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jasmines-library · 7 months

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Poisoned heart

WHUMPTOBER DAY 7: Prompt: poisoned.

Fandom: The Hobbit

Summary: after being struck but a poisoned arrow from the Morgul bow, you suffer a fatal injury. Will you get help in time?

Warnings: Blood, Poisoned arrow, poison, sickness, pain.

Word count: 2.9K

Note: this follows the story line of Kili being shot in DoS. This can be read as platonic or romantic and can be seen as Kili x reader or Tauriel x reader, I’ve left it purposely ambiguous for you to decide.

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

“No! No!”

There was an uproar when the gates slammed shut, sending the barrels hurtling into the metal, bobbing up and down in the cold, white water. You could hear the rattling of Thorin’s hands gripping the gate and shaking it so hard that his knuckles turned white. The guard drew his sword, readying it before him only to collapse seconds later: plunging over the lip of the bridge and into the water propelled forwards by an arrow which the roaring orc had lodged deep within his back. He landed with a large splash, displacing the water around him.

“Look out!”

You watched in horror as more orcs began propelling themselves over the wall on the other side of the bridge, helpless as your little barrel bobbed along in the river. They barged through, slicing at the armoured guards. Roaring as they attacked, sending a myriad of bodies into the barrels below. Some orcs, some not.

One orc had managed to grasp onto the barrels, after launching itself into the water, leaping on top of Fili, who’s eyes widened in fear. Bilbo heaved himself up, gripping tight onto the barrel before plunging the glowing blue blade into the orc’s chest. It collapsed back into the water.

You watched, shell shocked as your friends fought the creatures ahead of you. Your barrel had just thudded into Kili’s before you. You had been one of the last ones to jump in, trailing at the back of the group. From here, unsheltered by the bridge like the rest of the huddle of dwarves, you could see the rest of the fight unfurl. You could see the orcs catapulting themselves over the walls. You could see that there would be no escape unless you got that door back open.

Honing in on the wooden lever, you clambered out of the barrel. Jumping across the others until your feet landed on the stone steps.

“Y/N?!” Kili called after you, but your response was cut short by another orc which swung at you. You delivered a firm kick to set it off balance before stabbing and twisting with your shortsword.

You hadn’t realised how many there were until you had begun to push your way up the steps. There were orcs flooding in from every direction; billowing down the hills and taking out the elves, flailing in the water, surrounding you.

You were already battling one orc, using your sword to block its attack, when another leaped at you from behind, its teeth bared and weapon lethal. Fili, who had been alerted to your stunt by his brother, flung his weapon at the orc just as you swung, decapitating the one in front of you. They both collapsed to the floor with an ugly ‘thud’.

The lever was just in front of you now. Just a few feet more and then you would be free. You rushed forwards, ducking as another orc soared onto the wall above you, but fueled by adrenaline, you took him down with one well placed jab.

The lever was steps away now, within an arm's reach. You could see the delicate lines etched within the wood. What you didn’t see however, was the scar faced orc chieftain, who had notched and released an arrow from his shiny bow. It lodged itself in your thigh, just short of your knee.

Stopping abruptly, you gasped against the sudden pain, your knee buckling beneath you.

“Y/N?!” Fili cried hoarsely, as his eyes flew open in terror.

Grunting, you leaned forwards, gripping onto the wooden lever and trying to force it down, but your fingers were clammy and your vision swam with pain. You collapsed to the ground, writhing as you clutched the wound - the arrow still embedded in your leg. Time seemed to slow as you lay there, helpless once again to the orcs that had begun to file over the stone wall once again. You forced yourself up on your shaky arms, trying to scoot yourself away from the danger. Then, there was a loud ‘thwip’ as another arrow sailed through the air. You flinched, preparing yourself for a blow that was never to come. This arrow settled itself between the shoulder blade of your offending orc.

Turning your head, your gaze settled on Tauriel emerging from the woods, weapon poised, auburn hair billowing around her. She danced forwards, notching and drawing, taking out the orcs quickly and with what seemed much ease. Other elves emerged too, drawing the orcs away from you and the gate.

Using this to your advantage, you heaved yourself back up. Jumping you wrapped your arms and legs around the heavy lever. At first, nothing happened, then it shifted and you could hear the rattling of the chains as they peeled the gates open slowly, releasing the crowd of dwarf-filled wine barrels then sending them over the edge of the waterfall. Your grip slipped again and you landed flat on your back, crying out in discomfort as the arrow shifted. Black dots danced in your eyeline.

You rolled onto your side, watching as the barrels were swept away, funnelling through the gap.

“Y/N?” Kili called out to you, watching you anxiously from below. His stomach knotted when he spotted the arrow.

Heaving your legs over the side of the wall and fighting through the wave of nausea, you gave yourself one final push. Your body plunged off of the bridge, landing in your empty barrel. You didn’t manage to contain your scream as the end of the arrow caught on the rim of the barrel, ripping upwards before snapping in half. All eyes snapped towards you, including Tauriel whom you had never seen look more concerned. You slumped against the barrel, your vision doubling and wound throbbing.

Another weak cry slipped from your lips as you were tossed about in the barrel as it went hurtling over the edge. The cold water spilled into the barrel as it twisted and turned inside the rapids. You were amazed it had managed to keep afloat. Your hand kept a futile grip on the rim as you whimpered each time your body shifted, sending agony throughout your body. Ahead of you, despite the motion of the water, Thorin stood, craning his head to try and see you within the carnage. Orcs chased after you, scrambling along trees and along the river banks. Some toppled into the water, shot down by the elves.

It seemed like an eternity before the rapids smoothed out and the little barrels were left bobbing along with the current. Thorin was using a mossy stick which he had acquired along the way to propel himself forwards. Most of the other dwarves had resorted to using their hands to wade along.

At some point, Bilbo had attached himself to your barrel. You weren’t sure when, your head was too hazy and everything had passed by in a blur, but you suspected it was when he saw you struggling to lean forwards in your little wooden raft. You were unsure how he was seemingly uninjured, despite the perilous rapids, but he tugged you along none the less. Somewhere around you Kili and Fili lingered. You had heard the brunette call out to you a few times, paling at your slumped head.

“Anything behind us?” Thorin called out to those bringing up the rear.

“Not that I can see.” Someone called back.

Thorin Oakensheild nodded, paddling towards a large rock. “Make for the shore.”

“Aye.”

There was another raucous as the rest of the group manoeuvred their makeshift boats towards the rock. They hauled each other up and out of the rafts then helped them onto the safety of the shore. You forced yourself out of the barrel, sliding into the water. It flooded into your wound. You hissed in pain, before rising to your feet then making your way as steadily as you could onto the shore.

You didn’t make it far before the stabbing agony was back, tenfold and shooting down your leg. With a grunt, you dropped to your knees, clutching the wound. You inhaled sharply, swallowing thickly the bile that had risen in your throat. There were hands on you in seconds as the two brothers dropped to your side.

“Y/N?” Kili looked at you, panicked. Fili’s hands did what his brother's mind was thinking, but his body wouldn’t allow him to do; press down firmly on the wound.

You cried out again at the pressure and the digging in of the piece of arrow that was still in your thigh. It sent another wave of nausea through you. Your mind screamed at you that something wasn’t right.

“Im fine.” You brushed him off, trying to push his hands away but to no avail, they were stuck down firmly, quickly being coaxed in your blood. “It’s nothing.”

“Kid,” Fili reprimanded, “This isn’t nothing.”

“I’m fine.” You repeated again through gritted teeth.

Kili was frozen, watching the way your face twitched every time your leg lit up with pain.

“We need to get the rest of the arrow out.”

You nodded. Squeezing Kilis hand, which had found it’s way into yours tightly. His brother dug his fingers into your leg to fish out the shards of the arrow. You gritted out a muffled cry, barely able to contain the vocalisation of your pain. Once it was free, you sagged against the dark haired man. You felt sick. You felt your stomach churn in pain, you felt the bile rise again in the back of your throat as you heaved rapidly. Something wasn't right.

“On your feet.” Thorin barked, scanning the area. He hesitated at his nephew's reply.

“Y/N is wounded. Her leg needs binding.” Fili stated.

Kili tore away part of his damp shirt, handing it to his brother who made quick work of beginning to bandage your gaping wound.

“There’s an orc pack on our tail. We need to keep moving.”

“To where?” Balin furrowed his wispy brow.

“To the mountain.” Bilbo implored. “We’re so close.”

“A lake stands between us and that mountain. We have no way to cross it.”

Bilbo thought for a moment. “So we’ll go around it.”

That was when the figure appeared.

~~~

You had gotten worse, feverish. Your legs barely functioned as you leaned up heavily against Kili. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, helping to keep you upright as they moved swiftly through-out lake town after being smuggled in by Bard.

As time moved forwards, the company had begun to notice that this was no ordinary arrow. That this was not an infection. No, your body was too hot, your skin shades too pale and devoid of all of the life it usually held. Other than favouring your left side, you were hunched awkwardly as though you had forgotten to stand. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on your forehead as you head lulled against the man who was half carrying you through the streets with his brother. You were bleary eyes and too much pain. Something wasn’t right.

Despite being feverishly warm, your body wracked itself with violent shivers. You had dried your hardest to hold in your yells of discomfort, but then your legs gave way completely and you crumpled with a howl of agony and a whimper, causing the two dwarves to stumble in their tracks.

“Y/N?”

You were laid down on the ground as soon as they had found somewhere safe to do so. You didn’t respond, only whined as your whole body was consumed with raw pain. There was a pat on your cheek as your head lolled on the damp ground. Kili cursed under his breath, unwrapped the blood soaked scraps and peeled back the fabric of your trousers. His sharp intake of breath was nearly on par with your ragged wheezes.

The wound was still bleeding freely, although it had slowed slightly due to being bound. That wasn’t what had shocked the man though. What had were the dark, angry tendrils that seeped across your skin from the wound.

“Oh my…Y/N?” Kili cradled your head in his hands.

You could only bring yourself to choke up one pain wrapped word. “Hurts-“

“She’s been poisoned.” His brother muttered. He tore off a part of his shirt to rewrap the wound with.

“Please… make it stop.”

Tauriel had come rushing into the village, blonde counterpart in tow. After capturing and interrogating an orc, she had rushed to find you. She couldn’t let you slip away. The elven woman would never have forgotten the way she felt her heart constrict at the mention that you had been shot with a Morgul arrow. The poison was fatal as it worked its way mercilessly through your body, shutting it down. At first, she refused to believe it, but the elf had seen it with her own eyes. She had heard the way you cried out, seen the way you scrunched up your face in agony. She couldn’t let that be her last memory of you. She wanted to remember the way you smiled with your eyes, or the soft lilt of your voice. So, she had raced to find you.

It wasn’t hard to follow your tracks. She had found the barrels at the bottom of the waterfall then seen the blood that laced the rocks. Her chest constricted as she pushed on. Dwarves were not light-footed people, so it was easy to distinguish the way the company had travelled. She noted the closeness of three sets which later dwindled into two and a pair of drag marks. Her issue began when the footsteps entered the town.

Though it didn’t take her long to find you within the village. She would be able to pick your voice out from within any crowd. Though this time she grimaced. It was your cries of agony that she could hear. You were buried within the house furthest from the village. She didn’t take any courtesies when she flung the door open, only to be greeted with the pointy end of a silver sword. Of course you were not alone. Whilst the majority of the group had headed off into the mountains, you had been left sidelined. A few other dwarves along with Kili and Fili had remained by your side; the latter of whom was directing his weapon towards the elf.

When she took a step back, and raised her bag filled with an assortment of herbs. “Please… I’m here to help.”

With a sharp nod, he removed the blade and let the woman into the room. Here, your cries were louder, despite how much you tried to hold them in. The Morgul poison was taking control of your body, drowning you in a pain clad state. The dwarves moved simultaneously to place you on the table. You writhed in their grip, clutching your chest.

Tauriel rummaged around in her bag, pulling out handfuls of herbs and mixing them together.

“Hold her down.” She said, as she moved towards you with a bowlful of herbs.

The four dwarves had to use a surprising amount of force to try and keep your legs still as you twisted and contorted in pain, crying out fatefully.

Kili, who was near your head, had to clench his jaw when he made eye contact with the elf. She had stilled at the sight of your wound, angry and festering.

You were consumed by a blinding pain when the brunette began to chant, pressing and rubbing the herbs into your wound. Your back arched as your stiffened, screaming.

Then suddenly it all stopped, as your body began to go numb. Your blood curdling screams morphed to soft whimpers. Fili glanced anxiously at his brother. Time seemed to slow again as you watched the woman work, tender but with haste. Then, Kili, still clutching your chest, watched as your breathing slowed and your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

You weren’t even aware you had passed out until your eyes fluttered back open. Someone was fastening another bandage around your leg, and another was holding your hand softly. The remaining dwarves eyed cautiously from around the room. You squinted.

“Tauriel?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Lie still.” She told you.

“You cannot be her…” you muttered in a pained daze, gazing up blankly at the ceiling. “She is far away. She- she walks in starlight in another world. You’re just a dream…”

Your head rolled to the side, gazing upon Kili, who rubbed his thumb in circles on the back of your palm. He remembered the day the two of you first met her. She had saved his life. He had watched the way the two of you instantly clicked and the way that life had kept you apart.

Your fingers reached out, unexpectedly brushing hers. She took it and squeezed it gently. A smile made its way onto your face and you sighed contently happy two have your two favourite people by your side.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY SIX ⛤ DAY EIGHT ->

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thatbanditqueen · 7 months

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Little Blue Toes

An Elvis-o-Ween 2023 One-shot

A response to the writing prompt "Fall or Halloween".

Comments, concerns and feedback very much appreciated!

like @be-my-ally I sat down to write this today and it got lengthy and I decided to publish it raw....

This is my first time writing from Elvis' perspective, and my first time delving into the supernatural genre... But I just had no idea how to write this story from any other perspective. I was very inspired by the amazing work @peskybedtime and @shakerattlescroll did a few weeks ago writing from Elvis' pov.

Big thanks to my elvis coven @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @arrolyn1114 @from-memphis-with-love @lookingforrainbows for their help and support in the fic writing world....

This story is very loosely based on Scotty Moore's history of this show where Elvis reportedly stomped off after four songs and skipped the evening gig.

Summary: It is the summer of 1955, and Elvis and his band are back on a grueling tour schedule. Their first stop out of Memphis is Batesville, AR. The crowd is not kind, the venue is uncomfortable, and so Elvis decides to take off and make his own trouble. Along the way, he comes across a young women who is having an equally bad afternoon, and they find that spending the rest of the day in each other's company might be just the solace they were searching for.

WC: 5.8 K

Warnings: Minors DNI, smut, supernatural elements, coarse language. Typos....

Happy Elvis-o-Ween.......

4 p.m. Saturday August 6, 1955

River Stadium, Batesville, Arkansas

Elvis looked back over his shoulder at where Scotty stood, watching as the wooden platform they were on swayed up and down with the river’s tide. This had to be one of the trickiest venues they’d come upon this summer and the floating stage made it damn near impossible to move around the way Elvis liked to when he sang.

“A goddamn two-bit raft, is what this is, fellas.” Elvis spit to his right as he swore under his breath, and turned back to his mic.

They had only played two songs so far, starting straight away with "That’s Alright Mama” and “Blue Moon of Kentucky” to try and get the crowd’s energy up with. They still had the rest of this afternoon set and another one at 7, but Elvis was already drenched from his head down to his toes in sweat. Quite literally. His socks had soaked up the steady stream of water rolling down his legs, and it made his feet squish into his white leather dress shoes as he shifted from side-to-side to get his bearing. Thank god for this white lace shirt, he could stay cool and look sharp no matter how wet he got.

Not that it mattered how he looked, weren’t a cute girl in sight. Elvis looked out at the crowd of people who had meandered over from the main carnival across the street. Most of them were older, farmers and their wives, and a few families. There was only a handful of young folks in the stands, but he figured, from the shrieks and laughter he could hear, that most of the teenagers were up at the fair. He wished he was up there too, shooting racing ducks or knocking down milk bottles, stead of singing for these frowning old fuddy duddies.

It was a disappointing follow up to their show at the Overton Shell the night before, half of Memphis had shown up after Dewey put out the word on Red, White and Blue. Boy, it had been a great night. Looking down at Dixie’s familiar face in the front row had been reassuring and made him feel at home, filling him up with the confidence he needed to back on tour for two months.

And boy were they kicking out off with a bang. Elvis frowned as he considered what a sad, sorry show this was to begin the tour. He didn’t understand where their fans were. Sam had said their records were selling like hotcakes in Arkansas, and now that the Colonel was getting involved, promotion was supposed to be even better. But the way this audience stared back at him, he’d never know that he was making it as big as Sam or Bob or the Colonel told him he was.

Elvis ran his hand through his wet hair to get it out of his face, and looked over at where their manager, Bob stood, off to the side of the stage trying to smile encouraging. That fat fuck, booking us on this goddamn plank o’ wood in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. Bob’s smile got bigger as Elvis pursed his lips. This whole operation is a fuckin’ disgrace. He couldn’t hear a damn thing once they started playing, the music evaporated out to to the concrete amphitheater across from them and he had no clue if his singing matched anything Bill, Scotty and DJ played. Sighing, he thought maybe it was time for a joke to punch up the crowd. So he hugged his guitar and winked at Bill.

Bill pulled his mic closer. “Hey Elvis, you seen all the pretty little girls in this here town?”

“Why sure, Bill, this town’s got some a sweetest gals this side o the Miss’ippy.”

“Well, this red headed cutie stopped me on my way on stage, grabbed my arm and said, ‘Hiya, stud, how about a bite tonight after the show?"

Elvis mugged for the audience. “Well, whatcha say, Bill?”

“Well, Elvis, I said, I’m busy after the show, honey, but I ain’t doin’ nothin’ now.’ Sos’s I bit her.” Bill followed his punchline with a big grows and a few gnawing sounds.

It was a good joke, it made Elvis laugh out loud every time Bill did it, but the crowd didn’t seem to even register how clever they were. The barge creaked up and down, and Elvis took a deep sigh, announcing out the next song.

“Well, speaking a cute lil gals, this next song, friends, is a hit we just had called Baby, Let's Play House, I hope you like it.”

Elvis closed his eyes, blocking out the dull, blank faces in front of him as he tried to stay balanced, shaking his hips and bopping his left knee up and down to help him keep time with the melody. The stage ebbed up and down, so instead of pacing the front, or doing some of the moves he usually did, Elvis gripped the mic and leaned down to croon the final refrain.

Baby, baby, baby b-b-b-b-b baby, baby baby, baby baby baby, Come back, baby, I wanna play house wit yoooooou

A few little bitty kids started doing a square dance at the front, and he looked up to see one or two teens walking into the stands. But overall, the energy was dead and it was killing his confidence.

“Uh, al right folks, we got many more good songs comin’ up, I jus know ya gonna enjoy our hit ‘I Don't Care (If The Sun Don't Shine).’ Which we’ll play in a hot second. But uh, well, we , uh we, uh - here’s ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight.’”

Elvis really gave it his all and said fuck it to the floating stage, wigging and thrusting his hips up to bolster his diaphragm as he dug deep to find the strength to scream into the powder blue afternoon sky. He opened his eyes, still hardly any movement from the crowd.

“Wouldn’t know a rockin’ tune if it hit them in the face,” he muttered under his breath, and Bill, sensing that the younger man’s mood was turning sour, started another joke.

“Hey Elvis, you know that chick I was talkin’ bout ealier?”

“Uh, yeah Bill? The one ya tried ta et?”

“Yeah, well, you’d a think that a scared her off, but man, these Batesville babies, y’all are fearless, man. Fear-lessss. Why, she begged me to ditch y’all and go home with her right away.”

“Oh man, Bill, whatcha say to that?”

“I said heyyy, baby, the heck are you begging for? You're old enough to ask for it.”

Elvis guffawed loudly, looking out at the audience.

“You’re a good man, Billiam, teachin’ that lil gal some manners.”

The sun was in Elvis’ eyes and he couldn’t see anyone’s face, so he just kept talking, sure of his humor.

“Heck, y’all can send us all ya unmarried womenfolk and we’ll do our best to teach ‘em somethin’. We’re stayin’ at the Wagon Wheel motel, jus down the street. Send any married gals who need a lesson our way too, we ain’t picky.”

A man stood up in the front row.

“Y’all should be ashamed, talkin’ filth like that out here. Ain’t Christian! An it t’aint right!”

The sun started to go down, and now Elvis could see clearly as a few others joined the man to boo them. He looked over at Bob, then back at the band. The guys just shrugged, and Bob yelled out to try and calm the crowd.

“Aw, now, the boy was just joshin, friends, just joshing’ now, so if you’ll -”

“Play in the ‘Jailhouse Now’!”

“Play some Eddy Arnold or Red Foley!”

“Go back to the city and your sinful ways!”

A fire started to pulsate up Elvis’ belly, he clenched his fists in anger and couldn’t control the need to leave, right there and then, before he embarrassed himself in front of these people.

“Aw, nuts to this, Bobbert.” Elvis pulled his guitar strap over his head and pushed the instrument into Bob’s arms. Then he grabbed his white sports jacket and jumped to shore, muttered to himself all the way.

“Goddamn alfalfa farmers. Ain’t ever comin’ back here, boy, you can bet dollars to doughnuts on that I guarantee it.”

His anger kept his feet beating the ground for a while, but the midday sun soon turned to dusk and with it came the cooling effect of space and time. Elvis looked up to find that he had stalked a good ways down the river, and the path he walked along was now all packed red dirt lined with tall prairie grass and trees. Regret settled over him, and he kicked a pebble around wondering how upset Bob was gonna be with him. Or the fellas. He hoped that they knew what was up, that they understood what a shit show this gig was. It wasn’t his fault. He had done the only reasonable thing he could do if a crowd didn’t like him.

After all, it was Bob’s fault for booking them on a floating raft at a stupid hick carnival in the first place. He looked at his watch, it was past 6, and they had a 7 p.m. evening show. Elvis clicked his tongue, wondering if he should go back to the motel or wait and show up back at the stage just before 7. Give Bob a good scare. These thoughts, however, were soon interrupted by a loud call for help from the river. A woman’s yell.

Elvis ran to the river bank and spotted the screaming woman, grasping onto a rock as she tried to stop the current from carrying her downstream. He ran over and grabbed her hand, then grasped under her armpits to pull her out completely. Her white gown was so heavy, with layers and layers of wet crinoline underneath, that it caused him to fall back on the grass underneath her. Elvis lay there for a moment, panting as the girl clung to his chest. Her short brown bob was plastered to her head, and she sputtered water all over him as she caught her breath. On her hands were a pair of long, satin evening gloves that were lined with rhinestones sewn along the ridge. Looking her over, he realized her whole gown was shimmering in the dark with rhinestones.

“Like a twinkling angel sent down just for me.” He whispered, unaware he had said it out loud until the girls lips curled in to a smile, and she pushed herself up.

“Ha, you’re the angel, rescuing me.” She patted his chest. “And now I got you all wet.”

Elvis followed her with his body as she began to sit up, taking off his jacket and wrapping it round her.

“Oh, it ain’t no thang, miss. I like being covering in all your wet. I mean - I uh, well it - uh - it t’aint nothin’ is all. Here, you must be freezing.”

She giggled, as she drew his coat around her shoulders. “Not with you to warm me up.”

“Oh, I can do better than jus an old jacket.” He put his hands at her waist, looking into her eyes as he began to rub her sides up and down. “That ok, honey? Gosh, getting so dark out here, can’t tell if you have brown or green eyes?”

“Hazel.”

“Well, that splits the difference, don’ it.”

“Ha, well, they are hazel, but that’s also my name. Figured we should get acquainted, seein’ as you probably already know my measurements.”

Hazel chuckled as Elvis blushed. “Uh, well, they are some pretty fine measurements, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“No, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all, in fact, you could hold me all day, I’m just so grateful you came along. Thought I was gonna drown.”

“Yeah, hey, say what were you doing going for a swim at this time of day.”

“Ha, dressed like this? It was not by choice, trust me - um - ?”

“Uh, oh yeah, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley, pleased to meet you.”

Hazel looked down at where her lap straddling him and shivered. Their bodies were so close, that Elvis could feel the icy chill of her skin press down on him through his pants.

“Should I take you somewhere I can get you out of these clothes and in to someone warm, I mean into somethin’ warm?”

Hazel stood, handing him his jacket, as she stripped down to her sheer, white slip, tossing the soaking dress, crinoline and gloves onto the grassy hill near where they were sitting.

Elvis let out a whistle.

“Huh, I didn’t mean here, but man’o man, you won’t see me complainin’. Best show I been to all day.”

He stood up, wrapping her back in the now semi damp jacket, his fingers lingering at her waist, and then trailing over her cheek as he stared at her pale, white milky skin. It seemed almost iridescent Elvis in the low dusk of twilight.

“You feel a little more dry, but still too cold. Wanna go back to my motel and warm up?”

Hazel nodded, and let him lead the way. Once they got to the dirt path, he told her to jump on his back, explaining he didn’t want her lil feetsies to get all dirty, so Hazel perched over him as she navigated them back to town. It was well past 8 o’clock by the time he was sneaking her into his room, hoping that the others either weren’t back, or didn’t hear them. He looked at the clock and sighed.

“Oh well, guess I missed that show too.”

“What’s that?” Hazel asked, as she made her way past his out stretched arm and into the Wagon Wheel’s bright orange technicolor western-themed room.

“Aw, nothing. Say, you sure I can’t take you to get some clean clothes, or shoes? You from here or jus - ”

Elvis gulped and lost his train of mind as he watched Hazel sashay over to the sink and help herself to his toilette. He could see the outline of her white panties through her slip, and in the mirror, a set of pink nipples peeking through the front. It made him half aroused just watching her as she leant over the sink and used his make-up without asking.

“Trying to get rid of me? Don’t you like the way I look?” Hazel simpered with a pout as she turned to find Elvis mouth gaping open in awe at her. He put his hands on his hips to look cool, but missed them completely, unable to find them because he was so distracted by her beauty. He rested them at the top of his thighs instead, which he told himself also looked very cool. Very suave.

“I, uh, um, uh - I. Course I think you look good, suga.”

He heard his words crack and paused to take a deep breath and deepen his voice. Reminding himself to be the ladykiller he knew he was. This gal was half naked and in his motel room, for chrissakes. Clearly, she dug him.

“I mean, yes, lil girl, you look good. Real good. Just worried bout how it will look like when I drive you home in the morning.” He winked and shifted from side to side, raising his eye brow and working very hard not to smile. Only dweebs smiled. Not studs like him.

“You’re sweet, you know, Elvis?” Hazel grinned up at him, as she walked to his wardrobe, and, to his dismay, started putting on some of his clothes. “Can I borrow this shirt and pants? I love pink lace. Look, we match!”

“Well, yeah, baby, whatever you want, but I mean, uh, those are men’s clothes, and well, ugh, they might smell like my cologne or something. Sure I can’t take you back to your place so you can at least grab something more ladylike?”

“No, honestly. I bet there are a lot of folks running around looking for me, I’d rather avoid the fray, if you know what I mean.”

Elvis walked over, as she hooked his pink striped belt extra tight so that she looked like a hobo, or pirate, the way his pants bunched up around her waist. Her slip was like a chemise, and with his white sports coat, Hazel was like Marlene Dietrich, but instead of a tuxedo, she was wearing his white suit with a pink, lace top. His fingers rubbed her side.

“You ok? Running away from something? Someone?”

Hazel nodded, as his arms circled around her. “You could say that. I’m the Carnival Queen, I was supposed to arrive at the amphitheater down on the river -

“I am well familiar with that floating hunk o junk.”

“Ha, well, I broke up with my fiancee yesterday. See, I decided I don’t wanna get married, I don’t wanna live in this town any more, and he does. He wants a wife, two and a half kids, the whole shebang. Anyway, he asked me to meet him at Stamper’s Bridge before the Carnival ceremony, and, gosh, boy did we get into it, I mean, we really had it out.”

“Did he push you in the river? Cuz if he did, I’m gonna kill him.”

“No. At least I don’t think he meant to, it was all such a blur. But then, he didn’t jump in to help me neither. Now I bet my family and half the town are running round, wondering why I didn’t show up to the crowning ceremony.”

Elvis rubbed her shoulder, sshhhing her. He was conflicted between getting up and punching the wall, and staying there to comfort this sweet, helpless lil girl who fate had placed in his care.

Hazel buried her head in her hands. “Ugh, it is all just so embarrassing. Rather just deal with it tomorrow.”

Elvis picked her up and spoke softly to her as he put her on the bed and began to rub her feet. “Man, your little toesies are so cold, baby, they blue.” He kissed the top of her feet, blowing on them. “Ta warm ‘em up.” Then he rolled clean, silky pink socks over them.

“Reckon these white loafers are too big for you, but at least they match ya outfit. Must be weird, wearing men’s clothing for the first time.”

Hazel smiled as she folded the top of her pink socks down to her ankles. “That’s ok. Suddenly I feel much more confident, like I could rule the world. Or understand math better.”

“Ha! You’re funny, you know that, lil Blue Toesies? These shoes do make me feel like I could conquer the world, though.”

She leaned closer to where he was kneeled between her legs. “You’re a sweet guy, Elvis. Would it be ok - could I - can I stay with you tonight?”

“Sho, honey, you the boss.” Elvis leaned closer to her, nuzzling her forehead with his nose. “Oh baby, why, you’re still cold as ice. Let’s go get you some food, any wheres ‘round here have good chili and hot coffee? That’ll get ya blood flowing ‘gain. Or, I have some other idea - ”

“ Stop! Let’s go to Mac’s Coffee shop, they have the best chili con carne in town.”

“Well, alright lil gal.” He intentionally used his deep, sexy voice as he stood, and his affect made Hazel giggle. “C’mon now, quiet ya cackling and show this hongry boy - I mean man, honnngry man, the way.”

The walk to Mac’s was not far, but Elvis kept his eyes peeled for Bill, Scotty or Bob, because he knew that they would be pissed that he had stormed off stage. Then missed the second show. He could hear Bob’s voice telling him it wasn’t professional behavior. Then he’d tell Bob what time it was, yes sireee, he’d set him straight. He just didn’t want to have that confrontation now. In front of a lady. He squeezed Hazel’s hand tight, and nearly fell off the curb at one point when he was sure he saw Bob from behind as they entered the coffee shop. But he’d been wrong.

Hazel had been correct, Mac’s did have the best chili con carne. The fact that it didn’t have any onions, unless you ordered them as one of your fixins’ sealed the deal for Elvis, and he licked his spoon with his last mouthful, then ordered two chili dogs and an side of fries.

“I’m a growing boy.” He smacked his lips and wiggled his eyes at Hazel’s and squeezing her waist.

The guy on the other side of the counter walked by again and gave them a curious stare, his eyes lingering on Hazel as if he recognized her, but wasn’t sure.

Elvis nodded his head at him. “What’s his deal, he keeps looking over atcha?”

“I guess it’s not every day he see’s a girl with my amazing taste in fashion.”

“You do look good in my clothes.” Elvis smirked. “Look even better out of ‘em.”

“You’re a naughty boy, Elvis Presley.”

Hazel pinched his knee, and their eyes locked in a tender gaze. It felt to Elvis as if they had been lovers for years, not strangers who had just met. She had an open heart, like him, he could tell. And a sense of humor. He almost asked her to marry him then and there. But then he remembered that Bob had told him to stop doing that on tour, it wasn’t professional. So, instead, he had learned other nice stuff he thought made girls happy.

“Gosh ya so pretty. Can’t believe I met such a pretty gal today, this way. Feels bad to call it luck. But that’s how I feel, Baby Blue Toes. Lucky.”

“Aw, I - I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the pretty girls ones I fish outta rivers.”

“Ha! You are funny. You’re a funny boy.” She blushed as he swing his chair around to hit her knees against his. “What do you do, funny boy? Are you a traveling salesman?”

Elvis laughed and stood up momentarily, motioning to his outfit. “What about these clothes says traveling salesman to you, baby doll?” He pulled on his white lace shirt. “I’m a singer, me and my band, well, we were here performing at the Carnival.”

“Ever on the radio?”

Elvis took a long sip of his coffee, eyeing the rest of the coffee shop. It was mostly empty, with another couple at one of the booth’s in the back, and then a Black man drinking coffee over on the side of the counter marked for “Black Folks Only.” Elvis nodded when he looked up from his newspaper, then whispered to Hazel.

“Uh huh. Ever heard ‘That’s Alright Mama’?”

Hazel hit him, and squeaked. “Yes!” The other patrons looked other, and Elvis grinned awkwardly. “It came out last month, didn’t it?”

“Na uh, baby. Why, it’s been spinning on the radio for over a year. Maybe you just ain’t listened at the right time. Better late than never, I s’pose.”

“Sing something for me?”

“Here?”

“Why not? You’re leaving town, you’ll never see any of these people again. Could be the only night we have together. Why not, who cares what anyone thinks?”

Elvis shook his head, his eyes laughing as he jumped up, and walked over to the juke box with a cocksure swagger. Hazel laughed when she heard the opening of that old Mel Torme record, Blue Moon. Elvis leaned against the juke box and called out to her across the restaurant.

“Better get that sweet little butt over here, Hazel, if you wanna hear me sing.”

Hazel looked at the guy behind the register, shrugged apologetically, and then jumped up to join him. Elvis took her hand, massaging it with his own, trying to get rid of the chill that lingered through Hazel’s extremities. Then he put his hand at her waist, and lead her in a small circle, swaying, as he sang along to the tune. Changing the words, of course.

Blue Toes, you saw me standing alone

With out a dream in my heart, without any wet clothes on

Hazel’s laughter was infectious, Elvis wanted to do whatever he had to keep her laughing. Her smile lit up her face, her whole body, and it didn’t matter that she was only wearing a little mascara, with over sized clothes bunched up at her waist. She was the most lovely, ethereal creature he had ever seen. As they walked back to the hotel, he gaped in awe at the way her skin glittered like faery dust in the light of the harvest moon. They talked and talked as Hazel held his hand, leading him around the town square, pointing to the clothing store her family owned, asking him if he liked singing and what he wanted out of life.

Back at the motel, he closed the door softly behind them as a quiet nervousness worked up his back. He looked her in the eyes.

“Everythin’”

“Everything?”

“That’s what I want, I reckon it sounds silly, but I growed up without much. Now, I want everythin’ I ain’t never had. All the cars, jewelry, houses, girls - everythin’”

Hazel nodded. “Makes sense.”

“You?” His face was shy, and he leaned against the door lock, trying to read the situation and his next move.

“I don’t know. I just want to be in the moment. And right now, Elvis Presley.” Hazel put her arms around him, and closed her eyes. It made all the blood rush to his penis to have her lean on him this way, looking so innocent as she answered him in a breathy, low voice. “I just want you.”

He helped her take off his clothes as he carried her to the bed in her slip. “Oh baby, I feel the same way.”

She tasted like chili spice and coffee, and her whole body shivered with a chill. Elvis rubbed her up and down, over her hips, her legs, the sides of her ribs. Then he crawled over her to warm her with his body heat, and his eyes closed as he felt her knee go up between his legs.

“Goddamn.” He muttered, grazing over it delicately at first, then grinding harder.

He cupped her face.

“Are you ok?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Tell me to stop, at anytime, ok, baby? Ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want me to.”

Hazel nodded, her mouth hung open and longing animating her eyes. They were like two jewels affixed to the top of a beautiful, pale ivory tower. A tower he wanted to climb. Her skin was still cool, it and soothed the volcano boiling underneath his calm, steady visage.

Her lips twitched apart as his fingers delicately made their under her slip, and he arched his eyebrow in a silent request as he started to work her panties off.

Bill, Scotty and DJ must have just gotten back, because he heard a group go into Scotty’s room and begin pounding the wall before they burst into a fit of drunken giggles.

“Don’t listen ta them, that’s my band. Those jackasses is jus teasin.”

“It’s ok, it’s ok. I know what it’s like to have friends.”

Elvis grinned down into Hazels warm, inviting smile as his lips ghosted over hers. He could feel her lashes mingle with his and it was so perfect, he didn’t want to spoil the moment, he wanted to remember her like this forever. So he took it slow. Pressing into her mouth gradually, stretching out this first contact for as long as he could. Then breathing into her mouth as it cracked apart, and sinking onto her bottom lip to caress over it back and forth, flicking the tip of his tongue inside.

His fingers slipped inside her labia, and looked around until he found her button. It made her moan out, loudly, even though Elvis was still awkwardly fumbling his way around the clitoris, trying to figure out how to touch it in a way that got her to moan out again.

“That ok, honey?”

“Uh huh, just, just a little to the left, softer, softer, oh god!”

He laughed in her neck, satisfied at his machinations, then sat back, spreading her labia so he could watch what he was doing. He spit into his hand, like Bill and Scotty had told him to do, like he had with other girls. The wetter the better, Bill had said, drives women wild the you get that button at the top of their cooch all slippery and fiddle with it.

“How’s that?”

Hazel opened her eyes and looked up at him, her eyes rolling back as he moved his thumb back and forth on the side of her little nub.

“It feels really good. I - I never had anyone touch me, not like this. Never had anyone ask how I liked it, neither. And, well, I never go to third base with someone I just met.”

Elvis kissed her on the check. “S’destiny, honey. I was meant to find you today. Meant to make you feel good.”

Her hand went to his groin, and palmed over the stiff length she found there. She paused at his belt.

“I believe you were. How about you, Elvis, can I make y-y-you feel g-g-g-ood?”

Elvis stilled her hand. “Ya are, honey, ya are. Doin’ this makes me feel good.”

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Elvis smiled as he found a spot that made Hazel quiver when he flicked over it, and around it, and back and forth beside it. With a tentative glance, upward, he bent down and parted her lips, kissing her public hair as he affectionately began to lick over where his finger had been. Hazel cried out, arching her back and thrusting further in to his face at the sensation.

Elvis laughed in to her as his hands moved to hold her steady. The succession of breathy moans his tongue elicited was so exciting, he could feel his foreskin roll up against his trousers. Diving between Hazel’s legs was like jumping into a cool creek back in Tupelo on a hot July day. It was sweet and soothing, and he chased the cool taste of summer that he found there, flattening his tongue against her as he worked to figure out how to make her moan out again.

He felt her tremble, and looked up to see her face contort in to a thousands states of pleasure. Watching her come undone and cry out her release as she convulsed around his head sent Elvis over the edge. He felt his own dam burst below where his hips rocked back and forth over the bed spread and shuddered his release into the side of his pants. Heaving, he collapsed into her waist while his hands now moved languidly over her cool belly and the room was still save for the sounds of their shattered breath.

The boys had obviously heard them and clanging against the wall again, crying out Oh Elvis! in high, falsetto voices.

Elvis grimaced as he climbed up the bed to lay next to Hazel and wiped his mouth on his arm before pulling her into him.

“Trust me, I am gonna kill those boys tomorra.”

She rolled on to his chest with her eyes closed and a big, sated smile on her face.

“Aw, they love you, Elvis. They only tease you because they love you.”

‘Huh. Maybe.” He soothed her head, and brought the blanket over them as they settled deeper in to the bed. “Aw honey, still feel kinda chilly. Wish I didn’t have to leave, wish I could stay with you forever, keep you warm. We’re the perfect fit, you know that? Everyone always tells me I run hot, and well, you, you run cold.”

“I know you have to go. Maybe I’ll see you at one of your engagements. I think I’m gonna move to Little Rock, ever go through there?”

Elvis kissed her head and wrapped his arms around her tight. “You better believe it, go through Little Rock every tour. Wanna see you there, right at the front of the stage.”

He squeezed her to him even closer, enjoying the way she rubbed over his lace shirt as they drifted off to sleep talking about nothing and everything.

It was 10 or so the next morning when Elvis awoke to find his bed empty and the clothes she had worn strewn throughout the room. He rubbed his head. “Did she walk home barefoot? In a slip?” He muttered to himself as he changed his clothes and went to pound on the boys motel rooms so they could all go forage for breakfast together.

The men gave him a hard time, rubbing his head and asking how many little girls he had in his room that night. They didn’t mention the performance, as if they had previously agreed to let Bob handle that one.

Elvis shoveled another mouthful of his biscuits and gravy into his mouth as he tried to describe Hazel to them. “You boys don’t understand, she was like an angel sent from heaven just for me. I gotta see her again.”

A waitress went by with a pot of coffee, and Elvis grabbed her wrist, motioning for a refill. As she clucked an “ouch, alright alright” at him, he had an idea and spoke to her with a mouth full of biscuity sausagey gravy.

“Scuze me ma’am, you wouldn’t happen to know the name of the Carnival Queen, would you? Hazel? Hazel sumpin’? Folks own the small department store off tha square ova there?”

The waitress’ face went ashen and she shook her head before stomping away.

“What’s up her butt?”

The older man sitting on the other side of Bill leaned over.

“Y’all must be confused. Hazel Stein was the Carnival Queen last year, and what happened to her was a tragedy. A damn waste of a pretty little girl.”

Elvis’ mouth hung open, and he looked to Bill and Scotty. “Nah, can’t be. I just met her. Hazel, you say, the Carnival Queen?”

“Yup.” The old man nodded. “Fell in to the river and drowned. Why, musta been a year ago yesterday.”

Elvis head spun, and he nearly choked. She had been real, she must have been. He could still smell her scent of summer on his face and hands.

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

so this is a one-shot, and I'll just take a stab in the dark at a tag-list. Let me know if you would like to be removed or added to one-shots or holiday/season whatnots and so forths.

@moonchild-daniella @ashtag6887 @artlover8992 @richardslady121 @louisejoy86 @freudianslumber @dkayfixates @kingdomforapony @j-v-9-2 @literally-just-elvis-fics @ab4eva @i-r-i-n-a-a @horror-movieshoes @everythingelvispresley @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @tacozebra051 @notstefaniepresley @lillypink @jessicarcates

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis-o-ween #spooky not scary #banditqueenwrites #1955 Elvis #halloween fic #halloween

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vioranhyperfixation · 15 days

Text

Damian : #011, it has come to my attention that you are unproductive at the leisure time you are excuse with during the time when I'm unavailable. And that's just improper.

#011 : um.. Then what I'm supposed to do? There's nothing here.

Damian : i have realized that too so I decided to brought upon you this

#011 : ???

Damian : this is doll's, a toy with a shell that have similarity to human that most use to play pretend.

Damian : that would also be the case for you. You shall use this doll's to help develop your productivity and creativity.

#011 : ahhh..

Damian : would you like to play it with me?

#011 : yeah!

Damian : then shall we make a series of stories with those doll? Let me start it, this girl is a star, her name is Khalila. She is a bright star, it just that she has a problem, she has not yet granted a human wish like all other star has done. So she was hoping to find someone to grant wish to, upon that thought she caught a brown girl looking hopefull at the sky and she thought, maybe this would be the day!

#011 :

Damian :

#011 :

#011 : uhhhh,, should I continue it?

Damian : yeah, just said anything you want

011 : "star, if you can hear me, please listen to my plea. My brothen had betrayed me and I'm left with the rubble of my home..

Damian : *nod and nudge him to continue

#011 : "I use to think that they would always stand besides me, I don't know they feel that that they are behind me! I- I just want the best for all of us!

Sometimes in the future at the wayne manor

Bruce : Rafi, is there anything you want to do on the weekend?

Rafi : yeah, I'm going to continue the ten wish

Bruce : is that a show you watch?

Tim : what it is about? I don't think I ever heard of that.

Rafi : of course you don't, because ten wish is not a show. It's my doll's lore on the 34th universe

Bruce : sorry?

Tim : well, that's interesting

Rafi : it is, currently my main character. River, is undergoing a survival competition to secure a position on the Catalyst. But because she is well known on her talent of fighting and intelligence she need to use other way to compete, and that's is by registering herself as a professional mourner

Bruce : what?

Rafi : you know, It is a tradition in South East Asia that a loud funeral will assist the dead as they travel to the afterlife, so professional mourners are hired to cry and weep loudly throughout the service. And she register herself as that. I mean, most of her loved one are dead, so she's pretty good at it. Crying and weeping that is.

Bruce : I don't think that's a good way to deal with having your loved one died.

Rafi : I don't want to hear that from someone going feral when his son died.

Bruce :

Tim :

Tim : yeah, I won't lie. It is pretty bad bruce

Rafi : anyway, it has been going pretty well on river part. On the other hand, things are going pretty badly on Khalila part. Jupiter and Neptunus heve yet to come back after the moon revolution.

Tim : wait- wait- you mean evolution?

Rafi : no, revolution.

Tim : okay- I think we skip a big part here.

Rafi : yeah, obviously. This is part 57, you skip 56 part, you're missing on a lot.

Tim : can't we, start from part one?

Rafi : god no, it's a lot. If we put it into book it can lead from 7 to 9 book! If you want to know about what you're missing at you can ask Jason, he listen from the start since we are at LoA. If you don't feel like asking then just skip it, you will understand later anyway.

Jason *who's putting a criminal body to a trash can : hatchuu-

Roy : bless you man

Jason : is someone talking about me? God I hope it's not Bruce.

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seatibuie · 6 months

Text

About him and the fire that burns you alive.

Tags: Fluff, angst. (1.3 Words)

Notes: This is basically about missing Portgas .D. Ace, in remembrance of him. I write this because I am still crying over him after 7 years, thus, I write what I can dedicated for him.

Link: Find my work here!

When it comes to fire, it's always about him. The colour of autumn, leaves fall and the soil starts to dry. It's always about him when it comes to oranges, both the fruit and the colour; fused with red, aflame in spark of fireworks and campfire. It's always him whenever the sun rises or sets, when the river flows, or when the first flower of spring blooms; both on the ground, or inside your throat that it clogs your air away, far away from your lungs and it flicks the fire inside you. The whole world is about him, who was born in Baterilla, South Blue. And this page too, is about him, who holds the name D.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

God's greatest archenemy, they said. But to you, he is nothing but the greatest gift ever alive. If God says that he is a wicked, sinful child, then you are bathed in wickery, bloodied in sin. And if the world says that he is a nasty, ugly child just because he is the son of the world's worst criminal, then your head is wanted by everyone. Because what child should bear the sin of his father? What child should be blamed for the sin he never did? And what child who was born from the womb of a brave warrior of a woman, should be oppressed by the belief that he has nothing but sinner's blood—? Thus, what is love if it's not tender; what if love, if it's not seeing him as the softest flower's petal in the dead tree branch.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

The friendliest sun on the face of earth. Kindness hurts sometimes, either sanity or pride, people can choose; yet his kindness feels so genuine that you can't even resent it. One said he was generally cheerful and outgoing all the time (though the same man said he was especially excited when he talked about his little brother). And that way, he manages to be your solemn embodiment of sun rays. Baterilla, oh, Baterilla—so far, so south, such a place to be blessed by the flickering candle. From one coast to another, corals and waves, rocks and salts, and maybe the shells of dead molluscs. But if darkness is the sky, then he is the star; and if darkness is the sea, then he is bioluminescent. And from coast to coast, river to river, waterfalls to canyons to the Grand Line, there is no one as soft as he is. Because it takes so much violence for him to be that tender, it takes so much insecurity to be that goofy, and foremost, it takes so much sadness to be that kind. Yet, even if life takes so many questions out of his lungs, still, he hasn't found the answer.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

From a metal pipe, into a dagger, then a fire fist. He who challenges warlords, he who challenges Gods. He who filled with love for his brother, he who filled with love for you. Round necklaces, as red as bravery and back to orange is his hat. Yellow somewhat suits him, the colour of jealousy that you didn't expect. However, despite how red he is, insecurity paints him better than all the myriad colours ever existed. Thus, one day, someone ask you:

"Who is he?"

They said, pointing at the raging flame on the sinking boat as you watched from the shore. And that time, you answered:

"The guy I love so dearly."

And whenever that conversation happened, no matter in between summer sky or winter blues, in between autumn shadows or grasses in spring—it's always about him.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Captain, glutton, a navigator he is. Treasure may be across the sea—yet he maps your body better than the ocean. From cheeks to cheeks, eyes to eyes, breast to breast, and limbs to limbs, he knows how to map you. The colour of your skin, the hue of your blush, the coldness of your fingertips, the softness of your breasts, he knows it so well. He knows where to press, when to press—either when you have seasickness, or when you are underneath him, pressed in between his flesh and his mattress, just like a flower in between book pages. He knows how to touch, what to touch—is it your bulging stomach or is it tears on your face, because no matter which one, his fingertips are warm enough to soothe away the pain. He knows why; why are you upset, why are you not eating; why are you angry; or why are you speaking his name over, and all over again. The latter is because everything in this world is about him, and just him only.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Listening is the last thing he can do, he is terrible at it. When you said: "Be careful it's still hot!" He ate it a second later and his tongue got burnt. It's weird how, because isn't he made of fire? When you said: "You should stop sleeping while eating." Which is impossible—he falls asleep right after the word leaves your mouth. When you said: "You should stop going on a mission alone and get hurt!" Yet, the moment he stepped back to your cabin, he was full of nothing but cuts and glories. Listening is hard when you are filled with so many quirks and beams, just like him. Yet he is somewhat good at listening to his own voice, either the one inside his heart, or the one swimming and saying bullshit inside his mind. The one that speaks: "The ocean is calling for you." Or the one that speaks: "Your presence is a whole abomination." And sometimes, he gets it mixed up inside his mind. Yet, all those voices speak to the same person, about the same person.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Lying is not his best friend, he is bad at telling lies. However, that happened because of how you are able to read him like a book too. Sometimes he gets too nervous, and too comical to even lie to your face. When you ask: "Who eats my last piece of cake?" around the dining room, every eye darted towards him—he got nervous, and his eyes were wandering here and there. When you ask: "Who spills ink on my book?" in the ship's deck, he quickly averts his eyes from yours. You can always tell when he lies, because he is so easy to read. Thus, when he said: "I will never die!" In front of you, it sounds so certain, so powerful, he is not lying. You keep that sentence in your mind.

Portgas .D. Ace will never die.

The news soared faster than the wind, and just like that, he lied.

Death.

Lie.

Promise.

Fate.

It's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

Valhalla, he is the sanctuary of broken dreams. Maybe you are losing to death, it loves him more than you do—yet life loves you more than you expected it to be. Losing him is easy, but having your daily life imagining what if he was here is devastating. One said someone will never die if you keep them in your memory, yet, what torture they wish upon you? For you have to remember such a dead lover like he is, when all you want is for him to come back and admit that he lied to you, that fate is playing against you. He is the grave of roaring seas, waves and tides sink inside him. Yet you, somewhat even without someone asking not to, you will never forget about him. One day someone will ask: "Who is Portgas .D. Ace?" And people might say:

"A pirate."

"A brat."

"A brother of mine."

"Someone's older brother."

"Someone that promised me to come back."

And when that question directed to you, you will say:

"Someone I loved so dearly."

Because it's always about Portgas .D. Ace.

#portgas ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you

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moonshynecybin · 4 months

Note

Ok elaborate on the white water kayaking if you would like bc that’s incredible

this is. maybe the thing i think about most lol. NO idea how much people know about kayaking but uh. ask me!

so whitewater kayaking is interesting as a sport bc while there ARE major racing events (the green race!! the north fork championship!! go look them up they’re SICK) it is generally not a formalized racing series that culminates in a trophy like in motorsports. like there’s no seating for spectators even. you get to these races by hiking two hours through the woods and parking your ass on a rock by the river and hoping you don’t fall in bc you are BLASTED drunk. they’re big parties most of the time!

so while the best kayakers in the world DO compete in these things and win them, the sport is frankly more about doing sick stunts with your friends on beautiful rivers all over the world than like. cutthroat fanatical competition. which bezz (who HATED racing against people as a kid never wanted to fight on the track to go fast) would LOVEEEE imo. also literally it is bad practice to go boating alone you NEED a homie with you at all times that’s how you run shuttle that’s how you set safety that helps you scout rapids it is a homie-based activity!!! and bez loves his friends SOOOO bad and especially loves to do dumb life-threatening stuff with them. that’s what big water boating IS.

and it’s just. some aspects of the stuff happening at the ranch and the broader culture of whitewater is very similar in terms of vibes to meeeee. like the adrenaline addiction the injuries the constant threat of death the long hair the dumb tats the earrings the SAME fucking sunglasses kayakers get just cheaper ones. the energy drink sponsorships the going skiing 24/7 in the off-season…. that’s a fucking kayaker to me lol. i look at him and genuinely question why he is not in a dry suit bombing waterfalls in chile. #beater #steazy #booflife he’d love it so bad.

and i AM saving all of my narrative thoughts on bezz kayaking for a fic one day maybe. problem is i don’t know shit about the whitewater scene in italy so i’d have to make these boys like. appalachian. but i do know cele would have the world’s most atrocious rookie crush on hot trip leader bezz and when cele dump trucks a raft and has to do a swim beer out of his nasty bootie (whitewater has like. a reverse shoey system where you only do them if you fuck up) and bezz like, puts his big hand on the back of cele’s neck as he chugs this nasty beer (for maximum crazy this is bezz’s shoe bc cele is a rookie and didn’t want to shell out for the whitewater specific shoe and is wearing chacos) and cele has a small religious experience and flushes BRIGHT RED.

anyways if you want to check out some sick kayakers and are curious regarding the vibe i recommend following aniol serrasolses (catalan legend), nouria newman (badass. has yelled at my brother), and evy liebfarth (from my hometown!). liebfarth is going to the olympics this year in kayaking slalom which IS a formalized racing series but one that generally takes place on closed courses and such and is a small niche in the broader culture of the sport. still very cool and very hard to do. there is also dane jackson who is the arguable GOAT of the sport i just think he’s kind of swagless and one time he put my brother on youtube after he dislocated his shoulder when they were paddling the royal gorge like. cmon man. also his daddy owns a major kayaking manufacturer booooo. he does win the green race like literally every year which IS annoying. to me.

#does this make sense. to anyone but me.#when i write the bez/cele whitewater au…. oh boy….#callie speaks #motogp #asks #if you get me going on kayaking i will not stop

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thegoldensanctuary · 7 months

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Louis XV's royal clutter

Castles opened to the public tend to put a great emphasis on furnitures, paintings and panellings. This focus often occurs at the expense of smaller every day items, such as tools, services, boxes and so on.

Even as far back as the 18th century, inventories of the garde meuble- the administration in charge of the French royal furnitures and collections- often omitted those smaller items, in favour of a greater focus on the furnitures themselves.

Several exception that that rule do exist for instance : When King Louis XV died the 10th of May 1774 in Versailles, his Versailles private cabinets were opened and searched, all the cash and the precious items contained in his cupboards were listed and described in an inventory made 27 days after his death.

Said inventory isn't located in the documents of the House of King(O1 series of the french national archives) like it is usually the case, but in the King's papers, namely in the K series of the national archives, more specifically the K 153.

The document in question was never published nor translated to this date.

I decided to publish it for the first time and translate it entirely to give an idea of the of the kind of clutter that was present in the king's private cabinets in Versailles at the time of his death :

Here is the translation of the provided text into English:

1: Four gold snuffboxes, three enameled, one guilloché,

2: A black lacquer snuffbox mounted in gold,

3: A snuffbox of black tortoiseshell.

4: An ivory candy box.

5: Two watches encrusted with diamonds with their chains also adorned with diamonds

6: An enameled watch with diamond hands and button, a gold cord, and two seals encrusted with diamonds,

7: A garnet box watch adorned with diamonds, attached with a blue ribbon,

9: A large rock crystal flask with a gold stopper, and two seals encrusted with diamonds

10: A small crystal flask

11: A large enameled gold flask

12: Two plain gold flasks in a roussette box

13: A shell flask

14: A rock crystal flask in a roussette case

15: Seven math instrument cases, some in plain gold, others enameled, and some encrusted with diamonds

16: A side case with an enameled gold chain but with diamond buttons

17: Two pocket cases, one enameled gold adorned with diamonds and rubies, and one in jade

18: Four lorgnettes - two in gold, two in silver, and one in copper

19: Two pencil cases, one enameled gold adorned with diamonds, the other containing a compass

20: A Baradel in gold

21: A small portable silver barometer

22: Four tablets in gold, lacquer, or Burgos, one of tortoiseshell with diamond cyphers

23: Three souvenirs, one of enameled gold

24: A hunting knife with a gold handle

25: A dog collar with diamond initials.

26: A large lacquer tablet containing eight portraits of the royal family adorned in gold

27: A lacquer tablet with a portrait inside

28: Four portraits in three plain boxes

29: An ivory barrel adorned with gold

30: A piece of jade from the Amazon River

31: A Sèvres porcelain lorgnette

32: A gold and Magellan telescope

33: A porcelain Sèvres eyewash basin

34: A small red leather writing set adorned with gold, with a gold seal and pencil

35: A damask pruning knife

36: A double-bladed mother-of-pearl knife with a gold fleur-de-lys

37: Three glasses cases, one of tortoiseshell adorned with gold

38: An approaching eyeglass adorned with silver

39: A watch with its chain and seals, all in rubies and diamonds

41: A mathematics case in yellow lacquer with diamond buttons

42: Two almanacs mounted in silver and marcasites in their roussette cases

45: Three seals, two in gold, one in stone

47: Four rings, three with diamonds or coloured stones, one with an engraved stone

48: An English lorgnette

49: Four canes - one with a gold handle, one with a porcelain crutch, one with a gold apple adorned with diamonds, one with a golden apple-wood handle and parasol

50: Six watches - one in gold, enameled with a steel chain and chime, two other enameled, three other guilloché gold

51: A steel mirror

52: A gold egg cup in a roussette case

53: A gold writing set with Charlier paintings, in miniature in a roussette case

54: A very beautiful crystal vase, measuring 9 inches in height

55: A gold breakfast set consisting of a Sevres porcelain tray, two identical cups, a gold teapot and sugar pot, two spoons, a strainer, and a sugar tong made of the same metal

56: A gold-enameled punch pot with a pump, and a second pot of Saxony porcelain

57: A small enameled gold punch pot with a pump and a crystal basin

58: Two gold-enameled candlesticks with their bobeches

59: A crystal breakfast set surrounded by gold, consisting of three goblets

60: Another crystal breakfast set consisting of two carafes and a covered goblet, with the tray of enameled gold

61: A red leather box, edged with gold, containing 12 gold spoons and 12 gold forks, two roast oval plates, two appetizer plates, two dessert plates, and six dishes, all made of the same metal, with one missing, which is in the possession of Mr. de Fontanieu.

62: A set in a red leather box containing a lacquer box with a marabout, a teapot, a spirit lamp, six coffee spoons, all made of gold, three cups, a sugar pot, and a milk jug made of Sevres porcelain

63: A set in a walnut wood box containing 12 gold tableware, twelve knives with rosewood handles, gold cup and rosette, steel blades, twelve knives with Sevres porcelain handles adorned with cup rosette landau, plus four gold plates

64: A red lacquer box reinforced with gold, containing a Sevres porcelain bowl adorned with gold, two gold spoons, a covered crystal goblet adorned with gold, two porcelain pasta pots from Sevres

65: A wooden case enclosed in a black lacquer box containing a marabout made of gold with handles made of Sevres porcelain, two large sugar pots, two saucers, and two chocolate cups made of porcelain, a spirit lamp, adorned with gold, a square crystal flask adorned with gold, two coffee spoons, and a large gold spoon

66: A gold-plated copper microscope in its pyramid case

Dom Noël, Planche 19 Microscope tripode.

67: A writing set with 12 zodiac signs

68: A wooden box reinforced with silver containing a pharmacy adorned with silver

69: A yellow lacquer box enclosed in a red leather box

70: A graphometer in a red leather case

71: A gold compass with its stand and a level in a sharkskin case

72: A black lacquer box

73: A breakfast set consisting of a painted sheet metal tray and two porcelain cups

74: A writing set made of silver-reinforced roussette

75: Supplementary gold tableware, three coffee spoons, one tea spoon, a gold set in a roussette case

76: A small black lacquer box

77: A small oak chest, we weren't able to find the key

78: A box of tools with wooden handles and silver ferrules

79: A box of Kingswood,but the key wasn't found

80: A gold-braided telescope

81: A coffee pot for four gold cups with jasper handles and six gold coffee spoons, in a leather case made to contain 12.

#historical research #historical #history #rococo #18th century #Versailles #louis xv of france #Louis XV #palace of versailles

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workersolidarity · 14 days

Text

[ 📹 Scenes from Al-Rashid Street where the Israeli occupation army opened fire with artillery shells, toxic tear gas, and live bullets towards displaced Palestinian civilians hoping to cross into the northern Gaza Strip to return to their damaged and destroyed homes in Gaza City. Social media rumors had suggested some civilians were being allowed to cross into the north. However, the information was incorrect and occupation forces immediately opened fire on the civilians. 📸 Just some of the results in the town of Duma following an unprecedented scale attack on several Palestinian towns and villages in the occupied West Bank, where Zionist colonial settlers burned Palestinian homes and vehicles.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🚀🚀 🚨

DAY 191: IRAN LAUNCHES MISSILE STRIKE ON ISRAELI OCCUPATION, SETTLER VIOLENCE IN THE WEST BANK, IOF TARGETS DISPLACED CIVILIANS

On the 191st day of Israel's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 4 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 43 Palestinians, mostly women and children, while another 62 others have been wounded over the previous 24-hours.

Beginning in the early morning hours of Sunday, Iran launched a large-scale combined missile and drone strike targeting the occupied Palestinian territories in response for the Israeli occupation's missile strike on the Consulate section of the Iranian embassy in Damascus, Syria, killing at least two high-ranking IRGC commanders and at least 5 others.

According to some sources, as many as 300 missiles and drones were fired by the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) into the occupied territories, with at least 7 missiles successfully hitting targets at the Ramon Airbase in the Negev desert, while another 15 missiles are said to have reached the Nevatim Airbase in the south of the occupied territories, also in the Negev desert, near Beersheba, where the Zionist occupation keeps most of its fleet of F-35 fighter jets.

As the missiles and drones flew over the heads of the civilian populations of Israeli-occupied Palestine, as well as the West Bank and Gaza, hundreds of Israeli civilians could be seen screaming and panicking in the streets, stampeding one another to reach shelter from the missiles, which were precisely targeted to avoid civilian harm, while the Palestinian civilian population celebrated in the streets, waving the Palestinian flag and honking their car horns.

In response to the Iranian missile strikes, which coincided with several rocket barrages fired from southern Lebanon to help drain the Israeli occupation's supply of interceptor missiles from its vaunted Iron Dome air defense system, at dawn, the Israeli occupation air forces bombarded several towns and villages in the south of Lebanon.

According to reports published in the Lebanese National News Agency and expounded upon by the Palestinian news outlet, WAFA, the Israeli occupation bombed a building in the town of Nabi Chit in the Barqaa Governate, in the east of central Lebanon, while occupation warplanes bombed the outskirts of the Mount Safi area, as well as the town of Jbaa in the Tuffah region and in the Deliton area, also on the outskirts of Jbaa, in the south of Lebanon.

Occupation aircraft also fired several missiles and bombs into the towns of Khiam, Kafr Kila, and Al-Odaisseh, while also bombing near several other villages, including Hula, Wadi al-Sluqi, in the vicinity of Deir Mimas, and near the Litani River.

Meanwhile, in occupied Palestine, as a result of Israeli settler violence against the Al-Mughayir Village over the weekend, a village located to the northeast of Ramallah, in the northern occupied West Bank, at least one Palestinian was killed, and at least 45 others were wounded.

Deputy Chairman of the Al-Mughayir Village Council, Marzouq Abu Naim told Palestinian media outlet, WAFA, that in addition to the dead and wounded, at least 16 Palestinian homes were burned, including 10 homes completely burned, while more than 60 Palestinian civilian vehicles were also burned.

The Deputy Chairman added that Israeli colonial settlers had also stolen at least 120 heads of sheep belonging to Palestinian citizen Imad Abu Alia after being assaulted by the settlers, who were backed by IOF soldiers during the attacks.

Settlers also burned 15 sheep pens, in addition to slaughtering 31 sheep belonging to citizen Saleh Suleiman Nasr.

Terrorist attacks by Zionist colonial settlers were also recorded in several towns and villages south of Nablus, including the towns of Duma, Burin, Qaryut, Qasr, and Beit Furik, while to the north and east of Ramallah, settlers attacked the towns of Al-Mughayir, Beitin, Deir Jarir, Silwad, Ein Sinya, Abu Falah, Burqa, Atara, and Al-Mazraa Al-Gharbiyya.

According to the Palestinian Ministry of Health, 464 Palestinian civilians have been killed, while at least 4'800 others have been wounded in the occupied West Bank since the start of Israeli aggression beginning on October 7th, 2023.

In the meantime in the Gaza Strip, a new war crime was recorded, committed by the Israeli occupation army, when Zionist forces opened fire on displaced Palestinian civilians trying to return to Gaza City, leading to the death of at least one woman, while dozens of others were wounded in the attack.

According to local sources, occupation forces stationed near Al-Rashid Street fired artillery shells, live bullets and toxic tear gas towards hundreds of displaced civilians as they made their way towards Gaza City, attempting to return to their destroyed homes in the northern Gaza Strip via the Wadi Gaza Bridge. Only a small number of the civilians succeeded in crossing into the north of Gaza.

According to some sources, social media had reported that the occupation army was allowing small numbers of civilians to cross into the north. However, the information turned out to be false and the IOF soldiers immediately opened fire on anyone that moved near the crossing.

At the same time, IOF warplanes renewed their bombing in the northern Gaza Strip, targeting at least three civilian residences in the city of Beit Hanoun, and wounding at least 8 Palestinian civilians.

Similarly, local civil defense crews recovered the bodies of several Palestinians killed following an Israeli occupation airstrike targeting a residential home belonging to the Abu Ghula family in the New Camp area of the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip.

As though the horrors inflicted on Palestinians in Gaza by the Zionist forces weren't enough, at least one child was killed and three others wounded after humanitarian aid that had been air dropped into the Gaza Strip failed to open their parachutes, tumbling violently to the ground where it hit a child and injured several others.

Local paramedic crews confirmed the death of a child by the name of Zain Mahmoud Arouq, whom they said died as a result of humanitarian aid falling on him in northern Gaza.

Similarly, it was also reported that three Palestinian children were wounded while attempting to reach humanitarian aid that had fallen into the sea, west of Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip.

In one of the latest atrocities, the Zionist occupation army bombed several civilian residences in the Nuseirat and Al-Maghazi refugee camps, as well as the town of al-Zahra'a, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in the martyredom of at least 10 Palestinian civilians, and wounding no less than 20 others, most of whom were transported to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in nearby Deir al-Balah.

"Israel's" criminal behavior continued when Zionist gunboats fired several artillery shells into residential homes west of the cities of Deir al-Balah and Khan Yunis, destroying the targeted buildings, as well as local civilian infrastructure.

At the same time, Israeli artillery detatchments fired several shells towards residential homes in the towns of Bani Suheila, Abasan and the Al-Zanna neighborhood of Khan Yunis, wounding a number of civilians who were transferred to the Gaza European Hospital near Khan Yunis.

IOF fighter jets also bombarded four residential homes in areas of the Al-Zaytoun, Tal al-Hawa, and Sheikh Ajlin neighborhoods of Gaza City, in the northern Gaza Strip, resulting in various injuries to several civilians.

As a result of "Israel's" ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the Palestinian population in Gaza has risen in excess of 33'729 Palestinians martyred, including upwards of 14'500 children and 9'500 women, while an additional 76'371 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

April 14th, 2024.

#source1

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#videosource

#photosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

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actuallysaiyan · 20 days

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Drabbles(APRIL) day 7: River

pairings: Post-Shibuya!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader warnings: mentions of trauma

The air was crisp in the forest. Everything felt so serene out here. You longed to be out in nature so much. Just being able to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city was nice. And then to bring your sweet lover out here for some relaxation, that meant so much to you.

Kento doesn’t go out much. He hasn't left his home much since the incident. But you’ve been able to help bring him out of his shell once more. You show him true unconditional love. And with that comes a lot of firsts for him once more.

This was your first road trip as a couple and you promised him something cozy and relaxing. And when you two pulled up to the cabin by the river, he knew that this would be the possible place for him to relax.

He smiles at you, his eyes full of love.

#bacon.drabbles #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #nanami kento x reader

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entishramblings · 1 year

Text

The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 3 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: and I present part 3 to you!!!! Enjoy!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count:

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist

That night, they settled into a camp rather late, for Aragorn and Gandalf wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the bloodbath. So, exhausted and worn down, they huddled by the fire, doing the tasks they must attend to.

(Y/N), on the other hand, was still covered in orc blood. It was like a second skin at this point. A hardened, cracked shell of war. But it seemed she didn't want to wear such a thing, for she walked towards the river that ran by the edge of their camp. Immediately, she began to peel her clothing off, as well as the bandage upon her wing.

Instantly, all the men adverted their eyes and went about their tasks—building a fire, making food, treating minor scratches, taking a leak, etc.

The winged woman let her body drift into the water. It wasn't deep, not enough for a swim, for it hung around her waist calmly. Still, she crouched down and dipped her head under, letting it wash over her entire form. She stayed under the smooth liquid, allowing it to envelope her.

When she came up, she inhaled slowly. She felt much better, much cleaner. The water, as cold as it was—especially at the night—felt good on her skin. The movement of the river took away all the grim, dirt, and blood from not only her body but her wings. It rippled through each feather, cleaning off anything that lingered. Additionally, it felt relaxing and soothing on her injury. The water was almost healing in a sense.

(Y/N) spent much time in the river, letting it loosen her muscles, but as the chill began to settle, she decided to opt to spend time near the fire. Therefore, she rose from the water, gathered her dirty clothes in her arms, and approached the men once again.

She dropped the fabric in a pile on a log and stood before the flames.

Aragorn cleared his throat awkwardly. "(Y/N), where are your clothes?"

She, seemingly not having any qualms about being bare before them, gestured to the fabric. "They are bloody."

Legolas glanced up and instantly, his lips parted. Of course, from Aragon's words he had expected her to be naked—again—but he hadn't expected....this. She was absolutely ethereal. Legolas, of course, had seen her body considering the circumstances, but now...Valar. She stood before them with all the dirt, ash, and blood finally washed away. Her wet skin sparkled in the firelight, golden hues dancing upon the smooth flesh. Water dripped from every bend and twist of her body, running down in simple streams. But it was those wings of hers that held his attention. Originally, he had thought them to be a shimmery gray color. Now, however, he could see they weren't. They were clean of all harsh elements. Extending from her back, bright white with reflective colorful hues of pinks, blues, and yellows danced upon each feather. They practically glowed in the flame's lingering kiss. She was beautiful.

"You have to wear clothes," Aragorn's voice drawled on.

Legolas, blinking, averted his eyes again.

She crossed her arms. "Why?"

"Because that is what we do in this world." He gestured to all the men. "We are all wearing clothes."

Boromir cleared his throat. "She may use my extra tunic."

All eyes drifted to him with confusion as he stood.

He awkwardly brought the fabric to the woman. As he handed it to her, he spoke gently. "Thank you for fighting for us today. We would not have had such a good chance if you were not there."

(Y/N) tilted her head for a moment, those curious eyes, once again, staring into his soul, until she finally nodded in acceptance.

He turned to walk away, but she spoke again, holding the fabric close to her body. "What were they?"

Each person glanced around at the other, unsure what to say.

Boromir, however, answered. "They are orcs. Beasts bred for a vile purpose."

Legolas, thinking of his previous conversation with Gandalf, decided to add to Boromir's statement with the intent to pry into (Y/N)'s knowledge of good vs. evil. Even though he heard such horrid tales from the wizard, he still believed she could be good—that she could be kind and caring. "These orcs, they serve someone who is trying to harm us," he said.

"Why?"

Once again, eyes shifted nervously.

"We carry something that they want."

She frowned. "Why do you carry it?"

"To destroy it," he replied. "We are taking it to be destroyed so many will not be subject to harm."

"To help?" she questioned, looking for a simple answer. She seemed to like simple answers.

Legolas nodded. "Yes, to help. We want to help save the world and its people."

She bobbed her head up and down in understanding.

Surprisingly, it was Frodo who spoke. "(Y/N), do you want to help us do it?"

The air went absolutely silent at that question.

"Will it help you?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Then I will help."

A breath, that none realized they had been holding, seemed to slip back into the atmosphere.

(Y/N), however, did not pick up on such relief. Instead, she began pulling the tunic over her head, struggling to get it to lay correctly with her wings.

Legolas, seeing this, sighed in dismay. It was sad, really.

He stood upright. "Let me help." He approached her and began to pull the fabric over her body. It hung low and loosely in her front, but the back was simply not going to happen.

"Sam," he called out, "Could you pass me a blanket?"

The hobbit nodded and scrambled to get one to the elf. Legolas then wrapped it around (Y/N)'s waist, tying it taught, like a skirt.

"Aragorn, we will be needing to get her clothing that will fit her. Maybe the next town or market?"

He shook his head. "We can't risk getting too close."

"We cannot have her going on like this," he replied. "If she is to journey with us, she needs adequate clothing."

"How will we even get her into a town, Legolas? Those wings—"

(Y/N) interrupted. "Wings go away."

Both men twisted to look at her, unsure of what she meant.

"(Y/N)," Legolas began softly. "They are a part of you. We can't cut them off."

She shook her head. "No. They go inside when not broken."

Aragorn's lips parted, realizing what she was saying. "They retract," he blurted.

She nodded.

"That will make things easier, we wont have to get anything custom sewed. We can just purchase pre-made clothing in a size that will fit. It would be in and out rather quickly," Legolas said.

Pippin interjected into their conversation. "If we're gonna be going into a town, why don't we stay the night? Get a nice bed. Some fine ale and comforts!"

"And stock up on some more food, Strider!" Sam added.

Aragorn shook his head. "A night is too risky."

Gimli chimed in. "Nay, it's not. Not if it's only one night and we mind our own business."

"We are a strange group, Gimli, are we not? People would likely ask questions if we came bumbling in."

"So we split up," Boromir said. "We go in separate groups, a couple to a room. This far east the hobbits can pass as children."

Aragorn, inhaled deeply, seemingly thinking it through. After a moment, though, he nodded. "Fine. But it all depends on those wings. When will they be able to retract?"

Legolas frowned. "Let me look at the injury." He turned back to the woman. "(Y/N), may I?"

She nodded, bringing the wing down from its height. Legolas then began examining it, being sure to be careful...and cautious considering he now knew how much of a weapon they really were.

He frowned.

"What? What is it?" Aragorn said, worried.

He shook his head. "Nay, nothing is wrong. It's just—it is healing quickly. Much faster than such an injury should."

"She is Rámaite Mahtar," Gandalf stated simply. "Their bodies are designed for war. That includes healing. An injury that should take months or even years can be healed in a matter of weeks."

"The wing should be fully repaired within a couple of days, I believe," Legolas said. "It did receive a minor setback today with all the fighting, but it is nearly fixed. Let me put another poultice on it and wrap it for the night."

Aragorn dipped his head.

The fellowship drifted to their bed rolls with small smiles of excitement, for they much so desired one night of comforts.

"Is that alright?" Legolas asked. "If I treat the wound again?"

(Y/N) looked up at him and nodded, sitting down upon the grass. They had done it enough times now that it was now a regular occurrence, but Legolas always asked permission.

As Legolas worked, (Y/N)'s eyes drifted closed and her body relaxed. Legolas knew she was tired. The battle was probably exhausting—even more so if he considered the fact that she may have been in chains for eons...and most definitely tortured considering Morgoth was the one who watched her prison. His heart filled with sadness as he thought of that. It must have been so painful. So horrible.

Sam, the sweet hobbit, had come by them and collected (Y/N)'s dirty clothing. He began washing it in the river. Legolas sent him a grateful smile as he did so, for it was an act of complete kindness. He knew the little hobbit was doing it as a thank you for saving them. If she wasn't there, at least some of them would have been dead. Legolas knew that. He had fought in enough battles. Besides, considering they would need to keep moving tomorrow, clean clothing was a necessity. The makeshift fabric upon her form now would not hold in such terrain.

With curiosity tugging in the corners of his mind, Legolas decided to speak to (Y/N). Maybe he could get some answers from her, different from the biased ones Gandalf told him. "(Y/N), where were you before you came to us."

She opened her eyes and stared right into Legolas. Time seemed to stretch on as she examined his gaze, seemingly wondering if she should tell him or not.

"I was...I was in the dark," she replied softly.

He gently touched her wrist with the bruises that were now almost faded. "Is that where those came from?"

She looked down at his hand upon hers and nodded. "Yes."

"How long were you there for?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Long."

He began moving his thumb in soft circles of comfort as he spoke again in that same gentle tone. "Did they hurt you there?"

(Y/N) blinked, turning her head way. "Yes."

Sensing that that was all the information he was going to get tonight, he ceased his questions and went back to tending to her wing. He didn't want to push.

After a couple of moments, however, she turned back to face him.

At first, he thought maybe she was going to tell him more of her life. But she did not speak.

Instead, her gaze did not move from his expression. Damn those beautiful curious eyes. They bore into him fiercely. So much so, that he stopped his task and looked up. "Is there something wrong, (Y/N)?"

"Why," she began as she reached her hand forward, her palm cupping his cheek.

Slightly startled, he sucked in a shaky breath. She had never touched him like...like this. She had grabbed at his arm when wanting his attention. She had pulled on his limbs to stop herself from slipping on the rough terrain (he assumed she normally would fly because legs didn't seem to really be her thing). And she had smacked him in the face with her wing when she didn't care enough to avoid his form when he was 'in her way.'

Her finger extended to touch his ear. "Why are yours pointed?"

Legolas, squeezing his eyes shut, noticeably shivered at her touch. He was quick to grab her hand and pull it from his ear.

She frowned at him, clearly unhappy at his lack of consent.

"I, uh," he stuttered. "They are pointed because I am an elf. Aragorn and Boromir are human. Gimli is a dwarf. The hobbits, well, they are hobbits. Their ears are also pointed. Gandalf is a wizard. We are all different races, so we are all different.

(Y/N) looked to Aragorn and Boromir before looking back at Legolas. "What is the difference besides ears?"

He raised a brow as he started to wrap the wing in bandages once again. "Between elves and humans?"

She nodded.

"Well, elves have better senses—sight, touch, smell, hearing, and even taste. We are stronger and faster. We, uh, also live for many more years. We live until we are killed."

"I live until killed," she replied simply.

His blue eyes drifted upwards, surprised by her words. "Is that so?"

She nodded. "Yes." She then looked to the others before looking back at the Prince. "Will you be...be..." She frowned, clearly searching for a word. "When they are gone will you be like—like when there are no more sausages left."

Legolas chuckled lightly. "You mean sad?"

"Sad?" she questioned.

He bobbed his head. "Yes." He then tapped her heart lightly. "Sad is when it hurts in here."

She nodded. "Yes. Sad."

Legolas sighed. "I suppose, I will be sad. They are my friends and I do not wish to have them absent from my life. It will be very hard to see them eventually pass from this world if they do not die on this mission."

"I am your friend."

He smiled at her, tucking the last of the fabric into a taught spot. "Yes, you are."

Her next words seemed too abruptly blurt out. "I will also be sad."

"You will?"

(Y/N) nodded. "Yes. I like friends." She then reached forward, grabbing a lock if his hair in her hand. She began to twist it between her fingers. "We will still be friends, yes? Even when they are....gone."

Legolas gently reached up and untangled her fingers from his hair. "Yes, if that is what you want."

She nodded.

"Very well then." He stood from his kneeling position. "I have first watch tonight. You should get some rest." With that, he stood up and took post at the front of the camp, his bow held in his hand.

(Y/N) exhaled as she watched him standing as still as a hunter looking for prey. For some reason, she wanted to stand with him. Instead, however, she turned and moved towards the hobbits who were already attempting to sleep.

"Ow! Pip! You are steeling all the blankets!"

"Yeah! It's cold. Give me some!"

"Oi! You've taken them all!"

"I did not!!!"

(Y/N) frowned as she sat upon her blanket about five feet away.

"Give 'em back, Merry!"

"You are the one with all of them!"

(Y/N) flared out her wings from their dropping position with a rather loud snap, drawing everyone's attention—including the hobbits. She didn't pay mind to the stares though. Instead, she turned on her side, facing away from the hobbits, and let both her wings lower over them like that of a blanket.

"Oh," one whispered quietly.

"This–this is very nice."

"Very warm. Much better than a blanket!"

She did not speak. She let her eyelids close as she drifted to sleep. The hobbits soon followed.

A couple of hours later, Aragorn approached Legolas and stood beside him for a moment before speaking. "It is my turn for watch, mellon nin (my friend)."

"I don't know if I could sleep right now," the elf replied.

The man did not turn to look at him. "Because of (Y/N)?"

Legolas swallowed dryly.

"I saw the two of you earlier. When you were binding her wing. She touched your ear. A very intimate act for your people."

"She doesn't know any better."

Aragorn raised a brow. "You didn't correct her though."

"I removed her hand."

"That is not enough. Part of me thinks you didn't want to tell her."

Legolas shifted. "She just wouldn't understand if i tried too."

"She has learned a lot in the past three weeks. I bet she would understand if you explained it to her. You are the one teaching her the most." He cleared his throat, his tone changing into one of slight teasing. "Wonder why that is?"

The elf cleared his throat. "Gandalf says that the Rámaite Mahtar can't tell the difference between good and evil. That they can't feel things like we do. But I think he is wrong. I think they can."

"Do you hope that she may feel something for you?"

Legolas tried to hide the red hue that danced upon his cheeks. "That is not what I meant." He turned to face his friend. "She asked me about how I would feel when you all died and I was left living."

"What did you say?"

"She was the one who described sadness. She just didn't know the word for it."

"And?"

"And she said she would be sad too because she would also still be here."

Aragorn's eyes drifted toward her and the hobbits under her wing before focusing back on Legolas. "She is immortal then?"

The Prince nodded. "Unless slain."

"Like you."

He nodded. "Yes."

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Why don't you rest?"

Legolas sighed. He knew he should.

Therefore, with only a quick dip of the head, the elf departed from his friend. Aragorn's words burned into his mind. He knew what the man was trying to say. He knew what he had meant.

The Prince laid down upon his back on his mat, only a couple of feet away from (Y/N). He let his head turn to the side, watching her sleep, until he too drifted into the land of dreams. However, only a couple of hours passed before he was jolted awake by a heavy mass smacking into him.

With a loud gasp, he tried to sit upwards and reach for his bow. He did not get very far.

Pinned to the ground, he frantically looked around himself with wide eyes in an attempt to see the enemy that knocked the air from his lungs. But he saw no enemy. No, he only saw a white fluffy wing covering his form—the bandaged part only two feet to the left of his chin. Legolas, still breathing heavily, turned his head to look at (Y/N).

She had rolled onto her stomach in her sleep. Her other wing, the uninjured one, still laid peacefully over the hobbits.

Legolas glanced at the wing on his chest again. Then back to her. Then over to the chuckling from the edge of camp.

Aragorn, smirking, sent him a look.

Legolas rolled his eyes before letting his head fall back to the ground with a loud huff. He didn't make any motion to do anything about the wing upon his chest. He just let it rise and fall with his breath.

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