#this may be my longest Informal Fic yet...

[peaches2217]

It's not unusual for Peasley to host extravagant parties. He's a people person, a Bean's Bean, and a skilled politician to boot. Parties are as much an excuse to mingle and have fun as they are an opportunity to strengthen bonds with nobles and the common people alike. Admittedly, Luigi's fascinated by his methodical approach to an activity typically considered gratuitous. It's a lot like Peasley himself: at first glance garish and full of himself, but shockingly thoughtful beneath the surface.

Some months into their courtship, Peasley invites him to his latest party at the capitol. In a first, it's a themed party; all guests are encouraged to dress in the fashions of the Metro Kingdom.

"I've always found it so charming," Peasley reasons, "all the colorful suits and elegant dresses!" And Luigi can't help but agree; from what Mario has described to him, a classy evening in the heart of the Metro Kingdom looks a lot like a high school prom in Brooklyn. (Or so they would presume. They didn't go to their senior prom. Long story.)

With no shortage of encouragement from his brother, Luigi gets himself a veridian suit, spends the day prior to the event in total isolation so he's got enough energy to survive the night, and then charges in head-first.

Peasley greets him outside of the hall where the excitement is being contained, and phew, he looks good. His gold hair is tied back for once, a thin braid running through it just above where his left ear would be if he actually had ears, and he's wearing a white suit that's equal parts tacky and enchanting, his rapier fastened to his right hip as usual. Luigi feels kinda woozy just looking at him.

He clings to Peasley's arm (or at least makes his best attempt to, being nearly a full foot taller than him) as he's led into the thick of the gathering. He expects Peasley to acquaint him with a few people, make sure he's comfortable enough to hold his own, and then split for short bursts of time to tend to his own royal matters.

Except he doesn't. Not once, not the entire night.

He proudly shows Luigi off to what must be every last guest in attendance, sparing no opportunity to divulge great detail about his heroic exploits (they mostly involve ghosts, because everyone already knows about the Cackletta incident), his great works of philanthropy (helping Toads repair pipes, fix roofs, and other assorted physical tasks in his free time), his unparalleled ability to coax life from unassuming seeds, filling entire gardens with color and cheer (he has successfully grown one (1) rose in his entire life, and he only managed because Peasley walked him through every step of the process).

Just listening — heck, just watching, seeing how proud Peasley looks to have Luigi on his arm, how he lights up at every chance to talk about him, how his name passes his lips with such reverence  — you'd think Luigi was the Crown Prince and Peasley was his unassuming date.

When he's not waxing lyrical about Luigi, he's feeding him tiny squares of cake (raspberry vanilla — his favorite!) or pouring another serving of punch into a champagne glass for him (coconut cream — also his favorite! That's lucky!); if he's not doing that, then he's pulling him into the middle of the room and sweeping him into graceful waltzes, the sort Luigi can only keep up with because 1) waltzes are all-in-all simple and predictable and 2.) Peach was insistent on teaching him the ins and outs of ballroom dancing just last week. All eyes are on them, and yeah, it's pretty overwhelming, but Peasley's just so happy that it's easy to get lost in the music with him.

But Luigi can only handle so much social interaction, and as soon as he starts focusing too hard on his hands and clicking his tongue in the back of his throat over and over, Peasley whisks him away to a private balcony for some fresh air.

"So?" he asks as Luigi decompresses from all the socialization. "Have you enjoyed your evening, my dear?"

Now that he's not surrounded by so much stimuli, Luigi can honestly say that yeah, he has! In spite of being the center of attention for most of it, he's never been able to enjoy himself at a party so much as he's enjoyed himself tonight. And now that he's away from it all, now that the music and the laughter are muffled someplace behind them and they're finally alone in the gentle night breeze, he's able to appreciate that in full.

And he's also able to think a little more clearly. This whole thing seems... off. Not unpleasantly so, but there's something going on, something beyond the straightforward premise presented to him initially. Why did Mario seem so eager for him to come to this gathering, when normally he would encourage Luigi to weigh the pros and cons of attending such a stamina-draining event? Why did Peach seem so eager to teach him all of the dances that he coincidentally found himself in tonight when she's normally so respectful of his need for personal space?

And why does Peasley seem so eager to hear more affirmations, smiling that I'm-so-terribly-pleased-with-myself smile and staring him down proudly as if he's just claimed some great victory?

"...Okay," Luigi finally chances, "what are you not telling me?"

Peasley, all but vibrating with excitement, finally spills everything.

In one of his letters, Luigi spoke of an old emotional wound from the world in which he was raised: he once tried asking a boy to his senior prom. This boy was a good friend, and he knew about Luigi's sexuality, so Luigi had foolishly assumed it was a risk worth taking. Even if he rejected his advances, there would be no hard feelings. Right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong. The friend was mortified to learn that Luigi had a crush on him. He proceeded to subject Luigi to an onslaught of insults and beration, in the middle of a busy hallway for everyone to hear, and by the end of it Luigi had lost both a friend and what little sense of self-worth he possessed.

By the following school day, the ex-friend had two fewer teeth, Mario had been both suspended and grounded for it, and Luigi had accepted he'd probably be alone for the rest of his life. The brothers spent the night of their senior prom playing video games together.

And hearing this tale, Peasley had been crushed. To be given something so sacred as this perfect human's heart and react with such vitriol! To fill him with such sorrow that he would be denied access to a pivotal coming-of-age ritual (which is absolutely what he believes this "prom" ordeal is)!

And that's why everyone was asked to wear fashions from or styled after the Metro Kingdom tonight. In speaking with Mario behind Luigi's back, Peasley learned that this "prom" ritual was much like a party, and that the clothing worn for the occasion greatly resembled Metro fashion. With that, Peasley set out to correct that ancient heartache.

This is Prom 2.0. This entire party is for Luigi.

And hearing it, Luigi is almost embarrassed he didn't figure that out sooner. The simple but intimate dances, the earnest flattery, the snacks and drinks in his favorite flavors — this was never one of Peasley's standard parties. This was one giant, carefully crafted, probably very expensive love letter from a prince to a plumber.

"But... but that was years ago!" Luigi eventually manages to stammer. He hardly even recalls telling that story in the first place. He never imagined it would have such an impact.

"That doesn't make it alright." Peasley palms at the handle of his rapier, dark eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. "My goal is to one day seek out the portal between our worlds so that I may deliver swift, karmic justice to he who so terribly wronged you! But until that day comes... I do hope this makes up for it."

Luigi realizes, not for the first time overall but for the first time with mind-numbing certainty, that he wants to marry this man.

Neither of them return to the party. They remain together beneath the moon, laughing and sighing and sharing dizzy words of love. Hey, it’s Luigi’s party, and he can play hooky if he wants to.

[farfromstrange]

I Want To Fuck A Priest | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

PART 6 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for the priest you met at a farmer's market. Thankfully, he has a thing for you, too.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), porn without much plot, Priest!Matt, blasphemy (!!!), church setting, improper use of a priest's collar, improper use of a confessional booth, improper use of the act of confession, praise, prayer, oral afab!receiving, slight Dom!Matt, Catholic guilt, Fleabag reference, seriously if you are religious or triggered by the improper use of religion DO NOT read this!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: This is for those who watched Fleabag and then saw all the 'Imagine Matt as a priest' and 'Charlie Cox once played a Spanish priest' posts and thought, "Same!" when Fleabag said, "I want to fuck a priest." I see you, and I feel you. I wrote this after re-watching Fleabag one night, but I added a little poetic twist while editing because before, it was just completely plotless oral sex. While that isn't bad, I needed to add some vibes. You're welcome.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The church bells ring as the clock strikes midnight. The night sky is void of dark clouds. In the darkness above the massive walls encasing the holy ground, the stars shine brighter than the city lights. New York City, the city that never sleeps, makes an exception for the house of God in the dead of the night, it seems.

It’s been…several years since my last confession. 

The graveyard attached to the church looks threatening in its vacancy. It’s void of human souls except for the dead ones buried there. A raven claps its wings in the distance, following the gush of wind that brushes through the trees. 

The bell rings twelve times before it stops, but the echo bounces off the stone walls and shakes the stained-glass windows, which seems to drag on for an eternity. 

The last time I confessed my sins was before my communion. I don’t know if that makes me a bad Catholic, but lately, I’ve been having sinful thoughts, and I need to get them out of the way before I collapse under the weight of them.

You considered for the longest time whether or not you should come here. Faith has been your enemy for the longest time. You don’t believe in the Catholic Church, and yet you have found your way here, in the middle of the night, when everyone should be asleep in their beds. 

This isn’t a normal night, by any means. You often lay awake at night and question your purpose in this life, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re drowning. Sins are subjective, and you never paid much mind to the term until now. 

The thoughts you find yourself having late at night when you’re awake and lonely are far from holy. They aren’t ideal. They make you wonder just why you are thinking this way now.

But no man has ever been like him. And the worst part about it is that wanting him alone is an unholy train of thought you should have never submitted to. 

You tried ignoring it, carrying it all by yourself, and trying to heal whatever complex you may have that could have led to this obsession in the first place, but your life has been a mess for long enough that it doesn’t even surprise you anymore, and no matter what you tried to do, you couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.

He is the reason you came to church tonight to confess your sins. But you’re not here to find your way. You’re not here to ask for guidance from God. You told yourself that the unholiness of your thoughts needs to be cured and that is why you came here—to make this situation better for yourself—but the thought is ancient; it’s the twenty-first century and you’re the kind of person who knows exactly what they want and how to get it. The truth is, you’re here to get what you want, even if it will land you in the pits of hell for all eternity. And even if it kills you.

“You don’t do this kind of thing often, do you?” the low voice asks from the other side of the confessional booth.

You shake your head. “Not at all, Father. When I went to Sunday Mass this weekend, it was my first time in a church in a very long time,” you admit to him, “and this is my first confession since I was a child. I…I’m not really a devoted Catholic, you understand. I’m merely struggling right now, and I…I am in desperate need of guidance.”

Your lip quivers. Your voice resembles a tidal wave that comes and goes as nature pleases.

He can’t see you. It’s not the curtain that is separating you and is starting to feel like worlds apart—he can’t see you. He can only hear and smell you, and that alone makes your thighs clench with need. 

Should you be doing this in a church? Should you fantasize about a man of God and want to claim him, coming to his sanctuary to tell him the truth and mess with his head? You know that it’s wrong, but the wrong thing often feels too right to stop. 

When you met him at the farmer’s market the other day, he was so endlessly kind to everyone, including yourself. He invited you to Sunday mass, and you went. You went on a walk with him afterward, and there seemed to be something there, but he couldn’t act on it because he is who he is and what he is. He made a vow. He can’t have you, no matter how badly he wants to, and one look into his unfocused hazel eyes when he took off those red glasses he always wears told you that he does want you. It led to another sleepless night among many, and now you’re here.

You’re so utterly selfish, but God, you can’t stop it. When you want something, you would do anything to get it. He makes you feel things you never felt before. It’s terrifying, but you have to allow yourself to jump into unknown waters if you want to learn how to swim.

He clears his throat, and you can hear the chair creak under his weight as he shifts. Is it possible that you’re doing the same to him that he is doing to you?

“I want to start by saying that you’re really brave,” he says. The sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. “But God offers people guidance in a symbolic sense. I can take your confession, tell you how to repent for your sins, but I can’t tell you what to do.”

You sigh. “I wish you would though.”

A chuckle passes his lips. “Why don’t you start by telling me what’s weighing you down, sweetheart, and we will go from there?”

Sweetheart. 

Yes, you think, this is your one-way ticket to hell. 

“I’ve been having thoughts,” you confess.

“Thoughts?” he asks.

“Yes. Unholy thoughts.” Your breath comes in weak puffs of air. The booth seems to cave in on you. You wish he would step out of his booth into yours and stuff his cock into your mouth. For him, you would shut up. You would do whatever he tells you to do, and you would do so gladly.

Fuck. You want to fuck a priest. 

But lucky for you, Father Matthew wants to fuck you too. He’s here, at midnight, because you were lost and he was still there—he told you he spends his nights at church sometimes because the city gets too loud for him. You couldn’t go anywhere else because any place where he isn’t doesn’t seem worth visiting.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath. You imagine him swallowing, his white collar constricting his labored airflow. You imagine him pulling at it to free himself, but he can’t. Those sinfully thick fingers of his would feel even better on your skin. 

“Unholy thoughts,” Father Matthew asks, “about whom, sweetheart?”

He’s pushing your buttons with that nickname. It’s so not professional. The lines are starting to blur.

“A man,” you tell him. 

“A man?”

“A man of God.”

The confession causes a bout of silence. You could have heard a hairpin drop. 

His chair creaks again, and his voice reminds you of an animalistic growl right before an apex predator attacks its prey. “And what unholy thoughts have you been having about this man of God?” he inquires.

Your inner walls clench around thin air. Sweat drips down your temples, and the arousal soaks your underwear. Your nipples strain against your shirt. If you grip the seat any harder, you will soon find wooden chips under your nails.

You lick your lips. “I’ve been thinking about him touching me,” you whisper. “And I want to touch him.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“And in your thoughts, does he satisfy you?”

Your answer comes promptly, “Always.”

There is not a scenario in which Father Matthew could possibly leave you unsatisfied. 

The chair creaks again. Something in the air shifts. 

Your voice is breathless and needy, and so fucking desperate when you speak into the silence, “Just tell me what to do, Father.”

“Okay,” he says. His leather shoes drag across the floor of the booth and toward the curtain that marks the exit of his side. The next word out of his mouth knocks all the air out of your lungs, “Kneel.”

You don’t even have time to question his request. Within seconds, the curtain through which you’ve stepped into the confessional booth is torn to the side, and there he is, in all of his glory, right in front of you, and his thick cock is straining against his black slacks.

You pinch yourself, but you’re not dreaming. This is real. This is what you wanted, and you weren’t imagining the mutual attraction due to delusions. He does want you, and he is about to break every rule in his book—and the lord’s book.

You sink to your knees. The only thing you can see on his face is pure, unbridled lust and the ugly truth of Catholic guilt. He must loathe himself for wanting you. 

Matt removes his glasses, revealing his beautiful eyes to you. In the dim candlelight, they appear almost black.

“What’s my sentence, Father?” you ask.

His hand brushes your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“No.” He steps into the booth and closes the curtain behind him. “Tonight, call me Matt.”

That is the last thing he says before he gets on his knees before you, and he captures your lips in a bruising kiss that is strong enough to make the angels howl.

His hand rests around your throat, feeling your pulse. He may not be able to see you with his eyes, but the way he touches you paints a perfect picture of your presence, and you feel every last ounce of his devotion. 

He explores the depth of your mouth with his tongue, tasting you, loving you. His hands feel beautifully rough against your skin, just like you imagined they would be after years of praying. He sees himself as the hands of God. A messenger. His goodness makes your heart swell and your core flood with more than unbridled arousal—this is human nature in all its emotional glory, and you no longer feel ashamed. You can’t possibly when he is holding you like this.

He exhales into your mouth—no, he breathes life into your soul. “You’re the most sinful yet purest thing I have ever laid my hands on,” Matt says.

You gasp against his luscious lips. “I wouldn’t want to make you turn your back on God, or–”

He cuts you off, “I did that when I first thought about your body on mine and coming so deep inside of you that you’ll carry me with you for days. I don’t care about God because if having him means that I can’t have you,” he says, “I don’t want him anymore.”

You swallow his words with a kiss. Turning a priest against God was never your intention, but you are not in charge of his feelings, nor will you ever be. Matt wants you badly enough to abandon religion, and you will carry that with you until the day you die. 

He lifts you back onto the edge of the wooden chair, pulling at your clothes and your undergarments. The moonlight hits his face as the cold air of the church hits your bare pussy. He looks ethereal like this, on his knees for you. His hazel eyes bore into your soul. He wears his heart on his sleeves and a collar around his neck. 

Your priest crosses his chest. He asks God for forgiveness. And then, with one gentle tug at your thighs, he buries his face in your wet cunt, and he feasts as if your sex was the last supper. As God’s disciple, he is determined to eat up every last bite offered to him. Every last drop from your cunt is his, and your lips part in a moan that echoes through the church like the bells did when it hit midnight.

“Fuck,” you cry out. 

He flattens his tongue against you, licking a long stripe over and then through your folds. He twirls the tip of his tongue over your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with such precision, your walls clench at the sheer explosion of pleasure. You have never felt anything like it. He turns something unholy into heaven, and you’re drowning in the river to the Garden of Eden.

His lips suction around your clit. The obscene squelching of your velvety walls fills the booth. It sounds deadly noisy to you. You want to cover your mouth to stop the moans from traveling, but he traps your hand with his, guiding them to his hand, telling you to guide him.  

Instead, one of your hands moves to his collar. It’s his turn to moan. You tug at the symbol of his priesthood, forcing his tongue deeper into your hole. He laps up your juices as though his life depends on it. 

“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned,” Matt murmurs against you. 

You moan again, louder this time. He is repenting for wanting to dive into your pussy until he gets swept away by the tide, but it is far too late to back out now. Your pleasure has become his priority. 

“Lord God,” he repeats, “in your goodness have mercy on me.”

The pleasure is turning into a tight knot in your lower abdomen. You can feel it consuming you and your senses. You’re floating. The light at the end of the tunnel is not so far out of reach anymore. Every suck and every lick at your folds, and every thrust of his tongue into your tight walls pushes you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

In your goodness, have mercy on me. 

He bites down lightly on your clit. Your toes curl, and his name comes out in a groan.

Do not look on my sins, but take away all my guilt. 

Right now, you are his God. By drinking your arousal like holy water and pushing you toward an orgasm he is repenting. The symbolism makes your heels dig into his back as you buck your hips against his mouth, and when he adds one of those thick fingers, curling them up against that sweet spot inside of you, you can barely stand it anymore.

Create me in a clean heart and renew within me an upright spirit.

“God, Matthew!” your moan interrupts his plea for penance only briefly.

He swats your thigh. “No blasphemy when I feast at the altar,” he says. The vibration of his voice adds to the knot, tightening it, and threatening it to burst.

You’re almost there. Almost…

“Have mercy on me, a sinner,” he continues. His tongue slides between your folds once again, gathering your slit. His fingers curl upward again. He’s mixing different prayers, or maybe these are his own words, but you are not sure how much longer you can hold it. But he wants you to hold it. You don’t want to disappoint the man who is worshiping at your feet, your pussy, his altar, and you are his salvation as much as you are his saving grace.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” he prays, “I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things—but fuck, I don’t.” 

Does that mean he loves you? It is too soon to tell that, but he is devoted, and devotion can be just as sinfully sweet as the rawest feeling of love.

“Have mercy on me, God. Amen!”

His collar is starting to tear under your vice grip. 

Matt thrusts his digit into you until it disappears, and he finally decides to show the mercy he was begging for to you. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Your thighs lock around his head as the knot breaks in two. You come, hard, and the wave tears him down with you, shooting his cum into his slacks like the good Catholic boy he is.

You let go of his collar when your orgasm has done its damage. 

“No,” he stops you. 

“No?” you ask, still breathless.

“No,” he says, lifting his head to grin at you, not like a man of God but the Devil himself. “I have not done nearly enough penance.”

As a priest, Matt is used to being on his knees until they’re bruised; until he can’t stand straight anymore, so he has to remain there, cowering before a God he more often than not does not believe in.

Before you can protest, he dives back into your endless ocean, and you have no choice but to lean back and take it. 

He is not the only one doing penance tonight, after all—you both are. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[mikathemonster]

“under my skin”

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

Pairing: Kíli / Gender-neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 14,873

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?” He said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d love nothing more, amrâlimê.”

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

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

[erathene]

A Fool's Hope

Summary: Aragorn has returned to Helm's Deep, which is rushing to prepare for the arrival of Isengard's Uruk army. Unfortunately, recent events take a heavy toll on the future king of Gondor, and you struggle with your own doubts as you try to pick up the pieces.

Word count: 2.3k

Pairing: Aragorn & GN!Reader 

Warnings: Whump, loss of consciousness, nausea, Aragorn is Not A Well Man™.

Author's note: It has been years since I've written anything, and real life has been extra busy as I'm now a mum to my 16 month old son. Now I'm starting to get some time back for my own hobbies I've started writing a few fics. Enjoy! 😚

..........................

Thirty sacks of grain, check.

Fifteen barrels of mead, check. 

Ten crates of carrots and twelve of cabbages, check.

Eight bushels of apples, check. 

The scratch of your quill against parchment could scarcely be heard over the hubbub of activity that was swelling through Helm's Deep. The fortress was in full preparation mode, readying for the battle that was to come. It seemed that every citizen had their own duty to fulfil; whether that be sharpening weapons at the grindstone, filling quivers with arrows or reinforcing the main gate.

Things were a little calmer here amongst the supplies and foodstuffs that had been amassed in recent weeks from the many arrivals to the fortress. Crates were neatly stacked one on top of the other whilst large oak barrels lined the thick stone wall. King Théoden had tasked you with tallying all of the rations that had been gathered together and ensuring their safe delivery to the Glittering Caves beyond the keep. To some, it may have appeared a simple task, with no true impact or merit. However, as Keeper of the Granary in Edoras, you knew all too well how plans for a siege could go disastrously awry should there not be adequate supplies to keep the troops fed and watered. The king himself would want to know the exact figures of every product stored, and most importantly how it could be stretched to cover the longest amount of time possible without his soldiers going hungry. It was a crucial part of the battle plans.

Consequently, every note you made on your parchment sheet was checked and re-checked, before the containers were carried off to the caves. The gravity and significance of the task at hand also kept your mind from dwelling on the thought of the thousands of Uruks which would soon be on the doorstep. You were no fighter, and had you not been kept busy with this charge, you might have found yourself completely overwhelmed with the anxiety of the battle ahead. 

"Those three sacks there can go next," you indicated to one of the youths who had been placed under your command for this task. "And ensure they are stored off the ground; we don't want spoiled grain on our hands." You watched as the boy nodded at your instructions and heaved a sack over his shoulder.

You turned back to your parchment paper, studying the values you had written. A few more calculations and you would be ready to present your findings back to the king and his war council, who were due to meet shortly for the final time. Presenting information to all the lords of Edoras may have intimidated some, but to you it seemed wholly insignificant compared to your apprehension of the conflict to come. 

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you glanced up quickly. Standing before you was Lord Aragorn, his gaze passing over the various containers that were held in the small area you were working in.

"My lord," you said as you bowed your head respectfully. "Is there something I can do for you?"

This was a paltry suggestion, for the man looked more than worse for wear. You had heard other folk speak of how he had been dragged off the cliff by one of the wolves of Isengard, and how he had ridden day and night to warn Théoden's people of the doom that was marching towards them. Yet nobody had spoken of his impairment. His complexion was pale beneath the dirt and grime of the skirmish and subsequent journey here, which also extended to his hair and clothing. A torn strip of cloth was tied around his upper arm, the crude bandage failing to fully cover an abrasion that was still red and raw underneath. His posture was irregular, likely caused by bruising beneath his garments and a cracked rib or two, and he gripped the hilt of his weapon as an old man would cling to a walking stick. As you took in his appearance, you found yourself morbidly surprised that he was still standing. 

"How are our supplies looking, Grainkeeper?" Aragorn asked, referring to you in the Common Tongue translation of your Rohirric title.

"Satisfactory, my lord," you replied quickly. "We won't be living in luxury, but I believe with careful management of our food stocks, we'll be able to see ourselves through at least a month of war or longer. The majority of the supplies have already been taken to the caves and stored securely. As you can see, we are about to move the final items," you gestured to the remaining crates of legumes and bushels of apples. You reported your findings to him as you would to King Théoden, taking the opportunity to see how the results would be received. 

"Good," he nodded. "That is good."

It didn't escape your attention how his grey eyes became glassy and unmoving as you gave your report, how his hand gripped the pommel of his sword with greater tension than before. "My lord, are you quite well?" you asked tentatively.

Aragorn blinked, returning from his reverie. "Well enough," he nodded with a forced smile. 

You felt less than convinced by his response. Nevertheless, he was a grown man, and it was not your place to fuss over him. With a pretence of curiosity to cover your underlying fears, you asked him about the preparations for the defence of the keep. Truth be told, you had been far too preoccupied in the makeshift open-air storeroom to take much notice of these activities.

"The reservists are being drawn behind the main wall, and archers will be positioned to support the keep," Aragorn said in a monotonous tone, as though he had repeated the battle plans over and over many times already. "King Théoden has sent his scouts to..." His sentence trailed off as he began to blink rapidly, reaching out to steady himself on one of the barrels of mead. Any remaining colour drained from his face as his breath came short and sharp.

Worry surged in your stomach for the man as he swayed dangerously on the spot. "My lord, you really should sit down. Here," you offered kindly, upturning an empty crate for him to use as a makeshift seat. "I'll fetch you some water." 

No sooner had you turned your back, there was an almighty crash as something went tumbling into the awaiting crates and barrels. You spun around on the spot and saw Aragorn sprawled on the floor, surrounded by upturned containers and stray carrots. A few apples rolled past the prone man whose limbs were haphazardly crumpled beneath him. Rushing to his side, you lifted back the mop of dark hair that lined his face; his eyes were half-lidded and his lips parted, as if he were trying to speak but his body was completely betraying him. You called his name, but there was no reaction. Pressing your fingers to his neck, you felt his racing heartbeat echoing in his veins beneath skin that was clammy to the touch. 

You called out to him again, the panic becoming evident in your voice. "Lord Aragorn, can you hear me?" You shook his shoulder vigorously in the hope of rousing him. Just as you were about to dash off to find help, you were rewarded when he let out a low, guttural moan.

"My lord?" 

You could just about make out the "M' fine," he mumbled into the floor. His fists clenched as began to push himself up to sitting, his hair falling over his facial features as he moved.

"Come, rest against the wall here." You gestured a few feet away where there was a gap between the mead barrels and crates. None of the colour had returned to his cheeks yet, and you fretted inwardly about whether he would lose consciousness again as you aided him. Soon enough, however, the man was resting against the cool stone, taking in deep and shaking breaths with his eyes firmly shut. 

You rushed to fill a spare flagon with water from a nearby jug, the liquid sloshing as you hurried back to Aragorn. The man opened one eye as you handed him the cup. "I'm fine," he repeated, seeing the concern etched on your face.

"I'm sure you are, my lord," you said grimly. "But it would lessen my worry to see you drink." 

Aragorn extended his hand towards the flagon, but seeing how he shook uncontrollably, you brought the cup to his lips instead. Slowly, he took a few small sips as the flagon tilted.

"Better?" you asked quietly.

"Aye. Thank you," he said. You helped him take a few more sips from the flagon, satisfied by the colouring that was slowly returning to his cheeks. 

Suddenly, another voice called over the barrels. "Lord Aragorn?"

You stood quickly, and saw the voice belonged to the captain of the king's guard, Háma. He looked slightly taken aback by your sudden appearance from behind several barrels. "Captain Háma, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am looking for Lord Aragorn. King Théoden wishes to see him immediately."

You briefly looked down at Aragorn, who was still slumped behind the barrels. At first he caught your gaze with pleading grey eyes, before his eyelids fell and his head shifted lightly from side to side to convey his refusal. You understood; he wasn't ready, not yet. 

You feigned reaching for your parchment which had been abandoned on top of a nearby barrel, hoping Háma would not be suspicious of your downward glance. "I'm afraid I have not seen him, sir. Perhaps he has gone to the armoury?"

Háma's stern gaze was fixed on you for several moments, before he frowned with disappointment. "I have already looked there, but perhaps we missed each other. As you were, Grainkeeper." He departed the area, his armour and chainmail ringing as he walked.

As soon as the captain rounded the corner, you bent back down behind the storage containers to level with Aragorn.

"Thank you," he breathed. "I am not sure I could have faced the king right now. Not while I have no strength left in me." 

"That's quite alright, Lord Aragorn. Here," you gave him a polite smile before reaching out and offering one of the apples that had been thrown in his fall. 

Aragorn blanched at the sight of the fruit. "I'm not hungry," he grunted through gritted teeth. 

"You said it yourself, you are lacking strength." From your pocket you pulled a small knife, and holding the fruit in your palm you began to slowly remove the apple skin with the edge of the blade. "This should help you recover somewhat." You cut the skinned apple into pieces in your hand, handing the man a wedge. 

Aragorn took the apple piece, but paused for a good minute or two before it entered his mouth. He chewed slowly, grinding the fruit down into a pulp, before he swallowed with a grimace. He looked like he was trying very hard not to vomit. 

You searched for a topic of conversation to draw his focus away from his churning stomach. Unfortunately, the only subject brimming the surface of your thoughts was the feeling of impending doom waiting for the siege to begin; the same feeling you had largely ignored whilst you had been occupied by your work.

You blurted out a question that had been rattling around your mind before you could even consider whether it would be appropriate to ask. "Is it true? There are really ten thousand Uruks marching on us?" 

Aragorn nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so. From the numbers I saw, Isengard is likely to be deserted."

You sighed, unable to mask your pessimism. "Ten thousand against three hundred. So there truly is no hope for us.."

"I disagree," said Aragorn quietly. "We still have hope." 

"Are we not fools to hope at all? Knowing what we are up against?"

"Nay," said Aragorn. "To hope is not foolish. We have a choice; to choose hope over fear. Choosing hope means choosing to believe that there are better days to come, if one has the courage to fight for it. That is not foolish in the slightest."

"No, I suppose not," you said, slightly surprised by the wisdom he demonstrated seemingly beyond his years. 

You suddenly heard your name being called from beyond the barrels. Rising to your feet once more, you saw the young man who had carried a sack of grain to the caves had returned. He stood obediently awaiting his next instructions, but you saw how his eyes curiously travelled around the chaos of upturned crates and loose vegetables that had appeared in his absence. "Never mind the mess now, boy," you shooed him away as soon as he held a crate of cabbages in his arms.  

"I should help you tidy up," Aragorn said firmly. "This is my doing after all."

"Are you sure, my lord?" You worried whether or not he should be standing so soon after his blackout.

"Yes. I insist," he said, slowly rising to his feet.

"That would be appreciated, thank you."

Together, you gathered up the provisions that had been thrown when the man had taken his tumble, and the chaos was soon reorganised back into neatly stacked crates. You looked around to see where you had left your parchment of notes, only to see the man holding them in his outstretched hand. 

"Remember; choose hope over fear," he said, touching your shoulder before taking his leave of you. 

His comment seemed to lighten the very air around you, the weight of complete helplessness clearing from your mind. You turned back to your parchment paper, feeling more resolved than ever to be a part of this final stand against evil, even if it was with a fool's hope.

[yonduismarrypoppins]

‘Mother May I Sleep With Danger, Please'.....

Summary: Bucky and the reader have gone undercover.

Photos aren't mine, credit to the og owners

Tiltle from ‘Mother May I Sleep With Danger?’ By Joy Crookes

Warnings: reader is black, reader is wearing a dress and has a back tattoo, she/her pronouns, Bucky drinks a glass of whiskey, the longest fic I've ever written, no y/n used, weird nicknames, google translate Russian, ending is abrupt bc I couldn't think of any ending that wasn't me stealing from someone else, speaking of which; inspired by @buckyalpine ‘s fic

A/N: thanks to @webinurcloset for proofreading

I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO REPOST OR TRANSLATE AND REPOST, THIS IS MY WRITING!

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG MAKING THIS 18+ CONTENT. MOVE ON MINOR.

You were the newest addition to the avengers, quiet, solemn but hardworking nonetheless. You had been living in the tower for a month now, not a soul but you had seen the inside of your apartments. Every dinner, meeting and mission you stayed silent save for the occasional ‘hello’ ‘thank you’ and ‘goodnight’. The other Avengers didn't make a big deal of it, knowing how anxiety can affect a person especially a newly appointed avenger.

You had not yet been approved for missions so you spent most of your time in your room, but the few times you were spotted around the tower or the compound you wore loose black sweats and a scarf around your hair. The only visible parts of you being your face and part of your neck, the parts of you they could see they appreciated. They weren't very concerned about the rest of your body, knowing most of them were covered in scars, some more inclined to hide them than others.

Everyone expected that to change, especially once you were approved for missions. The week had finally come. They were given the option to watch from the balcony as you were examined in the training gym. As Tony hadn't finished your ‘Hero Suit’ as he called it, you were given a SHIELD issue suit. Unsurprisingly it covered more of your body than your sweats did, with a high neck, gloves and a hood. Though your silhouette was certainly visible, Steve's blush made that clear. You had undeniable skill easily mastering each and every weapon handed to you, easily defeating over a dozen SHIELD agents. 

You were called into a meeting shortly after your approval, along with Sam, Natasha and Bucky. You walked in to see the three spy’s spread about, sat around the long metal table. You were surprised at Steve's absence, deducing that this mission was to be more covert than usual. You were told by Maria Hill the nature of the mission, surveillance, which came as no surprise to you.

After a long silence caused by one of Sam's ‘jokes’, you wondered if you all would be sitting in a van together for hours. Maria quickly began to discuss the details of the mission. You and Bucky would be infiltrating a gala, set to happen the next day hosted by a man named Anatoli Volkov at his private residence in New Hampshire, one of his many properties. 

He had been suspected of human trafficking and many other dirty dealings by the FBI for years, only falling under SHIELDS radar after one of the girls he had ‘allegedly’ kidnaped was found in a Hydra facility barely breathing 3 years later. She thankfully survived and was able to give some information on how she ended up there, including Volkov’s name.

Maria gave you the files on yours and Bucky's undercover identities; Ukraine and American born spies, respectively, over a dozen confirmed kills, married in 2015... You stopped for a moment, eyes reverting back to that last phrase, a couple, a married couple. Feeling Bucky's eyes on you, you kept your expression as neutral as possible before continuing to read on. After the briefing you briskly made your way to your room, grabbing a bottle of your favorite drink from your fridge.

You thanked whoever designed this building for allowing everyone to have their own apartments, two to a floor with the only exception being Wanda and Vision.

Their apartments have been merged so they now have the floor to themselves.

The moderately sized units were outfitted with a kitchen with a small dining table, a small living room along with a television, bathroom, small walk in closet and bedroom. As well as the F.R.I.D.A.Y. ai wired throughout the building.

You had put more time into decorating than you originally planned but overall, you made a home for yourself. You only had to leave when you ran out of food, for training or for laundry and other chores. After a few hours sitting in your bed, memorizing the blueprints for Volkov's house and every given detail of your new identity F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s startled you out of your focus, notifying you that someone was at your door.

You opened your door to Bucky holding a black garment bag and a medium sized shopping bag in his right hand with a large black box in his left.

“Hill wanted me to give you these” he handed you the two bags, “and Tony finished your suit”

You weren't necessarily surprised at his arrival, considering you two shared a floor it made sense for him to be the one to deliver the items to you.

You thanked him quietly, reaching out to grab the box. It was heavier than expected. You gave him a small smile before closing the door. The heat in your cheeks suddenly became quite noticeable. You hoped quietly that the melanin you were so grateful for covered any hypothetical redness.

As you passed the windows on the way to your bedroom you noticed the dark night sky, you hadn't realized how late it was. You hung up the garment bag on the hook you had placed outside of your closet door, placing the bag and your new suit on the bed. You made your way to the bathroom to take a shower, the warm water calming you as you reflected on the events of the day.

You had been trying to befriend your fellow Avengers but your anxieties prevented you from being outgoing. You had grown closest with Bruce, as he could relate to your fears. You stepped out of the shower commencing your skincare and body care routine. After you finished you went to grab the garment bag, trying on the gown to ensure it fit with the black heels they'd given you to go along with it.

You quite liked the ensemble, but you weren't quite thrilled to wear it in front of the rest of the Avengers. You took it off returning the items to their previous packaging before putting on your night clothes and getting in your bed. You fell asleep searching for hairstyles to wear to the gala on Pinterest.

You dreamt of Bucky that night, how he might touch you with his large hands, one warm flesh, one cool metal , how he might look at you with gorgeous and piercing blue eyes, how he might love you with all of that and everything in between.

__________________

The Next Morning

You awoke earlier than normal, 4:56, a habit you'd had since adolescence when you were anxious. You changed into your workout clothes, black sports bra, leggings and the lulu lemon jacket Natasha had gifted to you when you first arrived. You made your way to the restroom where you pulled your hair back into a ponytail. Putting on your favorite pair of red sneakers before leaving.

Making your way to the elevator, Bucky's apartment door opened. You stopped in front of the elevator doors, turning to watch him. He turned around and made eye contact with you, after a few minutes of still silence you spoke, “going down?” he shut his door and answered with a smile, “yea”.

He stood beside you as the doors opened, he raised his hand allowing you to enter first pressing the gym floor button as he turned facing the closing the doors. You smiled down at the elevator buttons as Bucky adjusted his position so he wouldn't crowd you, something he often did unintentionally due to his large stature.

10, 9, 8.. The small screen changed as you descended the floors. “Thank you for bringing me the stuff for the mission.'' Bucky smiled, the most he'd ever heard you speak.

6, 5… “Of course, how'd you like your suit?” your suit, you'd forgotten to try it on last night. You didn't even open the box, “I haven't put it on yet” “no rush, I was just curious” he shrugged “its ok, I would be too” you both smiled.

4, 3. The doors slid open, you exited first heading for the women's locker room so you could use the bathroom. Glad to find it empty, you were in and out spending most of your time at the sink washing your hands and examining everything that just happened in the elevator. After finding one too many reasons to be embarrassed you left the bathroom and entered the gym, heading right for the open floor to stretch.

The gym was just as empty as the locker room, save for Bucky, you decided to go light today. Loosen yourself up before the mission just to avoid being sore. You finished before Bucky did, he was on the pull up bar as he had been for the 7 minutes before then, you'd spent that time admiring his muscular back looking away when you began to feel a gathering wetness in your underwear.

You left just before the morning gym rush arrived, taking another shower in your room and putting on your usual sweats and scarf before getting some fruit to eat in front of the tv where you sat for the next few hours.

You looked at the clock, 5:00. You were set to leave at 6:30.

You quickly got up, making sure you packed everything you needed to style your hair and do your makeup. You grabbed the garment and shoe bag along with a black purse with hardware that matched your chosen jewelry and a black scarf made with the same material of the dress to cover your shoulders. You made sure you had everything you needed before running to the elevator, heading to the top floor to board the quinjet.

You arrived first, much to your surprise, allowing the SHIELD agent piloting to pack your things into the built in storage compartments. As you sat down, Sam, Nat and Bucky arrived with their clothes and other supplies in tow. You looked back down over your thighs to make sure you put your seatbelt into the right clip. When you looked back up they were walking to their seats Bucky choosing to sit next to you

“Hey doll” he said with a small smile, “hello” you replied quietly. Sam and Nat sat across from you both. Suddenly a SHIELD agent, who appeared to be quite out of breath ran up the ramp. He stopped in front of you handing you a small black box, “the wedding rings mam” he said exasperatedly. You thanked him before he nodded and ran back out. You opened the box to two simple wedding bands, one thicker than the other and a diamond ring, one you might have chosen for yourself if this was real. You held out the box to Bucky before he reached for the thicker band, placing it on his ring finger before you did the same.

You noticed the rings were not new, with small nicks and marks. An important detail, especially if you were going to be surrounded by people as observant as you. You made a mental note to fake a tan line on yours and Bucky’s fingers later. The pilot cut through the silence on the intercom, announcing the beginning of the flight.

You landed in the SHIELD port shortly after as the flight was only 15 minutes. You were taken to the car port by another agent along with your bags where Natasha was given keys to a black cadillac escalade. You all stood against the grey concrete wall for a second, watching as the agent packed your things into the trunk of the car you looked at Bucky to your right, admiring how his jawline was accentuated by his man bun. You were sure you might have gaged at the bundle of hair on anyone else but on him you couldn't help but fawn over it. He looked down at you with a grin, making you look forward again embarrassed, glad to see the agent was finished.

Nat drove to the hotel where you would be staying, pleasantly surprised that it was an actual hotel and not a dirty highway motel like some of the other Avengers had been made to stay in. You and Nat packed all of your things onto a luggage cart while Sam and Bucky checked you all in.

“You should tell him you like him, you know, he likes you just as much.” Natasha says suddenly, you look up at her with shocked eyes “what?” you ask quickly, voice wavering. She flashes a grin at you, “Nothing, sorry”

You pushed the luggage cart into the lobby where Bucky and Sam were waiting by the elevator, you struggled slightly to push the cart into the elevator, Natasha and Sam attempting to help you on the other side. “I'll help you doll”. He moved behind you, placing his hands just above yours. You felt his warm body push into yours as you stumbled in with the cart. You turned to face him as the doors closed looking into his eyes for a moment, you cleared your throat, breaking eye contact and speaking quietly to ask “which floor?” he smirked “penthouse, doll” you clicked the button watching as it lit up and feeling the elevator begin to move.

Bucky was too preoccupied watching you avoid looking at his face to notice the look Sam and Nat exchanged, one of pride and cunning, it was only a matter of time.

Nat and Sam left your coms on the desk before going across the hall to their room. You used the master bathroom to get ready while Bucky used the half bath. You had finished your hair and makeup but were struggling to close the dress, the satin buttons proving hard to reach. You stepped out of the bathroom calling for Bucky, “what's up doll” he stepped out of the bathroom fixing his suit cuff, you were pulled into a trance admiring how he looked in the black suit, his bun making him look even more mysterious.

“Doll?” you snapped out of it. Not realizing he had moved closer to you, “what do you need, sweet girl?” he spoke softly, you swore that his pet names would make you spontaneously combust. “I need help with my dress, I can't get it closed.” You turned your back to him so he could start closing the buttons. He quietly admired the art tattooed on your back, it was beautiful, elongating your back with its elegant design. With every brush of his hands on your skin you became more and more flustered thanking whatever deity was looking down on you when he announced he was done, you turned to face him again “You look great doll.” Bucky said with a smile, your eyes flashing in between his eyes and chest a few times before you spoke up, “I'll just grab my bag and we can go” 

You made sure you had on all of your jewelry, including your wedding rings, your bag, your scarf and your com before you told Bucky you were ready to go. You stepped out just as Natasha and Sam did, donning their driver and bodyguard outfits respectively. The elevator trip was much less awkward, Sam even managing to make a joke that you all laughed at.

You all walked to the car, you and Sam moving to the right and Nat and Bucky moving to the left. Nat and Sam got in the front seats of the car while Bucky opened the door for you, you slid to the seat on the other end so he wouldn't have to circle the car to enter. Sam pulled off just as he shut the door. You had been staring absentmindedly out of the window when you felt Bucky grip your hand and pull it towards his chest. You turned your head toward him, making no movements as you had no intention of pulling your hand away. As he turned the wedding rings on your finger you wondered again what it would be like to be loved by Bucky.

The drive was short, you arrived ‘fashionably late’ as Sam called it at 8:15. The estate was gorgeous, elegant and large but not overbearing. It rested on a large piece of land surrounded by forests and greenery.

“Ladies and gents we have arrived. I'll circle to the entrance to drop you two off and we'll park a few blocks away.” Sam said, while his tone was gleeful you heard the underlying worry in his voice. Bucky walked out and around to your door, reaching his hand around to help you step out. “Don't forget to turn on your coms.” Nat added quickly as you Bucky closed the car door.

Bucky moved his arm around your waist to guide you up the stairs of the extravagant mansion, the doors opened to a gorgeous ballroom, warm lighting, brown tones and old school jazz music coming from the live band in the corner. Just quiet enough to feel like a background song to a memory. There were plenty of people, criminals you assumed. All well dressed in browns, blacks and creams.

You admired the dress of one woman while Bucky walked you to the bar, keeping you close. He ordered himself a whiskey neat. One of the perks that come from being a super soldier on missions, he can drink normal alcohol with no consequences because it has no effect on his body. Discovering his inability to get drunk has given Bucky the opportunity to drink whiskey for the flavor, he has become a bit of a connoisseur post freedom, his current favorite being Bushmills Black Bush Whiskey. You ordered a ‘Shirley Temple’, not necessarily feeling like drinking alcohol. You moved to sit on the bar stool facing away from the bar while Bucky stayed standing on your right side waiting for your drinks.

The bartender handed Bucky your drinks when suddenly you felt a clammy hand on your shoulder, “ну что тут у нас? экзотическая красавица?” (well what do we have here? an exotic beauty?) You looked up at the person touching him, and immediately recognized him as Anatoli Volkov. You wanted to pull his hand off of you and break it but you couldn't do anything to make him suspicious, thankfully Bucky spoke before you did.

“моя жена великолепна, не так ли?” (my wife is gorgeous, isn't she?) he said, putting some obvious emphasis on the word wife. He then wrapped one of his arms around your neck. You reached up to grasp his hand floating hand, pulling it down slightly. Volkov smirked, “I meant you no offense, Mr.?” he said in an amused tone, highlighting his thick accent.

“Joseph Smith and my wife Iris”. Your thumb swiped across his hand as he spoke, your head leaning back into his chest. Anatoli reached his hand out towards Bucky to shake, “it's nice to meet you Joseph, i hope to see you both again” Volkov looked down at you with a sly smirk, Bucky diverted his attention when he reciprocated his handshake, Anatoli's eyes shooting back up to him. “I hope to see you again too” Bucky smiled but his grip tightened, Volkov shook out his hand as he turned and walked away from the both of you. You turned to face the bar taking a sip of your drink, the sweet liquid refreshing your parched throat.

Bucky's arm moved off of you to take a sip of his drink. You turned back to the crowd after downing half of your drink, taking a moment to see how much security was in the building. Eventually you noticed at least 8 men in all black suits, all of whom had repeatedly talked to the same man in a dark blue suit. He had been shadowing Volkov since you arrived, you noted.

Suddenly Bucky grabbed your knees, pulling you to face him and moving your legs around his waist, with one hand you gripped his wrist and with the other you stabilized yourself on his shoulder. Your hand slowly moved up his arm as he pushed his hand up into your dress clutching and rubbing at your ass and thighs. “gray suit 2:00, he might have made us, i'm not sure.” you barely brought yourself to tear your eyes away from his face to look at the man in question. He was standing in a corner watching the two of you, finally looking away to reach into his pocket to answer his phone. You tried to read his lips but were quickly distracted when Bucky pushed his head into your neck, your hand flying to his neck carefully holding his head.

“Think we should go?” he said into your ear, you cleared your throat “we don't have anything on Volkov yet, we should wait.” he grunted in response before pulling his head out from your shoulder, only moving one of his hands to reach for his glass of whiskey again. You looked up at him, wondering how he can manage to make butterflies turn in your stomach while staying completely calm, you hoped that your flustered behavior wasn't tipping off the other people in the ballroom. You looked back at the jazz band when the music ended, quietly clapping before Anatoli walked on stage. You immediately rolled your eyes, wanting to zone out but knowing that if you did you'd likely regret it. You reached to take a sip of your drink, reminding yourself as to why you hadn't ordered something alcoholic when Anatoli began to speak.

The whole speech was in Russian, he thanked his guests, boasted and bragged but still delivered no useful information. Fake laughter coming from all sides of the room. You had zoned out a bit, listening to the heavenly jazz band on stage once again until you felt a hand on your neck. Bucky grasped both sides of your face with both of his hands, tilting your head up to look at him, he chucked when you hesitated to look him in the eye.

He held his forehead against yours brushing your lips against each other before speaking again, “Somebodys watching us, doll.” He smirked when he finished using his hands to push your head in the direction of the man in the gray suit once again. You looked back at Bucky before aiming your head down.

You took your hands, taping the inside of yours and Bucky’s ears discreetly before moving them around his neck. You spoke quietly, “Nat, do you copy?” there were a few seconds of static before a response came “Copy kitty-girl, what's going on in there?” you smiled at the nickname, reminded of the night you and Nat had snuck Alpine out from Bucky’s room to put her in the animal Falcon costume. “We're all good but maybe not for long, we’re being watched.” “Alright, get out of there. We'll be at the front waiting.” You heard her call for Sam to start the car before you looked at Bucky in the eye again, nodding subtly.

He moved his hands from your face, grabbing your bag from the bar before lifting you off of the stool, you let a small gasp escape you. Before you could process the action he was pulling you across the room to the entrance, when you reached the stairs he placed an arm under your shoulders and the other under your knee, the action made you squeal and you in turn made him laugh. You felt like a princess, or at the very least a main character in a rom com that was not deemed relevant enough to have Bucky watch yet.

You were sure that anyone witnessing the interaction would simply think you two were a happy couple eager to get home after a long night of tension.

He placed you down to open the door to the large van, lifting you into your seat before sliding in himself. Sam begins to open his mouth to speak when you put a finger over your mouth in an effort to quiet him. You look through your purse finding a bug in the open interior pocket and a tracker handing them to Natasha, she hands you a bug detector. You took Bucky's hands to make sure there were no other devices before doing a quick sweep over his body and yours, after finding nothing you say “alright, we're clear”. Natasha smiles when you hand the bug detector back to her, noticing that Bucky hasn't taken his eyes off of you and you haven't let go of Bucky's hand.

It's done, I'm done, sorry if this sucks.

Taglist:

@floriidakilos @zendayassimp @itsyagirljaz

[kinnporsche]

and i’m back with another kinn & porsche rec list because i just can’t stop apparently! like the others, this list is ordered according to length (from longest to shortest), and each fic is by a different author (to help spread the love)! all fics that are not yet complete have been marked with (wip). also, it’s been over a year since this show grabbed me by the balls and it honestly doesn’t seem like it’s letting go any time soon! so, to all of the fic writers out there, i basically owe you my firstborn for continuing to sate my unending thirst for kp content. anyway, make sure to read the tags, and show the authors some love, because they deserve it! [part 5/?]

— bad bet by luckydragon – explicit / 190.7k words

The buyers who are coming to the auction today are from all over the world, according to the loud, pompous host. The host tells Porsche that he should be grateful for this opportunity.

They put jewelry on him. They cover a bruise with makeup. They tell him where to go and where to stand, and then he waits. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight it. He never fights unless he’s told to.

(Or: Kinn and Porsche first encounter each other at a very exclusive, very high-end auction. They end up having to flee the scene.)

— a stacked deck by patterpea – explicit / 99.8k words (wip)

After being shot in the head, Porsche found himself waking up a week before his and Kinn’s showdown in the back alley. With more information on the family he would choose to protect and the man he fell in love with, things may be easier this time around.

(Knowing his luck, probably not.)

— i gave a second chance to cupid by haeseolar – explicit / 61.2k words

Kinn doesn’t think much of it when his class is one minute late, but as the clock ticks over to ten past the hour, he starts getting suspicious. It’s normal for classes to overrun every so often. Hell, he’s even done it before—however, they’re never usually this late in arriving. He pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose as they’ve gradually slid down while he was staring at the worksheets on his desk.

He sighs, glancing nervously at the clock on the wall. Two minutes, he promises himself, and then he’ll go figure out where the hell his class has disappeared off to.

— the less i know the better by mslunita – explicit / 45.1k words

“Well, then. Kinn.” Porsche’s voice saying his name sounds simultaneously like a threat and the promise of a good, good time. It doesn’t help that the bartender is leaning in towards his ear, his breath tickling the edge. “I don’t want you dead.”

“No?”

“No,” Porsche repeats back to him. He unexpectedly drops a kiss just below the ear he’s been whispering in, causing Kinn to shiver.

“I just want you naked.”

(Or: A bored Kinn joins Tinder in hopes of getting his rocks off with a different kind of guy. A very flirty and very bratty Porsche challenges him in just the right way.)

— smoke and raindrops ‘series by nuwildcat – explicit / 41.7k words

Taking a break in the back of Hum Bar shouldn’t have been what brought a vampire into Porsche’s life, but he’s always had shit luck. This vampire in particular is sticking around, and not just for the cocktails.

— beneath black sails by ahdriking – explicit / 31.8k words

Long ago, Porsche’s mother had left in search of a dream, never to return. Following in her footsteps, Porsche sets sail for the West Indies, nothing but a map in his pocket and hope in his heart to make a better life for himself and his brother.

And then his ship is attacked by pirates.

— heir apparent by achray – mature / 22.4k words (wip)

“Consequently, I have decided to make you my heir,” Korn says.

— what stays and what fades away by kurtstiel – explicit / 17.6k words

“You can show me how sorry you are.” Kinn puts the glass down on a nearby table. “Get on the bed.”

Porsche hesitates. He didn’t think this was the direction that Kinn would go in and it confuses him, coming now as it does with Kinn looking at him expectantly, no sign of the sorrow that’s haunted him for a week, like he’s finally come to a decision.

“Get on the bed,” Kinn repeats, arms crossed. “Take off your clothes.”

(Or: Porsche broke Kinn’s trust on the night he left to meet Vegas. Kinn comes up with a way for Porsche to earn that trust again.)

— mutatis mutandis by zipperbiter – explicit / 10.9k words

“Let me tell you something, Kinn.” Porsche murmured, sounding almost haughtily well-composed, reaching up with his opposite hand. He dragged his thumb across Kinn’s lower lip, pulling it down softly, observing the arousal in his expression as his boyfriend receptively opened his mouth a little further. “With me, you don’t take the power in the bedroom. I give it to you.”

(Or: During lunch, Tankhun poses a question. Between Kinn and Porsche, who’s the dominant one in the bedroom? To spare their privacy, Porsche gives a vague response, implying that it’s more complicated than it just being one of them. Kinn makes the mistake of snickering, and Porsche realizes it’s time to humble him.)

— love and violence by thewayside – explicit / 9.4k words

Love and violence have always been bedfellows for Kinn. Down to how his first proper relationship ended in a pool of blood. Porsche’s beauty might have drawn him in, but he knows in his gut that he met someone in kind that first night, blood coursing through their veins as the fight ended and Porsche led him onto a bike to a road he barely knew.

— more by rebellconquerer – explicit / 6.8k words

Porsche looks up at him, still holding Kim in the headlock through his continued struggles, and grins, split lip no longer bleeding but swollen, his sinful mouth red and flushed but teeth no longer framed with blood. His entire expression drips with an arrogance that makes Porsche seem wild, sparking like a live wire left on the ground, the electricity charging the air around him. It sets Kinn alight. He wants to push nearer to that thrumming energy until he can feel the static running along his teeth, threatening a shock that would have him moaning in pleasure-pain.

(Or: Kim and Porsche decide to work off their Chay-inspired anxiety by sparring publicly. Kinn has done nothing to deserve this.)

— you’re the heat that i know by fortunehasgivenup – explicit / 5.6k words

Kinn hasn’t slept in the same bed as Porsche in three days, and an apologetic phone call from Porsche an hour earlier had informed him that wouldn’t be changing tonight unless he took matters into his own hands.

So he does just that, going to the minor family’s house, only to find Porsche taking care of some business. Kinn decides that perhaps tonight he’d like things to go a different way.

— an indentation in the shape of you by butterflylungs – explicit / 3.1k words

Kinn can’t stop staring at the mark under his hand, the proof that he’s had Porsche. His stomach is burning with a strange fire, an all-encompassing heat, like a star burning up. He presses on the bruise, and Porsche jumps. When Kinn looks up he sees the same fire roaring to life in Porsche’s eyes; his pupils are blown wide-open, his pretty lips parted.

Kinn smiles slowly, pressing down more purposefully. Porsche’s chest rises and falls hard and fast as his breathing speeds up. He likes this. “I could’ve been marking you up the whole time,” Kinn muses.

(Or: Kinn finds out Porsche bruises easily, and he takes the chance to leave his mark on him.)

— i can’t stop and look the other way by mirrorofprinces – explicit / 3.1k words

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Porsche confesses, panting.

Kinn scrapes his teeth against Porsche’s pulse point. “One of these days, I won’t. You know that.”

Porsche shuts his eyes, heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

— sweet by theninjacat – explicit / 1.6k words

There’s a bead of sweat dripping down Kinn’s temple. That’s all Porsche can focus on as he sinks down onto Kinn.

[dragonwritersblog]

King Of My Heart

Funnybunny Week Day Five: Gods AU . Pomni, Goddess of Life. Jax, God of Death. Such polar opposites yet share the most precious bond that the universes have ever seen.

Read on AO3

Hey guys! Its day five and we have my fav prompt of the week, gods au! I'm so excited for you guys to see what I've gotten cooked up.

Also, there is a mention of child death but it is very, very brief but I don't want you guys to go into this without that information. As always, I will label (1) when it will start and (2) when it ends. If this is something that triggers you please feel free to skip this fic, your mental health matters.

Other than that, enjoy! <3

And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa And all at once, you're all I want, I'll never let you go King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa - King Of My Heart by Taylor Swift

.

The best thing to compare the gods with was the wind. You may not see it, smell it, touch it, but they were always there to walk with you during your day. Some gods would even use the wind to get where they need to be, and if mortals were really lucky, they could sense if they were really by their side or not.

One in particular who loved to visit earth was Pomni, the goddess of life herself. She always adored seeing each soul she molded and breathed into the earth going about how they wanted to live their lives. She loved seeing their passions, their commitments, their dreams. Nothing else could fill her with pride than seeing her souls carry out the best and happiest lives they ever imagined.

But it didn’t mean that it hurt when the souls she created went into another direction, to go down a darker path that she couldn’t pull them away from. It pained her when the beings that she put onto the earth became the worst things she could ever imagine. 

She knew she shouldn’t blame herself, after all she was only responsible for creating life, not to control it, those souls' actions were their own and never her fault. But it didn’t mean that she never felt guilt for creating those souls in the first place, even if she couldn’t see the outcome of their actions. 

But there was one other god that steered her away from her self-blame, one that made it his mission to make sure she knew that it was never her fault. One that was the bane of her immortal existence, but somehow made it all the more better by being in it. One that went by the name of-

“Jax,” Pomni felt herself grinning as the other god walked up next to her, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Only your presence my dear,” The rabbitoid god bowed. 

Jax, the god of death. He was spawned into creation around the same time of Pomni, meaning he knew her the longest than any of the other gods within the heavens. He was her best friend, and her soulmate (even if the two didn’t acknowledge it after many millennia). If Pomni was responsible for gifting life, Jax was the one who guided them to the next plane of existence.

It wasn’t a dark job as most mortals believed. Yes he had to deal with the most atrocious souls and take them where they would be served the justice for the people they hurt (he always made sure to give them a taste of their own medicine for making Pomni so sad), but that didn’t mean he hadn’t met some of the kindest, thought-provoking mortals that he had the honor of guiding to the heavens.   

“Although, I am curious as to what brought you to the mortal realm this fine day my lady,” He peered down at her, a mischievous smirk on his face.

The goddess rolled her eyes at her partner, “Just observing one of my most recent creations. Her parents are taking her to her first day of elementary school, they’ve been so excited for her. It’s the sweetest thing.”

Jax turned to where she was looking, a little girl with red hair wrapped in pigtails, swaying back and forth on her feet as her parents walked with her to the front gates of the school.

“Those two were my most favorite creations,” Pomni exhaled happily, “I gotta watch them grow into the people they are today and watch them fall in love. And now they have a child of their own!”

“It really is something,” Jax mused. No matter how many times she had done this before, Pomni treated every single soul that she formed as if it were the first, it had been that way since the beginning of time. “But they are not the only ones who have experienced falling in love.” His tone held a hint of cheek.

Pomni turned round, raising a brow as she matched the cocky smirk on his face. She knew exactly where this conversation was going, “Oh?”

“I mean, judging by those two, they’ve got the whole opposites attract thing going on between them,” he observed, “Sounds a little bit like you and me.”

“Is that so?” Pomni crossed her arms as Jax continued with his little speech.

“Think about it, everything in life needs opposites in order to form the perfect balance,” he told her. “Fire and water, winter and summer, Yin and Yang…life and death?”

“And what exactly are you insinuating oh so terrifying god of death?” she teased, leaning in close to him.

“All I’m saying is the universe is giving us a lot of hints,” he replied, “You and me, the perfect opposites. We’re meant to be my dear, so how about you let me treat you right with a nice candlelit dinner under the stars tonight where we can declare how badly in love we are with one another.”

“Tempting, but I’ll have to make a rain check with that,” she said, “I have another soul to create later today, I want to keep my focus on that.”

“Always as focused as ever,” Jax let out a longing, dramatic sigh as he leaned in closer to her, “But that’s what I love about you Pomni.”

“Keep the sappiness to yourself mister,” she giggled, pressing a to the center of his face and pushed him back lightly.

Jax joined in on his goddess’ chortles with his own carefree laugh. Pomni was the walking manifestation of literally breathing new life into him. Just the smallest smile from her made his heart lit up like the millions of stars placed onto the dark sky each night. No, she was the star of his night sky.

His laughter was cut short when he felt a shift in the atmosphere, an invisible string suddenly cut. From the way he could sense it, the string had been remarkably short. 

Pomni ceased in her laughter from the sudden change of Jax’s mood. She placed a hand on his arm, she had seen that look after centuries of being his friend and understood it well. “Jax?”

He smiled softly, resting his hand on top of hers, “Don’t worry about me Pomni. Wait for me in the skies above and tell me about the rest of your day when I get back. Duty calls.”

She nodded, her eyes watering. Another mortal’s life had ended today. Jax gently shushed her, wiping the tears from her eyes, “Don’t worry my dear. I have a feeling this soul will be going to a good place, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Okay,” she sniffed, “Just, take care of yourself too.”

Jax looked at her with awe. Even when she cared about the wellbeing of another soul, Jax was also her main priority. “I will,” he promised, “I will.”

He lifted her hand, gently pressing a kiss on her palm, before letting it go. Before Pomni could say another word, he was gone.

.

The heavens were always an interesting place. Many mortals had pondered what it would look like, moreso imagining it to look like the traditional tale of a city of clouds and angels playing harps. 

While it wasn’t like that per say, but it was a place of peace for the new coming souls to rest. Each paradise for both the mortals and the gods was constructed by the universe to create each individual wonderland for them all to live in.

Pomni’s paradise consisted of a beautiful forest, flora and fauna, enchanting waterfalls and a little cozy home within the cave of a mossy cliff. It had everything she needed, a fireplace built within the stone, a pantry filled with all the fruits, bread and meat to last her lifetimes, a large dent in the middle of the ground, with mattress, pillows and blankets replacing the rocky structure to make up the most comfortable bed, and a canvas set up for her to paint something new each day right by the open entrance of the cave.

Right now, the goddess was waiting in her little nest, already setting up the blankets for her and Jax. It was something she did every time he had a pick-up. He told her he was used to it by now, but the tired look in his eyes every time he came to her entrance said otherwise.

Once she had finished preparing a plate of his favorite fruits and chocolates, a flourish of wind sent a chill up her spine. She didn’t even need to ask who it was when a chin rested on her shoulder and a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. “Tough pick-up?” she asked the familiar presence.

(1)

Jax hummed in agreement, “It was a kid, a year younger than the one you were observing earlier. He liked to draw with his older sister, play with his dog in the garden, and make fairy cakes with his mom. When I went to see him, he was in so much pain, nothing like his playful self when he was laying in that hospital bed. The moment I picked his soul up in my arms, he was right back to his normal self. I promised him that he would be going somewhere where he would never hurt again, but I know that his family just lost a precious part of them.”

(2)

She shifted in his arms to face him, “Come here.” She pulled him down to lay on the mattress, pulling a blanket over them. She let out a surprised yelp when he pulled her face into his chest, running his fingers through her hair as his other arm held her tight. She melted into the embrace, today’s pick-up must have taken a lot out of him.

“Thanks Pomni, I…I needed this,” he spoke carefully. “Being the god of death, it's important that I’m strong enough for the souls I carry to the other realms. Whether they’re scared of what’s next, or terrible people who want to put up a fight, even kids…the front I have to put up is a tough one. But not an easy one. You…you make it easy. You make everything easy.”

“And you do too. For me,” Pomni told him, “Every time when one of my souls turns to a life of hurting others and destroying this earth, you always make sure that I don’t feel responsible for their choices. It's really hard not to, it is my job after all. But you take some of that weight off my shoulders.” She peered up at him, “You’re special to me too.”

Jax exhaled strongly, pulling her tight against him again, “You’re so, so, so special my little goddess. More than you could ever believe. I wasn’t lying about how madly in love with you I am.”

Pomni had never been more glad than she was right now that her face was buried in his chest, hiding the blush staining her pale cheeks “W-well, since we’re free now, maybe we could do that candlelit dinner under the stars?”

Jax looked down at Pomni, who was staring up at him with her wide, multi-coloured eyes anxiously. “Yeah, I think we can do that,” he grinned.

“Don’t let that inflate your ego, mister,” she pouted.

“Too late little goddess,” He rested his chin on her head, “Too late.”

She sighed with exasperation, shaking her head fondly. 

The goddess of life and the god of death.

Who could have ever expected it? Maybe opposites do attract after all.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Hello! I have a selfish request hehe You see I have been thinking about this For a while now and uhhh I wanted to see if you could make a fic out of it So if you see it Thank you very much!

Baby, You’re My Lightning In A Bottle

Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, Keith Angst, Hurt/Comfort, 2k Words

Summary:

Sometimes, everything goes right and Keith is still anxious about it. Lance helps.

———

“Okay,” Keith sighs out. “Check-in time. Everyone sound off, make sure to mention any injuries.”

“I’m a little sore from that big hit on Yellow, but the new shock system I added is pretty awesome — I’m not hurt!”

Keith smiles at the Yellow Paladin. “Good to hear, Hunk.”

“I’m injury-free! And pretty pumped!” Pidge calls next.

Keith nods at her, then turns his eyes to Allura when she speaks up next.

“I think I am actually feeling better after this mission!” she exclaims. “There’s something about crushing oppressors and avenging my people that does wonders for my complexion.”

Keith snorts, shaking his head. Allura has had an easier time joking around with the paladins since accepting her role as the Blue Paladin. Lance liked to joke that the defining role of the Blue Paladin was to be the funniest person on the team.

Speaking of Lance, Keith flicks his gaze to the little screen at the corner of his windshield, where his right hand is beaming at him.

“You good, Lance?”

He means to ask it normally. In the same voice he asked the rest of his teammates. But the softness he has reserved for Lance is positively leaking out of his voice, coating his words in a layer of love that’s simply impossible to miss. Lance certainly doesn’t, and his smile turns a little shy.

“Yeah, Keith. I’m good.”

The two hold each other’s gazes, just basking in their affections, until Keith is startled by three loud gagging noises from the rest of his team. He flushes slightly, suddenly remembering that he and Lance are very much not alone.

“If you two could stop sighing dreamily at each other so we can go the fuck home, that’d be great,” Pidge drawls.

Lance rolls his eyes, but Keith is pleased to notice his ears have gone a little pink. Call it what you will, but Keith loves to see that he can draw a reaction out of Lance. Makes his chest feel all fluttery.

This… thing, they have. It’s nothing concrete, nothing they’ve discussed or labelled, but they’ve finally done something about the tension between them. They rarely spend a night alone, now, sleeping over in Lance’s room (he claims his bed is more comfortable. It’s literally identical to Keith’s, although Keith must admit that ever since he started sharing with Lance, he’s had the best and longest sleeps of his life. That may have more to do with a certain sharpshooter than an allegedly fluffier mattress, however).

“Yeah, yeah, shuddup,” Lance says. “We good to head back to the castle, Fearless Leader?”

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

—

Everyone else has likely gone to freshen up, or wind down after the mission. Keith should be doing that, too.

Instead, he’s pacing anxiously in Black’s hangar.

He can hear her concern in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t have much to tell her. No one was hurt in this mission. They got the information they needed, destroyed a few fleets. In every conceivable way, this mission was a huge success.

And yet Keith can’t shake this horrible anxiety.

He feels like he’s fucking up. Like there’s only a matter of time before he leads this team right into a trap, and he loses someone else. Like, what if the Galra snuck onto the ship? What if Keith wasn’t paying enough attention, and there is a battalion of Empire soldiers hiding in the Castleship right now, waiting until everyone is asleep and vulnerable to attack? What if Keith wakes up tomorrow to find half the team dead or missing under his watch?

He should run a few laps around the Castle, make sure no one’s hidden. Yeah. He’ll open the doors, maybe run a scan —

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up.”

Keith whips his head up, locking eyes with a smiling Lance. He stills immediately, a good portion of his anxiety evaporating. His shoulders relax, and his lips quirk up.

“I think the hangar will survive my pacing,” he teases back. Lance huffs a laugh, bumping his shoulder with Keith’s as soon as he gets close enough.

“What’s wrong, Samurai?” he asks quietly, tangling their hands together.

Keith strokes his thumb across Lance’s knuckles, allowing himself to feel grounded at the touch.

“Feeling really anxious,” he says eventually. “Feel like we got followed. Like everyone’s gonna get hurt tonight. Like I can’t protect everyone.”

Lance makes a humming noise, briefly squeezing Keith’s hand. “Yeah, I can imagine. Today’s mission was pretty good, all things considered, but Hunk and Yellow still took that hit for you. I imagine it’s got you out of sorts.”

Keith’s nods, closing his eyes and he exhales the rest of the tension he wasn’t fully aware he was holding in. There’s truly no other feeling like having someone who just… gets you, in every sense of the word. Lance always seems to know exactly what’s wrong, and he’s glad now that that energy is no longer focused on riling each other up.

Well. At least not for anger reasons.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “My heart is pounding, and I feel restless. I know the rest of you are winding down, but I don’t think I can. Not for a while, at least.”

Lance nods, screwing his face up contemplatively, and Keith knows the moment he finds the solution because his whole being lights up. The force of his beam is a little bit blinding, and Keith can literally feel his brain frantically pumping out as much dopamine as it can. He physically feels his heart rate slow from its jackrabbit pace, the tangle of anxiety in his chest loosens.

Holy shit. The effect this boy has on him.

“I have an idea,” Lance says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Keith huffs a laugh, waving a hand in Lance’s general area. “I can see that.”

Lance grins, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling him along to Red’s hangar.

“I know we just got in, but I have an idea for a quick fieldtrip that I think will make you feel better. You up for it?”

Keith doesn’t even put up a fight, fully allowing himself to be pulled along. He takes in Lance’s smile, his boyish excitement, the love Keith can feel radiating off of him. Lance cares so much. He wears his emotions out in the open with pride and cares with his whole heart. He is kind and wonderful and precious and loving, and Keith loves him so, so much.

And when this kind and wonderful and precious and loving boy turns behind him, smiling at Keith and tugging him along and asking Keith to follow him — well.

Why would he ever say no?

—

After twenty-odd minutes of Lance flying them in Red, holding Keith’s hand the whole time, they stop in front of a planet. It’s white, covered swirls and whorls and the entire surface of the planet looks like it’s shifting and moving around.

“Are those… clouds?” Keith asks, squinting.

“Yeah!” Lance responds, endlessly enthusiastic. “I was telling Coran about rain, and how much I missed it, and he told me they never had any on Altea — believe it or not, the only precipitation they had was flaming rocks, isn’t that wild? — but he said he knew of a planet that was in a perpetual state of rain! It’s called Pluie. It doesn’t have any intelligent life, most animals can’t really thrive in its environment. It does have land, though! Anyway, to the point — I read somewhere forever ago that rain reduces anxiety and induces feelings of serenity and even happiness, so I figured I’d bring you out here! Plus,” he wiggles his eyebrows, playfully suggestive, “I’ve always wanted to have a big ol’ romantic smooch in the rain. Whaddaya think?”

Keith can only gape, affection lighting him up, setting his blood on fire. He knows Lance is a thoughtful person. He can see it in the way that he rarely, if ever, makes a decision entirely for himself — he’s always considering other people. The bomb in their first few days in space, the way Lance notices and de-escalates any tense situation even at his own detriment, even his position as a sniper. Everything he does is built around his desire to care for others.

And Keith… he’s never really had someone who puts him first. He had his Pa, for a while, but he lost him so young — he’s spent most of his life being forced to care for himself. He’s been the afterthought in so many hundreds of situations that he’s forgotten what it feels like to be someone’s first choice. And Lance thinks of him first so often. Any time they’re on a planet for diplomatic purposes, Lance will come to him after with something he picked up that just reminded him of Keith. A book, a knife, a flower, even a cool rock — Lance looks at something, and thinks of Keith. Keith is at the forefront of someone’s mind! It’s an incredibly heady feeling.

For Lance to come from a mission, immediately make his way to see Keith before even taking off his armour, and then bring him to a rain planet to help assuage his anxieties — no force in the universe could have kept Keith from tearing up.

Lance looks panicked, immediately standing from the pilot’s seat to cradle Keith’s face in his hands.

“Shit, Keith, was this a bad choice? You wanna head back?”

Keith sobs, frantically shaking his head. He wants to say something, reassure Lance that he’s not mad or upset or anything, but he’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he can’t quite force the words out.

Luckily for Keith, Lance knows him. His face softens, and his arms encircle Keith in a tight hug.

“Let it out, amor,” he soothes, rubbing his hands up and down Keith’s back. “I love you. You’re okay. Let it out.”

Keith cries in Lance’s arms until he’s got no tears left. He cries for the times he was the afterthought, the nuisance, the problem child. He cries for every time he wasn’t allowed to cry, told he was too old for tears or faced with people who had no empathy for him. He cries for every person he’s lost, and that he wasn’t allowed to mourn.

Finally, he cries because he’s simply overwhelmed with all the love Lance has for him. It’s more than he’s ever felt in his life.

“I’m good now,” he sniffles after a few minutes. “Sorry for getting snot all over you.”

Lance laughs, kissing Keith’s temple and pulling away slightly, so he can look at Keith’s face.

“Even if I wasn’t wearing state-of-the-art Altean super armour, I wouldn’t be mad,” he assured. Keith smiles, wiping his face. He inclines his head towards Red’s exit hatch.

“You wanna go have that romantic kiss in the rain?”

Lance grins, tangling his hands with Keith’s and running out the door, dragging Keith with him. “Let’s go!”

The two of them run out of the lion, right into the pouring rain of the planet. The ground is wet and muddy beneath their boots, and the air smells like petrichor.

Lance throws back his head and laughs, waving his arms in the air. Keith’s hand is still clasped tightly in his, so his arms go up too.

Keith couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he tried. Lance, as always, is magnetic.

“This is great!” he yells over the deafening sound of rushing water and the roar of distant thunder. “I forgot how much I loved the rain!”

He turns to Keith, still grinning brightly, and pulls him closer. Keith goes stumbling into his hold, and Lance throws his free arm around Keith’s shoulder, pulling him closer still and pressing a kiss to his mouth. Well, he tries, but the two of them are giggling so much that he misses and hits Keith’s nose instead.

Lance laughs harder, and presses kisses all over Keith’s face. Keith’s shoulders shake with the force of his joy, and he can feel his face heating up despite the coolness of the air and water.

Their laughter slows, and Lance presses a final kiss to his upper lip, before pulling away and beaming at him. He doesn’t go far, heads still bent together and arms still encircled around each other.

“You feeling better?” he asks.

Keith looks at the love of his life, holding him tightly in the pouring rain, and smiles softly.

“I’m better than I’ve ever been.”

[daydadahlias]

(Too terrified to ask this on my blog, so anon it is 😂)

This may be a dumb question, or one that's hard to answer, but do you have any advice for writing long pieces of work without dragging on? The longest fic I've ever written is 4k. I feel like, if I try to write something long, I over explain stupid things like how they positioned their legs when they climbed over a fence and stuff like that. You're writing is so clear, and it's never dragging on or over-explaining, yet it's really long. So yeah, I'm just asking if you've got any tips on that.

well, I think number one it’s important to remember that no length is key! Just because a fic is “long,” doesn’t mean it’s telling a story well. plenty of fantastic stories can be told in 4k or less :)

but I think that most of the length in my writing is coming from emphasis on internal monologue / character building and repetition hehe

a lot of my writing is a character reflecting on how they feel about what’s happening and how that’s informing actions taking place around them.

When I write, I sort of follow the format of “action tag, internal monologue, description, reflection on what’s happened thus far in the story to remind readers what’s happening and also to inform future character decisions based on past ones, and finally, some rhetorical questions for emphasis.”

I also try to make that sort of dispersed when writing so it doesn’t read like I’m going off a Format.

I don’t know if this is actually going to make any sense to anyone but me lmfao but I tried to color coordinate the format im talking about w/ two scenes. One from my long fic Scene 14 and one from my fic Fine Print

pink = dialogue

orange = action currently happening

green = flowery cushion shit that establishes sense of character and conflict

yellow = references to previous points in the fic that inform the characters current decisions / thoughts

blue = questions 💙

Theoretically, you should be able to see how these things are dispersed throughout so it doesn’t make it feel like it’s being “over explained” or too wordy or dragging on, like you said! I try to never spend too much time on one thing.

I used to over write like crazy (and people could tell yikes) because I spent too much time on one thing, and I also repeated shit like crazy. So my best advice to you is to just try to play around !! Mix and match action with dialogue and setting description and internal monologue !! Don’t stay on one boat too long!

and remember that each line in your story should inform the next!

[throwaway-yandere]

anon’s got nothing to worry about: it’s actually sussy ayaka’s cat form triggering the allergies so if she finally caves or sussy ayato gets rid of her then his human imposter form shouldn’t be triggering nothing, yes?

Yep yep :DD! When Ayato's in human form it shouldn't be triggering! I haven't gotten much information on how nekomatas/bakenekos' shapeshifting works since they seem to be varied. I've read that bakenekos take the form of their masters... And I twisted that by giving the interpretation that these yokais have to eat their masters to gain their skin. (Imagine venti, but cannibal venti i guess–)

For this fic, it's mostly ayaka who causes the allergic reactions. Since ayato takes care of her, her allergens often rub off his clothes. She couldn't transform into a human (yet.) So yeah, Ayato could either get rid of her (he may be a yandere, but I don't think he would ever dream about killing his sister) or forc– persuade her to eat human meat.

Tbh, the fic was supposed to be the both of them as peaceful bakenekos but I went "why not eat humans too? Let's have ayato eat his rivals." lmao. I had Ayato as a nekomata and Ayaka as a bakeneko because based off yokai.com:

"Nekomata are found in cities and villages and are born in the same way as other bakeneko. However, only the oldest, largest cats with the longest tails—and thus the most intelligence—become this powerful variety."

Tl;dr: Ayato went "I REJECT MY YOKAI IDENTITY, (Y/N)!!!" and it's mostly ayaka who's causing the allergic reactions since she's still a cat

[elendiliel]

Oya Manda

This follows on from this fic, but hopefully it can stand alone. It's also the longest piece in this AU to date (one reason it's taken so long for me to finish it), so be warned.

There are also more references to @itsstrangelypermanent's OC Nuts and @imrowanartist's Yara, made with their authors' kind permission. I recommend reading more about them (medical logs and Deference for Darkness, respectively, are good starting points).

---

“And you can confirm that Maul is currently in Sundari?”

“It’s not something about which one can be mistaken, if one has a shred of Force-sensitivity.” Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi conceded Jedi Knight Helli Abbasa’s point. He had a long history with the ex-Sith. “He’s holed up in the Mand’alor’s residence. My guess would be that he comes and goes via the sewer network. It’s extensive enough, and nobody in their right mind would go down there unnecessarily.” Maul was not in his right mind, if Helli were any judge. She had only sensed him from several rooms and an outer wall away, relying on passive scans so as to conceal her own presence, but was pretty sure he wasn’t playing with a full deck.

“A reasonable deduction. We’ll have to find some way to seal them off if we do stage an attack. Which, thanks to you four, is looking quite likely. Between the evidence you gathered,” meaning Helli and her new riduur Torrent, aided and abetted by Doctor Mij Gilamar, “Bo-Katan addressing the Senate as both her sister’s heir and the spokesperson for multiple factions, and Senator Amidala and her allies doing what they do best,” appealing as much to emotion as to logic, “I’d say the odds are in our favour.” (Helli wondered briefly how Padmé was still in the Senate after her Jedi husband’s dramatic announcement of their marriage – at her wedding breakfast. Maybe the news hadn’t got out yet. Helli hadn’t exactly been able to pay much attention.)

“That was a good idea of yours, allying with the other factions.” Lady Bo-Katan Kryze spoke casually, but Helli knew that was high praise, coming from the Mandalorian woman.

“Just rational.” Unity and diversity equalled the good kind of strength; every youngling knew that. It may have helped that Helli also came from a clan-based society, and a species with a long race-memory. The last rising of the clans on Alba had nearly defeated the occupying Sassenachs – could have done so, given better leadership and thus better tactics.

The three-way holographic conference soon became a logistical one, working through the details of the planned joint Mandalorian-Republic assault, especially those pertaining to the alliance’s men and woman on the inside. There was a lot to discuss. Maul was too slippery a customer for anyone to want to leave anything to chance.

It would take a little while for the Senate, Jedi and Mandalorians to get all their waterfowl in a row. Helli, Torrent and Mij made the most of that time, exploring Sundari, seeing the sights, investigating the restaurants and bars – and scouting out the territory in which they would soon be fighting. (The newlyweds also found themselves enjoying the kind of long, lazy lie-ins neither of them had ever really experienced before, counterbalanced by late but active nights.)

But it couldn’t last, of course. Five days after the conference, just as the party returned to their hotel after latemeal, a prearranged coded signal informed them that the invasion fleet was well on its way, and they had just enough time to start running the program they had been sent, which would slowly and insidiously take down Sundari’s outer defences and lock off Maul’s most likely escape route. It should by rights have been installed in the city’s security centre, but any incident there would alert Maul’s forces, and the team was already walking on eggshells after a dust-up with a few “Mauldalorians” (as Torrent’s shieldmate Spark, one of the program’s architects, called them). Helli had blurred their memories as best she could, but still didn’t want to take any chances. Instead, a variant on standard remote-desktop and virtual private network protocols fooled the relevant terminals into thinking the program had originated there – and concealed its real origin.

While it ran, the party used the time to dress for the occasion. Mij, a relatively traditional Mandalorian despite being cin vhetin, routinely wore his armour, but augmented it with his helmet, blasters and jetpack, which had been smuggled in to him by the same contact of Bo-Katan’s who had delivered Torrent’s new armour. Real beskar’gam, painted just like his plastoid suit. Every clone who fought to liberate Mandalore would be offered a place in a Mandalorian clan, and the armour to go with that status; Torrent happened to be the first to receive it.

Mij having tactfully made himself scarce, Helli helped her cyare don the more complicated beskar gear over the armourweave full-body kute and boots that went with it, as best she could while he insisted on helping her with the outer layers of her Jedi robes (the inner tunic, trousers and boots constituting her civilian attire). As ever, it didn’t take long for them to find the right rhythm. Upper body armour; outer tunic; shoulder bells, rerebraces, vambraces and gloves; tabard; cuisses and greaves; obi; jetpack, belt and holsters; tool belt, headset, vambrace and lightsabres; helmet. It was only when her beloved’s face was hidden that Hel fully realised that they were about to take part in a full-scale battle, not a skirmish, for the first time since she had admitted that she loved him. One or both of them might not come back, and the idea hurt.

Picking up on her almost-concealed disquiet (and somewhat disquieted himself), Torrent held her close, resting his forehead against hers as he had at their wedding. “Mhi solus tome,” the riduure said together, quoting the Mandalorian marriage vow, “mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an. Ib’tuur mhi verde.” We are one together, we are one apart, we share all. Today, we are warriors.

She clung to him for just a moment longer, before they both found the strength to draw apart, just as the second signal arrived. The invasion fleet had engaged the enemy. That was the cue for Mij to run another program, hijacking the public address system to broadcast a single message on repeat, in both Basic and Mando’a. There is no cause for alarm. Please remain in your homes. You will be safe there. Normal service will be resumed shortly. Oya manda.

“I think our work here is done,” the doctor remarked. “Shall we see what’s going on outside?”

“Let’s.” Hel led the way out onto the balcony attached to Tor’s and her room. The view was spectacular – if one liked battles. Bo-Katan’s Mandalorians and jetpack-wearing clones – a mix of 104th, 212th and 501st, Hel thought, though it was hard to tell the last apart from Clan Kryze while they were all moving so fast – were fighting Maul’s loyalists in the skies above Sundari, and blaster fire lit up the streets below. Hel’s attention, though, was drawn to a knot of blue lightsabre blades a few blocks away. The two orbiting each other like stars in the most complicated system ever modelled had to be Master Kenobi’s and Anakin Skywalker’s; the pair moving in perfect unison, clearly wielded by the same person, looked to be Ahsoka Tano’s. Someone, probably Anakin, had changed their colour while she was away. And the darker blue one was Fives’, of course. Hel couldn’t see Master Koon’s single blade anywhere, but where the Wolfpack were, their alpha wouldn’t be far ahead.

Hel activated the comm in her vambrace, tuning it to Master Kenobi’s channel. (She’d use her headset once she joined the battle, but the others couldn't hear it.) “Recon team awaiting orders.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” As expected, there was plenty of blaster fire in the background, some deflected by sabres, and the occasional explosion. “We’d like you three to join us as soon as possible. Can you see where we are from there?”

“Perfectly. ETA ten minutes.” Hel signed off and looked at Torrent and Mij. “You two take the high road; I’ll take the slightly lower road.”

“And you’ll probably be at the RV before us.” Torrent knew the song she was misquoting. “Ready when you are, general.”

Once Mij had concurred, there was no point wasting any more time. Nor did Hel give herself time to think before stepping up onto the top of the balcony railing and jumping to the roof of the building across the street, a leap that would have been impossible without the Force. She just let herself enjoy the race, sprinting, sliding, clambering across the trickier obstacles – and occasionally dodging blaster fire, which wasn’t usually a hazard back on Coruscant. The others kept up with her pretty well, despite Torrent’s being a little rusty with respect to the use of a jetpack and the odd airborne skirmish that crossed their path, but she was still the first one to reach the ground at the rendezvous point – the Peace Park, of all places.

Close to, she could see that the combatants were more spread out than she had initially thought, a mixture of Bo-Katan’s loyalists and 212th and 501st clones holding off Maul’s forces at multiple entrances to the (mercifully seemingly unharmed) park. Quite a mixture. Hel had read up on the various Mandalorian factions beforehand; she spotted Bo-Katan’s Nite Owls, Clan Kryze and Clan Wren prominent among them, the Protectors of Concord Dawn and a fair few others – Ka’ra, were those Children of the Watch? How in blazes had Bo-Katan managed that? They made Death Watch look positively liberal. Mij greeted some of the apparently independent fighters by name, including Skirata and Vau, whom Hel knew to be members of the Cuy’val Dar and trainers of the first generations of clones. Among the decent or somewhat decent ones. All of them were fighting side by side with volunteers from two of the best battalions in the Grand Army of the Republic.

(All the vode there were volunteers, Hel knew; things had changed since the last Chancellor’s fall from grace. While major military operations still needed Senate approval, the fine details were left officially to the Jedi, and unofficially to a committee composed of equal numbers of Jedi and clones, mostly but not entirely Council members and CCs. Everyone had an equal voice and an equal vote, except for Commander Cody, who had eventually been prevailed upon to accept the casting vote as well. The result was a far more democratic army, less efficient perhaps, but soon to be phased out in any case.)

“Me’vaar ti gar?,” Hel asked Kenobi without thinking, her lightsabres already arcs of turquoise and blue in the darkness, batting away incoming fire. (Not all of it from the enemy; a few allies didn’t react to her arrival in time to avoid her.) He, Anakin and their respective seconds-in-command, Cody and Captain Rex, were, predictably, in the thick of the fiercest battle along with Bo-Katan and a number of other Mandalorians and clones. On her way there, Hel had seen her own unit, Lightning Squadron, now reunited with Torrent, embedded with the Mando’ade and other vode guarding another potential entry point, and Ahsoka and Lieutenant Jesse helping to protect a third; all three groups were holding their own, and slowly gaining ground, especially with the three new additions to their number. (Mij had chosen to reinforce Ahsoka’s group.)

“The program worked perfectly, but Maul’s forces mobilised a little more quickly than we anticipated. The 104th and some of Bo-Katan’s fighters are creating a perimeter around the city centre and clearing out any opposition soldiers in the suburbs, while we make for the Mand’alor’s residence and capture Maul. And by the way, I know undercover work can be difficult, but please try not to go completely native.” Master Kenobi knew what he was talking about, Hel was well aware. He’d faked his own death for an undercover assignment, which hadn’t gone down well with Anakin.

“There are worse fates,” she shot back. “The drink here isn’t bad, and I’m getting used to the food.” Mandalorian black ale was good, in moderation, but she was finding the cuisine an acquired taste. It tended to bite back. “What’s so funny?” That was to Anakin, now smiling as at something amusing.

“Just thinking of the little mouse I used to spar with, who wouldn’t say two words she didn’t have to.” He was describing her twelve-year-old self, who would never have been so forward to a Council member. “You’ve really grown up.”

“Happens to us all.” Hel used the Force to send a grenade sailing away, imagining that she was just punching a thrown rubber ball (a standard accuracy drill for Alban children). “Well, most of us.”

“Fair point. Anyway, a few commando squads are here as well, tasked with taking down major military assets – the armoury, the security centre and so on. Delta, Omega and the Bad Batch.”

“Stars! Scorch, Darman and Wrecker on one mission? Stand by for fireworks!” Hel had worked with all three units before, and had a healthy respect for them – especially the demo men.

There wasn’t time for much more discussion. The opposition line had started to buckle under the increased pressure, and the alliance had to drive its advantage home. Which it duly did, until all the Mauldalorians were unconscious, too badly wounded to pose a threat or gone.

The other groups had met with similar success by that point and were ready to press on, but Bo-Katan wanted to be sure they wouldn’t be ambushed on the way to their goal. Hel had thought of that over the previous few days, and reeled off the details of a couple of likely opposition staging posts and the best places to set up defensive lines between them and the alliance’s quickest and safest route to their destination. She’d noted them down while pretending to be a normal tourist, without even thinking about it. She was becoming a soldier in truth as well as in name, and the thought alarmed her.

Bo-Katan didn’t argue with Hel’s advice (presumably she wasn’t as familiar with Sundari, or at least with Sundari under Maul’s rule), but designated two squads from her own men and women to do as she said. Each would be reinforced by a clone detachment, one led by Anakin and Rex, the other by Ahsoka and Jesse. Precautions taken, the motley army set off, alert for any and all surprises. It wasn’t even the right time to catch up properly with the rest of Lightning Squadron, though Hel did manage to comment on Echo’s new armour – designed to account for the injuries he had sustained at the Citadel and the legacy of his subsequent captivity, but still recognisably a 501st shell – before Bo-Katan glared at her for getting distracted. Hel gave almost as good as she got.

“I didn’t know jetiise could have mandokar,” one of Bo-Katan’s lieutenants commented in Hel’s ear. Her armour and Nite Owl helmet were painted grey and yellow, Clan Wren’s colours, and the way the woman carried herself – and fought – suggested high rank. Almost certainly the clan leader, Countess Ursa Wren. Hel remembered her from her Mandalorian intel file – a long-term ally of Bo-Katan, and a staunch supporter of Death Watch until Maul’s takeover, but married to a New Mandalorian artist named Alrich, who had taken his wife’s clan name (as Torrent had). They had a two-year-old daughter, Sabine, safe at the clan holdings on Krownest. No wonder Ursa had fought so fiercely earlier. She had a great deal to lose if the invasion failed.

“Your sample size isn’t big enough, then.” Hel acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “Given the variation within the Order, that’s not surprising.” It didn’t help that Hel was at least two standard deviations from the mean in many respects. When most people thought of Jedi, they imagined a calm, tranquil, inhumanly graceful being, remote, emotionless, a wielder of awesome powers, an artist with a laser sword. Not a creature made of fire and steel, as gifted with her fists and boots as with her sabre, who loved fiercely and recklessly but would break her own heart to do her duty, who struggled to lift a stone but could sense the cosmos around her in remarkable detail. Who climbed almost as well as a Suli high-wire walker, schemed like a Ketterdam gang leader and could probably beat a Ravkan Grisha, a Fjerdan drüskelle or a Shu khergud in single combat. Not that Hel ever wanted to test that.

That conversation, too, had to be cut short. Maul’s ground forces had apparently fallen back, but his snipers hadn’t. At least two of them opened fire on the advancing invaders; most of their shots missed completely, but Hel saw a vod from the 212th – she made a mental note to learn his name as soon as possible – fall back, clutching his wounded arm and probably cursing, blood already seeping between his fingers. Another round barrelled towards Hel’s head; recognising the sound of the snipers’ guns, she deflected it with her vambrace, not a sabre. Which was just as well. What had just ruined the paintwork on the piece of Torrent’s old armour clearly wasn’t a laser, but a lead bullet.

“Slugthrowers!,” she called out, cursing herself for not foreseeing that move. “Get to cover!”

The men and women around and behind her scattered, diving for whatever shelter they could find. Most of them made it unscathed, and most of the rest could be fixed up on the spot. Hel couldn’t let herself think about the others yet. As Master Kenobi warned the other units about the new threat (Maul would surely have other snipers around the city), she did her best to trace the incoming fire back to its origin, looking for the gunners. She wasn’t the only one – Fives and Echo were doing the same thing either side of her, as were some of the Mandalorians – but the snipers were well hidden. Getting past them was going to be tricky.

“Are you all right?” Torrent, having finished tending to the more seriously wounded, had joined the rest of the squad. Hel could picture his concerned expression behind his helmet. They had encountered slugthrowers before; she still had the scar.

“A bit bruised, but otherwise fine. The vambrace held.” The skin below it already ached, but was intact. That had only been a glancing blow, though. While the other clones’ plastoid armour might stand up to a direct hit, and the Mandalorians’ and Torrent’s beskar definitely would, the impact trauma underneath would not be pretty. And lightsabres were no use against slugthrowers. In the best-case scenario, they might slow and deflect the bullets; in the worst-case one, they would fill the air with vaporised lead. Not something anyone should be breathing.

“Thank you for the warning.” Master Koon sounded as calm as ever over the comms, despite the rifle fire in the background. More slugthrowers. “I believe we have encountered similar opposition here.”

Hel had also heard a very familiar, though faint, voice behind the Jedi Master. On a hunch, she tuned her headset to one of the Wolfpack’s internal frequencies. Sure enough, Captain Keeli was shouting at his medic partner Nuts, telling him to come down from there, di’kut, you’re crazy, all right, crazier, it’s not worth the risk… Hel smiled to herself. Nuts was almost as good a sniper as he was a medic, and had access to commando-level gear, but his real talent was for causing chaos. His name – bestowed by Keeli – didn’t just refer to his liking for warru nuts. And he usually got away with his antics, on the battlefield or off. Hel heard a single blaster-rifle stun-shot, and one of the slugthrowers fell silent.

She retuned her headset to the general channel just as Commander Wolffe reported that, “We’ve taken out one of their snipers, but don’t have a line of sight on any of the others.”

“It’s progress,” Hel reassured him. “Tell Nuts to get his shebs back down to safety sharpish. Just because you can’t see a sniper, it doesn’t mean they can’t see you.”

“Oh, Keeli’s ahead of you there.” The commander was almost laughing. “How did you know it was Nuts?”

“Who else would it be?” Without waiting for Wolffe to answer her mostly rhetorical question, Hel asked, “Crosshair, any luck your end?”

“Working on it.” The Bad Batch’s sniper sounded as calm as ever. Somehow.

“I’ll take that as a no. Sev?”

“Likewise,” was all Delta’s long gunner had to say. Neither Bo-Katan’s snipers nor Cody’s had had any luck, either. Master Kenobi was still studying the situation. “Helli, how easy is it to deflect bullets with the Force?”

“Doable, but far from trivial.” As Kenobi knew, Hel had done it herself, on an unofficial mission to Arkanis; it had taken all her focus and so much effort that she’d fallen asleep straight afterwards. “It looks like our best option, though.”

“No, it isn’t,” Spark countered. He activated his own comm. “Tech, is everything ready?”

“Technically, but I would prefer to have more time to test-”

“I know, vod, but there isn’t time. This’ll have to be the test. Switch on as soon as you can.” Time was running out, Hel knew all too well; every minute they wasted, Maul’s army could be regrouping, and Maul himself could be getting away. She realised that as far as he was concerned, locking down the sewers had been pointless. He could just cut his way in. They were gambling on his obsession with Kenobi keeping him in the city. She decided she liked those odds, but had seen better.

“Affirmative. Switching on.” Hel heard an electrical hum (as well as a worried-sounding GNK), increasing in volume, in the background of Tech’s transmission. As it stabilised, the slugthrowers stopped firing – not just the ones pinning their group in place, but others all around the city.

“It seems we have a clear run, at least to the next nasty surprise,” Bo-Katan said. “On to the palace, then. Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur.”

“Ib’tuur jatne tuur naasade kyr’amur,” Hel almost agreed. Today is a good day for nobody to die.

“Okeyday, what have you and Tech been up to?,” she added to Spark as they moved on, blessedly and no doubt temporarily unhindered. (Crosshair, Sev and maybe Nuts had probably had something to do with that.)

“Believe it or not, you’re not the only one around here who does their homework. I read up on the last war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians, trying to figure out what sort of weapons we’d be up against. Slugthrowers were pretty popular, for obvious reasons. I know lightsabres are useless against them, but I remembered the Doctor jamming the ones on Arkanis, and I… might have overheard her telling you how to contact her. I gave her a call – she and Yaz send their congratulations, by the way – she explained the basic principles of a cordolaine signal, and from there it was just a question of roping in a few friends – Tech, Atin, Fixer, Yara from Halo, Crys from the 212th, a couple of others – and turning theory into reality. I’m afraid I had to use your clearance to requisition the parts we needed, but it’s all on Palpatine’s account – Yara managed to unfreeze enough of it. He’s a good kid, but his curiosity knows no bounds.”

“As that’s just saved I don’t know how many lives, I’m hardly about to complain. By the way, just how many all-nighters did you lot have to pull to get your contraption ready in time?”

Spark probably looked sheepish under his helmet. “One or two.” The sheepishness was short-lived. “While you’re a model of good practice.” His words dripped sarcasm.

“Fair point.” She really wasn’t, though proper all-nighters were rare for her. Her vode saw to that.

They lapsed into companionable silence, everyone alert for surprise attacks. Of which there were none, right up until their goal was in sight. One minute, all seemed clear; the next, there were Mauldalorians everywhere. If the Force hadn’t shouted a warning in Hel’s ear, and she hadn’t passed the message on, just in time, things would have been even worse. As it was, an ordered advance had suddenly become a complete and utter mêlée.

In the confined space of a city street, the fighting was not just fierce but concentrated. Hel didn’t have room to use her sabres a lot of the time, falling back on her fists, boots and knife, finding nerve clusters, major blood vessels to compress, tendons she could cut without doing any other damage (she’d learned well from Mij). Her vod’ikase flanked her in their usual formation (with Echo in his old position for the first time in months), moving as one as they cut a swathe through the press of bodies, stunning anyone in the wrong armour. (The rest of the alliance was also using stun-bolts where practical; minimal casualties had been one of the Jedi’s conditions when they agreed to help Bo-Katan.) The would-be Mand’alor and Ursa, fighting side by side, kept pace with them, as did Kenobi and Cody, complementing one another perfectly. Kar’ta’vode, Hel thought, finally able to categorise their relationship. Heart-brothers.

“We have to keep going,” Kenobi said as they reached the other side of the battle. His tone was Jedi-neutral, but Hel could sense how much it pained him to have to leave his and Anakin’s men behind. It hurt her almost as much, but she knew why even before he put the reason into words. “The sooner we capture Maul, the sooner this is all over.”

Nobody argued with that. Partly because they had to save their breath for the guards at each door that lay between them and the former Sith. Hel, as ever, tried diplomacy first when they reached the outer entrance. Her own brand, tailored to the situation. “I suppose you two would rather die than betray your Mand’alor?”

“Of course.” The guards spoke almost as one.

Hel looked briefly at Bo-Katan, who seemed to have cottoned on, and had drawn herself up to her full height, glaring regally at the guards through her visor. “Then let her in.”

“Lord Maul is our ruler,” one of the guards shot back. “And you’re all traitors.” He and his colleague drew their blasters.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Kenobi remarked when the men lay unconscious, having neither died for their false Mand’alor nor betrayed him. “But we can’t waste any more time trying that again.”

With Cody and Ursa left behind on guard, the rest of the party carried on. The Mand’alor’s residence was designed to channel any attacker making for the throne room through three sets of doors (not counting the outer pair), each of which was barred by two sentries. The first such pair put up a pretty decent fight – good enough that one of them had time to send an alert to his comrades before being stunned.

“You two had better stay here,” Hel told Torrent and Spark. “And I expect to find you in one living piece each when we’re done. Especially you.” She gave her riduur a somewhat inappropriate smile. “Preferably a good-looking piece.”

“You will, and I expect the same of you.” Torrent, ignoring protocol and an exasperated Bo-Katan, pulled her in for the quickest of hugs and keldabes. “K’oyacyi, cyar’ika.”

“K’oyacyi, ner cyare.” Aware that they were on the clock, Hel broke away and turned back to the others. The next set of guards went down about as easily as their comrades, and were replaced by Fives and Echo. And not even the ones on duty right outside the Mand’alor’s throne room could stand against two talented Jedi and a high-ranking Mandalorian. Kenobi insisted on facing his old adversary alone, at least at first, leaving the women to hold the door against any reinforcements while he confronted the young spider lounging at the centre of a web partly of another’s weaving.

It was the right call. The door had hardly shut on Maul’s whispered greeting – if one could call “Kenobi” a greeting – when Hel heard running footsteps and the clank of beskar’gam. “Incoming.”

“You block, I’ll shoot.” Bo-Katan had barely holstered her pistols since the invasion had begun.

“Fair enough.” The Mandalorian and the Jedi soon proved to be a near-deadly combination even by themselves. Nobody even got within two metres of them without being stunned or hit by a deflected laser from a comrade’s blaster, and subsequently sedated. But there had been enough counter-attackers for Hel to have grown uneasy about Master Kenobi in the time it took to subdue them.

With Bo-Katan keeping watch, she eased open the door to the throne room. As expected, the long-term opponents were duelling once again. It was an unnervingly evenly matched fight. Kenobi was more skilled, and far more focused, despite the memories that room surely held for him. (Hel was certain that Duchess Satine, the love of Kenobi’s life, had been murdered there in front of her cyare. The fierce, kind, clever, passionate woman’s presence lingered in that place even more strongly than it did around her beloved Jedi.) But Maul hadn’t just been through at least two battles and a few skirmishes, and he was fuelled by rage and the desire for revenge. It could go either way.

And neither is right, Hel realised. If Maul won, that would severely damage the invasion’s prospects of success, and rob the galaxy of a brilliant Jedi and a good man. But if Kenobi won – Hel knew enough about Mandalorian law and customs to work out how that would end. Not well. Why had nobody seen that before?

As she racked her brains for a third way, her eye fell on an object in a glass case beside the throne. Interesting… Almost as soon as she reached out to it through the Force, she knew what she had to do.

She sheathed her own sabre and held it out to Bo-Katan. “You have to be the one to defeat Maul. This is your fight; you have to finish it.”

Bo-Katan’s body language indicated utter bemusement. Hel sighed, and bit back a rather colourful Gungan curse-word. (Another unusual thing about her; she could, if she so chose, swear in more languages and dialects than most Jedi spoke.) “Look. To many Mandalorians, the one who wields the Darksabre is the Mand’alor, right? And it can only be won in combat. Whoever next defeats Maul will, to a lot of people, take his place. That should be you, as the legal ruler, and it can’t be a Jedi. That really would cause problems, and make this whole mess even worse.”

Bo-Katan still wasn’t convinced, so Hel pressed on. “Besides, Maul isn’t using the Darksabre, even though it would give him a significant advantage. He’s skilled enough to use it alongside his own blades, but he isn’t. I don’t think he can. I don’t think it’s chosen him.”

“Chosen him?” The concept didn’t make sense to the Mando’ad, but to the jetii it was suddenly obvious.

“Our sabres aren’t just weapons. In a sense, they’re alive. And the Darksabre is no different. In all the centuries people have been fighting over it, do you think anyone’s stopped to ask it what it wants?”

“And what do you think it wants?”

“I don’t have to think. It just told me. It wants an end. It was a Jedi’s weapon originally, remember, forged to protect and bring peace. It wants the killing to stop, and it wants to rest. I doubt it chose Vizla; it may have chosen Satine, but she can’t wield it now. I believe it’s chosen you – a warrior open to the idea of change.” Hel offered her own lightsabre again. “So win the blade properly, and end this.”

Bo-Katan took the weapon, slowly and carefully, weighing it in her hand, familiarising herself with the controls. “Will you be all right, if more reinforcements arrive?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m never really unarmed.” Hel drew Nahdar’s sabre and her knife. Bo-Katan was probably smiling. “You’d make a good Mandalorian.”

“That I doubt, but thank you. I can’t honestly say you’d make a good Jedi, but I think you’ll be a good Mand’alor – if you get on with what you have to do.”

Bo-Katan took the hint, darting through the still-open doors to the throne room, where the two combatants had reached a stalemate, blades locked together. Hel watched, senses alert for any ambushes from behind, as the other woman challenged the pretender to her throne, and as Maul accepted the challenge, using the Force to throw Kenobi across the room. The Jedi’s head hit the wall with a nasty-sounding thud (though, mercifully, not a crack), and he fell to the floor, totally still.

Maul was too focused on his new opponent (who, Hel absently noted, had adopted not the Soresu opening stance Kenobi favoured, but her own favourite, a textbook Niman one, which she hadn’t used that day; her sabre must be teaching its new wielder) to notice the young woman climbing along the walls to reach her ori’vod. Her medical scanner informed her that the head injury was serious, but no permanent damage had yet been done; she used the last of her bacta spray to maintain that state of affairs. There were several other wounds all over his body, but nothing that needed urgent treatment – thank goodness. She just had to wait for him to wake up.

Which he did less than a minute later, his eyes focusing first on her, then on the battle in the centre of the room. Against all odds, Bo-Katan was winning, using the weapons hidden in her armour as well as Hel’s sabre, but Maul was fighting back well. “Helli, what have you done now?”

“What I had to do. If you’d claimed the Darksabre, even unintentionally, Bo-Katan’s support would have splintered, and who knows what the Mauldalorians would do. This was the best way around that. How do you feel, by the way?”

“Like a military academy.” Hel’s heart rate spiked; was he more badly hurt than she’d thought? “Bits of me keep passing out.”

She managed to laugh at the weak joke. He was going to be all right – probably. “Well, do you think you can stop everything graduating at once? I need to monitor your condition.”

“I’ll do my best.” He contrived to sit up, leaning against the wall, to watch the duel. Bo-Katan really was doing well, using the rage Hel could sense rolling off her – she was fighting her sister’s killer, after all – without letting it control her. It must have helped that Maul was tired and injured from his fight with Kenobi, his legs sparking, a burn mark on one arm, his movements slower and jerkier than before, while Bo-Katan had had just enough time to rest and treat her wounds since the previous battle. And she had tricks up her sleeve – literally. As the Jedi watched, a grappling line from Bo-Katan’s vambrace wrapped around Maul, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling him to his metal knees. His vanquisher raised Hel’s sabre to end the fight – and his life.

“Don’t!” Hel was on her feet in a heartbeat. “Stun him with my blessing, but don’t kill him.”

“Why not?” Bo-Katan didn’t lower the blade, but she didn’t strike, either. “Because there’s still hope for him?”

“That, and my lightsabre will probably shock you if you try. It is mine, after all. And you’re wearing an awful lot of metal.” Bo-Katan accepted that, handed the weapon back to its owner and gave the grappling line a vicious tug. “Get up.”

Whatever Maul intended to say to that was cut off when Hel tied a bandage from her med-kit around his mouth. As Kenobi cuffed him, just to be on the safe side, she headed over to the Darksabre and examined its case. The locking mechanism looked pretty complicated, but there was a slight crack between the lid and one side. She inserted her sgian dubh into the crack and twisted it, popping the lid right off.

“That’s one way to do it,” Kenobi remarked. He reached into the case and withdrew the beskar lightsabre hilt, holding it out to Bo-Katan. “Yours, I believe.”

Hel wished she could see Bo-Katan’s face as she took the ancient weapon. She could guess the expression on it, though – triumph, shot through with sorrow. Her sister had died by that blade. But Bo-Katan was one large step closer to giving Satine and many others the justice they deserved.

The new Mand’alor led the way out of the palace, her captive in tow, her allies trailing behind, the soldiers they had left on guard falling into step with them along the route. When the procession emerged into the grey light before dawn and Bo-Katan ignited the Darksabre, holding it aloft for all to see, the still-ongoing battle stopped as though a spell had been cast. Every Mandalorian fell to his or her knees, followed by the clones; Anakin and Ahsoka, whose units had reinforced the main contingent, bowed low.

“Oya manda!,” Bo-Katan called. There is no direct translation of that phrase into Basic, but it expresses Mandalorian solidarity and endurance. A fitting cry for the end of a civil war.

“Oya manda!,” a host of voices, Mandalorian, clone, even Jedi, called back. Hel’s hand automatically found Torrent’s, her sunburst of a smile echoing his armour paint. They had done it. Yes, there was still a lot of work to do, but for one shining moment, they could enjoy the fact that Mandalore was truly at peace.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Riduur(e): spouse(s).

Cin vhetin: literally, white field; colloquially refers to adoption into a Mandalorian clan (regarded as a fresh start, a clean slate).

Beskar'gam: armour, especially Mandalorian steel armour.

Kute: undergarments of any kind (including the body glove under armour).

Ka'ra: stars; mythical council of fallen rulers.

Vod(e): brother(s), sister(s), sibling(s); often refers to clones (and honorary clones). 'Ika is an affectionate diminutive.

Me'vaar ti gar?: what's new with you? What's the situation?

Mando'ad(e): Mandalorian(s).

Jetii(se): Jedi (singular/plural).

Mandokar: "the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life" (from mandoa.org).

Di'kut: idiot (lit. without underclothes).

Shebs: rear (in any sense).

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: today is a good day for someone else to die. (To quote mandoa.org again, "Mando saying (because they're not daft...)"; here on Terra, this was originally a Sioux/Lacotah war cry. Not Klingon.)

K'oyacyi: literally, "stay alive"; colloquial meanings include "cheers", "hang in there" and, as here, "come back safely".

Cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart.

Ner cyare: my love. (Cyare means beloved.)

More Grishaverse references worked their way in; in the books, Grisha are people who can manipulate certain types of matter (their equivalents here are probably some sort of Force-sensitive or magick user), and druskelle and khergud are Grisha hunters - the former are "just" highly trained humans, while the latter have been artificially altered, cyborg-style.

Any and all comments are always welcome.

[word-processing]

wip wednesday (word ~1,300)

I’m reviving this blog purely because I’m writing this fic. I want to say that it’s inspired by my favorite 00Q playlist by @gayjamesbond. So if anyone needs me I’ll be singing Breathless by Dan Wilson in my car. 

Summary (sorta): Fairly new MI6 agent James Bond is sent to Paris to track down a young hacker and bring him back to MI6. For recruitment or arrest, he’s not sure. Things go both as planned and completely off the rails. (Also, I’m planning 2 more fics in this series).

“Agent Bond,” it was Tanner’s voice instead of M’s, which was almost a disappointment. He enjoyed trading banter with the older woman. Of all his superiors in the Navy, she was the most permissive and the least accepting of failure. Bond liked her.

“Mr. Tanner,” Bond replied just as evenly. Tanner was fun to pester too. He got frustrated easily. Bond was aware that he shouldn’t be this disrespectful to superiors. His life in the SIS was based solely on their good graces, but there was no brig to throw him in this time. Not that he ever was disciplined in such a manner.

“M has a mission for you, and she needs you to come in to be briefed. How quickly can you come in?”

Bond looked at his watch. It was 1504, and he had to make it across London to Vauxhall. “Quarter-til?”

“Good. Your train out of St. Pancras leaves in 1800.” Tanner said with no explanation and hung up.

Right. Best to pack a bag then.

Bond arrived outside M’s office at 1543. “Tanner.” He nodded to the man sitting at the desk in the front office.

“Bond. You may go in.” He said and pressed a button on his desk. The lock on M’s door clicked open.

“Thank you.” He dropped his leather weekender by Tanner’s desk and pushed open the door. 

M sat at her desk. Somehow, despite all the heavy dark wood, it didn’t swallow the older woman up. She looked in control. Like she’s carved out a space for herself in this male-dominated world and was now ruling it quite happily. She was an absolute menace, and Bond was starting to like her quite a bit.

“Agent Bond. Thank you for coming. I have a new assignment for you. This one is a little more…freeform.” She slid a folder across to him and then folder her hands again.

“Freeform, ma’am?” It was only his sixth assignment. Freeform implied she thought he was ready to run free. Which Bond knew she didn’t believe. He did have a habit of making a mess.

“I’m not going to tell you how to go about this. It’s a simple case of getting some information and bringing someone in.”

“Bring someone in?” Bond sat down and crossed one leg over the other. He leaned forward to grab the file, slowly, watching M like she might stanch it back from him. In his private moments, Bond still expected them to take this away from him. He’d felt the same way when they handed him his Commander strips. James Bond never got to have anything good for very long.

With the file securely in his hand, Bond opened it and rested it on his knee. Clipped to the left side was a far-away picture of a young man, hair tousled in the wind and chin buried in a knit scarf, but his face was unmistakable. He was very young. If M told him he was 18, Bond would believe her.

The rest of the file was a series of computer terms that Bond didn’t fully understand and a short dossier.

Name: Matthew Quarles Age: 23 Hometown: Newmarket, Suffolk, UK Education: Ph.D., Computer Science, Cambridge. MS, Mechanical Engineering, Cambridge, BS, Physics, Cambridge. Parents: Thomson Quarles, Father. Charlotte Quarles, nee Dupont, Mother (French-British dual citizen). Current Location: Paris, France. Criminal Record: None (see attached).

Attached was the longest part of the dossier, which was five pages of suspected hacking crimes in 12 different countries. The evidence was robust, but there weren’t any charges. Yet.

“Think of it as repatriation,” M said. “We need his list of contacts and to have him brought back to England.”

“To arrest? You can’t have him arrested by the French and extradited?” That would be the simplest way. Even if he went over there and got him, they would still need to alert the French.

M leaned back in her chair. “We’d like to prevent this from being an international incident. If the French find out about him, every other country on the list will, and they’ll want him. Do you really think we’ll get him back once he’s stood trial in Russia?”

No, Bond knew that they wouldn’t.

“He’s a British citizen. We’ll handle him.”

She very clearly hadn’t said that he would be tried for his crimes. Bond wondered if they were looking to arrest him or recruit him.

“And you don’t have a preference of how I go about things?”

She smiled, grandmotherly. Well, like a wolf in grandmother’s clothes. “Surprise me, Agent.”

He understood then that this was the test. She wanted to see what kind of agent he would be. If she could let him off the lease and how he operated. This would determine his career.

“Thank, ma’am.” He stood up and buttoned his jacket, nodding respectfully. “Tanner will have your train ticket. You leave for Paris in a few hours. Get there, locate him, and get him home. Alive.” 

So, they did want something from him. 

A woman was leaning on Tanner’s desk outside of M's office. She had long legs, and her dark curls were pushed away from her face. “Whose bag is this?” She was asking. “Looks posh. Though I think they’ll find, a weekender isn’t going to get them very far. I’ve never had a mission take me less than four days, and M almost gave me a medal for that one.”

“It’s Bond. The new one.” Tanner replied. 

“Oo, a new one. I do love fresh blood.”

“I’m not that fresh, I’m afraid.” Bond said as he emerged, hands in his trouser pockets.

The agent, to her credit, didn’t startle or ask as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Instead, she just smiled at him. “A pleasure. Eve Moneypenny.” She held out a hand, and Bond took it. Her fingers were as gun calloused as his. He smiled.

“Bond. James Bond. And the pleasure is all mine.” She dropped his hand and returned to her leaning position. Tanner looked like he would rather be anywhere else. “I believe you have something for me, Tanner.” 

“Yes. Here is your train ticket, passport, a secure laptop, credit card, and hotel information.” Tanner said, setting a white, blocky MacBook on the desk with an envelope on top. “You have your work mobile, yes?”

“Of course,” Bond deadpanned. 

“Good. There’s a car waiting to take you to the station.”

“A car?” Moneypenny hummed. “My, you must be the new superstar Q mentioned. He didn’t mention you were handsome too.”

Tanner glared at her. Clearly, that was Need-to-Know information.  

Bond was catching onto the game now. He put the laptop under his arm and picked up his bag. He stepped in front of Moneypenny and took her hand in his free one, leaning over to kiss her knuckles. “I aim to please, Agent Moneypenny.”

She smiled. “I don’t doubt it, Agent Bond.” 

With a nod to Tanner, Bond left. He slid into the car and nodded for the driver to go. He slipped the passport and ticket into his inside pocket. Bond shoved the laptop and files into his bag, thinking that Moneypenny with right and he was going to need a bigger bag. 

On the train, Bond looked another look at the file. Quarles was known to hang around the Latin Quarter, which made sense. He was known to have relationships with men, which… Did M expect this to be a honeypot? Bond wasn’t wholly sure that honeypots were a real thing. He mentioned it once, and Tanner and Q just looked at him. It wasn’t like they had a division just for agents who fucked people for information.

Unless that was really what the 00s were. License to kill was just a euphemism.

He supposed they would see. Quarles was undoubtedly handsome enough. But at 23, he was a decade younger than Bond. It was possible he wouldn’t be interested in Bond. 

Best to cross the bridge when they come to it. He that didn’t work, he could pretend to be an MI5 agent who came to bring Q home because he was in grave danger. It was almost the truth.

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#svsss - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i'm feeling feelings about the concept of without hesitation throwing away the status and public accolade of having a symbol of ur success

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

When Sasaki texted "it's all too much. I'm going home." to his friend and actually went home, all because Miyano had accidentally kabedon-ed him. It was simultaneously both King shit and Useless Gay shit. The duality. You're gonna fail your high school exams, Sasaki my bro, but still, mood.

57 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#4

Spy x family whispering "Maybe family isn't supposed to be about sanding away the edges of your identity to cram yourself into a pre-set mould of parent-child-sibling. Maybe family is about finding the people whose rough edges align with your own and making your own normal. Maybe family isn't a destination you plan for, but a journey you can grow safely and securely through."

Like the series really went "yes this is a spy thriller. But, it's not About That Right Now."

Spyxfamily really looked at 3 different kinds of weapons (from the perspective of their handlers) - a spy, an assassin and a mind-reading test subject, all three viewed as nothing more than tools for the greater good of world peace, and said, "Just because they are strong why must that be all they can be?

Just because she's a mind reader, why can't she also be a child and have a safe childhood with a stable support system.

Yes. They can survive alone, but why can't they thrive together?"

93 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

#3

Shen Yuan, unironically: I was put on this airplane-forsaken world for the sole and most vital purpose of making Luo Binghe as happy and satisfied as anyone can be and I'll make that happen even over my dead body (no homo)

140 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#2

Me, trying to put to words in as accurate and succinct a manner as possible, the importance of fashion in not just facilitating individuality and highlighting in-group membership in specific communities, but also acting as a kind of low stakes tool for subtextual communication - much like the use of metaphor in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet which allowed Romeo to communicate his romantic interest to Juliet in a non-threatening way giving Juliet the no pressure option to fake not understanding the open invitation and as a side bonus allowing Romeo to save face with the well-meaning pretense neither believed in, but if Juliet was interested giving her the option to continue the metaphor to further their correspondence, eating the cake and having it too in a way with no major losses (... in that scene at least :/ ) - so that people In The Know (due to being in the same community) can easily identify and choose whether they want to in turn unveil themselves and continue the secret code hidden in their body language with no one else outside the community the wiser. Fashion as a vehicle with which to exercise your own agency and facilitate another's ability to choose and engage risk-free and without pressure: I like your shoelaces.

166 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Spy x family thoughts that I cannot stop thinking about

- "papa is a liar" (affectionate)

- the expected "spy needs a fake family" trope being flipped on its head and subverting the dynamics of the inherent power imbalance by virtue of a different kind of information asymmetry. It's like everyone is trying to play 5d chess blindfolded in good faith, but what most of them don't yet know is that the youngest and seemingly the most vulnerable member of their game has actually taken off the blindfold and replaced the chess board with uno.

- the family consists of the only people in that universe who can keep up with each other naturally and without compromising their own sense of self. Power family ahhh

- spy x family is to the spy genre what addams family was to the family sitcom genre. Get in losers, it's time for a new normal

- the very epitome of "everyone in this family is an outlier" so every time a normal person interacts with them, by virtue of majority rules, the normie starts to look around and question "... wait, am I the problem??????? This is weird, right????!" But no one validates that sentiment. Bless

- "Anya williams. Anya levski. Anya roche. Anya klein."

- Anya Forger.

- E L E G A N T!!!!!!!!! 🦢 🎩

473 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[phlebasphoenician]

I posted 3,860 times in 2022

14 posts created (0%)

3,846 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@greencuttingmat

@emilx311

@tanuki-kimono

@artbythedarkside

@phlebaswrites

I tagged 3,855 of my posts in 2022

#not mine - 3,589 posts

#but i love it - 3,293 posts

#naruto - 1,929 posts

#fanart - 1,744 posts

#naruto fanart - 1,642 posts

#uchiha madara - 593 posts

#senju tobirama - 436 posts

#senju hashirama - 357 posts

#uchiha izuna - 347 posts

#hatake kakashi - 270 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i want to meet the jōnin housing interior decorator. who is the one who designs these apartments. what are the principles they use going in

I sent 2 gifts in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

ohh ☕️ Coffee Shop Au for Madara/Hashriama

ooooh! Okay this is a fun one!

I think Hashirama would be the most silly, but also unintentionally flirty barista ever. His coffee would taste like heaven, but he's forever sticking his foot in his mouth - yet it's done in such a genuinely nice way that people don't get mad at him about it.

Tobirama is endlessly baffled by this - he insists it's magic.

And he's right.

It is.

Because every cup that Hashirama makes lifts people up and brings a little bit of good into their lives - he lives to help people. In turn, when he touches them, he gets a little bit of information about them. It's often garbled and hard to interpret, but he gets them in a way most people don't.

It also makes him a fantastic matchmaker - if he touches two people that he knows will fit, he'll try and bring them together.

But Hashirama has one customer who always comes to the shop, but never drinks the coffee.

Madara is a tea person, and he always asks for just the tea leaves and a pot of hot water. He steeps it himself, everything.

Now how is Hashirama supposed to work magic with that?

He's a coffee guy! All of his teas are store bought! What! Madara wants to drink that stuff when Hashirama is right here offering the best coffee ever????

He doesn't get it.

Until the day when Madara orders the tiniest cup of espresso, touches his hand for the first time, and says...

"I've been looking for you."

And Hashirama knows that he's found the man of his dreams.

4 notes - Posted September 10, 2022

#4

10 Characters, 10 Fandoms, 10 Tags

Thank you for the tag @heyitswrenn!

Naruto - Tobirama

Hikaru no Go - Tōya Akira

Pet Shop of Horrors - D

Inception - Arthur

The Witcher - Jaskier

The Lord of the Rings - Éowyn

The Hobbit - Bilbo Baggins

The Authority - Jenny Sparks

Old Kingdom - Lirael Goldenhand

X-Men - Mystique

Tagging (but only if you want to play!) @artbythedarkside, @momo-ceros, @shinigami-mine, @swiftfrost, @mooshi-png, @woofgang69, @heyitswrenn, @silverutahraptor, @greyduckgreygoose, @awfulloneliness

4 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#3

Can you put a link of your masterlist?

I can indeed! It’s my AO3 profile.

I’m afraid I don’t post my works anywhere else, even Tumblr only gets snippets. 😅

I try to keep things relatively tidy there by organising them into different series, so you might find that a useful guide. With 160 stories, I know picking through all of them can get a little much! Let me know if you’d like a generalised summary of what I’ve written to date, I’m always happy to talk about my writing.

However, if you prefer Tumblr and you’d like to keep up to date with my writing - and my writing only - I do have a sideblog for that - Phlebas Writes.

And, if you’d like to watch me write in real time, then you are very welcome to join my server on discord! 💚

6 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#2

Fic Rec!

I highly recommend Snapdragon and Crane by the astounding @good-grievance​.

It’s a beautiful, lyrical story about the difference between being a good shinobi and a good person, and the long slow journey to peace.

6 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

17 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[redwolf17]

I posted 951 times in 2022

That's 839 more posts than 2021!

70 posts created (7%)

881 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dianaprinceownsmyass

@istumpysk

@ladyshinga

@esther-dot

@nonbinary-bosmer

I tagged 184 of my posts in 2022

#the weirwood queen - 58 posts

#asoiaf - 57 posts

#asoiaf fic - 36 posts

#sansa stark - 27 posts

#asoiaf meta - 11 posts

#asoiaf art - 9 posts

#jon snow - 7 posts

#arya stark - 7 posts

#olyvar sand - 7 posts

#dracula daily - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 121 characters

#war crimes! against children! so many slaughtered villages?! henry kissinger is only alive because he’s too evil for hell

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Now for the Lannisters.

Fuck “pale flecks of gold”, Tywin gets green with hints of yellow. It is the green of dying grass, of bile, of envy.

Cersei and Jaime get a richer green; their vaunted beauty gets nothing from Tywin, but comes from Joanna.

Tyrion’s green eye has the same base yellow-green as Tywin, reflecting his place as Tywin’s true heir. His black eye was tricky, as I didn’t want the pupil and iris to blend together.

This batch of eyes really needs a second attempt when I have time, but I do like the overall colors.

See the full post

51 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#4

Next up, the Martells. I need to do Doran and Ellaria later, as well as the sand snakes.

Elia has no canon eye color. I chose a rich brown, as bright as honey for her sweet disposition and as hard as amber for the strength hidden underneath. Hers are my favorite of all the eyes I drew.

Oberyn’s eyes are described as black “viper” eyes. I made them a very deep rich brown; solid and striking.

See the full post

54 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#3

“It was the better part of an hour when the Count returned. "Aha!" he said; "still at your books? Good! But you must not work always. Come; I am informed that your supper is ready." He took my arm, and we went into the next room, where I found an excellent supper ready on the table.”

Hold up. I don’t remember if Dracula has any servants. Is he… cooking all Jonathan’s meals… himself?

I just. Dracula. In an apron? Spending an hour preparing an “excellent” supper?????

80 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

#2

My boyfriend and I are reading Dracula daily out loud to each other and discussing, and he has asked that I share these two theories because “tumblr loves that shit”

1) Theory the First

The three suitors, who are pals, deliberately agreed to all propose to Lucy on the same day, and whoever she accepted, wins

2) Theory the Second

Lucy’s three suitors track with the characters of Supernatural.

The neurotic mopey one who nearly sits on his hat, fiddles with a sharp object, and gets rejected: Sam

The cowboy gun nut whose response to rejection is to immediately try and get all of his buddies wasted: Dean

The one with no discernible personality (yet?) who apparently decided the best way to propose was to just fucking make out with a woman: Cas

104 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

ASoiaF Fic Writing Tools

Writing fanfic for A Song of Ice and Fire? Have I got some useful tools for you!

Fanmade timeline of book events; also includes distances and travel times

ASearchOfIceandFire allows you to search the full text of the books, by book and/or POV

Race For The Iron Throne has useful chapter recaps with historical analysis for AGOT through most of ASOS

Atlas of Ice and Fire has wonderful fanmade maps and population estimates

Happy writing!!! 💕

213 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kuriousaboutuzumakis]

I posted 674 times in 2022

62 posts created (9%)

612 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@skykashi

@kakashihasibs

@bougiebutchbitch

@kakashis-kunoichi

@sharinganbitch

I tagged 49 of my posts in 2022

#fic rec - 28 posts

#naruto - 26 posts

#haruno sakura - 24 posts

#kakashi hatake - 12 posts

#kakasaku - 11 posts

#uchiha sasuke - 9 posts

#team 7 naruto - 7 posts

#sasusaku - 5 posts

#dai nana han - 5 posts

#smut - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 114 characters

#it's past midnight and i'm internally begging my body to fall asleep soon because i have a long work week ahead 🥲

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Dai-nana-han | Team 7 & Hatake Kakashi Fic Rec: Gotta See! Finally Know! Kakashi-sensei's True Face!

Synopsis: The rule is Kakashi must only be unmasked when in the presence of the Hokage.

Which means, Kakashi just has to avoid the Hokage.

{Or, did you truly believe Naruto's first act as Hokage would be anything other than this?}

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A must read!! I'm not kidding, this was hilarious and warm, with just the right amount of fluff to brighten up your day. It also made me feel a little nostalgic because I was reminded of when I watched that special episode when I was so much younger ♥️

30 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

#4

Fic rec alert!!!

By @misfitmccoward

Synopsis: “WHAT DID YOU DO?” Sakura screeched. The ground cracked ominously under her feet.

“Sakura-san, please,” Orochimaru chided. “Not every forbidden jutsu is my fault.”

[For the anonymous tumblr prompt: “postcanon orochimaru time travels to team seven's genin days. maybe postcanon sakura is there too, because they were in the middle of supervising a playdate or something. it's a very confusing experience for everyone else”]

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This was glorious!! I love petty housewife Orochimaru and this was a rivalry/forced one-side friendship I did not realise I NEEDED. PLEASE READ! This is fluff, it is cute and Orochimaru's finding tiny Sakura adorable is too much for me to handle. This was so good and I loved it ♥️. I highly recommend! Trust me.

33 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#3

Madasaku Fic Rec: Arranged Marriage

Synopsis: Where Madara falls in love and Sakura finds peace with her circumstances. A look into the arranged marriage between Uchiha Madara and Uzumaki Sakura.

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I cannot BELIEVE I haven't shared this one yet, considering that I've read it over three times now. I like gentle Madara and Madasaku fics have been driving crazy in the best way lately because they're SO good. I enjoy this every single time I read it, so I hope you give it a try too. 😍

34 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

#2

Dai-nana-han/Team 7 Fic Rec: Kakashi's Cute Little Genin are Terrifying

Synopsis: Hatake Kakashi has been pulled off of ANBU duty to become a jonin teacher. In effort to keep himself at least somewhat entertained as well as to prevent from having to put too much effort into training his genin, he informs them that a jutsu he made up on the spot is too difficult for them to preform and has them practice until he deems them ready. Meanwhile, Team 7 begins taking after Kakashi, and that includes being interested in this jutsu of his as well.

AKA: Kakashi ends up training his team by trying to not train them, the Leaf Village is convinced Kakashi's making mini-Kakashis out of his students, and enemy nin become scarred for life.

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I swear to God, I think this has got to be one of the funniest things I've read. Ever. PLEASEEEE PLEASE give it a go, especially if you need some cheering up. This was so good. Team 7 is demonic and Kakashi encourages it.

"Oh Kami, he bred!"

Lmfao, I laughed so much 😂

41 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

There hasn't been a single MadaSaku fic I read that I didn't immensely enjoy.

Not. A. Single. One.

I think it might even be my second favourite pairing after Kakasaku 🤔.

51 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

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