Cal wine country, but before we had to voyage North, me and my wife were able to spend a couple days near the Bay Area in a town called Vacaville. My old college roommate Phil, was finishing up his Air Force Major smarty pants Medical Doctor duties at Travis Air Force Base. He and and his wife Anna have hosted us around the country, from Biloxi, MS to San Antonio, TX and now the Bay Area in CA. Every time, we would fall back into college roommate behavior, which meant stealing some brain cells over a few beers. On one particular night, we had spent a long day traveling to the John Muir National Monument for a lovely romp through the majestic Redwoods. Now at peace (because that’s what those giant trees do), we weren’t feeling too ambitious to cook any sort of meal at his house. We ordered take out, and it was a decent wait for food. Phil informed me of a cool brewery/taproom called Solano Brewing Co. that was on a farm en route to the food pick-up, but it closed in less than an hour. Without much concern for the 3 or 4 other beers we had in San Rafael earlier that afternoon, we jet out to try that hyper local soup in time. 

I’m always after the most locally produced and smallest brewery in my travels, because I know that those places only survive with the local traffic. The place had orchards and crops of all sorts of food stuff as a backdrop. The taproom had that sort of Joanna Gaines HGTV rustic white farmhouse vibe that all the suburb women are into now (eyeroll), but the menu was rather diverse and intriguing. California and the West Coast is always ahead of the Midwest when it comes to trends, and the craft scene is no exception. Clean Lagers, West Coast IPAs, IPL (mainly DH hoppy pils) dominate now. Some juice and haze is available, but not the focus. So here I was looking for a clean and crisp simple option, and there were about 11 of them (AKA I’m in HGTV Beer heaven!). I settled on a SMASH (Single Malt and Single Hop) beer called “Strata.” I had heard of this hop before but hadn’t yet had it. The beer was cold clean and crisp, very pale and bursting with this new hop. I remember getting hit in the face with Strawberry notes at first smell, then on the back end with a savory note, like Rosemary or Sage. Sort of tired out of the tropical, Coconut Pineapple flavors from the en vogue hazy IPAs back home, I believe my expression was “Fuck yea.” Phil and I sat down and I think must have finished that glass in like 2 mins. Seeing that my roommate was drinking his beer at a normal pace (because he was driving and also not a banshee lush like me), I opted to grab another pint, but this time to sip on and enjoy the company of my old friend. As we sat and enjoyed that dank Strata, we played my favorite game in convos - “High/Low” or “Roses & Thorns.” Basically you ask that friend what the current “high” is in there life, followed by the biggest “low.” It’s a great snapshot look at a friend you haven’t seen in a while, or even a good way to summarize your week to someone closer in your life. It was my favorite part of the trip, we got to unpack some pain, get excited about each others recent accomplishments - get emotional and connect and BACK to our roots as friends. Strata flavor/smell/memory officially archived!

*****

As we approached IPA fest this year, I knew I wanted to try something new, per what’s becoming a tradition of ours. Our first year we brought Hopped By Ziggy, then last year it was All Work No Play IPA. I knew Strata would be a part of the equation. From the SMASH experience, I also knew I wanted the backbone to be simple. The Pale Permutation series was the perfect fit. Little more malt character but not much. Finally, I wanted to add a dimension with another hop. SMASH ales, though great, can have some gaps in the Dry Hop flavor associated with today’s IPAs. Sometimes herbal notes (like the Sage, Rosemary notes I mentioned) paired up with Stone Fruit notes or Banana can produce something new that is better than the sum of its parts/smells. Other times, amplifying fruit flavors (like Strawberry) with other similar flavors like Cherry and Raspberry, can help a beer really burst in a particular dimension. Sometimes its fun to just grab a hop you’re unfamiliar with and give it a try, which is where I came across HBC 630. From the “Hop Breeding Company,” a subsidized research company that experiments and produces more Hops all the time, this Hop has yet to have a name, it’s that new. On the label it said notes of red Berries, Peach and Banana. SOLD - throw it in. Yea, even scientific smell robot brain over here gives it a chance sometimes. 

Below is your first look from the pigtail. A super clean west coast-ish IPA with Strata and HBC 630 hops. From the tank, on the nose, I was ecstatic to get that same punch of red berries I remembered in Vacaville, CA. But instead of just Strawberry, I find Cherry, Raspberry, red Jolly Rancher flavor from the HBC. On the back, dank Cannabis, Sage with a little sweetness from the grain. Very excited to share this beer with you and this iteration of Pale Permutation! Cheers!

[captain-kelli]

Memory Loss // 05

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader

Chapter Summary: A potential reunion called you back home to Russia, but you get far more than you bargained for - including your memory.

Word Count: 6,487

Warnings: angst, murder, canon-level violence, language, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Um, HELLO. Who knew I could still write? All the thanks to Sam Wilson for calling me back to this story. Thanks to @allaboardthereadingrailroad​, @nacho-bucky​, and @samwilsons-pillowpecs​ for encouraging me to keep writing. And thanks to every single reader taking a beat to check out this story. You are all royalty.

Moscow

It was a bit cold for spring, but that wasn’t unusual for Moscow. Refusing the respite of warmer days, it had snowed the night before, leaving the sidewalks of Lubyanka Square damp and muddy. The sky above mimicked the feeling on the ground, a gray-colored apathy. 

Michail Lebedev, however, was anything but apathetic. He trudged through the snowmelt towards the Lubyanka building, a mild irritation growing over the muck soiling his boots. He preferred to avoid his former place of employment after the fall of the Soviet Union and the dissolution of the KGB. Working mostly in the shadows ever since, a clandestine meeting in an open space was an unnecessary risk, he felt.

But they were finally close. Close to retrieving an irreplaceable asset. Close to finding you.

And that excited him.

Entering the headquarters for the Russian secret police, Michail opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. With each step, the sludge on his boots cleared and his eagerness grew. When he finally arrived at the top floor, the one free of any windows, he was reminded of distant, torturous memories. He took a deep sigh before entering the appropriate room.

A place once used for interrogations, he found two senior-level members of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation sitting at a table waiting for him. Michail pulled out a metal chair from the table that screeched against the concrete floor, a purposeful move to rile the men, though immature. When he sat down, he did his best to temper his annoyance at what only could be described as poor replacements for Soviet strength and instead chose to focus on the information that they could provide him.

“Какие новости?”

His voice was terse, impatient. He wasted no time with pleasantries or small talk, he wanted to hear the news. 

The two men his opposite responded in kind. Opening the briefing folder before them, they quickly dispersed a collection of notes that spanned months. There were quiet rumblings throughout the winter of a woman frequenting bars in Eastern Europe, haunts known to attract intelligence officers willing to share information for the right price.

She never stayed in one place for long, always equipped with a good cover and a broom with which to sweep her tracks. She was deliberate, intentional. Some might even call her a ghost.

Michail smiled at this.

One of the men tucked the notes back into the folder to then spread a heap of photographs atop the table. There were only glimpses of her at first, silhouettes in a blur across the film. A coat collar pulled up high hid her face in one photograph, another she wore a large pair of sunglasses. She kept her back to security cameras at all times, keen on their presence and eager to avoid them. 

It wasn’t until the press clipping that they had any solid proof that the woman was you. Months of careful concealment were shattered when you stepped out of the shadows that fateful day in Paris. Michail wondered if it was a calculated choice or a moment of complacency, but it didn’t much matter to him as it was the key to your retrieval. 

More accurately, Alexandre Badeaux was. Between the secret police and the Russian mafia, it only took a few hours to find a connection to the French businessman, and a plan was set into motion. 

It wasn’t that Badeaux was an unintelligent man, but he was easily seduced by attractive women and profitable opportunities which made him an agreeable mark. It was reasonable to Michail why you targeted him in the first place.

He would never suspect that the potential business deal was only a ploy to lure him to Moscow. He wouldn’t guess that two box tickets to see the Russian ballet at the Bolshoi were designed to prompt an invitation to you. It was typical business. The men before Michail thought themselves cunning, clever.

But Michail knew what the halfwits did not. He knew it would take more than tickets to the theater to convince you to return. 

He wasn’t there when it happened, the day you escaped. Surely, if he had been, nothing would’ve gone wrong in the first place. The wipe would have been routine and thirteen men wouldn’t have been killed. Most importantly, he never would have lost you. 

There was an oversight in the procedure that caused the malfunction, as best he could tell. With no living witnesses and bloody carnage littering the place, Michail was only able to piece together so much. The only thing he knew for certain was the reason for the mental wipe, he had agreed to the measure himself. 

For months, he could only operate on a single fact and multiple suspicions. That being said, if what he suspected happened actually did, you had to be existing in a state of survival, one of revenge. The only incentive you’d ever have for returning to Russia would be for the asset himself.

This was why Michail took great care in sharing information with various intelligence officers abroad that the Winter Soldier was en route to Russia. A dual homecoming would have presented the opportunity to correct the matter entirely and then everyone could get back to business as usual.

And Michail wanted that very much.

It wasn’t that Sam trusted you. He had heard enough to know that you were emotionally compromised and therefore likely dishonest, but best to keep the enemy as close as possible.

You were his enemy, right?

Unable to explain it, Sam wanted to believe the best in you, believe in your potential. He kept seeing goodness in your eyes that conflicted with the vengeful plan you first shared with him back in Washington and he firmly believed a little bit of goodness was all anyone needed to be redeemed.

He didn’t want to just rescue Bucky, he wanted to rescue you, too.

But would you have let him?

Until he knew the answer to that question, Sam thought it best to keep you by his side otherwise you might disappear again. 

Taking you to Moscow was a calculated risk, one he wouldn’t have taken at all if the lead hadn’t come from Fury. His call was sudden; people rarely heard from the former director once he went under the radar. Knowing the task before Steve and Sam, Fury thought the collective murmurs he heard throughout his network warranted reaching out. 

It started out as a faint whisper in Belarus that steadily grew louder as it made its way through Poland. It wasn’t long before it was common underground knowledge in the dark alleyways of Germany and Austria.

The asset was returning home.

Willing or coerced, no one could say for sure, only that he was to arrive in Moscow early the next morning which made time a critical factor. Sam wanted to get there before any HYDRA thugs thought to put Bucky back on ice which meant he needed to leave immediately. 

“When do we leave?” you had asked.

Sam responded, “if we want to catch him before anyone else? Right now. Let’s go.”

Throwing a handful of cash onto the table, Sam led you out of the bar and to the curb in search of a cab. You slid your arms back into the beige trenchcoat, careful to pull the collar up, before looking up and down the street. 

As day turned into night, the spring air chilled. The pastels of the new blooms were cloaked in darkness and the trees yet without buds were a reminder of the long, hard winter. Something deep in your bones told you that things would get worse before they ever got better.

Glancing over your shoulder, you chanced a look at Sam. Preoccupied with his phone, you allowed yourself a longer gaze at the only other man beside your father that you knew to bring you peace. 

Sam was kind, unfailingly so. You put a bullet through his body and he did nothing to you in return. You vanished into thin air, but he was patient upon your return. You’d been in the spy game for a long time and it lacked genuine people, but that’s who Sam was. He was sincere. 

And you didn’t deserve to have someone like him in your life, yet you wanted him there all the same.

Snapping you out of your thoughts was a dull vibration in your pocket. The phone in your hand illuminated brightly with a picture of you and Alex and it made you grimace. Turning your back to Sam, you answered the call.

“Allô?”

He was animated, to put it mildly. Talking quickly and with a stronger accent, his thoughts were difficult to follow. From what little you could pick up, it had to do with his business, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“Allez, on sort faire la féte!” he exclaimed from the other end of the line and you held back a sigh. He wanted to whisk you away someplace to celebrate, but you had plans of your own.

“C’est un très court préavis,” you objected, using his short notice as an excuse to avoid the trip. If you had looked back at Sam at that moment, you would have learned by the recognition on his face that he spoke French.

Alex was not a man accustomed to the word “no.” He got to his position in life by demanding the things that he wanted, but he learned to do it in a way that was alluringly persuasive. A well-practiced smooth-talker, he volleyed your objection.

“J'ai tellement travaillé, laissez-moi me rattraper. Laissez-moi vous emmener au théâtre Bolchoï à Moscou.”

His apology for working too much and an invitation to the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow was a tantalizing offer, but not for the same reasons that would have enticed other women. You weren’t enamored by the thrill of the world’s finest ballet company. His private jet did nothing to impress you. And the attention and affection of this successful man meant very little.

The electric sensation working its way through your nervous system stemmed from the likelihood that it was a trap. 

And what a thrilling trap it was.

A decision needed to be made quickly - should you split up with Sam or keep your promise? You longed for his comfort and security, a connection you’d never experienced, but the opportunity before you was too great.

“Le bien.” You agreed.

HYDRA must have viewed you as a threat. Why else lay a trap? For months, you had been hunting down their precious asset and you had gotten too close for comfort. While it infuriated you that they got to him first, it was no matter.

You would have happily killed them all if need be.  

Turning back to Sam, your heart threatened a pang of guilt, but reason won out.

“That was Alex. He invited me on a trip,” you paused, “to Moscow.”

Sam scoffed before shaking his head incredulously, “you don’t believe in coincidences, do you?”

A cab pulled over in front and the two of you got in. As you ducked your head, you answered, “no, I do not.”

Sam got a call about the Winter Soldier making his way back to Russia and, moments later, Alex had a potential business offer and tickets to the Bolshoi. No, you certainly did not believe in coincidence.

The cab drove through the lonely streets with you and Sam quiet in the backseat. In the pit of your stomach, you felt a familiar excitement about seeing the ballet. In a way, it was almost as if you missed it.

Your collarbone was exposed in the dress you were wearing. It was a classic number, solid black with sleeves draped over the shoulders, knee-length. When you pulled it off the rack at a boutique in Moscow, you selected it with the aim of being subtle, unmemorable. The fact that Alex fawned over it was unrelated to your decision entirely.

It was the night of the ballet and he insisted that you needed a new ensemble for the occasion. With the purchase of the dress came a pair of strappy, black heels and diamond-studded earrings along with a clutch by Versace.

Alex was going a bit overboard.

In a brief moment of panic, you half expected him to propose, but his elation was born solely from the dinner to be hosted in a few short hours. The Russian businessman specialized in finance and wanted to discuss a potential acquisition of the company Alex founded. With sparing details, Alex had already convinced himself he’d be a billionaire by morning.

You tried to feign interest, you really did. But as long as you were waiting for word from Sam, it was difficult to truly pay attention. The two of you came to an agreement that you would reconnect in Russia and that he’d walk into the trap with you.

Together.

It was then you decided that Sam Wilson made a shitty spy.

But he was a great friend - if that was even what you could call him.

As you secured the diamond studs to your ears, you considered the possibility that the momentary distance between the two of you was, in actuality, a good thing. The fondness you were feeling for him was growing too quickly for your liking. It made you feel weak, dependent. 

The vulnerability he created in you also presented the likelihood for mistakes.

Stiffening your back, you reminded yourself that mistakes were not an option. To come this close to finally killing the man that killed your father only to fail? The shame would’ve been harder to live with than the grief.

You hardened yourself against the attraction, the longing for connection, and then you opted to ignore the phone call from the American number when it came through.

You resolved to deal with your affection for Sam after you killed the Winter Soldier.

Compartmentalization. 

Sliding your feet into the heels, you walked out the door for a dinner that you suspected would last far too long.

And it did. If it weren’t for the tickets to the ballet, Alex would’ve spent the entire night at the table talking absolute returns, new market exposure, and standard deviations. He was seemingly impressed with the man before him, a Russian kindred spirit.

You wondered how much of that was by design, how much they learned about Alex from profiling him. As a result, you found Alexandre Badeaux to be sickeningly gullible and a fool. Rarely do business dealings go that well and you thought he should’ve known that.

Thankfully, your time together was coming to an end.

The skillful actor bid the two of you farewell outside the restaurant as you left for the theatre. 

The ballet company and the accompanying orchestra were world-renowned, but the Bolshoi Theatre itself was a sight to behold. If the country of Russia ever were to have a heart, it’d be there in Theatre Square. The white building with its neoclassical columns stood imposing over its guests, boldly proclaiming that it withstood centuries of torment and wear. Its most recent renovations ensured that it would continue to stand for more years to come.

You appreciated its resiliency, its Russian durability. 

Alex’s hand grazed your lower back as he escorted the two of you inside. The crowd present was comprised of locals and visitors alike, eager for that evening’s performance of Swan Lake. You had gently rolled your eyes when Alex shared that detail because of course, it was Tchaikovsky’s best work.

More surprising was the location of your seats. You had expected a box if only to demonstrate a level of prestige and affluence. What you did not expect was the royal box. Its gilded frame and crushed red velvet curtains marked its superiority over the other boxes and offered more privacy. 

What could have easily sat eight people, you and Alex had to yourselves. 

The theatre was filled to the max, thousands of people already in their seats eagerly awaiting the start of the show. As you and Alex took your own, he draped his arm around you, slowly caressing your exposed shoulder. He was in as good of a mood as you had ever seen him, practically on top of the world. It was a shame, you thought, that it was all about to come crashing down around him.

But you knew he would recover, he would be fine.

The rush of the violins and the accompanying sounds of the orchestra cued the curtain to rise and the dancers pranced onto the stage. Immediately, the audience applauded. 

You remembered that feeling - the rush of performing, of being achingly talented, of being invisible. 

The crowd looked on in adoration, but your gaze was one of longing. Churning inside of you was a deadly mix of conflicting desires, a concoction of retribution and resignation and escape. 

The homesick feeling swirled around in your chest and it confused you. In direct conflict with your knowledge of the organization’s history and atrocities against your family, you couldn’t understand the yearning you felt to put on a pair of ballet slippers.

“Tu vas bien, ma chérie?” Alex noted the strain in your expression and the tight grip you held on your new clutch. He wanted to know if you were okay.

Were you? You couldn’t say, so, instead, you smiled tightly and nodded your head to reassure him. He couldn’t calm your nerves, anyway, couldn’t help you make sense of inconsistent sensations you were enduring.

Only one man could.

Standing up, you briskly kissed Alex on the cheek and explained you would only be gone a moment, just a quick trip to the restroom to freshen up and get some air. As you exited the box, an attendant smiled and gave you directions you didn’t need to the facilities.

In a quiet bathroom stall, you pulled your phone out of the clutch and quickly typed out a message to Sam. With every word, you silently admonished yourself. It was foolish to come here without him knowing you were slipping into instability. 

“At the Bolshoi in the royal box. Forgive me.”

Being back in Russia, knowingly entering a trap designed by the people who killed your only family and held you hostage for years, created a storm in your mind. Your memories clouded, becoming more unreliable by the second, and sharp pangs of both grief and excitement were the lighting rods.

Tears formed in your eyes and you resisted their urge to fall. Everything had just become so heavy and exhausting. It was all too much to carry, the weight of the anguish and the terror too much to hold. Desperately you tried to steel yourself, but the confined space wouldn’t let you.

Leaving the stall, you were faced with a large mirror illuminated in soft light. You stood there for a moment, gazing back into your own eyes and begging yourself not to succumb to the fear. To the thrill of the mission. To your attraction to Sam.

You had a job to do and there was little room for emotion of any kind.

It needed to be surgical, sterile. Your final assassination needed to be clean and professional. 

It was a job.

You left the bathroom composed, completely unbothered by the disorientation from before. It was as if the storm was never there at all. Had you always been able to flip the switch to cold impassivity? Was it simply remembered training?

Making your way back to the box, the attendant was waiting outside to let you know that Alex stepped outside for a phone call and indicated that he’d return as quickly as he could. You knew that he wouldn’t, that his absence was orchestrated, so you slid back into your seat, watched the prince celebrate his birthday on stage, and waited.

As the young man lamented to his mother that he couldn’t marry for love, a man slipped into your box. A vague awareness of his presence wasn’t what caused you to panic; after all, you were anticipating the ambush. You were prepared for such circumstances.

It was the familiarity of his face that sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

“Добро пожаловать домой.”

The man was calm as he welcomed you home, there were no attempts to restrain you or any immediate aggression. Together, you studied the other in a dance more delicate than the one down below. 

You noticed the lines chiseled into his forehead first. Although his brow wasn’t furrowed at that moment, the wrinkles ran deeply across his face, hardening his appearance. His suit was pristine, but his watch old and scratched to hell. His eyes were an icy blue that pierced your memory.

You knew this man but couldn’t yet say how. Instinct told you to fear him as did the silence between you. A cold shiver ran down your back.

You wondered what he surmised about you after his initial inspection. He had, you suspected, been looking for you for so long. How did it feel to finally find the eluder?

Your refusal to respond only heightened the tension. The music from the orchestra pit got louder, the screeching of the violins flooding the theater and your body, and suddenly the smell of roses filled the air. 

“This isn’t my home.”

Your vision went dark before the scene at the Bolshoi was replaced with one of your escape. They were quick clips - browned leather, crimson blood, a distant metallic taste in your mouth. Body after body fell to the ground in your wrath and again you felt that power course through your veins. 

When you came back to, the man was still there, seemingly skeptical. So, he pushed.

“Do you remember your last directive?” He asked, a tone of concern the undercurrent of his foreignly spoken words.

By now, panic had fully bloomed in your chest. You were instructed to do a job and failed, presumably. That’s why they wanted to wipe your memory and reset you like so many assets before. You weren’t useful as an emotional wreck crying about your father.

Your father.

You longed for him at that moment. Desperate for protection and comfort - an assurance that everything would be alright. Instead, the man before you threatened your father’s memory altogether.

And you would not consent to its removal.

Bolting out of your seat and into the hall, you raced for a stairwell that proved to be a reliable exit. The spring chill outside whipped your face as you opened the door and the sound of thundering footsteps warned of a quick follow. The urge to fight and the plea to flee battled within you when all you wanted was your father.

“Why am I always alone?” You asked the wind. 

You weren’t expecting a response. “You’re not.”

Sam, a determined guardian angel of sorts, emerged from the shadows. He came prepared this time, his wings firmly secured to his back and goggles positioned on his head.

“You’re not alone, I’m here - no matter how hard you push me away. Now,” he took your hand into his, “let’s get the fuck out of here.” The two of you ran away from the Bolshoi into a darkened alley, but the Russian wasn’t far behind. 

Darting through the slush that would freeze again that night, you and Sam hooked into what seemed to be an abandoned building. Floral paper peeled off the walls and there was a musty scent that prickled at the edges of your mind, begging your body to succumb to another memory-driven blackout.

Emotions were a luxury you could not afford, so you swallowed them whole in favor of focusing on the fight to come. 

You slipped out of the dampened heels bought just that morning. It’d be easier to fight without them, easier to run, too. Your head rounded over your shoulders in preparation while Sam monitored the readings in his goggles. Any minute, he said. The man and supposedly a few comrades would arrive any minute.

The world became quiet as the universe within you strengthened. You were a Widow, you reminded yourself. The best, the strongest, the most cunning. Killing these men would ask nothing of you. It would be a blink and then you could move onto the asset himself.

You were calm when the men walked into the room, Sam standing behind you.

“Please, let’s not do this the hard way. Come home with us, let us correct the malfunction,” the man with the wrinkled forehead implored.

He said it as if it was a choice, as if he was deferring to your preference, and it confused you. It scrambled the confidence you felt mere seconds before. 

“Do you really not remember me, босс? It’s Michail. We don’t want to hurt you, but we can’t stay here.”

Boss?

This man, Michail, was trying to cloud things, take advantage of your disorientation. But Sam was having none of it.

“Nah, she isn’t going anywhere with you. We’re here for Bucky Barnes, where is he?” He moved then and positioned himself in front of you. 

Michail’s blue eyes froze over at Sam’s interjection. Visibly annoyed at the nuisance, the unexpected pest, he craned his neck around him to look at you. “Your taste in friends has certainly deteriorated.”

As Sam bantered back and forth with Michail, you measured the three men behind him. They were the Russian standard - blonde with blue eyes, donning worn leather jackets and empty expressions. You considered each of them carefully, but recognition never came. 

Quickly you shifted. The man to the left kept adjusting his leg, his knee twitching every so often. It’d make for an easy target if it was already injured. Meanwhile, the guy in the middle was stupid enough to leave his pistol in the front of his pants facing his dick, so that problem would take care of itself. Michail was older and didn’t seem the type to throw a punch.

That left the guy on the right. 

He had a familiar look in his eyes, empty and far-off. He was tall and his shoulders broad. In his hands, he firmly gripped a rifle with a suppressor at the end of the muzzle.

He was detached, but undistracted. Fully unemotional, but physically prepared. You admired him.

He would be the one to put up a fight and you looked forward to it.

“Listen, Vladimir. I’m tired of this conversation, so this is what we’re going to do. You’re going to tell me where Bucky Barnes is, I’m going to bring him back stateside, and then I’ll let you live. But not if another word comes out your mouth.”

It was Sam’s tone that snapped you back to the discussion at hand. There was an edge to it, a gruffness you hadn’t heard before, and it ignited a curiosity within you.

It didn’t have the same effect on Michail. Apparently, he had suffered the conversation long enough as well. With a nod of his head, he instructed his three henchmen forward.

You didn’t wait another second.

Sprinting past Sam in your bare feet, you lunged for the guy with the poorly-placed pistol first. A swift punch broke his nose, stealing his attention as you unlocked the safety of his gun and fired the shot. Blood spilled from his crotch as an agonizing howl left his lungs. 

His pal with the bum leg rushed to his rescue, but the heel of your foot quickly connected with his knee cap and he collapsed to the ground like a deck of cards. Still gripping the borrowed pistol, you swung it across your chest and shot him in the shoulder. Two down.

Spinning around, you put Michail in a headlock with the muzzle of the pistol shoved into his temple. Your heart raced as you looked around the room to find it quietly empty. “Where is Sam?”

Sam, along with the strongest of the four, was missing. In your haste to take out the easy marks first, Sam must’ve gone straight for the muscle. 

“Босс, please.” He trembled against you and it registered that he was afraid of you. “Босс, come back to us. Allow me to make everything right. The organization will fall without you.”

Deeper the muzzle dug into his wrinkled skin, “where is Sam?”

Looking up, you saw a freshly-made hole in the ceiling and determined Sam took the fight upstairs.

“The asset will take care of the stranger and then we can leave. You wouldn’t want us to leave behind witnesses. Trust me, босс.”

In frustrated confusion, you slammed the butt of the gun into his head, knocking him unconscious. Crumpled on the floor, you looked at him with disgust. “I’m not your boss.”

A flash of black blurred your sight and you begged your mind to hold on long enough to get to Sam. Stumbling through weathered hallways, you leaned against the walls for support as your memory ravaged your vision and the foul odor of rotting roses soured your sense of smell. 

The flight of stairs nearly took all of your energy, but you found him. The newest asset in the Russian arsenal had just ripped one of Sam’s wings from its pack and you realized that this man was likely injected with the super-soldier serum. You gripped the doorway as his fist drove into Sam’s face repeatedly, blood staining his lips and nose. 

The only sensation you felt was exhaustion.

You weren’t afraid of that man or of anyone else in the Widow organization. You were incredibly uninterested in understanding why Michail thought you were his boss. The revenge on the soldier who killed your father? Fuck it, you just wanted out. You wanted far away from the pain and the torture and the fear.

But Sam.

The Russian had Sam on the ropes, but Sam was a strong a capable guy. If you were to leave him, he could’ve possibly won. His persistence alone would’ve made you take that bet.

But you cared for him.

Granted, your memory was shit, but Sam was the first person you could truly remember seeing you for who you were, who you could have been. He didn’t give up on you despite knowing your truth. And, if the roles were reversed, you could trust that he’d rescue you. 

So you dove in.

The rifle the soldier was carrying was gone which was a relief. You didn’t have to worry about disarming him or taking a bullet to the chest. Simple hand-to-hand combat - your favorite. 

Your moves were aggressive, pushing him further and further back into a defensive stance, but he blocked every attempt. You were rabid at first, a year of pent-up fury finally liberated, but the pace tired you quicker than you anticipated and your blinks grew longer as the blackout loomed.

As if he knew you needed him, Sam appeared on your left, and you were revitalized. Side by side, you fought with distinction, with intuition. Your instincts shifted from offense to defense as you prioritized protecting Sam over yourself.

With a flicker of your eyes, the fight was gone, and instead, you were watching the ballet. You blinked again and you were back in the fight. Stuck between the two dances, you were on the brink of collapse. You feared you couldn’t keep it up much longer when Sam finally dealt the final blow. 

You fell to the floor alongside the Russian soldier, your dress ripped and the soles of your feet cut. You couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, the flashes were too much to bear. You hoped by closing them, the world on the other side would finally take you.

Sam scooped your head into his lap and cupped your face in his hand. As his thumb gently ran over your cheek, he pleaded for you to open your eyes. “Come on, baby girl. Stay with me. Open those eyes so I can see ‘em.”

His voice was a hymn that shone light onto the dark world you lived in. His face was the happiest thing you’d seen since you were young. He was the protector your father must’ve sent in his own stead.

You opened your eyes to see Sam’s face battered and bruised, better resembling life as you knew it. You attempted a smile to reassure him, but it was weak.

“Let me take care of you, Y/N. Let me take you with me to New York where I know you’ll be safe,” again, Sam begged.

Assessing the damage done in such little time, you wondered if you were really the one that needed protecting, but you nodded anyway. With Sam was where you wanted to be. You wanted the rest he was offering.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to make it to the quinjet where Sam insisted you sleep. He helped you lie down on a cot and pulled a blanket over you, assuring you that wouldn’t miss anything on the long flight.

You fell asleep to the sounds of Tchaikovsky before another dream took you.

You always liked London in autumn. The smothering heat of summer subsided, making way for a cooler breeze. Unfortunately, wouldn’t be staying long - a single mission and it was back to Moscow. The car pulled up in front of the apartment and you waited for the borrowed asset to come around and open the door for you.

It was a dilapidated place. The shingled siding barely clung to the building and the windows were in dire need of repair. Even the knocker on the door was crooked. Not that it mattered, you didn’t intend to knock.

When you got the request from the government, you were unsurprised. The administration had little tolerance for political interference and needed this British spy extinguished, but they preferred to keep their hands relatively clean. They were generous, however, by loaning you their prized soldier.

It took a while to find the agent, the MI6 kept him well protected, but your organization still managed to locate his safe house.

The asset kicked open the front door and led you down the tight corridors, his rifle drawn and metal arm shining. The living room parlor was empty as was the study. You followed closely behind as the scent of a dinner roast drew the two of you to the kitchen. It was there you found him, tending to whatever happened to be on the stove.

“I knew you’d come. Eventually.” His voice was resigned already and it disappointed you. You were hoping for a little excitement, some resistance. It was boring when they went along with it.

“Why bother running if you knew we’d catch you?” Your tone was one of indifference, but you were genuinely curious. The psychology of cat and mouse fascinated you. Most prey ran on instinct and it made the chase all the more invigorating. 

“It may seem strange in your particular line of work, but my life isn’t mine alone. It belongs to others.” 

One could forgive you for originally thinking he meant MI6 or even his country. You briefly considered distant family or friends. But when a child’s laughter erupted in the backyard, all of the dots connected.

Seeing your changed expression of amusement, he was filled with sheer terror. “Please. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt Abigail. She’s just a girl.”

There was the thrill you were hoping for! A little begging, a little pleading. It kept the job interesting. Your eyes danced with delight over the possibilities, but first things first. 

“I really don’t think you’re in any position to make demands, Mr. Williams. As it stands, I’m the one with a trained killing machine and orders to see you dead. I am not, however, getting paid for chit-chat.”

With your instruction, the asset marched into the kitchen and behind the man. Placing his metal arm on his left shoulder, he forcefully shoved Williams onto his knees and trained his rifle onto the back of his head. Now, he just waited for your command.

Before you could make the call, a little girl bounced her way into the kitchen for what was to be dinner. She was dressed in a bright, golden sweater and gently used sneakers. When her eyes met her father’s, the wisp of a smile disappeared from her face.

“...father?”

She looked from her father to the asset to you in an attempt to understand the scene before her. But you knew what she did not - that the only way for a child to understand death, truly understand it, was to see it for herself.

“Dearest, do close your eyes. It will all be over soon.” A tear fell down Williams’ cheek as he begged his daughter to shield herself from the violence. The asset kept his eyes on you, waiting for the order.

“Daddy!” Abigail looked at you and screamed, “don’t, please!”

“I love you, my darling Abby. For always.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper and Abigail clenched her eyes shut. 

“I love you, too, daddy.”

For you, it was all over rather quickly. You nodded, the soldier followed his orders, and Williams lay dead on the kitchen floor of the “safe” house. Nothing too ceremonious. Hardly involved. Yet, the girl insisted on screaming. She wailed and wailed, beating your side with her tiny fists.

“Take care of this one, won’t you? Can’t have any witnesses.” You slid your hands into a pair of gloves. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

You turned your back on the child and the asset to leave the apartment. A spray of rose bushes lined the sidewalk. You hadn’t noticed them before, but they made you smile at the irony and you decided to pluck one to take with you. In the car, you took a moment to call your second in command, Michail. You instructed him to notify the Director of Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service of the success of the mission and retrieve payment. 

Leaning back in the passenger’s seat, you closed your eyes as the shot fired.

When you opened them, you were lying in a bed in New York with Sam sitting by your side. 

Finally, you understood. Your mind had parsed through the fantastic and arrived at the truth. A dream so pristine that it was akin to watching a film of your past, it was unlike the others with their illusory details.

You were not the girl, you were the killer.

A woman known as the Unnamed Rose, you were a product of the Black Widow Program and the current leader of an elite group of assassins for hire. No one knew anything about you - your origins, your nationality, your allegiances. Because you didn’t have any.

Grief that never belonged to you washed away from your body, only to be replaced with a keen desire to leave this place. You didn’t need Sam’s protection or care, nor did you want it. You wanted to return to Russia.

Your affection for him grew cold as his eyes found yours. “Good morning, sleeping beauty, you’ve been out for some time.”

[lathalea]

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My Top Posts in 2021

#5

It's spring, and it's a Thorin Thursday, so I thought we deserve some floral crowns and majestic vibes :) Happy Thorin Thursday! 💙💙💙 Tagging @fizzyxcustard @gwen-ever @sherala007 @anjhope1 @tacosockos @thewarriorandtheking and everyone else who's celebrating this day! Also, If you know the name of the artist, please let me know, I'd love to credit them.

231 notes • Posted 2021-05-06 13:06:24 GMT

#4

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 9/10

Relationships: Thorin x Reader Rating: E Warnings: despair, anger, angst, smut, long chapter again, Mahal help me

You can read the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

For @gwen-ever 💙 Thank you for your help, support, inspo and everything else, this story wouldn't be the same without you 💙

💙 The amazing @jentaculargums created something special - a sketch of Ragna (and Thorin) at the feast. Thank you so much! 💙 If you haven't seen it yet, check it out, do you recognize the gown?

💙 Special thanks to @joyfullynervouscreator for coining in the phrase "Dain's apple" (I'm not sure the dwarves know who Adam is). If you have a moment, check out her fics, they are a great read with a ton of masterful Tolkienesque worldbuilding. 💙 Last but not least, extra special thanks to the wonderfully cheeky @guardianofrivendell who bravely cheered on me every week. Thank you so much! 💙 (P.S. I learned my lesson, I know, I can't count chapters! 🤣🤣🤣) Please check out Guardian's masterlist if you feel like reading more fics from Middle Earth (especially if you like handsome dwarves from the line of Durin like we do).

Here I want to thank you all for following this story since day one, commenting, liking and reblogging it, writing all those lovely messages of support and being super patient with me. It has been a wonderful adventure and your feedback means a lot to me. I'm sending you a big virtual (and socially distanced) hug! 💙 Thank you again for participating with my little poll - I hope this chapter (along with the previous one) is what you wished for when you voted. I really enjoyed being able to incorporate your wishes into the fic! :) And now, I give you the final* chapter of Thorin and Ragna's story (aka idiots in love). Enjoy! 💙 * - I'm really sorry, but there will be an epilogue, too. Bear with me ;)

Khuzdul phrases/names: Zunshanushê - my tiny songbird Melhekhel - King of (all) kings Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Kheled-zâram - (Mirrormere) the lake in the valley of Azanulbizar visited by Durin himself

* * * All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 9/10

Thorin Oakenshield broke your heart. Scratch that. You let him break it. But this is where you draw the line. You have enough of the memories that constantly haunt you by day, enough of the vivid dreams that descend upon you by night. And enough of the overbearing King who thinks that he is so entitled that he can tell you what you are allowed and not allowed to do, and with whom. Enough. This is where it ends.

Not wanting to waste time, you quickly leave the Main Hall of Erebor behind you, along with all the guests and their astonished glances. A three-pronged corridor stretches out in front of you and to the sides, its meticulously carved green marble floors glistening in the warm light of the lamps that illuminate them, yet another example of dwarven ingenuity. But now, you have no time to admire the skill of Ereborean master builders and engineers. You have to find that self-important King Under the Mountain.

“Thorin!” you exclaim, but only echo responds. There is no trace of him anywhere.

Is there…? You notice a movement in the corner of your eye and turn to the right. Something dark disappears around the corner. Without thinking, you follow it as fast as you can, ignoring the pressure you feel in your temples. You will worry about your headache later. You turn to the right, to the right again, and then to the left - and there he is, his black cloak flowing after him as he storms ahead, his heavy steps echoing against the stone of his Mountain.

“You! Don’t you dare to walk away like this!” you shout after him, but he continues to put distance between you, not even slowing down. “Do you hear me?!”

It takes the King a few strides to reach the top of a small staircase. Quickly you follow him, your eyes rest on his broad back, observing his every move, exactly like his eyes did when you were dancing with Captain Dwalin.

“We are done, Lady Ragna. Leave. Now.” his words are like daggers aimed straight at your heart.

“Not before you answer me! Why did you invite me here? To torment me more?” “You are asking why I invited you?! Do you not know?!” he snarls. Pompous goat.

“I was forced to come here! Was what happened in the Iron Hills not enough? And now you think you can dictate my every move?! You have no right, you cold-hearted selfish bastard!” you lash out, your gaze boring into the back of his head, your voice trembling.

He suddenly stops in his tracks, and you can see how his shoulders stiffen under the fur lining of his cloak. But then you realize that your words were not the reason why he stopped walking.

Ahead of the infuriating dwarf there is a large, impressively carved stone column encrusted with gold, along with the legendary seat of the Kings of Erebor. You are in the throne room, and behind you there is the suspended green marble walkway leading up to the throne you are facing. Thorin Oakenshield’s throne.

He is standing in front of it, and you see how he fists his hands and raises his gaze above the throne. A jewel of unsurpassable beauty glitters there, surrounded by golden ornaments that emphasize its otherworldly glow. You are looking at the Arkenstone. The King’s jewel.

The King Under the Mountain lowers his gaze, the pale cool light of the Arkenstone dancing along the sharp lines of his crown. The dwarf who once held you in his arms every night now doesn’t even wish to look at you. Instead, he rests his hands firmly on the sides of the throne, his wide back slightly arched. From where you are standing, you can see how white his knuckles are.

“Leave! Get out of my Mountain!” he growls in a low voice as if he were a feral animal.

You swallow hard, feeling a lump growing in your throat.

Blinking away the tears that start pooling in your eyes, you say, “So first you make me come to Erebor and now you want me to get out of your sight?!”

“You heard me well enough!” he roars. “You were kind enough to inform Dwalin that I could die with a frown on my face! That settles the matter! I want you gone from this place! ” Your heart skips a beat and once again you curse yourself for your emotional outburst. Damn. So these words reached his ears. Was that all he heard? You press your hand to your aching temple. “I said that because you were acting like a spoiled child! I dared to dance with someone else at the feast you invited me to, your majesty,” you make sure to say his title with disdain in your voice, “And it was all you needed to throw a tantrum! As if I were your property!” He slams one of his fists against the armrest of his throne.

“You. Are. Not!” his growl is louder, even more ferocious than before. “I’m glad that you have finally noticed!” you try to keep your voice inder control, brushing a stray tear away from your face with a shaking hand. “So now you want me gone, and then what? Will you change your mind again and send your sister to speak with me in your name once more? Or are you going to blackmail me and the whole Iron Hills again, your majesty? Or...”

Thorin the Warrior cuts in loudly, “Cease this nonsense at once, Ragna!” Your whole body stiffens when his booming voice reaches your ears, reverberating against the walls of the chamber.

When the echo of his words disappears in the bottomless chasm beneath you, silence takes reign over the throne room. The King’s shoulders droop slightly and he lets out a sigh. Thorin Oakenshield’s hand moves to cover his face and remains there for a few heartbeats. Now he looks more like a dolorous statue of a legendary hero than a living and breathing dwarf.

A few moments pass, and then he straightens up and says wearily, “What on Durin’s beard are you talking about?”

“Shall I repeat myself, your majesty?” you reply, trying to control your voice.

Placing his hands behind him, the King starts pacing back and forth in front of the throne, not gracing you even with the smallest of glances. He continues speaking in a surprisingly level voice, as if he was discussing an issue at a council meeting.

“Do I take it that you did not wish to come to the feast?” he asks flatly.

”I was made to understand that my presence was mandatory,” you explain, taking in a deep breath to ease your headache.

“It was just an invitation, not a military order!” the King shakes his head.

You snort. He has to be joking! Does he think you are that stupid?

“So now you conveniently deny that you started meddling with the agreement and threatened to annul it just so I would have no choice but to come here?” you retort. “Blackmail! That’s low even for you!”

“What blackmail, you nonsensical woman?!” he rumbles, raising his voice slightly, still not looking at you.

You smirk in satisfaction, seeing that you are still able to get to him. “Are you pretending you don’t know? Why then did Lord Dain tell me that you were going to reject the agreement?”

“I have no idea why he would tell you so,” he grunts, turns around and starts pacing in the opposite direction. “You and me… we did not part on best terms, but I always honor the agreements I sign. All of them,” he flashes his ice-blue gaze at you, almost pinning you to the spot. “The first batch of our weapons is ready to be transported to the Iron Hills.”

He has just looked at you. It was just a glance and yet your silly heart makes a flip. Ignore it, Ragna. It means nothing.

“Then why would he tell me that Lady Dis warned…” your voice trails off. Oh, crap. You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about it. Ragna, what is happening to you? Are you so afflicted by his presence that you forgot to hold your guard up? Weren’t you supposed to put this silly infatuation behind? “Dis? What does my sister have to do with it?” Thorin Oakenshield turns to you and you see how deep his frown is. “Nothing. I must have heard wrong. I apologize, your majesty,” you bow your head in an attempt to lull his suspicions.

The King glares down at you.

“Tell me. What did she warn Dain about?”

You know very well that you could keep on avoiding telling him the truth, but you are smarter than that. It all boils down to one simple decision: due to your indiscretion, one of the descendants of Durin is going to be furious at you. It’s either going to be his temperamental majesty Thorin, the second of his name, or Lord Dain, a wild boar in the body of a dwarf.

“I was informed that you, your majesty, wished to annul the agreement,” you say, “But Lord Dain knew it already from the letters you sent him.”

“What letters?!” the King’s frown deepens even more. “I haven’t written to him since before my visit to the Iron Hills!”

“Then why was he so upset about the agreement?” you counter. “I have never seen him so worried!” “Dain? Upset? Worried? About some pieces of parchment?!” he gives out a sullen chuckle. “The last time I saw that hog worried was when his prized war boar was ailing!”

If this is the King’s idea of a joke, you are not amused.

“Explain it to me then, your majesty: why did he insist on me coming here to try to change your mind about something that you did not even think of d--” And then it dawns on you. “Oh.”

You raise your eyes to meet Thorin’s piercing, icy gaze that almost makes you shudder. Thoughts are running through your mind as swiftly as a startled deer. You feel the heat on your cheeks. No, it can’t be possible… can it?

“Yes, oh indeed.” he nods slightly, and a shadow passes over his stony, expressionless face. “So, you are saying that if not for my cousin Dain and my sister, you would not have accepted my invitation?” The familiar, tormenting ache spreads within you, making you unable to speak, so you simply nod. He turns his back towards you once again and remains silent for a few moments, as if he were a statue carved out of obsidian.

When he finally speaks, his rumbling voice is only slightly louder than a murmur. “And now you say that…” he clears his throat. “That Dis approached you on my behalf.”

This is surprising. You could have sworn that you heard a hint of disbelief in his voice.

“Lady Dis was quite straightforward about it. She even hinted at…” take a deep breath, Ragna, you can say it. It’s just a stupid word. “At you searching for… for a queen.” Here, you said it. A spark of hope, the hope that you had to hide with Lady Dìs, passes through your lips only to fizzle out. As soon as you utter this word that seems to burn your tongue, the King Under the Mountain turns back to face you, braid beads clinking in his hair, his stormy eyes boring into your face. His next words, although quiet, make your eyes widen. “I am not searching for a queen. And I certainly did not employ my sister to coax you into changing your mind,” he states firmly.

You swallow, waiting for his first statement to sink in. Stupid, stupid Ragna, what were you thinking? Were you really hoping…? You close your eyes for a few moments, hoping that the incessant pounding in your head would finally stop. It is making you slightly nauseous. But to be honest, the whole conversation does. Whose idea was it to leave the feast and follow Th… the King, anyway? You reap what you sow, Ragna.

“I don’t understand…” you mumble, resting your gaze on your shaking hands. You hide them quickly behind you.

“Dain and Dis. When we were children, we used to call them Double Trouble,” he explains, but instead of an expected chuckle, you hear a melancholic sigh. “They were always thick as thieves, always meddling, always playing tricks on others. It seems like they played a trick on us both this time.”

As soon as the King stops talking, you hear the sound of his iron boots stomping against the stone floor. You raise your gaze and see how he approaches you in an unhurried manner. Almost immediately you notice how tired he looks from up close, quite unlike the majestic picture of a king you saw from a distance at the feast. There are shadows under his tired eyes, his cheeks seem slightly more hollow than you remembered, and there are a few more silver strands in his rich mane of dark hair.

The King’s brow casts a deep shadow over his eyes. He bows his head slightly and speaks in a hollow voice.

“Please accept my apology for all the inconveniences my invitation has obviously caused you, Lady Ragna. Clearly, it was not the cleverest idea on my part. I was under the impression that you came here out of your free will. I hoped…” he clears his throat and stays silent for a moment, his Durin’s apple bobbing. Your breath hitches and your heart is suddenly beating faster than before. He hoped, that’s what he said. You are sure you heard it right. He hoped…

Before you have the chance to react, he continues matter-of-factly.

“You asked me why I invited you. There was a matter I wished to discuss with you. A... business matter. But now, since...” “I want to hear it!” you interject, surprising both him and yourself at the same time.

“In the light of the recent events, I do not believe it would be advisable nor proper for us to continue our acquaintance,” he speaks, shaking his head slowly. The features of his face are impenetrable, but you notice that he clenches and unclenches his ringed hand. The hand that once tenderly caressed your cheek in the sweet darkness of the night. Damn it, Ragna, don’t you dare cry now! You have always been a pragmatic dwarf-woman, this is no time for emotions, they always get in the way of business. You learned it the hard way, didn’t you?

“As the old dwarven saying goes, business is business,” you say, trying to control your voice as best as you can. “I’m sure that both you, your majesty, and I can put all the… personal issues... aside if it’s a matter of business.”

The King studies your face for a moment. He stops clenching his fist and puts both of his hands behind his back again. There is a glint in his eye when he speaks again. There it is, Thorin the King.

“Very well. I will come straight to the point, my lady,” he nods. “My offer was as follows: Erebor is in need of a skilled negotiator both during the upcoming treaty talks with the Woodland Realm, and in future due to the expected increase of business with other realms. I admired the professionalism you presented during my latest stay in the Iron Hills and I am aware that you have previous experience in negotiating with Thranduil.”

“Oh,” you reply. This is the only word you manage to say while the cogwheels in your mind are spinning too fast for their own good. The King of Erebor is looking at you expectantly.

You have to tread carefully now. The position of the head negotiator of Erebor, the most prominent of all seven dwarven kingdoms, is more than you have ever dreamed of. The prestige. The prospects. The possibilities, including being able to oversee large-scale international trade. But you are too experienced not to know that such offers always come with a catch. You just have to find it.

“Thank you for your generous offer, your majesty,” you reply, “but it would have been impossible for me to accept it. I don’t believe Lord Dain can spare his trade advisor. May I remind you that I’m to take part in the negotiations with King Thranduil on behalf of the Iron Hills?” “It was Lord Dain who recommended you himself for this position. Both Erebor and Iron Hills are prepared for you to conduct the negotiations on behalf of both our realms,” he explains.

“Oh,” you say again. How eloquent of you. Have you forgotten that there are other words in your vocabulary, Ragna? But then a detail comes back into your mind. “What if Lord Dain’s suggestion was just a part of his and your sister’s plan to keep me here?”

The King remains silent for a few moments, looking directly into your eyes and you notice how his jaw clenches as the glint in his eyes slowly fades away. But then he shrugs and his face turns into stone again, the minuscule crack in his armor disappearing without a trace. That damn armor of his!

“Does it matter at this point?” he asks raspily. “I was prepared to offer you this position, including appropriate remuneration and accommodation, no hidden clauses, no misunderstandings. Nothing more than your services as the head negotiator under this Mountain. That was however when I thought you had accepted my invitation because you... wanted to.”

“It is a very generous offer, your majesty,” you admit, but you want to get to the bottom of this. “But I believe it contains a flaw. I wouldn’t be able to act as your representative: as a citizen of the Iron Hills I can't lead political meetings or deals between Erebor and other reigns, dwarven or not, on behalf of your Mountain.” Thorin the King nods, clearly agreeing with your words, as if he has been expecting this question.

“Once you said that a skilled negotiator needs to think of everything. I had a solution to this issue. I was prepared to propose it, but I do not believe it is valid any longer,” he speaks in that measured tone of voice he has been using on official occasions, and you notice that he is playing with one of his rings, quickly turning it back and forth around his finger. You have never seen him do this before.

“May I ask what you were prepared to offer?” you frown.

There is an almost imperceptible pause as he gathers his breath to speak. His face is completely unreadable, as if it was carved in white marble, but the sound that leaves his mouth is more of a growl than anything else.

“Marriage.”

So here’s the catch. Now it is your turn to gather your breath. Breathe in. Count to four. Breathe out. Don’t you dare to faint, Ragna. You are standing on a platform above a chasm that goes all the way to the heart of the Mountain, remember? Fainting is not a smart idea, and you are a smart dwarf-woman, aren’t you? “Excuse me, your majesty, but I don't quite understand. Haven’t you said that you were not seeking a queen?” There. That was smart. Good job, Ragna, keep it going! The King presses his lips into a thin line and his ice-blue eyes pierce you to your very core. “That is true. In this case, however, I was... prepared to ask you whether you would do me the honor of becoming my wife,” he speaks gruffly, his eyes stubbornly not leaving your face, making you forget to breathe.

Mahal, Mahal, Mahal! Did he really say that or are you hallucinating? And was it even Thorin the King who spoke those words? You can’t believe your ears. A chill creeps down your spine and your headache attacks you with double strength. Those words, those cursed words. You have never thought you would ever hear them from him, not like this.

Hundreds of images flood your mind. You close your eyes for a moment to banish them, but they seem to dance under your eyelids. All those images you had secretly dreamed of during those blissful and passionate weeks, all the possibilities, all those days, all those years you had fantasized about without even acknowledging it. But a slow, cold flame of ruthless reality begins to burn them to ashes.

No, his words can’t be real. No, it’s impossible. If he had really wanted to ask you to marry him, he would have done it weeks before. He would have asked you that last night, that fateful night, and then you would have cried and laughed, and finally you would accept him. He would have taken you to Erebor and tonight you could have been sitting by his side in the Main Hall. You would have been gently squeezing his large, warm hand under the table laughing with him at Lord Dain’s frolics. But that’s not what happened. He didn’t ask you and now you are here in the drafty throne room with a broken heart and a shattered soul. There is a catch, remember, Ragna? There is always a catch with him and this time you know what it is.

“You wanted… to marry me… in order to secure my skills as a negotiator?!” you exclaim. The wall you built around your heart cracks and falls apart with a dull ache. Your head is splitting. Your vision is blurry. The vivid images of the happy future that could have been are gone from your mind, blown away like ashes in the wind. Liquid fury runs through your veins. And then you laugh, but there are no sparks of joy in your voice, only overwhelming sadness that coaxes the tears out of your eyes.

“Did you think that this would be a fair price to buy me? Both my body and my mind? Can’t you take no for an answer?!” you start sobbing, no longer caring about the tears that make your cheeks wet. “First you ask me to become your concubine, your private bird in your private golden cage, a diamond in your priceless gem collection, and when I refuse because I want to live my life fully, on my own terms, you decide to play not only with my body, but with my mind as well?! Do you think I’m a soulless tool you can use and discard whenever you wish?”

“Ragna!” he interjects, gritting his teeth, fury flaming in his eyes, but you don’t let him continue.

“I have feelings too, I have desires and dreams! Did you really imagine that I’d fall on my knees in awe as soon as you graciously offered to marry me? That I would dutifully do my work on your behalf during the day and spread my legs for you during the night? Two birds with one stone, eh? How convenient for you, you heartless scoundrel! I told you already once, I never wanted to be your bed warmer and I’m not changing my mind!” you shout straight into his face, not caring about propriety or etiquette. Screw it all.

“I’ve heard enough!” he growls loudly and you can almost see the lightnings of wrath coming from his eyes.

Both your and his words are echoing in the throne room, but you don’t care. Rapidly you turn your back to the stonyhearted King and start walking away when a series of sobs escapes you. The only thing you want now is to leave this bloody throne room, or better, the whole bloody Mountain with it’s overconfident king inside as soon as you can, just like he ordered you to do a few moments ago. You can’t stand any more heartache. This was a mistake, you kissing him in that corridor in the Iron Hills just before the battle, spending all those nights with him, and then coming here. Yes. One gigantic mistake. Now it’s the time to admit it to yourself.

Thorin the Warrior, Thorin the Lover, Thorin the King is still in your heart, even if you did everything in your power to get rid of your unrequited feelings for him. You knew that coming to Erebor would hurt. You were right. It hurts, more than you thought. To make matters worse, the King’s behaviour is making it even more painful than it could have been.

“Do not dare to leave this place! We are not done here!” he bellows after you. His fingers wrap around your arm, forcing you to stop.

“Yes, we are!” you shout, not turning back, shaking off his grip and walking away even faster.

“Ragna!” your name echoes against the walls of the chamber, a new, coarse tone in his voice, even more demanding than before.

You feel his fingers around your arm again, forcing you to stop, and then more of his words reach you, along with a sigh. “Do you not understand what I was… what I am trying to say, you insolent woman?!”

You turn back to face him, fury etched in your face, ready to roar at him at the top of your lungs, to make sure that he understands the storm raging in your heart.

“Apparently I don’t! Pray enlighten me with your wisdom, your majesty, but be quick about it so I can finally leave this cursed place and you can go back to your comfortable kingly life, surrounded by dozens of pretty maidens, picking them one by one to be your mistresses, as if they were ripe apples waiting to be plucked by the great Thorin Oakenshield himself!” there, you said it.

“What mistresses are you talking about, Ragna?!”

“The ones that keep your bed warm at night! Don’t you remember this is what you offered me as well?” your voice breaks. That stupid, useless pain is still there and it doesn’t want to go away.

He closes the distance between you in one angry stride.

“There has not been anyone else! Only you, every damn day and night since I have met you! No one but you, Ragna!” he roars.

You are gaping at him, lost for words. And hallucinating. Yes, this time there can’t be any other explanation. After the prolonged strain of the last months it has finally happened. You have gone crazy and you are hearing things.

“No one...?” you manage to squeak out and take a step back, or rather jump back as if you have just encountered raging fire about to burn you alive. A fire that can’t be quenched even by all the tears you are shedding.

“Ragna…” his features are softening as he slowly approaches you, his movements fluid and careful, and there is a sudden tenderness in his voice. What an amazing hallucination this is.

Thorin the… no, not the King, neither the Warrior, but Thorin, just Thorin, lifts his hand towards your face, glances at you briefly, and then withdraws his arm.

“I am trying… This has nothing to do with the agreements nor your skills. It is about you, Ragna. I want you to know... ” he clears his throat and his voice regains its previous strength. His brilliant blue eyes meet yours, his jaw proudly set. “My true name is Thorin.”

Exactly five heartbeats pass until you understand his words. Yes, five, you have been counting, even though your panicked brain is frantically running around in circles. Thorin Oakenshield has just told you his true name. Hasn’t he?

“But…” you croak. Suddenly, your throat feels parched. “But Thorin is your chosen name!” “It is,” he nods, squaring his shoulders.

“So how can it be your true name as well?!”

“The best guarded secret is one that is kept in plain sight,” he smirks sadly.

What an annoying dwarf! You grit your teeth. Of course. This is so HIM. So arrogant, so full of himself. Well, maybe a bit clever, too. His true name is there for everyone to see. It’s clear that he did it on purpose, as if mocking any attempts of gaining power over him. Thorin Oakenshield is too stubborn, too bullheaded to be bothered by someone trying to control or influence him in any way. Fat chance! You tried it yourself and look where it got you!

And yet, he has shared his deepest secret with you. The secret that only a handful of dwarves is privileged to know. The secret that should be shared only with his closest family. His sister, his nephews, and… Oh, Mahal.

“Why,” you mumble as you lift your hand to your trembling lips. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

“Because I refuse to pretend any longer. I want you to know how much I... esteem you. I am done with all those half-truths. What happened between us…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes rest on your lips for a blink of an eye, and there is a hint of melancholy in his voice, “For me, it was not just a treat to sweeten up the negotiations. I understand it is too late now to pretend that the words we exchanged that night never happened. I wish you to know the truth.”

“So you…” you mumble. “But then…” you utter two more words. “How…” This is where you give up. Ragna, can’t you even put a sentence together? Easy to say, huh? It is as if your mind stopped working altogether. The words Thorin said don’t make any sense to you. The way he acts now doesn’t make any sense either. He can’t think this way. Can he? Surely, he doesn’t. Is this a trick? You can say many things about him but you know that he is not a liar. But why, why does he entrust you of all people with his true name like this? He was only interested in having you in his bed, nothing more! But now he says… Damn your headache, you can barely think straight and you are even more confused than before.

“What do you expect of me now?” you ask carefully.

“Nothing,” you hear his reply and meet his unwavering, darkened gaze.

“But you have just told me your true name! And you don’t know me that well! How can you even trust me with such a secret?! How can you be sure that I won’t tell everyone about it?!” you burst out, furrowing your brow.

“I know you well enough to recognize loyalty, honor…” he lets out a sigh and then shakes his head slowly. You can barely hear his subdued voice when he says, “I have truly cherished those two weeks we had. Treat my offering as a parting gift, a token of appreciation.”

“But this is your secret! You should share it with someone close, someone special!” you protest. You have to make him see! He should take it back! What was he thinking? He enjoyed spending time with you, you understand that much, but this is not the reason to burden his ex-lover with that kind of knowledge! This is all wrong, it is not supposed to be happening like this! “How can you allow me to leave your Mountain with this knowledge?!”

You feel the heaviness of Thorin’s gaze on your face but he doesn’t respond at first. Silence rings in your ears. When he speaks, his voice is solemn, almost devoid of emotion, and somehow, he looks even more tired than before.

“It is yours now, and I am aware that you will take it with you. If you think this is a trick to make you stay in Erebor, you are mistaken. I am not a fool and will not repeat my offer. I know it is unwanted,” he clenches his jaw, his face looks like a stone mask.

What business does he have to look so disappointed?! Does he think you will feel sorry and change your mind now? Does he still not get what you said that night?! Apparently, being utterly confused doesn’t stop you from feeling anger again and raising your voice, “You wanted me to become your concubine!”

“This was meant as an honourable proposal! I wished for you to be by my side and enjoy all the honors and comforts suitable for the king’s official companion! When I said it, I meant… I didn't understand…” he gives out an impatient grunt and tries again. “I had time to think about what you told me that night, about what was important to you…”

“And what has changed now? You wanted me in your bed so much and you needed me to work for Erebor so badly that you were even prepared to marry me? And now you tell me your name? Why?” you retort. He is still not making any sense, at least not in your head. “You can choose anyone, there are so many beautiful ladies swooning at the sight of you, trying to get your attention…”

That shadow of melancholy that has clouded his eyes suddenly dissolves, giving way to the bright, ice-blue glare.

“Give me strength, you insufferable woman! You and your ideas! Nothing has changed!” he roars, furrowing his brow. “Have you not heard what I said? Do you truly not see? I am aware that you do not reciprocate my affection, but you are the one I love, Ragna! You, not anyone else! Do you understand?”

The silence that falls after his words is deafening.

Thorin is towering above you, his chest heaving. He is clearly waiting for your reaction, but his words have made you freeze and your mind goes blank. He has just said the l-word. You heard it well. He said it, no, he shouted it angrily in your face. Your eyes widen. This is the word you buried deep in your heart many weeks ago, promising yourself to forget it forever. Your vision blurs, but you don’t care about the tears flowing from your eyes nor about your completely ruined makeup. Something blooms in your chest and a tiny shiver of something you can’t explain dances down your spine. Yes, Ragna. He really said it. The l-word. And he spoke your name. And your cheeks are wet. And your headache is suddenly, inexplicably gone. And your heart flutters in your chest.

Taking a deep breath, you close the distance between you, barely able to keep balance.

“You… you do?” your voice trembles as you raise your face to meet his gaze, trying to stop the flowing tears.

“I’m afraid so,” he murmurs, nodding slightly. There is a softness in the way he looks at you, as if a field of cornflowers bloomed in his eyes under a stormy sky of sadness.

Thorin’s hand unhurriedly wanders to your cheek and his thumb gently wipes away a solitary tear. The warmth of his skin seems to melt the ball of ice that has constantly been growing in your heart since the moment he left the Iron Hills.

“Forgive me,” he speaks softly under his breath. “I should not have said it. I never wished for my confession to be the reason for your tears.”

You give out a small chuckle and he looks at you in puzzlement. He probably thinks that you have gone mad. Well, maybe you have. And maybe he has as well. Right now, it seems that the whole world has gone mad, but you don’t care. This is your chance, a chance you have never thought you would ever get. You are going to ride this madness to its very core, and this time you are going to follow the voice of your heart.

“You silly, silly king,” you whisper, grabbing the folds of his tunic and standing on your tiptoes. Swiftly, before your mind starts overthinking the situation, you let your emotions run freely, and press your lips against his half-opened mouth, stopping him from speaking. He tastes like malt beer and sweet tobacco smoke, and his lips are as soft as you remembered, but then he interrupts your kiss and pulls back slightly, cupping your face with his hands the way you kept dreaming of every night, touching you carefully, as if he was expecting you to disappear at any moment. “Ragna…?” he speaks hoarsely, knitting his brow, and his gaze searches your face.

“You should have told me weeks ago, you stubborn oaf!” you brush your nose against his, smiling widely. “Tell you… what?” he replies as his frown deepens.

You sigh. Has one sweet kiss completely befuddled his brain? One of your hands moves to his face and covers his bearded cheek. At the same moment, Thorin leans into your touch and your heart skips a beat. Oh, how you missed this prickling sensation against your skin!

“Tell me how you felt, of course!” you explain and see how he shakes his head.

“I did not understand what I felt. I was too blind to see what I found,” his voice lowers to a gruff murmur. “I had to lose you, Ragna, to see it. By then it was already too late to take back both my actions and my words. I had to accept that for you it was only a fleeting affair.”

“It wasn’t!” You interrupt him as fast as you can, nearly screaming at the top of your lungs. Thorin looks at you shocked, the wrinkle between his eyebrows becomes more and more visible. You take a deep breath and look down unable to handle his stare. “I was confused and too afraid…” your lower lip trembles and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

Blinking away the tears welling in your eyes at the painful memories, you continue.

“I didn't want to throw my whole life away in exchange for an empty chamber in Erebor and your embrace at night, nothing more. This wasn’t what I wanted. It didn’t feel like a fair trade.”

“Did you truly think I would lock you in a golden cage?” the muscles of his jaw tighten.

Thorin’s voice is heavy as he speaks, full of worry and sadness. You clearly remember both the words you said to him that cursed night, and the words you hadn’t had the courage to utter. Guilt and regret start taking over your mind, dark and chilling like a winter’s night. You hurt him, as much as he hurt you. “I said some things... I wish I could take them back. I know you wouldn’t let it happen, you wouldn't keep me away from the world. I simply didn’t wish to become your lover and have my heart shattered when you marry someone else,” you whisper, looking away in embarrassment. “I didn’t dare to admit what I felt for you…”

“Will you tell me what you feel now, sweet Ragna?” he whispers huskily, his breath mingling with yours. His thumb caresses your cheekbone and you don’t want it to stop. Ever. The warmth of his touch on your face, the way he looks at you, the emotion that softens the features of his face, everything starts making sense. Incredible tenderness fills his eyes, along with a bright splash of hope, and so many, many other emotions. It all takes your breath away. Can this really be happening?

“I…” you begin, still unable to look at him, but no more words come out from your mouth. Biting your lip, you hide your face in the ornamented tunic that covers his broad chest. The fabric mercifully dries some of your tears, enveloping you with a familiar scent of pine, some unknown exotic spices and soap. Your hands find their way under Thorin’s cloak and you wrap your arms around his torso, your body pressed flush against his. It feels wonderfully, amazingly, excitingly real. Just like Thorin. Your Thorin.

His embrace is even better, even more reassuring than you remembered. Thorin is holding you close in his strong arms, as if he was shielding you from the world beyond the two of you.

“Thorin, I…” you whisper his name, his true name, slowly relaxing into the firmness of his chest, your cheek resting against his pectoral, rivulets of tears running down your cheeks.

He gently lifts your chin up with his finger and you see the curve of his lips, a hint of a smile hiding in his beard.

“Why are you crying, Zunshanushê?” you feel his voice rumbling in his chest as he brushes away your tears with the back of his hand. “Have I asked for too much?”

Zunshanushê. His tiny songbird. When he speaks this word, his voice is as tender as on that night in the Iron Hills when he called you the same way for the first time. Had he already meant what he said back then? Calling you his? What if he did? Is it possible that you have misinterpreted all the signs so badly?

“No, you haven’t,” you swallow your tears, but you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “It’s because I’m happy! Because you are here, because I am here too, and we are embracing, and you are not letting me go, and you look at me this way, and I see you smile, and I’ve just heard you say…” you realize that you are blabbing, but you don’t care any longer. “These are happy tears, because... you have my heart, Thorin… you truly do...”

You have finally shared your secret with him. Your true feelings for this amazing, irritating, alluring, and clueless dwarf. The words pleasantly slide off your tongue, leaving a sweet aftertaste in your mouth and a deep warmth growing in your chest. It is both exhilarating and terrifying. As if something big was ending, and there was a new trail ahead, but you didn’t have the slightest clue about where it could lead.

You gently take his hand into your trembling hand and place it over your heart, covering it with your palm, trying to explain what you are unable to say in words. Thorin’s gaze moves between your face and your intertwined hands, now trapped together between your bodies.

“Ragna, are you saying…?” he whispers hoarsely. You are suspecting that now it is his turn to think he is hallucinating. Luckily, you know a very good remedy for this affliction.

“Yes. And I would like you to kiss me now, Melhekhel,” you say, moving your chin up and closing your eyes.

You don’t have to wait long. Thorin’s reply comes soon after; his lips lightly brush against yours, and then a feather-light kiss lands on your upper lip. The next one caresses your lower lip slowly while one of his hands cups the back of your head, his fingers sinking in your hair. His hot breath fans against your delicate skin and Thorin’s lips start peppering your cheeks, your nose, your mouth with soft little kisses, igniting the light of countless new stars in the firmament of your face. One kiss for every tear you have ever shed, thinking of him. One kiss for every night full of torment after he left. Each kiss seems to be even more tender than the previous one; as if Thorin was professing the depth of his feelings, etching it into your skin, affirming it over and over again. With these kisses, a whole new trail stretches before both of you, a trail woven of hope, dreams and your hearts beating in unison.

“Is this the kiss you had in mind, Zunshanushê?” he murmurs, pecking your nose.

All the sensations you experience, all the emotions you feel overwhelm you with their sudden outburst; your knees are suddenly weak and you sway. Thorin steadies you, his strong arms are holding you tight. You have never before felt so extremely happy at the fact that this dwarf is embracing you now.

Chuckling in embarrassment, you say, glancing at him hopefully from under your eyelashes, “I guess it will do. But I think we will have to make up for all the time we were apart.” You press your lips to the upturned corner of his mouth, brushing against the thickness of his beard, and then, as he leans closer towards you, you give him a gentle, lingering kiss, just one, but it is a kiss that contains all your hopes, your desires, and your dreams alike; all that your heart has been brimming with since the moment that blissful realization has dawned upon you. Thorin loves you, Ragna. And you love him.

When your lips part, you take a deep breath; your eyes flutter open and you see his face so impossibly close to yours. His blue eyes have a familiar softness to them, the softness you have seen several times before, never understanding what it truly was. But now you know. Thorin is like a book in a foreign language, the language of his heart, and you have finally learned to decipher it.

“How could we be so blind?” you exclaim. “We were both clueless like cave bats on a sunny day! I can’t believe we’ve wasted so much time for silliness!”

“It has never been a waste of time for me,” Thorin brushes a stray lock of your hair away from your face and gives you a small smile. “It brought you to me. And I don’t intend to let you go. You are my cave bat now.” As you chuckle, something flickers in his eyes, a gentle kiss lands on your lips, overwhelming you with tenderness. The world seems to spin around you in joy, making you sway, but he is there, standing in front of you and holding your hands firmly in his. You give him a smile, and the dizziness in your head subsides as you focus on the warmth of his touch, the pleasant roughness of his skin when his hands of a warrior cover yours and his cornflower blue gaze rests tenderly on your face.

“The first time I saw you, Ragna... here, in Erebor…” Thorin speaks slowly, as if he was weighing each of his words before daring to speak them aloud. “I could barely tear my eyes away from you.”

He gives out a sigh and continues, oblivious to your widened eyes and mouth forming an ‘O’.

“The way you look… The way you move… Your voice... The fire in your eyes… The way you turn into a fierce warrior at the negotiation table…” each phrase he laboriously utters is punctuated by a heavy grunt and he exclaims, frowning with frustration. “By Mahal’s beard, this is harder than fighting a pack of Orcs!”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling and press a hot kiss against the curved line of his mouth.

“But it is much more pleasant! Is there a chance,” you whisper into his ear, rubbing your cheek against his, “that you could tell me more?” You nibble gently at his earlobe, knowing how much he likes it, the tip of your tongue tracing its curve.

“Woman,” he purrs, “you are such a distraction from… from yourself. I am trying to tell you, or rather struggling…” “You are doing really good, my King,” you tease him as your lips find their way to meet his mouth once again. It seems that you can’t get enough of the sweet, tender kisses you have been exchanging, because this one takes even longer than the previous one. When your lips part, Thorin looks at you intensely.

“Zunshanushê, will you allow me to continue?” his chest rises as he takes a deep breath, the playfulness disappearing from his voice. You give him an encouraging nod, not quite sure what else he may want to say. You wouldn’t say no to hearing more of his compliments, now, when you have finally learned of his feelings towards you, but something tells you there are other things on his mind.

“It took me a long time to comprehend… perhaps too long...” Thorin starts with a grunt, “But I have finally understood the true meaning behind our legends. Do you remember the stories describing how Mahal himself carved Durin and his spouse from the same piece of rock? I gave up hope of finding the other half of my rock years ago,” he closes his eyes for a moment. “Only to find it at the least expected time and place. Now that I have her in my arms… I do not want to lose her again.”

Your eyes widen. And… and… you’re speechless. By Kaminzabdûna’s lush braids… This… This is… If not for the fact that you see Thorin right in front of you, as you are drowning in the twin pools of his gaze, you would have never guessed that he was capable of professing his feelings in such a way. Come to think of it, you are wondering whether he knew it himself. Or, to be more precise, you would, if you weren’t busy melting after the full meaning of his words has reached you.

“There is a question I wish to ask of you, both as a dwarf, and as a king,” Thorin continues, firmly holding your hands in his.

For a moment, it seems that all the air has gone from the world, or maybe the Mountain has turned upside down, because… because...

Thorin Oakenshield kneels in front of you.

Again.

Just like he did that one time.

Only now you are not in a broom cupboard in the Iron Hills.

You are in the throne room of Erebor.

The legendary Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel, is shining at you from above.

And the King is kneeling; and smiling at you softly; and his eyes are brighter than ever before.

There is only one occasion on which it is proper for a king to kneel in front of a standing person. It is only when...

Your breath hitches.

“Th-- Thorin?” somehow you manage to articulate his name.

“Ragna, daughter of Eldi, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife and my queen?” he says gruffly and his words make your world spin again. Your heart is racing, and you have to, you need to hold on to his large, warm hands, his steady grip anchoring you in the moment.

“But… but you said you were not searching for a queen...” you whisper, trying to understand what is happening. He nods, looking at you from under his heavy brows, his eyes sparkling, “I am not. I have already found her. The question is, would she agree to marry an old, grey-haired battle invalid?”

You feel him squeeze your hands gently, and then something in your mind clicks. Wake up, Ragna, stop staring at your king like a goat at a cabbage patch. Thorin, the dwarf who found his way to your heart, is waiting for your answer! You open your mouth but only a strange, squeaky sound leaves your lips. The world starts revolving around you even faster and you fall on your knees before Thorin, barely able to gather your skirts on time. You don’t care how cold and hard the floor is, how drafty the chamber is; all you can think about is Thorin’s words ringing in your ears and his gaze lovingly caressing your face.

Tears run freely from your eyes and you suspect that at this rate you may be heavily influencing the water levels in the Long Lake. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead against his, a sob escaping your lips.

“A very old, infirm, completely grey-haired invalid who can barely move?” your sob turns into a chuckle as you cradle his face in your palms, your tears making his cheeks wet. “I don’t know anyone who fits that description. But I know a great king, a tremendous warrior and an amazing lover who gets only better with age, just like the Dorwinion wine.”

“It is only because you know how to make him feel younger,” he murmurs as your fingers are running through his beard. At that moment, you can’t stop yourself from smiling through your tears of joy when he pulls you into a passionate kiss; your lips meet his and you want to taste him and drink him like the wine, enjoying every single sip for as long as you can.

“Oh, Thorin,” you manage to mumble against his lips and then everything turns into a blur. His hungry mouth covers yours, his hands roam your body, and yes, oh yes, he definitely feels alive. As he leans over you, you rest your hands on his shoulders and try to return his kiss with equal fervor when your noses bump against each other and your faces pull apart.

You burst out in laughter, and he joins you quickly, running his finger along the ridge of your nose.

“Have I injured you greatly?” he rumbles softly.

You shake your head, saying playfully, “You can kiss it better, to be on the safe side!”

Thorin, your Thorin, looks at you with a half-smile for a moment, and then replies, “As you wish!”

You close your eyes and wait for his kiss, but it never comes. Instead, a pair of strong arms lifts you effortlessly from the ground, and when you blink your eyes open, you are in the air, pressed against his chest as he takes a few steps ahead.

“Why am I being manhandled and where is my kiss?” you demand, wrapping your arms around his neck. You could definitely get used to this mode of transport, but you are not going to admit it, at least not yet.

“Patience, Zunshanushê, I am aiming at making it much better,” he smiles at you in that special way that makes him look so carefree and playful.

When he sits down, you gasp. Yes, Thorin is sitting down. On the ancient throne of the kings of Erebor. This is the place where the greatest events in the history of the Mountain have transpired, where great rulers and esteemed guests visited, where the most important ceremonies and audiences happened. And you are not quite being respectful of the place now, almost indecently settled in Thorin’s lap, feeling the hardness of his muscular thighs under your bottom, your arms around him, his arms around you.

And then Thorin kisses you softly on the tip of your nose as if you were in his private chambers. “There. Better now?” he gives you a bright small smile that reaches his eyes. “Yes, but… Thorin, we shouldn’t be here,” you protest, feeling the heat on your cheeks and trying to wiggle out of his embrace. “It’s the throne of the King Under the Mountain!” “May I remind you I happen to be him?” he gives out a rumbly chuckle, holding you steadily in place. To be honest, you don’t mind it at all.

“Yes, well, it’s hard to forget with that crown and everything,” you make a vague gesture at his attire, “but… but it’s improper!” “For me to be the king?” he chuckles with amusement.

“No! For us, like this, embracing, and kissing! It’s the great throne! The symbol of your rule!” you try to explain feverishly, but it seems like you are failing. The longer you speak, the wider Thorin’s smile gets.

“It is a chair, first and foremost,” he replies. “And it serves its purpose quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

“But only think of the scandal that would erupt if anyone saw us here!” you cautiously look around, focusing on all the entrances to the throne room.

“Do not fret, Zunshanushê. Can’t you hear the singing? The music? Who in their right mind would think of walking into the boring throne room now, in the middle of the feast, instead of being merry in the Main Hall?” Thorin seals his words with a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Well…” you hesitate. “I did.” “Only because you followed me,” he murmurs and pulls you closer to him, “which I am grateful for.”

When his lips rest on yours again, you bury your hands in his hair and plant several kisses along the curve of his mouth, as if they were budding flowers of happiness, his beard prickling against the softness of your skin. One of his temple braids brushes against your cheek when Thorin presents you with a bunch of kisses in full bloom, kindling the first flames of a familiar fire inside you. Through the fabric of your gown you feel the warmth of his hand sliding down your back, sending a tingling sensation down your spine. You offer your lips to him once more, and he covers them with his mouth in one bold move. You give out a small whimper when he grazes your lower lip with his teeth and then your lips part, allowing his tongue to gently slip inside.

Oh, Mahal, how you missed his kisses. Thorin takes your lips in his possession, piece by piece, letting his passion for you speak for him, letting you savor him for as long as you like. Tilting your head, you take him up on his offer, your lips dancing with his, softly, unhurriedly, as if you were getting to know each other once again. Everything seems so new, so exhilarating, and yet so familiar at the same time. You run your fingers through his long, wavy mane at the nape of his neck, making him purr. His hair is silky to your touch, as you remembered, but its scent is slightly different, amber with a hint of musk. His hand is now pressing into your thigh, and you feel how tense his shoulder muscles are. Thorin is holding himself back, his passion thrumming under his skin, like a recently tamed beast, barely held at bay. But now you are kissing, and only his lips matter, the sensual lips that have been haunting your dreams and whispering your name, your true name, in that alluring way, the feverish lips that now brush against your cheek, play with your earlobe, and then you feel his hot breath against its sensitive surface.

“Ragna, I’m burning for you,” he whispers hoarsely into your ear.

You turn your head to meet his gaze and see a stormy ocean of emotions, of desire so overwhelming, so urgent, that it almost matches yours. Admit it, Ragna. You feel the same hunger, the same thirst. But it’s not only his body that you crave. You want him, your Thorin, his mind and soul alike. Now that you know his true feelings for you, you yearn for a closeness that will fill the gaping need buried deep inside your heart. It’s just like the ancient legends say: some dwarves were created by Mahal from the same piece of rock. You’ve always thought these were only cute bedtime stories, until now. In Thorin’s arms, it all suddenly makes sense. The overwhelming emotions. The way your body responds even to the lightest of his touches. The fluttering in your chest whenever he looks at you. The peace that comes with his embrace. Perhaps there was a grain of truth in those stories after all?

You want to become one with him, because now you know for sure it was not just your imagination; legends or not, you truly feel that unique pull towards him, the other half of the rock you have been carved of. You have tried to ignore it, and failed, and now you want to feel whole again. With him. With the dwarf that reciprocates your feelings. With the king of your heart.

And is there a better place for it to happen than the throne of kings?

Your eyes meet his and for a moment there is nothing else in the world, no Mountain, no feast, no throne room, only the boundless sea of his gaze. The only thing you want to do is to sail its waters under the clear sky of your passion, because you know that in the end he will lead you to the safe haven of his heart.

Thorin’s mouth is surprisingly soft and his feather-light touch makes you feel as if dozens of rose petals brushed against your delicate skin, and you feel yourself shiver with anticipation. When he rests his hands on your waist, bunching in the silk of your gown, you rest your hands on his shoulders and straddle him in a long, fluid movement. Wordlessly you thank whoever built this throne for making it large enough for both of you, hoping they would approve of your unorthodox use of this seat of kings (Mahal help you!).

But before your thoughts distract you completely, Thorin makes one of his alluring half-smiless and casts you a sensual glance from under his eyelids, only to drown you in a kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting for more as his hands run along the silky softness of your thighs.

Your skin prickles with the heat of his touch and you let out a sigh at the sensations it stirs within you. The only thing you yearn for now is his kisses and caresses, nothing more. Only his arms around you, only his titillating murmurs. Only Thorin. You want to feel his skin against yours. Even the clothes between you are too much. Swiftly your hands find your way under his doublet and tunic, quickly discarding them, along with his heavy cloak. Your fingers are running across his bare, sinewy chest, along the elaborate lines of his tattoos, and you feel his satisfied rumble under your palms before you hear it. You tremble in pleasure when he ghosts his lips along the length of your neck; you give out a yelp when he unlaces your bodice and buries his face in the soft curves of your breasts. You arch your back when his exploring mouth and hands cover them, kissing and caressing them generously, heralds of rapture blooming within you under his touch. You barely notice when he frees you from all the layers of your clothes, focused only on the pleasure his kisses bring as he covers every bare piece of your body with his mouth.

As he brushes his prickly beard against the buds of your nipples, a wave of heat devours you and you fist your hands in his hair with a stifled moan. Instinctively you press your core against his groin and gasp at the familiar hardness. The groan he gives out is lower than ever, heavy with lust, just like his lips are, scorching and wanting. Liquid fire runs through your veins, a familiar heat pooling between your legs.

“Thorin, please…” you mumble tentatively into his mouth, feeling the weight of six long weeks of feverish, unfulfilling dreams lifting from you. “What is it, Zunshanushê?” he murmurs in response, meeting your unfocused gaze. He probably feels how you are trembling against him. You rest your palms on the wide expanse of his chest, enjoying the way his hands rest on your waist, his fingers meeting over your spine.

“I… I want you, Melhekhel,” you manage to whisper, hoping he will understand. You want all of him, his gentle kisses, his tender smiles, the ardent glances he casts at you, his inquisitive mind, his fiery temper. Everything that makes Thorin the dwarf he is.

“You have me,” he replies huskily, his hand brushing against your cheek, cupping it. “All of me, my beautiful Ragna.”

When he places a soft kiss on your lips, you let out a shadow of a sigh. When his hands move along the curves of your body, meticulously, unhurriedly worshipping every inch of your body, you give out several stifled yelps. When his lips travel down, hungrily closing over the flower of your breast, your breath hitches and your impatience gets the better of you. As soon as he finishes his ministrations, you tilt down your face, finding his mouth and covering it with yours, while your palms travel down the ridges and valleys of his firm chest. The coarse trail of hair guides you down his abdomen, towards his navel, and there your fingers meet an obstacle. Your lips part and you cast a glance down between you at the massive metal buckle of his belt and his leather trousers it holds. “May I?” you lift your gaze to meet his, your eagerness suddenly gone, perhaps overwhelmed by the whole situation, the place, the throne, the multitude of various entangled emotions that suddenly fills you. This is your king. This is his throne room. This is his mountain. And this is you, wanting only him, the dwarf beneath all that splendour. But you don’t want him now, not just this once. You need him today and tomorrow, next week and next month, next year, and much, much longer.

“Always, Ragna,” Thorin moves his mouth over yours, devouring its softness. His large palm covers yours in an affirmative gesture and it’s all you need to know. When his belt buckle gives way with a clink, your fingers find their way to his trousers, quickly freeing him from the last layers of clothing that jealously guarded his body against your touch. You press your body flush against the rounded bulges of his muscles, marveling at the contrast between you, the delicate softness of your skin against the raw power slumbering beneath his skin. Thorin’s hand moves down your side and cups the curve of your bottom, purring sweet nothings into your ear, and a wild surge of pleasure runs through you.

And then, suddenly, he does something that makes you gasp. You feel an amazing hardness between your thighs. He is there, by your entrance, impossibly hot, eager to uncover the blissful secrets your womanhood has to offer.

“Come to me, Zunshanushê...“ you hear how hoarse his voice is, how tense his muscles are under your touch. You take him into your dewy garden with one lunge of your hips, and he follows you swiftly, your moan intermingling with his low groan.

In the motionless silence that comes after, Thorin presses his forehead against yours, and whispers one word, one special word, “Ragna…”

His voice is like bits of coarsely ground black pepper against the dark sweetness of wild honey. Even though he speaks your chosen name, it finds its way straight to your heart, taking a hold on it making the fiery flower encased within it open its petals in full bloom. Finally. You are one. Two pieces of the same rock, joined together.

I will stay with you.

He wraps his arms around you, splays his hand on your back and presses you close against his hard body of a warrior. His lips adorn the column of your neck with a myriad of soft kisses while your breasts brush against the coarseness of his chest hair. His skin is incredibly warm, almost scorching, but you know that fire well, and you welcome it gladly.

His hips move upwards in a delightfully slow thrust, his silky length sinking in you once again. You both give out a gasp of pleasure that portends the diamond peak of ecstasy. You tremble in yearning, but you are not in a hurry. There is a whole night ahead of you, and you intend to cherish the harmony of your bodies and hearts for as long as you can. Your searching lips against his lips. Your tingling skin against his skin. Your fervent breaths against his breaths. Everything else can wait. Gently rocking your hips against him, you press your lips to his, caressing his mouth more than kissing it, and then he moves again.

“Take all of me, Ragna,” he rests his hands on your hips, “Just as I am taking you.”

With these words, he thrusts deeper into you, at just the right angle. Your moan echoes in the chamber as he fills you completely, fitting inside you oh so perfectly, sending yet another wave of pleasure throughout your body.

I am not leaving. I found my place by your side.

“I missed your singing, Ragna.” Thorin catches your lower lip between his teeth and then kisses you ardently. “I love how you sing for me.” You tighten around him in pleasure, eliciting a groan out of him, a moment of bliss softening his features.

“I love it when I have you deep inside me... Thorin,” you retort, seeing a glint in his eye, chanting his name rather than speaking, time after time, as you move in unison.

Another thrust of his hips makes you tilt your head back and keen at the bliss that fills you.

“I love how you moan my name, Ragna,” you hear his raspy voice a moment before his lips find that special spot at the juncture of your shoulder and neck, sending ripples of fire through your body and waves of sweet abandon through your heart.

You found your way to my heart. And I found my way to yours.

“I love how…” you start.

He thrusts again, making you moan and cling to him tighter, your arms wrapped around his strong neck.

“You were saying, Ragna?” he whispers into your mouth, kissing you once more, coaxing the fire within you even more, but you are already overwhelmed with all the sensations you feel, your mind in a haze.

“I love…”

You rock your hips against him and lift your body slightly only to slide down onto his unbelievable hardness. Thorin’s eyes flutter open, unfocused, darkened with passion, and you can’t take your eyes off him, the color in his cheeks, his dilated pupils, the tension in his jaw, the relentless yearning in his movements. In that very moment, he is the perfect embodiment of a lover, a warrior and a king. You want this image burned into your eyes, into your heart, and into your mind forever, and you mean to guard it greedily, like your most precious treasure. A gem of the first water hidden under the countless layers of rock that has served as his armor for so long. But not tonight; tonight you have both shed your defenses just as you have shed your clothes, your bodies spurred by your mutual feelings, drifting on the blooming seas of rapture.

“Ragna….” he plunges into you, and you meet his thrust, and then another, in a tight embrace, so close, always so close, skin against skin, flesh against flesh, your breaths mingling, exchanging wet, tender, sloppy kisses, moving together towards the summit of your ecstasy.

We will have many nights together, and many days. Until the end of time.

He murmurs something under his breath, something that sounds like “you and me”, but you are not quite sure. Yes, you and him. This is the way you want it, Ragna. You want him, not just now, but you want him in your life, by your side, you want him when you wake up, and you want him when you fall asleep, you want him always by your side, to share both joys and miseries of life.

Another powerful thrust, another ardent kiss.

“I love…” you moan, set on finishing that complicated sentence, when all you can think is how amazing it feels when he… when he… Oh, Mahal!

Thorin presses you onto him at a new angle, sending you both among the stars, and there are only his hands on you, his hips against yours, his manhood sheathed deep inside you, his groans rumbling in his chest, his lips roaming your neck. There is only him. Thorin.

“I… love… you,” you finally say it, holding him tight as he rides your shared ecstasy in a series of delicious movements of his hips, a lush flower garden blooming with thousands of colors of bliss under your eyelids.

My heart belongs to you. Only you.

You don’t know how long you have existed as a disordered heap of limbs and discarded pieces of clothing, but when you finally come to, you feel that you are still in Thorin’s strong arms as you sit on his lap, with his fur-lined cloak wrapped around you.

You haven’t noticed when your elaborate hairstyle fell apart during your lovemaking. Yes, it was lovemaking, that’s how it felt, and that’s what it was. Now you are sure of it, and you are no longer afraid of saying that one little word. Love.

Countless braids adorned with your beads are now intertwined with Thorin’s braids among the waves of his raven hair. Your eyes are drawn to the chaotic pattern they created, and you like it. Just the way your braids are supposed to look like. Perfectly imperfect. Together.

***

“Are you asleep, Zunshanushê?” Thorin’s rumbling murmur reaches you as you rest your head on his shoulder. His arms are encircling you, and you feel relaxed, satiated, and, yes, a bit sleepy. Who would have thought the throne of Erebor was so comfortable?

“No,” you reply with a sigh, nuzzling his neck, your fingers playing with the hair on his chest. “I forgot how good this felt…” “If that is the case, I am willing to refresh your memory whenever you wish,” he chuckles and you like the way this sound reverberates in his body.

“I may take you up on this offer,” you place a kiss on the side of his neck, just above his collarbone, his hair brushing against your cheek. “Does that mean that you are willing to become my queen? Are we going to strike a bargain? Or do you require more… negotiations?” he teasingly squeezes your naked thigh and catches your lips in a sensual kiss.

“You use a very effective negotiation technique,” you admit when your lips part, trying to maintain a professional tone of voice. “And your argumentation is flawless. I believe I will accept your offer, your majesty, but these are my conditions.”

The kiss that comes after your statement is light as a feather and leaves you wanting for more. “I’m listening,” a mischievous glint lights up in Thorin’s eyes as he kisses you yet again.

You have to take a deep breath and put your thoughts in order before you state, “I will not be spending my days under the Mountain idly, choosing new dresses, deciding on menus or some other pointless frivolities.”

For a few heartbeats, Thorin’s lips meet yours again, sweetly, softly, before he speaks.

“No, Ragna, I imagine you would not,” he chuckles, and you notice the cornflower tenderness blooming in his eyes. And, of course, a kiss follows, to underline his words, and you welcome it gladly.

“I’m going to accept your offer and become the head negotiator for Erebor, but the decisions I make will be mine and mine alone,” you name another condition, your lips still tingling after the last kiss.

“I would not dare to insult your intelligence nor your honor by offering you a position in name only. Besides, Master Dvalarr who currently holds this post, wishes to retire soon, and he will not accept a meek and acquiescent successor,” Thorin’s lips curl up in a small smile and he leans towards you again. “Are there any other conditions I should be aware of?”

“Let me think…” your voice trails off as you close the distance between your mouth and taste his irresistible lips again, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours, his scent, his closeness. You don’t feel like talking business any more, you’d rather spend the rest of the night in his arms, wake up next to him in the morning, and then do something that you’ve never dreamed of doing with Thorin. You will finally share a breakfast with him. No more hiding, no more sneaking around in the wee hours of the morning on an empty stomach. Just you, him, and a hearty breakfast. You dreamed about it so often in the Iron Hills...

And then you recall, “Ah! One more thing! Yes, yes, I will lead those negotiations with Tranduil for you,” you correct yourself, “For Erebor and Iron Hills.”

“Thank you on behalf of our people for this great sacrifice,” a mischievous spark glints in his eyes and you can’t stop yourself from chuckling. In fact, all you want to do is laugh, and sing, and dance. And kiss Thorin, that silly oaf of a king, senseless. Which you promptly do.

“I believe you forgot about one crucial condition,” the silly oaf of a king says some time later, with a smile that makes the charming crow’s feet around his eyes even more visible.

“What is it?”

He cups your face, saying, “Our trip to Kheled-zâram.”

“Could we...?” your eyes widen in surprise. Your thoughts return to that evening in your chambers, to your father’s map you showed Thorin, and to the moment when you told him about your greatest wish. To see the lake by the East-gate of Moria, the place visited by Durin himself. To travel further than you have ever been before. To see all those places you have only dreamt of, to catch a glimpse of the nimble ibex, to spend a night under the starry sky among the dwarf mountain pines. And to think that until now you were convinced that Thorin offered to accompany you on that trip out of courtesy, nothing more. A blind cave bat, that’s what you are, Ragna. But at least you are not the only one.

The other blind cave bat, the one with the crown, says, “I believe we have already agreed on it, have we not?”

“But King Thranduil is coming soon, and the negotiations will begin, and there is so much to do… Will we even have enough time for such a trip?” You frown while your mind is frantically going through your busy schedule.

“We most certainly will. We have the customary six months after the wedding where I can retire from my duties for some time. It is about time Fili took on some new responsibilities. Besides, it only takes three weeks to arrive at the gates of Khazad-dûm. We would have ample time to see both the lake and the places you marked on your maps. What do you say, Zunshanushê?”

“Six months… after the… the wedding…?” you whisper, your mind working even more feverishly than before, trying to take in all the information. Your cheeks are burning and you bite on your lower lip in confusion. Suddenly a simple fact of hearing and saying this last, both exhilarating and terrifying word, makes it all too real. Your wedding. Your and Thorin’s.

“That is, if you agree to wed me, Ragna,” there is a hint of hope in Thorin’s bright cornflower eyes as he presses his forehead against yours. You feel the warmth of his skin, the minuscule swirls of air when he blinks and his eyelashes almost brush against yours, his nose touching yours, his breath fanning your skin. If you agree to wed him. You gulp nervously. This is the moment you have been dreaming of, haven’t you, Ragna? Ragna. That special, tender way he says your name makes you melt inside. That loving way. Yes, he loves you, and he wants to marry you, and it’s not a dream. The King Under the Mountain. Thorin Oakenshield. The king of your heart.

If you agree to wed him. He is a handful, an irritating, annoying, and stubborn handful, and so are you, an explosive mix, and yet... You take a look at his face, so close to yours, and you see that small smile hiding in the thicket of his beard, the same smile you saw on that day when you kissed for the first time. And there is that surprisingly soft look in his iridescent blue eyes that makes you think of the calm, clear waters of Long Lake on a sunny spring morning.

If you agree to wed him. You know very well that marrying him means saying yes not only to this wonderful, overbearing, thoughtful, infuriating dwarf, but to the whole Erebor, both to the king and his kingdom. To his desires and his duties. To Thorin the King who conducted negotiations demonstrating his iron will and expected to be thoroughly obeyed; and to Thorin who, on his knees, caringly fixed your dress in a broom closet. To Thorin the Lover who makes you melt under his scorching touch; and to Thorin who dismissed you frigidly from his chambers on that night in the Iron Hills. To Thorin the Warrior who slayed thousands of orcs; and to Thorin who looked so vulnerable in your bed that night in your chambers.

You will not just become his wife, you will be a queen, and the head negotiator, having countless duties of your own, every single day. But then you realize something. Every single evening, when the night comes, it will just be you and him, Thorin and Ragna, two souls in love. Two pieces of the same rock.

Without thinking, you wrap your arms around his neck. After all the emotional turmoil, you realize that this look in his eyes is the only thing you need. In a moment of clarity, you find your answer deep inside your fluttering heart, a million chaotic thoughts condensed into one word.

Your lips hover above his earlobe, almost brushing against his richly ornamented silver earcuff. You take a deep breath and whisper only one word.

Your true name.

--- THE END* ---

* * *

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ... Please let me know how you liked this chapter! * If you liked the story - I have good news for you. There is going to be an epilogue!

Read it? Like it? Reblog it! Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @jotink78 @anyaspidergirl-blog @tschrist1 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @xmly-xo @justfollowtheroad @kirenia15 @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @yourqueenunderthemountain @legolasbadass

238 notes • Posted 2021-04-28 15:24:40 GMT

#3

All Is Fair in Love and Trade –  Part 1/10

This is my reply to @gwen-ever​‘s ask. Thank you so much 💙💙💙 I got really inspired by this one and, well... see for yourselves 😉 

Relationships: Thorin x Reader

Rating: M (it will turn into E at one point)

Warnings: none

* * * All Is Fair in Love and Trade, part 1/10

“Twenty percent off our regular iron ore price,” you state your offer firmly.

“It is not possible, my lady,” his low, rumbly voice reverberates against the walls of the chamber.

“Twenty-five,” you offer. You won’t give up that easily. Especially not when the prosperity and safety of your home, Iron Hills, is at stake.  And especially when it comes to the legendary King Under the Mountain. You have heard a lot about him since he reclaimed his birthright and the kingdom of Erebor for his people five years ago. Some said he was cantankerous, others – that he was as stubborn as a mountain goat, and some – that he was a great warrior, while the elderly dwarves claimed that he was as skilled strategist as his grandfather. Everyone agreed on one thing: Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, had a temper. Unfortunately, none of those pompous bastards cared to mention how impossibly handsome he was.

Now, he is sitting across the table in a meeting chamber of Erebor, slowly shaking his head in disagreement. A vertical line of a frown cuts through his forehead. Though no crown graces his temples, he emanates a distinct regal air. One glance into those piercing ice-blue eyes of his and no one can doubt who is the king here. The dark mane of his hair, almost as black as a raven’s wing, cascades down his shoulders. One of his temple braids brushes against his bearded cheek. You can’t stop yourself from admiring his thick beard braid clasped with a bead made of silver and sapphires. The King of Erebor is both a formidable and an alluring opponent, but you don’t plan to budge.

“Twenty five percent, and we will deliver the final product to Erebor on our cost: blast furnace-cleaned, refined, high quality iron ingots straight from the Hills, ready to work with. This is my final offer, Your Majesty,” you repeat your generous proposal.

“My lady, I told you already: this is out of the question. The Forge Masters of Erebor will never divulge their secrets, not even to their kin in the Iron Hills,” he stands up. King Under the Mountain or not, he has a nerve! You grind your teeth and rise from your chair as well.

“Every secret has its price,” you try once more, reminding him of an old dwarven saying.

“Are you suggesting, Lady Ragna, that my Forge Masters are for sale?” He rumbles at you in that deep voice of his. How dare he speak such things?! And how dare he make your knees weak with every word he speaks? His voice makes you think of wild honey, malt beer, and a stormy sky at midnight. In moments like these, you are glad that he calls you by the official name you chose for yourself when you came of age, a widespread dwarven custom. You keep your real name secret; only a handful of dwarves know it. According to a legend, disclosing your true name to another Dwarf binds them to you for life, but also grants them power over you.

You take a few steps towards him, your hands clenched into fists. No way in seven hells of Morgoth you'd show your weakness to Thorin, son of Thrain.

“I am proposing a trade deal! Erebor needs our iron and we need those long-range crossbows against the orc raids!” you throw your hands in the air, gesticulating forcibly to stress the importance of your words.

“The only deal Erebor is prepared to enter into with the Iron Hills at this point is as follows: our gold for your iron, the customary trade exchange,” he bares his teeth as he speaks, their white, even rows contrasting with his dark, lush beard, reminding you of a feral beast. And now he glares at you too. Perfect.

“But this is the exact same deal we have been renewing every year for the last five years!” you protest loudly.

“Indeed,” he articulates this word slowly and crosses his arms against his chest. There is a mysterious glint in his eye as he looks at you, but you don’t care at this point. You want to smack him in the face and wipe off that haughty smirk from his lips.

“The times have changed. We need weapons, not gold!” you protest. He clearly does not understand a thing!

“You may take it or leave it. Your choice, Lady Ragna,” he looks at you pointedly, makes a short bow, and leaves the council room. This is when you realize that the negotiations are over. Bloody, cantankerous, stubborn, too handsome for his own good king of all seven Dwarven Kingdoms!

* * *

One month later

Your second meeting with that irritating mountain goat also known as the King Under The Mountain happens in slightly different circumstances. 

“Welcome to the Iron Hills, your majesty,” you make an elaborate bow, cursing the uncomfortable, heavy, jewel-encrusted bodice of your ceremonial gown. Yes, it is supposed to flaunt the wealth of Iron Hills at this particular spectator. Its cut is rather low, uncovering your shapely neck and some strategic parts of your two voluptuous assets, as you call them (it’s all about business with the Dwarves, isn’t it?), but there is a perfectly practical reason behind your choice of wardrobe. It has absolutely nothing to do with those deep ice-blue eyes of the king. Nothing whatsoever. You simply have a new strategy against this difficult mountain goat.

“Lady Ragna, what a surprise,” king Thorin of Erebor responds with a bow, his voice even lower and more enticing than you remembered. A piece of sinfully sweet caramel covered in dark chocolate comes to your mind.

He wears black royal robes embroidered with gold, and a fur-lined cloak hangs from his shoulders. His broad shoulders of a warrior. The legendary Raven Crown rests on his temples, obsidian against gold, a symbol of his power. What business does he have looking like this? Why can’t he be elderly, toothless, bold, with a humped back or a much too large beer belly? Who allowed him to have this majestic profile, wavy dark hair with several noble silver strands among them? And what about his patrician nose, of all things? Didn’t he get the memo about what Dwarf-women say about men with prominent noses like his? Outrageous.

There is that glint in his eye you recognize from your visit to Erebor and his gaze discreetly slides over your body. It takes less than a heartbeat, but you notice it clearly. Ha! Your strategy seems to already bear fruit. He’s not the first Dwarf to look at you this way, as if you were a succulent smoked ham, ready to eat. Dwarf-men tend to think with their stomachs. And with that one other interesting body part as well. You are glad to see that the King of Longbeards is no different.

“I hope your journey was untroubled,” you recite the customary niceties. 

“The highroad was dry and we were spared the rain,” he clasps his hands behind his back. You are trying to ignore the protruding outline of his pectoral muscles. You are also trying not to think that under his bespoke tunic, there might be a well-honed chest of a warrior.

“May I ask where my cousin is?” he looks around searchingly.

“Lord Dain sends you his regrets, your majesty, but important defense matters delayed his return,” you explain with an unfazed expression on your face. You don’t want to spoil the surprise. 

“What important defense matters?” he sets his piercing gaze on you.

“There were Orc sightings by our southern border.”

King Thorin Oakenshield gives out a short laugh. Confound him! Why does even his laughter have to be so alluring? 

“Ah, that’s Dain! He would never miss an opportunity to fight!” he smirks. “Is he not to be the one leading the negotiations on behalf of Iron Hills?” 

“You will be provided with the negotiator he appointed, your majesty,” you explain graciously. Just a moment longer.

“And who is he, my lady?” King Under the Mountain tilts his head slightly.

“She,” you correct him with a small smirk of triumph. “It is me, your majesty.”

You are still cherishing the expression that crept up on His Majesty Thorin Oakenshield’s face when he heard your words. You keep recalling it over and over as you sit behind a very impressive and completely soulless mahogany table. The possibility of a trilateral treaty with Mirkwood is to be discussed, but first Erebor and Iron Hills have to work out a mutually beneficial approach before the diplomatic talks with the Elves can begin. Or, as Dain affectionately calls King Thranduil’s subjects, ‘those damned tree shaggers’.

After hours of unproductive negotiations between two groups of very talkative and very boring advisors, your mind starts to wander and your gaze rests on someone’s strong, slightly tanned hand. A quill scratches against the parchment, held in thick but surprisingly nimble ringed fingers. You admire the elegant letters that appear on the page, gladly ignoring the exhausting droning of Master Stenfast, Lord Dain’s Mining Advisor about the yearly ore extraction. 

The letters on the parchment slowly transform into refined geometrical shapes and artistically cut gems. After a while, you realize it’s a pommel and a grip, parts of a sword design. At that moment, the advisor finishes his lengthy tirade. You thank him with a nod, and then it’s time for Erebor’s Mining Advisor to recite the numbers. As his endless litany, your eyes return to the parchment only to see a large blotch of ink in the middle of the page. The quill snaps in half under the strong fingers of the artist as if it was a straw and then you recognize one of the signet rings adorning his hand. The royal seal of Erebor. For the last hour, you have been openly staring at the hands of Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain. Damn. You raise your gaze to his face and notice the furrowed brow, the determined set of his jaw, and the stormy look in his eyes. There is that regal glare again. Damn, damn, damn. If only he were not so disconcertingly handsome. 

Quickly you avert the gaze and look around, noticing the glossy, blank stares of several Dwarves as well as Master Hrothgar’s quiet snoring in the corner of the chamber. That’s it. You order a break for the day and decide to reconvene tomorrow.

* * *

You are sitting on a stone railing of a terrace carved in the face of the mountain, overlooking the valley below. Dangling your feet over the precipice, you can’t shake off the feeling of restlessness. For a while now, you have been stargazing, puffing on your pipe from time to time; it has always brought you peace after many a long day, but tonight it is different. You can’t stop thinking about that stormy gaze and the sparks glittering within, like stars floating on the endless sea of heaven. Damn that Dwarf. And his majestic hair, too.

“May I have a light?” a deep, rumbling voice reaches you in the darkness. Great. Isn’t it enough that he is tormenting your mind? Does he have to barge in and ruin your moment of peace?

“Your majesty…” you quickly put your pipe away.

“Please, do not stand up on my account, I have already received too many bows today,” a large silhouette approaches you slowly and soon Thorin Oakenshield stands beside you. You can see the outline of his face in the pale moonlight that softens his features.

“As you wish, your majesty,” you nod and reach to your belt, quickly procuring your flint striker. 

“Are the people of Iron Hills always so formal, Lady Ragna?” he moves closer to you with his meticulously carved red oak pipe in his hand.

“Only when showing respect to the King of the Longbeards. Our king,” your voice trails off when you see how his lips slowly wrap around the bit of his pipe. You swallow. He grunts, clearly displeased at your words. 

“Shall we?” he mutters through clenched teeth and moves his face towards yours. The smell of fresh pine needles, tobacco, and leather envelops you. Of course, why not, more torment for you. You hold your breath… and then you see that he’s looking expectantly at your hands.

“Of course, your majesty,” you raise your hands to the bowl of his pipe and start working with your flint striker.

“Thorin,” he says.

“Your majesty?” you freeze.

“We are alone. Away from the court. You may call me Thorin,” he takes out the pipe from his mouth for a moment.

“But… you are the King Under the Mountain!” you protest. What is he thinking? And why is he eyeing you this way? Is this some new trick of his?

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” he grins, and suddenly he looks more like a mischievous young Dwarf than a seasoned King of Seven Dwarven Kingdoms. The sullen King Thorin Oakenshield. Grinning at you. Perhaps you packed your pipe with Old Toby instead of your regular Dale Leaf and now you’re hallucinating?

“Under one condition, your majesty.” “It is always trade and negotiations with you, Lady Ragna,” he chuckled. “Let us hear it, then.”

“You may call me Ragna,” you lift your chin proudly.

“Your wish is my command, Ragna,” he bows his head slightly, putting the bit into his mouth again. Is that a shadow of a smile hiding in the darkness of his beard? You are definitely hallucinating.

“I am honored, your m-- Thorin,” you correct yourself politely. Vigilance. Yes, you have to be vigilant. Maybe he is trying to soften you up to gain the upper hand in the negotiations tomorrow. But what about that lingering smile? In order to hide your confusion, you return to your efforts of lighting his pipe. Damn your hands, why are they shaking? It’s not that cold! Several sparks fly in the air, but a stray gust of wind blows them off. 

The King’s…, no, Thorin’s face moves closer towards you, his broad torso shielding you both from the wind. A stray lock of his hair brushes against your cheek (why is it so soft?!), and if you wanted to (not that you do!), you could have easily pressed your forehead against his in an intimate gesture (but you’re not that easy, oh no! It’s not even on your mind, not at all!).

He holds his pipe firmly in his hand; a few more sparks fly and soon small wisps of smoke begin their unhurried pilgrimage towards the sky. The wind picks up and your hand moves swiftly to shield the pipe, brushing against the incredibly warm skin of his palm. A surprisingly pleasant tingling sensation runs all the way from your fingers to your spine. Why are you trembling now, woman?!

“Are you cold, Ragna?” Thorin asks hoarsely. The way he speaks your name, with a slight growl, may or may not make you… feel some things. Before you start pondering it, his large palm covers the back of your hand. His skin is slightly coarse and calloused, probably from long years of battle training, but his touch is careful, almost delicate. Your eyes meet above the pipe, its glow shedding a golden gleam on his face, lighting mysterious fires in his eyes.

You shake your head and quickly move your hand away, “The only place I’m cold at is the negotiation table. You will see it tomorrow.”

“And until then?” golden flames dance in his eyes. The sweet smell of his tobacco surrounds you.

You place your hand above your breasts, the same hand that touched his moments ago. His eyes follow your gesture, and you say, “Until then I’m going to be hot as a furnace. I bid you goodnight, Thorin.”

Your feet land on the stone floor of the terrace, you gather your skirts, make a mandatory bow and then you return into the mountain as graciously as you can. Only when you are out of his sight and a few corridors away, do you stop and rest your back against a cold stone wall, exhaling loudly.

That sly, arrogant, overconfident goat herder of a king! How dare he make your heart beat faster?!

* * *

You can read the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...

So, how do you like it so far? Would you like to read more?

Read it? Like it? Reblog it!

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @jotink78​​

276 notes • Posted 2021-02-04 22:57:19 GMT

#2

Dragon sickness by ladynlmda

276 notes • Posted 2021-04-15 12:30:28 GMT

#1

Lost My Way

This is my reply to @guardianofrivendell‘s ask. Thank you so much and enjoy! 💙

Relationships: Fili x Reader

Rating: M (to be on the safe side)

Warnings: none

You closed your eyes with a sigh, enjoying the warm, lingering caresses of the late afternoon sun on your face. The grass beneath you was as soft as a goose down mattress and the smell of blooming spring flowers filled the ear. The birds chirped lazily, hidden among the tree branches, and a busy bee buzzed nearby, feasting on the blue cornflowers. You loved days like these, peace, quiet, no chores to think of, just enjoying the beauty of the world around you in silence.

That was when you heard a  horse neighing. You quickly sat up and opened your eyes. No, it wasn’t a horse – it was a chestnut pony, and it had a rider. And what a rider it was... Oh, my! A wild mane of golden hair, the braids in his hair and beard clasped with beads glittering in the sun, a small smile dancing on his lips as he gazed at you, making a small bow with his head. Oh, Valar! Just look at those eyes! Bright and blue like the cornflowers. One glance at you was enough for you to feel like a hungry bee, drawn towards that sweet goodness. Yes, those certainly were the eyes of a good man. But there was something else in that glance, a mysterious glint. Before you could decipher it, the rider jumped off his pony and led it towards you. 

As he approached you, it became obvious that was a warrior, and a very good one, judging from the amount of impressive weapons on his back, at his belt and by his saddle. He certainly wasn’t one of those healthily rotund Hobbit farmers who lived nearby. His body was honed by endless hours of training and, most probably, battles – judging by that small cut that ran straight through one of his eyebrows and a tear or two in his fur-lined tunic, revealing a chainmail underneath. Those deliciously broad shoulders and the movements that made you think of a prowling panther told you the rest of the story: he came out victorious from this fight, whoever the enemy was. You have never seen a Dwarf warrior before, they weren’t a common sight in these parts, but he looked exactly like you imagined one should look like. I wonder if the legends are true and if they are really made of stone?

“Good afternoon!” he greeted you, stepping towards you, and you stifled a sigh at the sound of his voice. Oh, how wonderfully it would be to wake up to this voice murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, his hot breath fanning your delicate skin. Focus! You needed to focus! Behave! Answer him before he thinks you’re slow or something!

You stood up quickly, straightened your dress and said, “Good afternoon, Master Dwarf! What brings you here?”

You fought the urge to lift your hand to your hair and make sure your tresses are safely tucked away. It wouldn’t do if such a fine specimen of a Dwarf thought that all the daughters of Men have messy hairdos, but a part of you whispered: what if he thinks that you fancy him? A blush spilled on your cheeks. Drat! The last thing you wanted was to make him think you’re one of those easily impressionable young ladies who can’t stop giggling at the sight of a handsome man, be it Dwarf, Elf, Hobbit or one of the Men.

“My name is Fili, son of Vili, at your service, my lady,” he bowed his head in polite reverence. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest, but would you be so kind and point me towards the trail to Shire? I think I’ve lost my way,” he admitted with a dazzling smile. His azure eyes flickered again. Don’t. Stare. At. Him. Just. Don’t. Remember. To. Breathe.

“It is nice to meet you, Master Fili,” you cleared your throat and introduced yourself as well. “I’m afraid you’re quite away from Shire. It will take you half a day’s ride to reach the trail.” The dwarven warrior cast a look at the sun that hovered low above the rolling green hills on the horizon.

“I see. And how many days until I reach Hobbiton?”

“Three and a half, maybe less, if your pony is swift,” you gestured in the direction he should take.

“Aye, he is. Beetroot is a fine companion and wouldn’t say no to some galloping,” he patted the side of his pony’s neck with his gloved hand. You wondered what his hands looked like. Strong? Long-fingered? Calloused? Wide and muscular? How would it feel if he were to cup your face with those warrior’s hands of his and… Drat! Stop it! Focus! He’s talking to you! 

“Would you happen to know a place where I and my faithful steed can spend the night? I don’t want to miss the trail after sunset,” he turned his gaze back to you.

“Let me think, Farmer Brown had a spare room or two, I believe,” you pondered, frantically trying not to think about that very cozy and very empty room in your own home and a large pot of stew you prepared earlier that day. How would it look like if a single lady like you invited a man, and a Dwarf at that, into her house for the night? What would the other villagers say? They wouldn’t ever stop gossiping about you two and the things that could have happened between you! Drat! Stop blushing, woman! Look at his smirk, now he’ll really think you fancy him!

“Even a barn will do, Beetroot and I are not picky,” the cornflower-eyed Dwarf of your dreams replied. Wait! What dreams? Well, you haven’t had any dreams of him yet, but now you’re sure he’ll be a frequent visitor in them. The way his lush mane fell on his shoulders made you want to run your fingers through it. You wondered how his hair would spill on that pillow with the flower pattern in your bed. He would lay on his side, taking in the beauty of your face with a soft smile, in the afterglow of your lovem--- What??? Seriously? Can’t you think of anything else? Snap out of it! Deep breaths, yes, that’s it, and think of washing the dishes or cleaning the chicken coop instead. Ignore that flip your heart just made when he adorably wrinkled his nose as a bee tried to land on it.

“Follow me, then, Master Dwarf. The village I live in is just behind that hill,” you started marching towards your destination. As he joined you, walking in a springy step, you tried to ignore the fact how tall he was for a Dwarf and how sturdily built he was. His presence made you feel small and fragile, but not in a threatening manner; he seemed to emanate an air of safety and comfort.

Unfortunately, when you arrived at the village, it turned out that Farmer Brown’s relatives decided to pay him an unexpected visit. That meant no free rooms. Your hamlet was too small to have its own inn, and you didn’t have any other Dwarf-friendly neighbours, so the inevitable had to happen. What a coincidence. Who would have thought.

“It seems like me and Beetroot are going to spend a lovely night under the stars,” Fili spoke as you were leaving Farmer Brown’s house.

“I… I have a guest room at my home. It’s not too big, mind you, but it’s clean!” you blurted out, suddenly discovering that the tips of your shoes were a very interesting thing to look at.

“Would you offer me, an unknown Dwarf, a place under your roof?” his eyes widened in surprise. “Would your family not mind?”

“I live with my auntie, but she’s away now, traveling,” you admitted quietly. It was certainly not the time to tell him how you suddenly appeared in Middle Earth on a stormy night, torn out of your world, and how a kind widow from the village took you in and told you to call her ‘auntie’. It took you a while to gain the acceptance of the villagers, but after some time, they warmed up to you. As much as you were fond of your new auntie, you still haven’t truly felt at home here. Some days, the insistent feeling of being lost in an unknown land was quite difficult to shake off. 

“Will your neighbours not mind? I visited enough of the villages of Men to know that a Dwarf staying overnight with a lovely maiden like you is frowned upon,” the Dwarf named Fili furrowed his brow.

You gritted your teeth, forgetting about the manners of this world for a moment.

“Those nosy farmers can go and fu--, I meant to say, can go and get stuffed,” you cursed inwardly. You haven’t missed much from your old world but the ability to curse like a sailor was one of those little exceptions. “It seems to me that you’ve been in a fight, Master Dwarf, and you deserve a night of proper rest.”

Fili stifled a chuckle, “A fair maiden who can make a good use of her mouth?” You betcha. Drat! Not thinking about your mouth! His mouth! Any mouth whatsoever!

“If you were a dwarven lady, you would have at least a dozen suitors queueing at your door,” he continued. You decided not to blush. Not to wonder if he would be among them. Knowing your luck, this gorgeous specimen of dwarfhood probably had a wife and a couple of babies already.

“I’ve never met a Dwarf before today, but if your men are as boorish as some of the farmers of Men I know, I’ll be happy to spend my life in solitude,” you stopped in front of your house, wondering if that was going to be your lot in your life here.

“Then I’ll make an effort to show you how courteous a Dwarf can be,” he made an elaborate bow that belonged to a king’s court and certainly not to a shabby village in the middle of nowhere.

“You can start by cleaning your shoes,” you pointed at his muddy boots with a small smirk. “And I’ll take Master Beetroot to the stable. Then we’ll have supper.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady,” Fili grinned cheekily and took another of his bows. You couldn’t stifle a giggle this time.

Fili, son of Vili, turned out to be a very well-mannered and thoughtful guest. You spent a great time sharing the meal, he told you several amusing stories of his travels and you shared some anecdotes from your life in the village. After the supper was finished, he helped you do the dishes and entertained you with his frolics that involved juggling the mugs, catching swirling plates mid-air and throwing your large kitchen knife so that he landed right in the middle of your cutting board. If you hadn't known any better, you’d think he was trying to impress you. You pretended not to notice several glances he stole when he thought you weren’t looking, or the way his eyes hungrily followed the movements of your fingers when you were rebraiding your hair while sitting on your porch after supper, enjoying a pleasantly warm spring evening. 

“Do you see those seven stars, over there?” Fili pointed with his pipe at the sky. The air smelled with the blooming thyme and the sweet tobacco smoke.

“Yes. I often wondered what they were called, but no one here could tell me.”

“We call it ‘Durin’s Crown’. It is a symbol of the kings of my people,” his words were quiet, measured. “The Dwarves born under these stars are believed to accomplish great things in their lives…” his voice trailed off.

“I heard quite a bit about the brave warriors and kings of your people,” you offered, interrupting the silence.

“Aye, there are still warriors among us. Me and my brother were trained well by my uncles. Thanks to them, I can sit here in such a lovely company,” he winked. “You flatter me, Master Fili,” you opposed.

“I do not! On the way here, I encountered an Orc ambush.” “Orcs? Here? We have to alarm the elders!” you rose to your feet.

“Do not worry, my lady. They have been dealt with,” he placed his hand on your forearm in an attempt to appease you. His skin was scorching hot against yours. “Your village is safe.” 

You let out a sigh of relief and sat down slowly, observing his hand. His palm was wide, its back lightly dusted with golden hair, and you could see the strength slumbering beneath his skin. His nails were clean and well-maintained, and he wore a golden signet ring. And then his fingers... They were thicker than you imagined, but something told you that they had to be very nimble. Oooh. Take your head out of the gutter at once, woman! He’s just making a friendly gesture! 

You didn’t register the moment when your palm covered his. Well, this is MY friendly gesture! 

“Thank you on behalf of everyone living here. There are only farmer families here, we wouldn’t stand a chance against a band of orcs,” you lifted your gaze to meet his only to catch that mysterious sparkle in his eyes again. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats… were you drowning in his eyes or was it the other way around?

“Think nothing of it,” he finally shook his head with a sheepish smile and you thought you noticed a cute dimple hiding in his beard.

This time a sigh of disappointment left your lips as he removed his hand from your skin, placing it over his knee. Was that a trick of light from the lantern or were his cheeks slightly flushed under his golden beard? 

A few moments passed in total silence and you couldn’t tear off your eyes from Fili’s handsome profile as he puffed on his pipe, the blue wisps of smoke traveling all the way to the Seven Stars on the black velvet fabric of the sky above you.

“I’m on my way to meet my brother, and some of my kin,” he finally said. “There is a matter we need to attend to, far away from here, over the Misty Mountains.”

“When will you be coming back?” you heard yourself say. Stupid, stupid, utterly stupid! Have you just hinted at wanting to see him again?! Valar have mercy on you!

“I’m not sure,” he spoke hesitantly, avoiding your gaze. “It might be a while.”

You nodded, wishing for the ground to part beneath your feet. What else did you expect?!

 “There is a chance I may lose my way again when I’m travelling back to Ered Luin,” a small smile tugged at his lips, and there was a mischievous sparke in his eyes.

“Well, if you do, there is a chance you’ll find a friendly house here and a place to stay the night,” your face brightened and you wanted to pinch yourself. There was a chance you were dreaming, after all. Ouch! No, this was definitely not a dream!

“A friendly house and a pleasant company,” he murmured, and his face hovered somewhat closer to yours. He was so close you could count golden hairs in his beard. You wondered how it would feel if you touched it. And would his sensually curved lips feel as soft as they looked? You licked your lower lip. 

“What else a Dwarf could want…?” Fili added in a coarse whisper and you can read the answer to his question in his eyes. Oh Valar, those cornflower eyes of his, his tempting lips! Where is a bucket of cold water when you need one?!

“You tell me, Master Fili,” you replied as his gaze slid over your mouth and your heart skipped a beat as his face moved even closer. A bit more and you could brush your nose against his. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the moment when your lips would finally meet.

His voice made you open your eyes in surprise.

“Forgive me my rude behavior, my lady,” he suddenly stood up, his cheeks visibly flushed. “I’m tired and your pleasant company quickly goes to the head of a humble traveling Dwarf like me,” he avoided your gaze. “You are a wonderful hostess and I wouldn’t dream of imposing on your hospitality. I bid you goodnight.”

With these words, he hurriedly disappeared inside of your house.

You sat outside for a long while after he removed himself from your presence; the Seven Stars of Durin’s crown being your only companion. They seemed to blink at you soothingly. You wondered what they would tell you if they could speak.

The breakfast passed quickly, and quietly. You couldn’t help but notice a certain nervousness in Fili’s movements, his frown, his gaze set firmly on his plate. Shadows under his eyes confirmed that he spent the night the same way as you did, tossing and turning in his bed.

“May the trails ahead be straight and wide,” you said a customary farewell as he led out his pony from your stable. Beetroot greeted you with a neigh. “Here, it’s cheese and bread, enough for a meal or two on the road,” you gave him a bundle.

“Thank you, my lady,” he nodded and accepted your gift. “It is more than I could hope for. May I offer you something in return?”

“What could that be?” He moved his hand into his hair. Something clicked, and then you saw it. There was a beautifully ornamented golden bead in his outstretched palm, “Something to remember me by.”

“But… this is gold… I can’t accept this!” you opposed.

“This is the customary Dwarven way to show our…,” he cleared his throat, “... our appreciation. It would make me a happy Dwarf to know that you keep it as a token of… as a memory of our fortunate meeting.”

“Well, if you put it this way, then I’ll be happy to keep it… to honor your tradition,” wide-eyed, you took the bead and traced the beautiful runes on its surface with your fingers.

And then you heard his alluring murmur, the words intended for your ears only.

“When I tell my brother I have found the most beautiful wildflower in Eriador of all places, he won’t believe me!” he took your hand into his, slowly closed it over the bead and covered with his other palm. His calloused thumb brushed against your soft skin. The warmth he gave out made you melt inside.

Before you could reply, his forehead pressed against yours, your fingers still intertwined, and he whispered, 

“My lady… may I kiss you?”

You didn’t respond; not in words at least. Instead, you tilted your head slightly and brushed your lips against his. Yes, they were as soft as you imagined, and impossibly tender. He returned the caress, pressing his lips against yours, and then sealing them with a myriad of gentle butterfly kisses. You sighed softly, drifting away on the sea of bliss.

“May I have the honor…,” he whispered against your skin, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, “May I hope that you will wait for me?”

“Yes, Fili. I will wait.”

***

You closed your eyes with a sigh, enjoying the warm, lingering caresses of the late afternoon sun on your face. Almost a year has passed since you last saw Fili. The Dwarf who stole your heart. Many days and nights you spent wondering about what he was doing, worrying about his safety, until one day, a raven came with a letter addressed to you and your world has changed forever.

Today was going to be the first day of your new life. Fili was about to return and hear your answer to his question. In his letter, he asked whether you would consider spending your life with him in a dwarven kingdom of Erebor. His letter started with the words: “My One…”

You knew what your reply was going to be. You were not lost any longer.

- - -

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Taglist: @fizzyxcustard​ @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007​ @amelia307​ @anyaspidergirl-blog

279 notes • Posted 2021-01-31 17:22:29 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[artgirllullaby]

Chapter 16: After Shards

There is much stuff i want to say about this update, but not enough space. So I decided to make an author Notes close to the end.

For now I wanna thank everyone who was patient, understanding and welcoming me. Many of you probably forgot this existed, some stopped around to ask how I was doing, and i'm thankful for it.

You guys have no idea how your reviews and knowing i had to complete this had saved my life. And I say this more than I really would like to admit. Your reviews, comments and messages were the line to bring me back to end stuff many times. For that, thank you.

Thank you every single one of you who stop by, leaving a comment, review or not. You who take few minutes to read what I'm writing, those of you who are silently lurking and hoping for an update, this is for you. Thank you for existing, thank you for saving my life in more ways than i can ever put in words.

Thank you.

Now let's get back on where we left, shall we?

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

You can read Ever After at Ao3 | FF.net | DeviantArt and on Tumblr, feel free to go read where it pleases you the most

Chapter 16: After Remembrance

"So let me see if I got it…" Janna said crossing her legs on Marco's bed, he tried not to get annoyed on her dirty sneakers on his sheets given he was asking a favor to her "You want me to perform some kind of witchery-"

"Enchantment." Marco corrected.

"Whatever, you want me to try to make magic in a world that has become void of it to recover your girl?"

Marco shifted on his computer chair replying with an awkward "Yes?"

His childhood friend frowned a bit in deep thought, "Don't get me wrong Marco, but how in the hell am I supposed to do that?!" resting a bit back on his bed she continued "you said yourself that when she left it also erased not only her existence but every trace of magic here, including my own magic as you say. How would I be able to use magic if there's none around or in me?"

"You see, here is the catch. I don't think you're completely void of it."

Janna exchanged looks with his dog before both of them looked back at him as if they were reconsidering the option of calling the hospital to take him in.

"OK, let me explain." He took a breath, "When Star had come to this dimension, we had no idea that magic truly existed. In fact, there is- or at least had by then, a bunch of magic creatures living among us and we had no idea because we were used to our routines and livelihood. But Star had to adapt and she had to question and understand everything and while she had to discover and learn, she ended up showing and doing the same for us."

Janna rested her chin on her hand in a tedious position "Your point being?"

"My point is that there was magic here before Star came along. Magic that was from here, from Earth. Like, very low and not much, but once was enough to connect our worlds and dimensions, then we can do it again."

"That… kinda makes sense." She agreed with a nod "But if she blocked the other side it would still be impossible."

"She might have blocked the way directly to Mewni and other dimensions I knew the way over. But it's impossible for her to have blocked all dimensions back and forth."

"So what? Your plan is to go aimlessly into a random dimension and find a way over into another until you jump onto Minnie?"

"Mewni, and yes. I will get the right way eventually. I know I will." Marco said determinedly, "I had to hunt down the entity that was responsible for creating the material for transportation through the dimensions and I did it. If I was able to do that by then, nothing will stop me from reaching out for Star. And I know for a fact, there's a place that connects all dimensions."

A place that once almost got destroyed by desperation and naiveness, by that's another story and a detail he didn't need to disclose right now.

"Except the fact I can't use magic." Janna reminded him.

"Not really, that's what I am trying to say. Star might have cut or blocked the magic traces that were unnatural from here, but she can't get rid of what is natural."

"Uh…" Janna squinted her eyes, having trouble understanding "I kinda get your point, but not what you aim at…"

"Look, think about this like… the seasons!"

Janna gave a flat look as if that seemed more confusing but gestured to him to go on.

"You see, in Spring it's the prosperous time, when flowers grow, fruits are there and things blooms, then comes summer and while the temperature is high, we still can get the supriments spring gave us, then comes autumn and that's when the hard time comes. Leaves fall, fruits are not that much, some plants die, all while we prepare to the winter, when it's cold and we need to survive without much food-"

Janna facepalmed herself "You know that's totally not how it works, right?!"

"Just listen!" He sighed "after the time at lowest, what comes next?"

"Spring?"

"Exactly!" Marco replied her bored tone with excitement, "It comes the time when it flourishes again! You understand?! It's a cycle!"

Janna frowned, understanding his logic but still questioning it "You think Star speeds up the cycle?"

"She did something. Knowing or not." He shrugged, turning to her once more "Nature finds a way. It will make magic flow again, if it follows the seasons or not I have no idea, but I know it does follow a cycle. He have magic in our history, we got historical events that none can explain, and that follows some impact, and it goes around the world not just a place particular, and we had quiet times and then the new things again and-"

"Breathe, boy" Janna said standing up and sighing a bit as she forced Marco to sit down and take a moment, "Did you take your medicine?"

"We don't have time to-"

"We made a deal." She crossed her arms standing up in front of him as she looked at him sternly from his bed. "You keep yourself sane and under the medical conditions, as long as you're stable and healthy I'm willing to help you." The dark-haired girl looked around and asked again, "So, did you take your meds?"

Marco sighed and thought for a moment, "I did take them this morning." He looked at his phone for a moment and took a breath of redemption, "It is a bit past the time for me to take some I guess…"

"Well, then." His childhood friend gestured to the door, so he could go ahead and get the medicine wherever they were. Marco did as she suggested, knowing she was asking for the best of him and she was indeed looking out for his health. The last thing he needed now he was getting his memories back and was determined to find Star, was to have a breakdown and lose control (his last one was still healing in his eyebrow), he ain't got time for that.

He got his meds and went to the kitchen taking a cup of water as Janna promptly got herself to sit on the couch with Barko Jr. After taking his meds and sitting on the couch he was about to continue when Janna gestured him to wait.

"Take a breath. You were getting anxious, so take a few minutes. I'll wait."

"We don't have time for this, Janna."

"Then you're gonna have to deal with this alone." She looked at him, her face completely serious, "We made a deal, and I'll make sure you stand your word even against your own wishes."

Marco huffed, dropping himself on the couch "What is this, your crush on me is back?!"

"Hm, kinda. Considering you're the best candidate? Maybe." At his unbelievable stare she smirked "What? You can see me dating Alfonso? Ferguson? Jason?! ugh, no. The girls aren't much better and the hottest take went halfworld away" Janna made a dramatic gesture "So I might as well take care of my last option in case the worst happens."

"Wow, thanks" Marco replied to her in a sarcastic tone.

"You're welcome. Don't worry, once our kid gets my talent and hits big, that will make me meet my true guy. I'll dump you right away."

Marco frowned "I really have no idea if you're serious or not."

"Me neither" Janna replied.

He looked at her in complete confusion and decided to let it go since it wasn't going anywhere. Taking some breaths instead as he watched the clock he was able to feel himself calming down slowly and organizing his own thoughts.

"You had always liked spooked stuff, remember?"

"So what?" Janna said, turning to lay with her feet up, "Does that have to do with anything?"

"Remember the time church used to hunt witches and other beings, but mostly witches?"

"Yeah, many women got killed, they never apologized and all that jazz… Why are you giving me a history lesson?"

"You are a descendant of the Witches…" He frowned "I don't remember quite much clearly yet, but… I remember you found out one ancestor of yours was hunted down, claimed to be a witch and got to escape, you found there actually two types of such thing and used Star magic to… Do something… I can't remember well, but I know you used her magic to make your own flow again from the sleepy state it was in."

Janna sat straight and looked at him in shock "Are you telling me, I'm magic?"

Catching her tone of both disbelief and sassiness, Marco joked back at her "You're a Wizard, Janna."

"I'm a what?"Janna whispered before laughing with him, "Seriously, you're telling me I'm a witch?"

"Pretty much. You used to say the others called you something else because they didn't consider you one of them, but you got it."

Janna stood up and paced slowly in the living room, murmuring to herself as she was making her own conclusions from the information he gave.

"OK, if what you say is true, then there might be a way to awaken what was inside of me. I mean, she didn't destroy the magic, she just erased what existed from her existence, right?"

"I guess? I don't know that much actually. It's just a theory"

"That makes sense," Janna prompted "if she truly had erased every magic or destroyed then that would erase even the ones who weren't involved with her… Like your dog and, well, me."

"You?"

"It's just as you say, if I already had a bit in me, even if too little to make a difference, doesn't change the fact I got it and could try to do again what I did last, if she had went far enough it would have erased the existence of those who have some magic connection in them, me." She pointed out.

"So you think you can do it?"

Janna smirked, grabbing her purse and fishing for her phone as she began to type "Only one way to find out."

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It was weird enough how her mother had been hovering over her lately, but having Tom, Ponyhead and Kelly aside every other person around to do the same was becoming maddening.

Star knew she had been sick, whatever her cough was, made everyone worried since they didn't find a solution. It was recurring more and more, if she coughed in front of them there was a desperation to show in their eyes so quickly she had to find out what they were hiding.

The little petal in her hand told her it was a lot more than they let her know.

The doctors have told her if she ever coughs something, she has to go to them immediately, and so her friends often offered to give her a doctor if there was any signal of her cough…

If she wanted to find out what was going on, she couldn't trust either side about the petals in her cough.

Besides they should be busy and worried about something else, she was getting married soon for the sake of her kingdom, they should be trying to find a way out of the war menace.

Just like she should be if she wasn't busy organizing a wedding ceremony she would rather not have anyways.

"Why do we have to make it big?!" She moaned tiredly to her mother.

"You're a princess, simple as that. The people need to know and have security for their new king, the wedding it's not just about tying laces, but also about showing the people you have a ground and know what you're doing, in the fateful decision you're making by marrying this man." Moon replied and put her papers down.

"Can we like, make an agreement, sign stuff and bep bop do? No one is interested in anything else aside from keeping Mewni safe at this point."

Moon turned to her and took a breath, "Is that why you agreed to the marriage?"

"Well, yeah…" the princess replied, turning away from her mother. "It's not like I had many choices anyway."

"I'm really sorry for all of this Star…" her mother replied with a sad voice, "Of all people, I really wish you had the chance to make the choice like I did in my time."

"You're not helping much…" Star observed looking at another stupid list of things to get for a wedding. Why did they need a golden cornucopia?!

"I know… That's why I invited someone that knows about this to talk it out with you."

Turning to her mother, her eyes turned curious "Who did you invite?"

Moon smiled at her, "It's a surprise."

She rolled her eyes and continued to look in her to-do list about what there was to still afford for the ceremony. She couldn't wait until the papers had been over so she could get to…

To what?

Star shook her head and tried to focus again. There was no one for her to meet after that, she had been so sleepless and stressed about things happening that she had been catching herself into errands that didn't exist or lost in corridors trying to find a room that wasn't there.

Maybe she should see a doctor after all.

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Marco stood blinking at a board that Janna made with pins, pictures, lists and scribes around and even a red string that connected to a question mark.

"Uh… what am I looking at?"

Janna sighed, "You're looking at the fact that you were right." Crossing her arms she looked away "Damn I was hoping you weren't so on point."

"What does the criminal board have to do with this?"

"This is an investigation board, thank you very much." Janna said and pointed at her notes, "I went around my stuff to figure out the blanks points or odd stuff that I couldn't remember how happened or that the explanation was just plain weird."

Marco frowned at a picture of her and pointed, "What does a picture of you in a pink dress have to do with this?"

Snatching the picture from his hand, Janna followed her notes as if there was never the said picture there, "So there are a lot of those blanks around like, why the heck I have a recipe for cupcakes? I don't even cook, and if I did, I wouldn't be interested in cupcakes!"

Marco looked around the said notes noticing the odd that Janna was mentioning. She was right about most of them, the pictures of scenarios and selfies were not her thing, just like notes on clothing, books, and… that Korean version of Twilight?

"What matters is that you're right. Whatever I had in me or that composed those pictures enough to make me interested, was changed."

He nodded, "and how are you finding proof I was right to help us?"

"It helps because I began to look into my stuff to see if I could find anything else and, BOOM!" Janna shoved her phone in his face.

"A… contact list?" He asked, confused.

"Yep. I went through my contact list, I don't know the majority of these names and some weren't even real numbers like this… Thomas the Train?! Why do I have the number of a toy train to begin with?"

Marco tried to bring her focus back again, "Well, and did you find anything that helped us?"

Janna began to tap her phone again, "Actually, I did!"

Turning the phone to him again Marco was to stare at the eyes on the screen looking right back to him. It was a woman a bit older than them, she was red haired and skin a bit paler than his, her brown eyes blinked at him then she smiled and waved at him from the screen.

"Tami, meet Marco. Marco, this is Tamir LesTrange" Janna said, motioning between them.

"Hello!" Tami said, smiling from the other side.

"Hi…" he replied and looked at Janna, "how exactly is she supposed to help?"

Janna put her phone on his table where the stranger could see them both, "Tami remembers what I can't, or at least most of it. To begin with how we meet and what we are."

"Hey! I thought you said you believed in me saying you were a witch?"

There was a giggle and Marco realized it came from the screen, "There's a difference between believing and fact checking," Tami explained, "she was trying to recover what was lost in the spell of your friend."

"Wait, you remember too?!"

"Kinda" the red haired replied, "your theory of Earth's own magic isn't completely wrong, but also has some fantasies into it. I can remember what is related to me, Janna and the betweens, but if you ask me specifically about that friend of yours, well, I'm afraid I'm not much help." She shrugged embarrassed.

"So, how can you help us then?"

This time Janna replied to him, "Dude, she's a Witch."

Marco blinked twice at Janna and then at the phone before letting a gasped "Whaaat" escape his lips.

"A witch, Marco." The other laughed, "Oh boy, Potter references never get old!" The red haired girl shook her head and continued "I'm one of the natural magic users from Earth, see?"

On a movement with her hands, there was a wave of energy that made some stuff on her desk float before getting down again by another gesture to make it disappear.

He looked at the lady's hands in shock. It was one thing to know magic existed and have memory of it, but to see it was something completely different. To see the proof in a live video of another magic user was… almost unbelievable.

Wow, he gets why the others had trouble believing him.

"OK, Tami, can you explain what you told me before to him?" Janna asked.

"Why don't you say it?" She questioned.

"I forgot already."

With a sigh, the woman on the other side began to speak to Marco. "As I told Janna, your theory is in the right way, but not quite. Our world is about cycles, from the survival and animal one, to life and magic one. So yeah, there are parts of history that magic is stronger and others that are not, but aren't related to seasons, but with world history itself and around."

"World history?"

"Yep!" Tami nodded, "It's one of the biggest and sadly most natural occurrences in humanity, history repeats itself. Kind of like a curse even. People study history to not make the same mistakes, but while they do, the other part is making up and learning that stuff and find themselves agreeing with the past and making their own conclusions to do over again and as a result it happens again."

"That… is awful, is there nothing to do?"

"It's human nature. To find themselves in a group and try to engage into their battles to survive and the goals to fight against the opposition. The only way to stop the cycle would be to put everyone in a stance of ultimate survival: work together or die."

"Like stone age." Janna replied.

Marco shook his head to focus again, they could talk about history lessons later "What does this have to do with the magic?"

"Oh yeah!" The woman said changing her sitting pose "Well, the reason is because once there was a limited or over-limits magic on Earth is pretty simple, the Inquisition and Witch hunting events."

"So the Inquisition was right?"

"Nope." Both women replied and Janna continued, "they did kill a lot of innocents while hunting. Most people dead weren't related to magic even, or didn't even know."

Marco tried to follow their line of thought "Uhh… That means?"

"That means that, whatever your girlfriend did, she can't change history. She at most repressed what was already around. So we can recover the state to what it was and make magic flow around Earth, however I don't know about the portals stuff, that was never knowledge of our world magic."

"We still have to try." He replied determined, ready to get up. "It's the best chance We- I have to."

"Easy there, Romeo." Said Janna pushing him back down to his bed, "So far we gave you the good news."

He sighed, of course it wouldn't be that easy. "Ok, tell me the bad news."

"Well, for beginners…" Janna started, "Thomas the Train it's not the only contact missing. There's a bunch of them, for both me and Tami."

Tami looked at him with a sad smile, "That's true. And while I'm good friends and a mentor to Janna, I'm still a minor witch. In fact, Janna was stronger than I was. I lost contact with the Witches and other creatures more or less around the data your friend had cut the magic flow."

"Did something happen to them?" Marco asked in worry.

"I don't think so." The witch replied "I think they sensed something to come and took the ways to be safe, even if we lost contact with others. They probably left the others safe from consequences out of it, like Wiccas and minor witches, and in Janna's case, an illegitimate Witch."

"Illegitimate witch?" Marco asked his friend.

"Long history to another history and time. Now," Janna said, focusing back on the matter, "the point is, all the people who have better knowledge on Earth magic or how we could make the portal thing work again are out of reach and the others who are left aren't powerful enough to connect to other worlds."

Marco crossed his arms and thought for a while, looking between a magicless-witch Janna and the witch on the phone before an idea struck him again. "What if we reunited you?"

"What?" Both of them asked.

"Alone you can't do much, but… United, maybe we could bring enough power to make a connection, even to another world…" Marco took his magical scissors out of his pocket and showed them "From there I can get to other places until I reach the right one to get to Mewni."

"YOU HAVE AN INTERDIMENSIONAL SCISSOR?!" Tami screamed from the other side of the phone "Damn, you were someone important! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get one of these? A human even?!"

"I have vague memories of it." Marco shrugged, smiling sincerely to her "So, we can get contact with others you girls find and reunite to try to make these work, how about it?" Tami smiled sadly at him again and Marco could already sense the bad news again, but this time it was Janna who let out a sigh as she crossed her arms.

"You think I didn't want to meet her or bring her here for a reason? Would have been a lot easier and better" She pouted.

He looked at Tami questioning in silence what Janna meant, but observing the scenery behind her, more specific about what he thought until then it was a poster until the moment he saw a bird flying there, it dewelled him the reason of why Janna was upset and the bad news.

Marco let out a groan as he hid his face in his hands, to which Tami confirmed in voice what he just concluded, "I'm in Japan."

"And as far as we had been, well, mostly her since they refuse to talk to an illegitimate witch with no powers, most wiccans and witches left are in the same situation. We are scattered around the world" Janna replied.

He let his back fall into the bed and groaned louder. It could not be easy, could it?!

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When she was told she had visitors, Star had expected to be one of her friends checking on her again for the fifth time that week, or maybe even a surprise visit from a messenger from her fianceé kingdom with more stuff arranged or to be arranged for the wedding.

She didn't not expected to meet Eclipsa sitting in the garden drinking tea as she waited for her.

"Oh dear!" Eclipsa smiled "There you are! It's so good to see you! Come sit!"

Confused, Star obliged to what the other queen requested, "Hi Eclipsa… I'm sorry I wasn't expecting you."

"Really?" She replied surprised, "Your mother invited me, I thought you do know."

The princess blinked confused, "You were the one she told me about? I didn't know. She just said it was someone I could talk about and it was a surprise."

"Well, she told me about what you had been dealing with and… I can understand. I think from all the people I'm the closest that can understand you, that's probably why she told me to come talk to you."

So that was it. Her mother was still worried, despite her doctor saying she was ok and that she agreed with the meanings behind the wedding. Yes, she was still trying to find a way out of the war menace, but it was more a precaution and safety than anything else. Besides, so far the plan is going very well and… If it came to worse than she had to make sure someone was left to look after what she left.

"I'm fine, really." Star sighed.

"It's natural for a mother to be worried, more so in this case in which the daughter was forced into a decision she wasn't ready or didn't want to take." Eclipsa replied "It's a different situation, but we both had to go with the decision for outside factors."

It was only then that Star was reminded of the fact that Eclipsa was married before Globgor, despite already being with him and having her relationship established. Solaria didn't accept their relationship and arranged her wedding with a prince from a fellow kingdom in hopes that the marriage and kingdom obligation would make Eclipsa forget her forbidden passion for a monster of all people. Star didn't know much details aside from the fact that Globgor broke his promise to never feed himself from human flesh again by consuming Chastican, getting away to have Meteora and get captured shortly after and separated for all those years.

So far, Eclipsa was really the one who could understand the situation the most, even if the reasons for the arranged marriage were different, neither had been out of love, but because the obligations of the crown required so, for the safety of the people. For Eclipsa, because the former queen's prejudice against monsters was so powerful, she took a blind eye to who she put her daughter with. For her, because the war menace was a risk to the whole of Mewni and other possible dimensions and kingdoms Mewni had been in peace, not to count the possible multiverses.

She looked up to Eclipsa again, the queen being patient in Star taking her time to speak if she wished. Eclipsa has always been a kind heart that didn't deserve what happened to her. Star was really glad she was able to help get Eclipsa's happy ending by letting her rule the Monster Castle, which was her rightful place given Globgor once was the king of monsters. Maybe she couldn't fix the time and all that happened, but she could at the very least help.

Besides, it was a great help given that monsters and Mewmans still had much distaste on each other to just live together magically, it needed time to adapt, and so far having the kingdoms nearby with a free pass to both sides was showing to be really helpful. Even those who disliked the idea, at the very least respected the new ways of living… Well, after the battle that is.

Eclipsa also had been kind to them by giving the Crown back and rebuilding Mewni. So now they could rule together and work so both kinds would live and work together, the progress has been promising so far. Both crowns had been working hard to make it possible to unify in the future.

"Do you think…" Star said unsure "Am I doing the right thing?"

Eclipsa thought a bit, "There's no way we can know. For as long as I know you, Star, you have been writing the history your own way, taking what you thought was best by following your heart but taking your mind into it." She smiled at the princess "You proved yourself over and over again, you showed every single one that you can do more than one can imagine and even yourself. When we think you're done, you come with something new and that is what makes you the best queen of us all. Even now, I have no doubt you have something in your mind of how you can make things right and fix, and if you don't have the answers… you're on the way there." She looked into Star's eyes and smiled "Am I wrong?"

For the first time in a long time, Star smiled. Eclipsa had her right, she was trying to find a way to fix things up… But she didn't know the cost of it. And if she were to admit…

"I am scared." Star replied.

"I would think it weird of you not to be. You're about to face something new, but then again, you can always overcome the obstacles given. You and Marco."

Star blinked, her heart racing to the name familiar and dearly but yet new to her. She repeated in a whisper to her lips, she could even see the image of a boy with a red hoodie over his head…

A loud childish laughter distracted her. Both of them looked beyond their table to where Globgor was playing with Meteora and… Since when Eclipsa had another child? Star felt her chest tight and the coughs coming up, but she couldn't take that since the feeling of dread and anxiety had been washing over her. To the memory of her holding the other girl as a newborn baby, to her older brother introducing them, and the images flooding back.

Her head hurt, breathing was hard, and she couldn't even walk in a straight line when she got up abruptly to leave the garden abandoning the worried calls of the other queen. She just had to leave that place. She had to be quiet and think, she had to…

Remember.

She remembers now. The friendship, the love, the heartbreak. Earth, the school, her friends, the time spent between dimensions, the fights and all that came along. She remembers him always by her side and their hands together, she remembers his little sister, who they had promised to let grow with Meteora again, she remembers Diaz, who asked to be called as her parents too, she remembers why the earrings were so important. She remembers Angie telling her goodbye and Rafael holding her close…

She was so stressed up by then she didn't get to think about Mariposa, who wasn't around and didn't get mentioned by them.

She feels the tears on her eyes and coughs some more petals as she falls on her knees. She remembers the sickness and what happened. She remembers why it's so important that the plan works and she gets someone to take care of what's left once she's gone…

Eclipsa steps behind her carefully, and kneels to the ground, trying not to scare her after how she fled the garden. Her hand makes gentle circling motions until Star is calmed enough to speak if she wishes.

"Mariposa…" Is all she can say.

Eclipsa bites her lip and sighs, deciding to say once for all. "As you know, after how well Meteora and her bonded, we agreed with Diaz to have them grow together. The vacations here and school time on Earth… Since me and Globgor were going on the vacation trip early and Mariposa wasn't in school yet, we invited her to come."

Star slowly turned to look at Eclipsa as she continued, still sniffing for what she was about to hear, "That's when they contacted us and told about what was to happen. We spoke to Moon too and… We talked. A lot. So we decided that Mariposa was taken care of by us, and Diaz sent all her material to study, and also things to be remembered by. We thought about moving to Earth or they moving here, but… It didn't solve the problem in the end. Angie said they had Marco to take care after, and they had been parenting once, they would miss Mariposa everyday, but it would be the best. Rafael agreed they couldn't take Meteora away from us to take care of given she had magic, and that we had been apart for so long and we finally had our second chance…"

"So Mariposa is trapped in here."

"Mariposa is growing up with Meteora…" Eclipsa sighed, "She's too young to understand she can't go back to Earth. We have all the stuff from her to know and we're gonna tell her, but…" The queen took a breath, "The Evanescent magic took effect here too… Mariposa doesn't remember anything about Earth aside from what we told her."

Star choked as she started crying harder, she didn't mind to know if the petals were choking her or the tears, believing she deserved at this point. She just tore a family apart and erased a little girl's memory of her own family. Mariposa didn't remember her family back on Earth and by this she could only guess that the portals cutting severed those ties and by that maybe the Diaz couldn't remember her too.

She deserved to suffocate on those petals.

Now that she thought about it, the Diaz were looking into a family album when she left… They weren't looking into her pictures only, but the ones with Mariposa.

"What have I done?!" Star whispered crying in pain "Why no one told me?!"

"Oh dear…" Eclipsa caressed her head "You had already so much… None of us wanted to give you that pain and burden. It was a parenting decision for adults to take, and we did. We didn't want you to take the blame or responsibility."

"What for?!" Star continued to cry "How can I ever forgive myself from separating her from her family, for her losing her memories? for them to lose their daughter?!"

Eclipsa smiled sadly and was about to speak when she saw someone else in the room. Star looked up to see the little girl with brown skin and the cute mole as her brother, those big brown eyes confused looking at them as she slowly approached, her hair a bit longer than she remembered and she looked at Star sad.

"Don't cry…" She said, patting Star's face.

Star smiled sadly, trying her best to not scare Mariposa as she picked her up and hugged tightly, she looked so much after her brother it hurt. She continued to whisper how much she was sorry until she began to calm down.

Eclipsa stayed there supporting Star by staying by her side simply. It didn't miss her eyes the smudged makeup that covered the broken hearts, nor the petals on the floor.

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Janna walked into Marco's room letting out a whistle. There were papers all around, his computer open with at least thirty tabs open, there were scribbles, notes, and red strings on the floor, maps, pictures and even other stuff that Janna didn't pay attention to in the middle of her process.

"I understand why you weren't surprised with my board now."

Marco chuckled as he marked something in another note, "I'm the crazy guy, remember? This is organized close to how my mind had been before. I don't like to admit it, but those pills do help."

"Are you taking them, by the way?"

"Yup." Marco took the bottle out his pocket and shook so Janna could see and hear the pills inside before he put back in his pocket, "They are necessary, so I take them. I wish I didn't have to? Yes, but for now I need them and that's it."

Janna clapped to him and Marco rolled his eyes. He knew medicine was important, and took time for him to accept he needed the mental medicine just like any other sick person would need. If they were for the heart he would take them, so why not take them for his brain?

"You said you had news." The former witch replied, trying to step further into the room, "Is this it?"

Marco got up and bit his marker end thinking a bit more into how to voice his thoughts.

"I think I know how to open the portal." Janna stopped in her tracks, not daring to make any movement until he continued "If this place was once connected to Mewni through magic, it means it should be connected again, even if just a little. Might not be enough to create a portal, but the magic is already in both places, Earth is already connected to the magic dimensions as so. We could reunite a number of people to try to gather enough energy for the scissor to work, but even so might not be enough, and focusing them on one place might not help the magic to keep flowing."

His friend decided it was safer to step back and lean on the doorframe, "Ok, so, we need to reunite or not?"

"We need everyone to stay where they are." Marco replies nodding "If you had been scattered all around the world, there might be a reason for it. Tami said that the natural course is that the flow comes back little by little and the other witches and whatever are waiting the time for it, so I thought, 'what if that's it?' you know?" Marco said happily. Janna blinked slowly to him and continued her deadpan stare so he could continue for her to understand. "She cut the unnatural magic, her own and what came with her, the witches might have been influenced by the flow of her magic around, that's why they left."

Janna thought for a second, "Actually, that makes sense. If it wasn't much and suddenly there's a new one around they might have been caught by the new magic too… They could have lost all the magic like I did for mixing it up."

"Like filling a cup of water with orange juice. If you want to get rid of the mix you need to get rid of both." Marco said "And because they had the influence, they couldn't risk to stay. However!" Marco said pointing to a scheme drawing on his wall, "Tami said she and the other left were more natural magicians, that used Earth and natural sources, that's why they are out of risk!"

There was a gasp heard and then a voice replying to him, "It's natural magic!"

The trickster took her phone out of her jacket and showed him her mentor on video call who was clapping and smiling happily. "Well, that explains how I was so oddly and suddenly put in Japan."

"You weren't there before?"

"Nope!" She replied "I made a test to come here, but I was sure to fail because of some missing papers, but then they suddenly were found and approved at the last second." She thought for a second, "I wonder if there are others who have done this too."

"It might if we go by Marco's theory." Janna replied. "Maybe the Elders knew that we could restore the magic flow by ourselves and made a way to scarce us around the globe." She shrugged.

"If that's the case," The boy continued "I thought that if you all used your magic at the same time, it might be enough to get magic on Earth flowing on the levels that it was again."

The red haired woman frowned a bit in worry, "I'm not sure, it might need a lot of people doing it at the same time, and there are the timezones, not to say so far the ones I had contact don't have that much power enough to make our magic connect one point to another to make it flow." She sat back on the chair and crossed her arms thoughtfully.

"Marco, are you really asking us to do that? We would be risking to expose ourselves and be hunted down to death again for what? So you can be with your girlfriend?"

Marco gulped. She had a point, there were many factors to make it harder. to make one witch to pass the magic from a point to another, then that required that some ignored the timezones, and…

And this was the best chance he had to see Star again.

"Yes." He replied "I'm asking you to do this so I can go to her. I will cross every mountain, swim every ocean just to fix what I've broken. If I need to go around the world to talk and ask one by one to agree then I will. This is the best if not the only chance I got to be with her. So yes, I'm being selfish and asking you all to take the risk to restore the Earth magic and I can be with Star again."

There was a moment of silence before a loud squeal and giggling from the phone startled both in the room, "Okay!"

"Okay?!" Both Janna and Marco replied surprised.

"Okay." The witch nodded, grabbing some papers and writing something in them, "I'm a big fan of love, and that confession? That got me. So yeah I'm going to do it. I'll talk to my friends and the ones I got in contact to plan this and will get back to you. Ah! I can't wait to help you two get back together!" Suddenly the woman began to transform the notes she wrote into paper birds and sent them to the window. "I have much work to do, I'll see you later!" With another set of squeals and giggles she hung up.

Both teenagers stood there looking at the phone screen locking it up in shock. It was rather… easy. And that was exactly why Marco wasn't sure if it would work, if there is something he learned about this whole thing is that nothing would come easy to him.

Still, he had high hopes and for that, he grabbed the bracelet that once belonged to her and held it tight, hoping that soon he could give it back, that then he could hold her hand - if she allowed, he had to recognize that he had every right to reject by how things messed up.

"I would love to stay," Janna commented but stopped for a second, "Wait nevermind, I'll stay and look around your stuff to see if I get any other stuff to this mad plan of yours"

"Gee, thanks" Marco shrugged and moved for her to come into his room. "Be my guest. I'll get some air."

"By the smell of this room, you do need it."

He ignored the comment even through his blush. He knew she was just teasing him… right?

He was walking down the corridor when he saw his dog lying in front of the guest door crying. Once he saw Marco, it got up and began to scratch the door asking to be open for him. He was ready to open the door when he touched the handle and suddenly began to hear a song from the other side.

When I wake up, yeah I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you!

He stopped for a moment, he was sure the room wasn't in use for a long time and that there was nothing on the other side of that door. So that could only mean…

When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you!

Marco opened the door, but instead of looking into the visitor room that was very much like his, he saw a huge room, with an aquarium, stairs, and even a balcony. He stepped into the room with a fond smile on his face as he watched in admiration the figure on the bed jumping and dancing to the song blasting in her speaker.

If I get drunk, Well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you!

It was another of her times singing super glue songs, she was jumping on her bed as she sang the lyrics, laughing happily as she did so, her golden hair dancing up and down, her bed already a mess from her dancing.

And if I haver, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's haverin' to you!

He couldn't help but smile openly at the memory, it was such a happy and innocent time. She was just there dancing and singing to a good song and enjoying the moment, while he was making nachos down the stairs. She was smiling so brightly and it was such a good memory that made him laugh a bit to see her like that.

There was a noise beside him, she didn't notice because of the song and how distracted he was by the scene, he found himself years young putting down the table some nachos only to lean on the doorframe crossing his arms and watch her performance of happiness.

How he didn't realize by then he was already falling for her? That fond and loving smile and the joy he remembers to feel just to watch her jumping to the song and be happy for a moment… It was enough to make him smile and be happy himself.

He laughed, they were really oblivious.

Star soon took notice of him standing there watching her and motioning to him to get up her bed and join her, he gave an eye roll pretending to be reluctant but joined her more than glad.

"When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you!"

They began to dance together, both laughing above the bed as they continued to lip sync the song.

"When I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream, I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you!"

They began to run in circles in the bed, getting dizzy and then switching to another game.

"When I go out, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you!"

They began to try to ticklish one to another. Sometimes missing and others getting right making another fit of laughter go up.

"And when I come home, yes I know I'm gonna be, I gonna be the man who's coming home with you"

They both sang together getting louder and louder until they reached the chorus and began to shake their heads, messing up their hair hard as they sang one to another as they jumped in her bed.

"But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more! Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door!"

The song went on, and Marco grabbed a pillow to hit her, Star laughed, grabbing another to defend and attack him. They stayed like that until the chorus came back again and they sang together breathless.

"But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more! Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door!"

They both give a last jump and fall laying down on her bed in a fit of laughter with their belly hurting and red faces from all the energy wasted just for the fun and singing together and having a fun time.

The laughter began to fade in the air as the memory faded and gave place to reality. His dog was laying down on the bed that was just like his, he stepped closer and sat there looking at the bracelet once again.

"I miss her too." he told Barko, embracing the animal and caressing it's fur until he fell asleep.

At the door, Janna looked down at the floor before taking her phone and dialing some numbers. She couldn't let him go on like that, if Marco needed to meet the girl again to get his closure, then he would meet her. Even if she had to ask some favors she had been saving.

.

.

.

.

.

"MOON!"

Her name echoed into the room and she flinched, but still took a breath. She should have expected that Eclipsa would find out about what was going on sooner or later, and given she took Star as a granddaughter/nephew it was no surprise she would be furious once she found out about the whole thing and not only what Moon let her know.

"Before you take out your fury on me, take a seat so I can explain…"

"You erased her memories!" Eclipsa slammed her fists on the table, "You took away her memories about the boy she loved!"

"I had my reasons to do so and you would understand if-"

"And she has broken hearts! Her magic is unstable, she's been crying non-stop! Moon, have any idea of what you have done?!"

"I have plenty of ideas of what I did and I did what was best for her!" Moon replied, raising her voice.

Globgor came into the door a bit after being accompanied by River, Glossaryck and Baby. The monster tried to calm down his wife by gently pulling her to sit, but she refused, still staring at Moon like she could punch her, maybe she would.

"What right do you think you have to take away her memories?!"

"It was hurting her far worse than it should!"

"And taking away was the answer?! That's not up to you to decide, Moon! You out of everyone should know this!"

"Sweetie," Globgor tried again, "let's hear what they have to say."

"I did what I had to do to save my daughter, you would have done the same!"

Eclipsa gasped more angrily than before "What harm could the memories of Marco could have caused?!"

"The memories are killing her! From inside out!" From the moment of shock of the other queen, Moon took a breath and looked down, she admitted in defeat the truth about the condition. "Star has the Deadly Flowers."

Eclipsa let out a breath and finally let herself be led by her husband to sit down as he stood beside her holding her hand, now just as worried about the princess' condition as his wife was.

"What stage is it?" The king of monsters asked.

Moon sat down, River coming by her side as her hands massaged her temples, "She was vomiting the flowers weeks ago. We didn't have many options, so…"

Globgor nodded and Eclipsa looked at him confused, as he clearly knew of the sickness better, it wasn't fully disclosed how many monsters fell victim to such sickness. As he explained what the disease was and the cure methods, Eclipsa felt more heartache for the princess that was playing with the two children in her room at the moment.

"So… you took the flowers out?" She asked.

"We did," River replied, "but she seed is placed in her heart so…" He looked down sadly and Globgor continued for him.

"The flowers will continue to bloom over and over again, and quicker every time, until it comes to a point where… There's no way out."

Eclipsa felt her eyes water and held her husband's hand tight, "There must be something we can do! Some potion or-"

"Don't you think I've been trying?" Moon replied looking up with teary eyes, "I sleep every night without knowing if my daughter will be there in the next day, or for how long… And she's about to marry someone she doesn't love because Marco is back on Earth where we cannot reach anymore."

Eclipsa sniffed and stood in silence for a moment with them. It was a serious situation, and if Star had come to pass before the wedding would be even worse.

Even so, she knew she should, but couldn't bring herself to tell them that Star had partially recovered her memories and the flowers are back. Star made her promise not to do so and now she gets why, she's afraid of losing them again and by now… That's all she has left of her happiness back then.

"So we… wait?" Eclipsa said reluctantly.

Moon closed her eyes with River, showing how much pain they have to admit that all they could do was to provide the best they could while they could, but they couldn't afford a cure or miracle to get her rid of her pain and death.

Eclipsa wished for a moment that she could have convinced Diaz to move to Mewni, this could have solved so many things… but they didn't know back then. Even if they did, once Star severed the magic ties, they would have been sent back to the place they belonged, without magic.

But if was like that, then-

"Wait, Star erased her magic back from Earth, then the same happened from here, right?"

"That's right." Glossaryck confirmed.

Eclipsa then looked up a bit more hopeful, "Then how's Mariposa still here?"

It took a moment for the others to understand what she meant, but when they did, the same feeling of a sparkle of hope that got into them.

"That's impossible!" Moon said, still hard-believing "Earth is magicless!"

Globgor got up and turned to them, "Eclipsa has a point, we had been taking care of Mariposa ever since the portals closed. The only thing that changed was that she also lost her memories, she is still affected by the magic, and possibly what happens back on Earth for that to happen."

The Mewni queen got up and turned to the magic guide, "Glossaryck, is it possible?"

The blue creature thought for a moment, "Earth has its own natural magic like all dimensions, but would be very unlike - not to say impossible to make it connected back or flow enough to connect again. It would be necessary to have an incredible amount of magical power to reconnect with their own magic to make it flow enough and then later they do it again for someone from this side to make the connection."

"We didn't have to do that the first time," River complained.

"The ties weren't severed or blocked then. Just out of use" Said Baby. "Besides, Earth has been out of Magic users for many years, and we have no communication now. They would have to make this plan on their own with none of our communication. No one knows about this to make it happen."

Moon was about to try to argue with another solution when Tom and Ponyhead got into the room in a hurry and were screaming with something in their hands. The queen was about to ask for them to calm down and sit when Tom put the device with a point blinking and made her go speechless.

"I don't know how, but somehow, they are up to something!" Tom said.

The others got around Moon to look into the screen and see what they were so amazed about too and felt themselves in shock as much as the teenagers were, but in a good way. Glossaryck groaned rolling his eyes, but smiled still after everyone gave a hopeful laugh.

On the other side of the room, Ponyhead was dancing in the air chanting happily "I cannot believe it! Earth-Turd did it! Earth has magic again!"

_________

This is for now.

On a brighter note, I'm out of the horrible writer block the finale and few other things gave me. That is to say I'm finally writing the final chapters to go.

Thank you again, and onwards to the finale!

PS: we got a discord now if interest anyone :)

A special shout out to @tamiletrange for having my back and also, a special tribute for her in this chapter as Janna’s mentor

@manifisto42 @judytrashcan @thatgirlinspace @ido100 @cid331 @krystalhuntress @mrevaunit42 @luigifan7 @avatarrocks132 @touya-r @dvvkroh @starkiller9903 @oofcorp @ironlightsheep @ironlord-firoh @the-x-files-fan

[diabolik-art-blog]

Memories of that spring [Masterlist]

Author: Monica Misha

Cover Designer: Afra Razavi ( @afra-blueraz )

⚠️ Memories of that spring is the first book of a Shu x Yui x Yuma trilogy. This story was written by me and all the CGs were drawn by Afra @afra-blueraz . Please do not repost. And note that this novel contains violence and NFSW themes, which may not be suitable for everyone. So avoid reading it if you are minor or sensitive. ⚠️

[ AO3 ] [ Fanfiction.net ]

Tumblr Version:

[ Prologue ]

[ Chapter 01 ] [ Chapter 02 ] [ Chapter 03 ][ Chapter 04] [ Chapter 05 ] [ Chapter 06 ] [ Chapter 07] [ Chapter 08 ] [ Chapter 09 ] [ Chapter 10 ] [ Chapter 11 ] [ Chapter 12 ] [ Chapter 13 ] [ Chapter 14 ] [ Chapter 15 ][ Chapter 16 ] [ Chapter 17 ] [ Chapter 18 ] [ Chapter 19 ] [ Chapter 20 ] [ Chapter 21 ] [ Chapter 22 ] [ Chapter 23 ] [ Chapter 24 ] [ Chapter 25 ] [ Chapter 26 ] [ Chapter 27 ][ Chapter 28 ] [ Chapter 29 ] [ Chapter 30 ] [ Chapter 31 ] [ Chapter 32 ] [ Chapter 33 ] [ Chapter 34 ] [ Chapter 35 ] [ Chapter 36 ] [ Chapter 37 ] [ Chapter 38 ] [ Chapter 39 ][ Chapter 40]

[ Epilogue ]

E-Book Version:

[ PDF ] [ Mobi ]

[writingisartdarling]

I posted 434 times in 2021

83 posts created (19%)

351 posts reblogged (81%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.2 posts.

I added 264 tags in 2021

#downton abbey - 59 posts

#chelsie - 43 posts

#writing - 29 posts

#fanfiction - 25 posts

#downton abbey fanfiction - 24 posts

#not every royal wears a crown - 22 posts

#the carsons - 21 posts

#writers - 16 posts

#write - 13 posts

#chelsie fanfiction - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 101 characters

#please correct me if this quote it wrong it's just from memory! becaue i have no way of checking this

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

The link to the 9th chapter of ‘Not Every Royal Wears A Crown’. I hope you enjoy reading it! :)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13880857/9/Not-every-royal-wears-a-crown

18 notes • Posted 2021-06-13 07:26:35 GMT

#4

The link to my newest piece of art. I do hope you like it! I’m finally back to writing fanfiction and I am very happy about it! I’ve missed it. 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13880857/1/Not-every-royal-wears-a-crown

21 notes • Posted 2021-05-13 16:28:25 GMT

#3

The link to my newest fanfiction “You Don’t Have To Do This”! I hope you enjoy reading at least just as much as I did writing this one. 

Stay safe darlings!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13970059/1/You-Don-t-Have-To-Do-This

27 notes • Posted 2021-10-10 13:11:47 GMT

#2

" I love her, Mrs. Patmore. I'm happy and tickled and bursting with pride that she would agree to be my wife. And I want us to live as closely as two people can for the time that remains to us on earth. "

- Charles Ernest Carson, from Downton Abbey

35 notes • Posted 2021-12-10 22:22:26 GMT

#1

If I am not all wrong... We are celebrating a lovely occasion on this beautiful spring day! On May 16th 1925, we witnessed the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Carson, from Downton Abbey! And doesn't that make me happy?!

The slowburn romance between Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes, was my absolute favourite storyline of the show and when we finally got to see them getting married, I was beyond happy! And today is about me celebrating that union! Congratulation Mr. and Mrs. Carson! ❤️💘 Let us toast to their health! 🥂

56 notes • Posted 2021-05-16 08:30:06 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[inkedtae]

only you ⇾ kth. [M] | teaser

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ tsundere!taehyung x reader (f.) with a hint of sope (cameos by the members of txt)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ two shot, s2l, soulmate au, slow burn, fluff, angst-ish, lowkey thriller if you squint, tons of smut, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ upon realizing that not all soulmates are born within the same lifetime, artist kim taehyung tethers his soul to his canvas, painting himself into his art to preserve his life until his soulmate finds him. after your grandmother’s passing, you receive a century old painting by a mysteriously disappeared artist. the strangest part, however, is that you swear those tiger-wild eyes are following you.

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ tsundere!taehyung (tae is kinda mean to reader and other people he cares about because he’s awkward and doesn’t know how to express his love), dom!taehyung, slightly possessive!taehyung, mullet/ponytail/longhair!taehyung, artist!taehyung, [redacted]!taehyung, [redacted] enthusiast!taehyung, suspenders!taehyung, glasses!taehyung, sub!reader, lil bratty!rader, publisher!reader, mentions and false accusations of plagiarism ([redacted] gets falsely accused of plagiarism), brief mention of abduction (not explicit), mentions of death (not explicit), mild depictions of greiving (not explict), mentions of alcohol, mentions and mild depiction of a panic attack, [redacted] sex ([redacted] up), [redacted] sex, semi-[redacted] sex, [redacted] kink, lil [redacted] mark kink, [redacted] talk, [redacted], [redacted]ion, [redacted]ion, mutual [redacted]ion, multiple [redacted] (more than one [redacted] scene), [redacted]ism (reader catches taehyung [redacted] off), slight [redacted]ism, [redacted] (m. and f. [redacted]ing), taehyung’s a [redacted] virgin, [redacted] pulling, [redacted]-[redacted]ing, manhandling, [redacted]-eating, [redacted] slapping, [redacted]ing, [redacted]ing, [redacted]ing (with rings), thigh-[redacted]ing, [redacted]ing, groping, swearing, major mutual pining, [redacted] foreplay, lil [redacted] play, lil [redacted] play, [redacted] play? (reader plays [redacted] with Tae under the table), a cute lil [redacted]-making sprinkled in there too

Ღ banner/boarder:  @daechwlta​​ 

Ღ beta reader:  @kitsutaes 

ღ le playlist

POSTED: 05 JUNE 2020 | 8:30PM EST

The inked are born with tattoos, carrying initials of their other half while the inkless do not. There isn't a clear pattern, or overstretched explanation for it. Your grandparents were soulmates but your parents aren’t. You once believed that you’d never experience such an encounter with your supposedly pre-destined other half. You never thought too much about the possible interactions you’d have when you meet your soulmate because you wholeheartedly believed you didn’t have one. 

But here you are; inked. Never did you expect three little letters to affect your life so much. Upon returning from your grandmother’s funeral with an old painting you’ve never seen before in your life, you noticed the tattoo. You suspect it must have appeared after the funeral, given the fact that you were sure you didn’t find a trace of it before. The next series of events shattered whatever hope you had in trust. It is common practice for inkless people to find each other, many of them being turned off by the three letters. It never comes from a place of resentment, just precaution. No one wants to be in a competition they know they can’t win. An inkless person falling for an inked one must understand that they are fighting a losing battle. There is an innate connection between soulmates that is extremely hard to break. 

You once shared these beliefs. However, upon finding the tattoo, your entire understanding of soulmates switched. Chad, your now ex-boyfriend, was all that mattered to you. You didn’t want to tell him, but you knew you had to. The conversation seemed to go well until he outright accused you of hiding the tattoo from him. He couldn’t fathom how something like that can just appear out of nowhere, especially since it’s widely unheard of. You still can’t believe how your boyfriend of three years can reject you all so quickly. Within a week, you were gone, settling in a smaller, dingier apartment than the one you once shared. Between losing your job and your boyfriend, the small apartment’s all you could afford.

Sighing at your reflection, you’re filled with sadness once more. You conclude that his possession of what once was, of the apartment you once shared, is rather a blessing. You can only imagine how insane you’d go if you were forced to stay in the same place you had shared so many memories. A stale bitterness coats your tongue as you shuffle out of your bathroom and back to your room. The cold air hits you hard, but the realization that you can only feel numb to the entire situation hits you harder. You want to cry, want to curse Chad and maybe even the owner of these initials, but you can’t find it in you to summon the emotions necessary.

Flicking on the lights to your room, you push any other thoughts of Chad away. That chapter of your life together is over, which he repeatedly made clear to you until your last day at his apartment. As you enter your room, your attention shifts from Chad to the painting. The canvas rests on the floor, propped up against your dresser. It’s been three months since the funeral and you still haven’t found the time to hang it up. It simply stays in your room, presenting the image of a young man staring back at you.

Sitting on your bed, you gaze at the canvas once again. Droplets fall from the tips of your damp hair and onto your mattress. Only a single towel covers you, wrapped tightly around your body. Slightly shivering from the cold air in your room, you stare back at the man in the painting. Fifty-two times you’ve stopped and stared at the, somehow persevered, canvas and fifty-two times you’ve wondered how the hell the artist managed to perfectly capture not only the essence of the man staring back at you, but the winter life of the little garden he sits in. 

In the early birth of dusk, remnants of the setting sun shine behind the frost coated rose hedges of the garden. A few twinkling stars in the darkening night sky hover over the scene, but the man seems to only be enthralled by the presence of the viewer. Leaning on the edge of a broken fountain, he offers a little smirk. A simple pair of trousers are all that clothe him, his chest on full display for you to gawk at. You know he is only a painting, but holy fuck. Though his body isn’t chiseled, washboard abs nowhere in sight, you still find the little baby belly he has to be attractive all the same. Why the artist chose to have the man shirtless in the middle of winter, is beyond you. Either way, he looks so powerful and delicate. His stance tells a story of vigorous dominance while cherry blossom petals, fallen from the trees that frame the canvas, lay at his feet. The soft inclusion of the flowers only soothe his authoritative demeanor, calming and exciting you all at once. 

And though the entire image is absolutely astonishing, capturing your attention in seconds, all you can really focus on are his eyes. Those cat-like- no, they’re wilder. Those tiger-wild eyes, a rich brown, hold such intensity. It’s hard for you to even think about turning away, especially when you know you can’t possibly maintain your gaze on them for too long. Sometimes, that look in his eyes is so strong you almost feel as though they follow you around your room. 

Whose talent was able to capture such beauty? You can finally understand why your late grandmother held onto this painting now. Every glance uncovers another layer of beauty and wonder. Your yearning for the artist’s identity only strengths as you analyze the painting once more. Sliding off the edge of your bed, you sit on your knees before the canvas. You lean forward and scan the corners for some sort of signature. However, the canvas only holds the painting. What kind of artist doesn’t sign their work? You turn the canvas around, determined to find a name, a year, something worth noting. There, in the top right corner, you spot a scribble of a signature. 

Vante, Spring 1920. 

The painting is almost a century old. From all the times you’ve gazed at it, you would’ve never guessed it has been painted about a hundred years ago. How did it fall into your grandmother’s hands?

Beneath the signature, lies the following inscription:

inkless before you; only you.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[emeraldsage98]

I posted 508 times in 2021

22 posts created (4%)

486 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 22.1 posts.

I added 694 tags in 2021

#it's queue to you sir! - 275 posts

#it’s queue to you sir! - 107 posts

#fanart - 55 posts

#takami keigo - 42 posts

#bnha - 41 posts

#mha - 39 posts

#hawks - 36 posts

#bnha hawks - 34 posts

#boku no hero academia - 33 posts

#bnha fanart - 32 posts

Longest Tag: 84 characters

#*pointedly ignores chapter 2 of hand of justice sitting pretty in the next tab over*

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Keigo supposed that this entire thing could’ve been prevented had he obeyed the unspoken, unwritten rules that had governed his entire life. But that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun, now would it?

Otherwise known as the first fic in the Little Red Riding Hood AU that no one asked for, but y'all are definitely getting. Buckle up.

Otherwise known as the DabiHawks Little Red Riding Hood AU that has consumed me for the last fucking month;

Timeline reference: Keigo is 20 at the first encounter with the wolf he doesn’t quite remember, and the fic happens over the course of about a year or so. Bless @usagi323 for her help with dialogue at the end cause god knows how hopeless I can be with that shit.

Other than that, enjoy my first foray into the hellpit known as DabiHawks. Tell me what you think, and keep an eye out for more if you like it!

Inspired by this absolutely phenomenal DabiHawks fanart. Go take a gander, will promise you won't regret it.

15 notes • Posted 2021-07-23 15:00:49 GMT

#4

Summary: Long distance relationships could be hard. It could be painful, and lonely. But there was so much good in them, too. So many good memories shared, so many precious days. Knowing you’ll see each other soon. Counting down the days. Treasuring every minute you have together.

Alfred reminds himself of that, often. His life is good. Not easy, but good. And in the particularly lonely moments, he counts every mile that keeps them apart. But he doesn’t ever think he’ll regret it.

Hi graceadee! I'm your backup Secret Santa for @spring-has-come‘s Rusame Secret Santa 2020 Event! I chose to respond to your Astronaut AU prompt, and I kind of went a little overboard lol. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Astronaut AU, one of them is in space and one is on Earth - super long distance AU.

17 notes • Posted 2021-02-06 13:01:04 GMT

#3

Someone throw a dabihawks prompt at me please, I’m drowning in the urge to write and all my current projects are screaming at me.

18 notes • Posted 2021-08-24 19:16:17 GMT

#2

He’s flying amongst the stars. He, sixteen year old Danny Fenton, who the world seemed to come after with spite, could soar amongst the stars. Soar so high not even gravity could pull him down. Soar so high if he reached out just so he could almost imagine that he could touch -

Prompt: 04 - Stars

20 notes • Posted 2021-05-04 20:22:23 GMT

#1

On this day, the world would change. The Guys in White would never dissect another ghost. There would be no threat of horror and trauma under a scalpel and glowing green shackles. From this day onwards, Danny Fenton would never fear what discovery meant for him. For his safety. For his life in and out of the Zone.

On this day, ten years after the accident that killed him, the Sentient Beings Rights Act was passed and Danny Phantom could finally breathe freely.

Prompt 17: Freedom

26 notes • Posted 2021-05-17 15:21:01 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[lancermylove]

Team C Name Analysis

Final part of the BSTS name analysis series. Contains spoilers.

The other team analysis can be found here: Team K, Team W, Team P, Team B

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MOKUREN

Mokuren means magnolia. The flower symbolizes Yin (the feminine side), endurance, long life, eternity, self-respect, and self-esteem. 

Mokuren suits the flower very well. They are said to be androgynous, so their gender goes well with the representation of Yin. In the Mokuren VS Kokuyou chapter, we saw that Mokuren wasn’t willing to fit their style to Kokuyou’s style and wanted the freedom to express their style. They hold high respect for their dance form and have confidence in their dance skills. 

Purple magnolias are said to represent gifted people. Remember when the characters were first introduced? Donut said that Mokuren is a “natural born dancer”, so they’re naturally gifted. 

Wonder if magnolias are also associated with eternally hungry people. 😂 

(Image credit: http://extension.msstate.edu/news/southern-gardening/2017/saucer-magnolia-blooms-herald-arrival-spring)

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QU

So, the meaning behind Qu’s name has not been revealed yet, but I looked through a list of plants and minerals to see which name fits Qu. I found a flowering plant by the name of Quesnelia, and wow, the flowers are VERY beautiful. The meaning behind the flower also seems to fit Qu’s character well. 

Quesnelias can survive in harsh conditions and are a symbol of endurance and hardiness. At the age of 8, Qu got separated from his family and was taken in by Maica’s family. He has worked as a drag queen but left the shop shortly after Mokuren left. He has hinted that he faced a hard life, but regardless of all he has been through, Qu is strong, beautiful, and positive. 

The Quesnelia flowers bloom in the winter and can even grow in dunes. Generally, flowers bloom in the spring, but this flower seems to like challenges. Qu, similarly, is the flower that blooms through a crack in the concrete. 

There are many different types of Quesnelia flowers, but the one below caught my eyes. As soon as I saw the flower and immediately thought of Qu (seriously, not joking). I.AM.IN.LOVE.WITH.THIS.FLOWER!

(Image credit: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Quesnelia_ seideliana_(TS)_2-05077.jpg,https://www.atozflowers.com/flower/quesnelia/ )

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KASUMI

Kasumi is a flower known as baby’s breath. The flower represents pureness, innocence, freedom of outside influence/corruption, self-discipline, and fidelity.

Though we have our doubts that Kasumi is hiding something, we know that he’s a sweet guy who seems very pure and has an innocence about him. Kasumi is also pure at heart. He is very self-disciplined because that man works more than one job; imagine having to practice for performances, perform, work as floor staff, AND work a 9 to 5 type of job. 

Also, as an understudy in Team W, he didn’t even complain once. He was loyal and supportive of the members of Team W and went out to get cigs for Kokuyou all the time. Even if he is hiding something, most of us can agree that this man has a golden heart.

(Image credit: https://www.flowermeaning.com/baby-breath-flower/)

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ZAKURO

Zakuro means the gem Garnet (no, not the one in Steven Universe lol). 

The word garnet is derived from the Latin word granatus, meaning seed or grain (a reference to seeds of a pomegranate). Garnet is also worn for protection since the ancient times. Zakuro has lost his memories, or has he? If the former is true, then maybe Zakuro knows something..something that could protect OR destroy someone. He may be the key to protecting MC or held the key (in his memories) to protect MC. If the latter is true, then maybe Zakuro is a seed planted in Starless to keep an eye on one or more of the members. He may also be the seed that could have started everything in the past. DONUT give us more info!

Garnet is seen as a carbuncle (blood-red cabochon-cut gem), a word also derived from the Latin word cabunculus, which means small, hot coal. Zakuro is a cabunculus,and if anyone tries to mess with him, they’re going to get burned. 

Lastly, garnet is a symbol of love and friendship, but the connections are more sinister (due to the myth associated with the gem/pomegranate). Well, Zaku’s friend needs to be careful. 

(Image credit: https://www.gia.edu/garnet)

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HARI

Hari means glass. 

Glass is translucent and lustrous, and that fits Hari well. He has not hidden anything about himself; he told everyone in Starless that he’s the son of a well-known politician. Lustrous can be taken as he’s from a wealthy family and has a “glossy finish” to him. Glass is also very sharp (be it the edges or when it breaks), and we have definitely seen that Hari is smart. 

When I was looking at pictures of glass to put below, I found green glass, also known as Green Obsidian. Black Obsidian = Kokuyou. Obsidian is a naturally forming volcanic glass. Oddly enough, obsidian is usually dark-colored, and the green-colored rock contains impurities. 

So, Kokuyou and Hari have the same name meaning, with the difference being Kokuyou is the pure obsidian while Hari is the impure version. Donut, what are you trying to get at? 🤔

(Image credit: http://www.geologypage.com/2019/05/green-obsidian.html)

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Here are the sites I researched:

https://gardenerdy.com/magnolia-flower-meaning/

https://www.flowermeaning.com/baby-breath-flower/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass

https://www.gemsociety.org/article/garnet-symbolism-legends/

http://www.ausbroms.com.au/News

[tonystarkbingo]

June TSB Flash, Week 4 Roundup!

We’ll have one more roundup to gather up the last of the fills, and then we’ll post the Grand Masterpost, so make sure you get those done by the 5th!

Make sure to claim your badges by the 5th as well.

Also, don’t forget that MARK V signups are open!  You can sign up here, and the round will begin on August 1st!

Title: Bringing Work Home Collaborator Name: Gavilan Card Number: 06 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Evening Ship: Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa Word Count: 2423 Rating: Explicit Major Tags: PWP, domestic fluff, established relationship Summary: Bringing work home is better than staying in the office all evening, but it does have some... distractions.

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Title: It's always been you - moodboard Collaborator Name: rebelmeg Card Number: 05 Link: Tumblr Square Filled : Dating Ship: Pepperony Word Count: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags: moodboard, fluff, romance Summary: Pepperony moodboard just full of sweet Pepperony couple moments

Title: Loving You Never Felt Like Falling, chapter 3 Collaborator Name: deehellcat Card Number: 08 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Rides Ship: pre-rhodeytony Word Count: 2140 Rating: Teen Major Tags: pre-ironhusbands, a little pining, kidnapping, Bucky Barnes is a Good Bro, smol Steve Rogers Summary: Jim gets to meet some more of Tony’s friends, hears about a mysterious iron man, and takes a fateful trip to Afghanistan.

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Title: Nothing But Mirrors Collaborator Name: rebelmeg Card Number: 05 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Funhouse Mirrors Ship: minor Pepperony Word Count: 2461 Rating: Teen Major Tags: tiny!Tony, being scared, nightmares, happy ending, Tony lives Summary: Funhouse mirrors are only fun when you don't see monsters staring back at you.

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Title: Spring Break 1987 Collaborator Name: PoliZ Card Number: 08 Link: Tumblr Square Filled : 008:04- Besties Ship: Tony & Rhodey Word Count: n/a Rating: Gen Major Tags: Moodboard, MIT Era Tony & Rhodey, Summary: Memories from (a much more wholesome than in MCU canon) Spring Break 1987.

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Title: Loving You Never Felt Like Falling, chapter 4 Collaborator Name: deehellcat Card Number: 08 Link: AO3 Square Filled : dusk Ship: pre-rhodeytony Word Count: 1806 Rating: Teen Major Tags: even MORE pining, nicknames, Justin Hammer is a Punk Summary: In the aftermath of Jim’s ordeal, he and Tony grow closer, and he’s caught between the needs of his business and of his heart.

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Title: Loving You Never Felt Like Falling, chapter 5 Collaborator Name: deehellcat Card Number: 08 Link: AO3 Square Filled : identity porn Ship: rhodeytony Word Count: 2468 Rating: Teen Major Tags: Getting Together, Identity Reveal Summary: After being rescued, Jim confronts Iron Man with his suspicions about his identity, and the truth about his feelings.

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Title: Snapshots from the Fairgrounds Collaborator Name: newnewyorker93 Card Number: 03 Link: Tumblr Square Filled : Ferris wheel Ship: Stark family (Tony & Pepper & Morgan) Word Count: 0 Rating: Gen Major Tags: moodboard Summary: Tony, Pepper, and Morgan take a fun family trip to the local fair

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Title: A Rigged Game of Love - Chapter 1 Collaborator Name: MagicaDraconia16 Card Number: 03 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Ferris Wheel Ship: Loki/Tony Stark Word Count: 5031 Rating: Teen Major Tags: AU - College, AU - No Powers, bullying, homophobic language, confrontations Summary: Whilst visiting a funfair with the football team, Tony Stark comes to the rescue of Loki Odinson (even though he doesn't need it, thank you very much).

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Title: A Rigged Game of Love - Chapter 2 Collaborator Name: MagicaDraconia16 Card Number: 03 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Teammates Ship: Loki/Tony Stark Word Count: 5031 Rating: Teen Major Tags: AU - College, AU - No Powers, bullying, homophobic language, confrontations Summary: Whilst visiting a funfair with the football team, Tony Stark comes to the rescue of Loki Odinson (even though he doesn't need it, thank you very much).

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Title: A Rigged Game of Love - Chapter 3 Collaborator Name: MagicaDraconia16 Card Number: 03 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Bonfire Ship: Loki/Tony Stark Word Count: 5031 Rating: Teen Major Tags: AU - College, AU - No Powers, bullying, homophobic language, confrontations Summary: Whilst visiting a funfair with the football team, Tony Stark comes to the rescue of Loki Odinson (even though he doesn't need it, thank you very much).

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Title: A Rigged Game of Love - Chapter 4 Collaborator Name: MagicaDraconia16 Card Number: 03 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Pre Dawn Ship: Loki/Tony Stark Word Count: 5031 Rating: Teen Major Tags: AU - College, AU - No Powers, bullying, homophobic language, confrontations Summary: Whilst visiting a funfair with the football team, Tony Stark comes to the rescue of Loki Odinson (even though he doesn't need it, thank you very much).

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Title: A Rigged Game of Love - Chapter 5 Collaborator Name: MagicaDraconia16 Card Number: 03 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Friends to Lovers Ship: Loki/Tony Stark Word Count: 5031 Rating: Teen Major Tags: AU - College, AU - No Powers, bullying, homophobic language, confrontations Summary: Whilst visiting a funfair with the football team, Tony Stark comes to the rescue of Loki Odinson (even though he doesn't need it, thank you very much).

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Title: Pool party Collaborator Name: eachpeachpearplum Card Number: 02 Link: Tumblr Square Filled : Pool party Ship: N/A Word Count: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags: Merman Tony, art Summary: Merman Tony in his own private pool

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Title: Dining In Collaborator Name: LBibliophile Card Number: 08 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Picnic Ship: Tony Stark / Bucky Barnes / Steve Rogers Word Count: 251 Rating: Gen Major Tags: Workaholic Tony Stark, Bucky and Steve are Good Boyfriends, Care and Feeding of Your Tony Stark, Picnics Summary: Tony gets caught up with work, so his boyfriends bring the party to him.

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Title: Heat Wave Collaborator Name: SomeSortofItalian Roast Card Number: 02 Link: AO3 Square Filled : Pool Party Ship: Steve/Bucky Word Count: 1136 Rating: Gen Major Tags: AU - no powers, AU - soulmates Summary: It’s too hot in New York. Time for a pool party at Stark Tower.

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Title: Snow Suit Natasha Collaborator Name: newnewyorker93 Card Number: 03 Link: Tumblr Square Filled : teammates Ship: none Word Count: 0 Rating: Gen Major Tags: crafts Summary: Felt figure of Natasha in her white snow suit from Black Widow

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Title: Another Will Come Tomorrow Collaborator Name: every-marveler-ever Card Number: 03 Link: Tumblr Square Filled : 3: Pre Dawn Ship: Tony Stark x Bucky Barnes Word Count: 406 Rating: Teen Major Tags: Marriage, Sunset, Sunrise, Fluff Summary: Bucky likes the quietness of pre-dawn.

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[theloveandthedead]

A Wonderful Li(f)e

Pairing: Oliver Emese Song/Walter C. Dornez (one sided love)

Summary: 50 theme challenge revolving around Hellsing’s Dolos and Aphrodite

[Note: Like Olivia, Oliver is likened to Aphrodite. That is not changing lol. Olivia/Oliver are the same character except different names and appearances. However, if you want to imagine Olivia here, you can. Characterization remains the same.]

[Note 2: These themes will contain references to chapters in “L’amour et La Mort” so this one shot will not make sense if you aren’t familiar with the fic.]

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#01 – Ring

Walter prided himself on his well-honed ability to mask his emotions, an improvement from his youthful spitfire self. Yet, every time the ruby on Oliver’s finger caught the light, Walter felt a familiar scowl chisel across his face.

The triumphant smirk Alucard constantly shot his way didn’t help matters either.

#02 – Hero

At the tender age of eight, Oliver sold his soul to Hellsing to become a hero against creatures of the night.

How ironic that in the span of ten years, Oliver found a family in the darkness itself—even going as far as to marry its king.

#03 – Memory

“Even when we are old and no one remembers us, I will always be at your side, Walter.” Oliver had vowed on top London Bridge, ruffling the younger boy’s hair with a smile. “We are brothers for life. That’s all the matters, right?”

And perhaps that was enough for Oliver, but not for Walter.

Never for Walter.

#04 – Box

Walter leaned against the doorway of the attic, watching Oliver pull Martha’s wedding gown from the chest and bury his face against the lace. If he announced his presence, Oliver would’ve lashed out, so Walter remained stagnant as Oliver’s muffled sobs filled the room.

#05 – Run

In the beginning, Walter was miles ahead of Oliver, laughing as the bleeding hearted older boy struggled to keep up with him as soldier.

Then, with the passing years, Oliver caught up and was able to keep pace with him before suddenly bypassing him entirely.

Now it was Walter chasing after him, struggling to maintain his place as a solider and his place in Oliver’s heart.

#06 – Hurricane

The juxtaposition of Oliver’s angelic face and Adonis physique was a constant source of whiplash for Walter.

Destiny may be cruel to Oliver but puberty sure as hell was not.

#07 – Wings

When enemies and allies heard the name “Angel of Death”, they envisioned Walter’s cunning smirk as he sliced through his foes.

When Oliver heard the name “Angel of Death”, he envisioned six year old Walter with his chubby cheeks and missing front teeth.

#08 – Cold

As the bitter Oxford chill gnawed at his skin, Walter pulled his blue, handmade muffler closer, the faint scent of home lingering on each thread.

“Only you of all people could make such a shoddy gift, Oliver.” He scoffed with a smile.

#09 – Red

The blood glimmered in the moonlight, sticking to their bodies like a second skin.

Oliver stood a few feet away from him, his profile illuminated in the moonlight. The blood stained his face and neck, slowly dripping down his torso and seeping through his white button-up. His wavy, black hair clung to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with extrusion, and his plump lips were damp with saliva.

Walter had never seen a more beautiful sight, and as Alucard emerged and pulled his husband in for a heated kiss, he begrudgingly acknowledged that he and the mutt were of one mind.

#10 – Drink

Arthur’s habits kept them from over indulging, yet Oliver and Walter had fallen into a tradition of drinking together once a week.

They would sit in one of the reading rooms, share a bottle of wine, and chat about everything and anything until the early hours of the morning.

For Oliver, it was a get together with his brother and lifelong friend.

For Walter, it was an opportunity to have Oliver to himself.

#11 – Midnight

“You’ve downed more than half of the bottle already, and it’s barely midnight.” Oliver teased, holding up the translucent bottle to the candle light. “Stressful week?”

“You try to keep this manor running while training incompetent cadets day in and day out!” Walter huffed, downing the rest of his glass. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You must really be drunk if your tongue is this loose.” Oliver leaned over and brushed Walter’s bangs out of his eyes. “Perhaps we should call it a night. After all, a hungover ‘Angel of Death’ is a fussy ‘Angel of Death’.”

“Piss off.” Walter hissed, latching onto Oliver’s hand and pressing his palm to his neck. “For fuck’s sake, why are your hands so cold?”

#12 – Temptation

“My hands are probably cold because your body is a furnace from all that wine.” Oliver tugged against his grip. “C’mon, let me go and let’s get you to bed.”

“Shut u—p.” Walter huffed, unbuttoning his shirt and placing Oliver’s palm over his clavicle. “Let me cool down first.”

Oliver gave an exasperated shake of his head before slouching back in his seat and allowing his head to fall back against the cushion.

“Who knew Walter C. Dornez was a light weight?” He chuckled while Walter continued using his hand as a cool pack. “You’re lucky I’m too decent to tease you about this when you’re sober.”

Walter didn’t bother responding, maintaining his inebriated illusion as he gave into foolish temptation.

In this candle-lit room with the scent of wine permeating the air, Walter casted aside his cocky façade and willingly fell prey to a songbird’s gentle touch.

Because, within the walls of this reading room, Oliver was his.

#13 – View

As the grandfather clock struck three, Oliver heaved another sigh before gazing upon the slumbering body across from him.

Even in deep sleep, Walter had a death grip on his hand and Oliver wondered if he’d made a mistake in playing along with his antics.

“You will always be my dearest friend and brother,” Oliver finally wiggled his hand away and rested it on top of Walter’s head. “And you deserve better than me.”

Walter’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, staring at their shadows against the beige wallpaper, before allowing them to fall shut again.

#14 – Music

Oliver was a talented singer; Walter would be a fool to deny that. Years of practice had tuned his once pitchy, strangled shrieks into a smooth, molasses-like melody. And Oliver wasn’t afraid to show it, constantly belting out arias day in and out to the jaw dropping awe of their soldiers.

But not Walter.

He would give credit where it was due, but Oliver’s tastes in music were rather dull to his ears.

That was until Oliver suddenly belted out a Chuck Berry number, his operatic tone taking on a raspy, soulful flair that had Walter’s jaw dropping like the rest of them.

#15 – Silk

Calling someone ‘angelic’ was not in Walter’s vocabulary, leaving such words to devotees or overly saccharine poets.

Yet, as a weeping Oliver adorned in Martha’s silk veil stood at the altar of St. Paul’s cathedral, ‘angelic’ was the only word he describe him.

#16 – Cover

“Alright, I’m going in. You got my back, Walter?”

“Do I have to?”

“I mean, you can just let me die I guess.”

“Very tempting, isn’t it?”

“…….I hope your socks rolls down in your shoes.”

#17 – Food

Walter pretended not to notice Oliver sneaking pieces of brownies from the dish behind him.

No, he just removed the fresh batch from the oven, sprinkled a generous amount of salt on the top, placed it on the counter, and waited.

#18 – Dream

In Walter’s dreams, he was a true Angel of Death—imperious, unbeatable, and feared by all.

In Oliver’s dreams, he had his family back and was able to grow up normally.

#19 – Candle

Oliver raced back up the aisle, leaving Walter on the ground with lips tingling and a flame igniting in his core.

#20 – Talent

“Chugging six bottles of Fanta at once is not a talent, Oliver, it’s an atrocity.”

#21 – Silence

During those four years at Oxford, Walter loathed to admit he missed Oliver’s show tunes and occasional rock numbers.

#22 – Journey

Walter knew the moment he took The Major’s deal, his path and Oliver’s had split in different directions. Yet, sometimes after a bottle of wine, he hoped their paths would intersect again.

#23 – Fire

Millennium’s Warsaw base burned around them like a sea of fire, and Oliver stood above it all with his mangled arm outstretched as he unwillingly commanded the No Life King to slaughter all their enemies.

For the first of many times, Walter felt a twinge of awe and fear.

#24 – Strength

It took everything for Walter’s knees not to buckle when Oliver picked him up by the waist and moved him aside.

“Sorry,” Oliver bit into his apple, the juices dripping down his chin. “You were standing in front of the fruit bowl.”

#25 – Mask

Although Walter was brash and had a sharp tongue, Oliver knew his friend had a heart deep down.

#26 – Ice

Walter knew the moment his treason was brought to light, Oliver’s eyes—warm and green like the spring—would become frosted and bitter as a blizzard.

#27 – Fall

In their youth, Oliver and Walter used to hide in the leave piles and scare Arthur during his morning walks.

#28 – Forgotten

The root of his treason, and the eventual cause of Oliver’s heartbreak—all of this stemmed from Walter’s one and only fear.

#29 – Dance

As Oliver twirled him around the palace ballroom, Walter understood why children were obsessed with fairytales.

#30 – Body

Walter considered it horribly unfair that, upon his return from Oxford, Oliver was a head taller than him and twice his muscle mass.

#31 – Sacred

Alucard may have Oliver, but Walter was his first kiss and he would carry that victory to his grave.

#32 – Farewells

Upon their return from Warsaw, Walter held Oliver as they stood in the foyer.

To Oliver, it was a gesture of brotherhood and comfort.

To Walter, it was a farewell to the future they could’ve had together.

#33 – World

In their younger years, the two of them marked an old map in the library with where they wanted to travel together, with crayon lines zig-zagging everywhere from Montreal to Antarctica.

#34 – Formal

“For the love of all that is holy, Oliver, button your shirt up! We are attending Her Majesty’s banquet, not a cocktail party in Vegas!”

#35 – Fever

Walter had a fever once when he was 10, and Oliver had made some homemade chicken noodle soup for him.

Never again.

His taste buds can only handle so much salt.

#36 – Laugh

The way he hunched over with a crinkled nose and a toothy grin, Walter could see why Oliver’s nickname was Rabbit.

#37 – Lies

“You can trust me, Oliver.”

#38 – Forever

Despite his sins, Walter hoped to meet Oliver again in the next life.

#39 – Overwhelmed

When Oliver leaned over his shoulder, his chest pressed to his back, and whispered in his ear, Walter swore his heart beat could be heard from space.

#40 – Whisper

“Move your ass, Walter, you’re blocking the bathroom door.”

#41 – Wait

4 years.

1,460 days.

2,102,400 minutes.

And, in the end, Oliver still chose Alucard.

#42 – Talk

It took Walter by surprise when Oliver said he didn’t believe people are inherently good.

“It is easy to be cruel and selfish, but to be kind and loving—that takes effort.” Oliver elaborated, swirling his wine glass with a far-off expression. “And it’s hard to make that effort sometimes, especially when the world is hellbent on breaking you down.”

#43 – Search

Walter never thought he would miss the days when Oliver would reach for his hand during mission briefings.

#44 – Hope

The words Oliver stitched into his muffler.

#45 – Eclipse

Oliver stands above him, rays of moonlight filtering through his raven locks, and offers him a hand and a smile.

“Another successful mission by the dynamic duo, hmm?”

#46 – Gravity

It seemed the more Walter tried to pull away from Oliver, the harder he fell for him.

#47 – Highway

The officer was tempted to turn on his sirens as a black Cadillac Sixty-Two Convertible and a Silver Triumph motorcycle zipped by him, but upon recalling the drivers’ identities, he just closed his eyes and prayed none of his colleagues would be foolish enough to pursue them.

#48 – Unknown

The future was a mystery but, as long as he had his ‘family’, Oliver wasn’t afraid.

Too bad Walter didn’t share the same sentiment.

#49 – Lock

The memories Oliver had given him would be guarded in his heart forevermore, even as his wires sliced through Oliver’s skin.

#50 – Breathe

As his final breath passed through his lips, Walter clutched the rabbit keychain in his hand and bid farewell to his first and only love.