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beyond-the-mirror · 4 years

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The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Welcome back to another chapter of this story! Have you already guessed which fairy tales is it inspired by? You can find one of the answers in the tags below.

Tagging @v-vic, if you wish to be tagged you can let me know at any moment.

I also want to give special thanks to @thottyonmainsquid for beta reading and offering her great and brilliant advice, as well as our discord server for their support and inspiring shenanigans.

Pairings: Vergil x Fem Reader

Warnings: War and violence. Mild gory descriptions, nothing too explicit.

Part One - Part Three - Part Four

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Part Two

Once upon a time, there existed a vast kingdom ruled by a great and powerful demon who possessed a heart as merciful and gentle as that of a human.

At the beginning of his reign, the Demon King bestowed upon all the humans of his land the ancient magic of his kind, quite unlike his predecessors that kept said magic to themselves selfishly alongside a few nobles of demonic heritage. With this wonderful gift, the inhabitants were able to access greater knowledge, developing more advanced technologies that greatly improved their lives. Soon enough the kingdom grew larger than ever before, making alliances with neighboring countries in order to selflessly share their magic and science with those who needed it most. Such was the will of the Demon King, who reigned over the peaceful land for centuries.

One day, the king fell in love with a human woman, and took the ultimate decision to renounce his immortality in order to spend the rest of his days with her as his beloved queen. From this union, two children were born, twin little boys with pristine white hair and blue eyes. The entire kingdom was overjoyed at the news, a long lasting celebration was held in honor of the newborn princes. As time passed, the twins grew up to become well respected nobles among the people, as well as skilled swordsmen just like their father. The younger one had a spirit like the sun, warm and vibrant; the older one had a spirit like the moon, calm and piercing.

……………………..

Many years later, the Demon King and his beloved queen passed away at their shared bed due to old age, both with a peaceful smile on their faces at the fulfilling lives they had shared with each other. At their passing, the elder brother was crowned as king of Fortuna in a most luscious ceremony which hosted many representatives of their allied countries. The Blue Eyed King was able to reign as benevolently and wisely as his late father; however, he would often question his trust in some of Fortuna’s allies, concerns that he kept even after his crowning.

During a festival at the town square, someone caught the monarch’s attention, a beautiful maiden with a heart of gold lively dancing and twirling to the cheery music. At the end of the song, their eyes locked for a few moments that seemed almost eternal, and he knew he just had to meet her. Love blossomed between them, which some time later led to a joyful marriage between the two. The king and queen lived together with great happiness, their love as profound as the immensity of the universe.

Such happiness wouldn’t last long.

……………………..

After a medical checkup, the couple was informed that the young queen could not bear any children. The news absolutely devastated her, driving her into a severe depression that kept her isolated in her private chambers for months to come. In his despair to help his wife, the king did everything in his power to aid her in her malady. Every single medic was summoned to the palace, doctors, healers, therapists… the young king prayed every day and night for the recovery of his beloved, always tending to her side and holding her close as many times as she allowed him too.

One day, after many painful months, the queen finally gathered some energy and emerged from her chambers, much to the relief of all the servants and the young king himself. She made one single request to her husband.

She showed him a small bag of seeds “My beloved. Allow me to plant these seeds in our royal garden, and tend to them with my very own hands. I don’t wish to be helped by our servants and gardeners, who have already done so much for me these past months. Please, let me be the only one to nurture these seeds.”

As much as he wanted to protest her decision to work despite her health condition, the king obliged. Whatever it took to make his love recover her lost happiness, he would gladly accept.

The next months, the queen would be seen tending to the seeds she planted in the garden, which eventually grew into many exquisite blue roses thanks to her love and dedication. The king was filled with joy knowing that his wife had finally started to smile again, little by little did she recover and soon she was back into her usual cheery self.

None of them would have expected the tragedy that was about to fall upon the kingdom.

……………………..

They attacked at midnight while everyone slumbered. Loud explosions from their cannons shattered the calm atmosphere of the night, reducing buildings and homes to rubble and dust.

Nobody would have expected that this particular allied country would ever consider the benefits given by Fortuna as simply not enough for them. Envious and greedy, they wanted the great kingdom’s power and riches all for themselves.

As his twin rushed to take care of the siege engines surrounding the city, the Blue Eyed King and his army fought valiantly against the enemy who planned to infiltrate the grand palace. He had struck down another group of soldiers with a graceful cut from his demon sword Yamato when an all too familiar scream made his blood run cold. Looking around frantically, he spotted through the corner of his eye the queen running towards the royal garden. The king immediately bolted after his beloved, only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw once he reached her.

The queen laid lifeless on the exact same roses she had planted months ago, the blooms now crushed and their petals painted red with her blood. Towering before her, the very own general that commanded such an act of treason against Fortuna, standing victoriously arrogant at the murder he had commited.

At that moment something broke inside the king. Everything happening around him became mere white noise as pure rage and sorrow drowned his rationality. A blaze of blue fire enveloped the king as he embraced his demonic heritage, and with a mighty roar that shattered the night skies above and the earth below, he unleashed his fury at the ones that took his love away.

……………………..

Everyone watched in horror as a dark atmosphere consumed the entire city, even the soldiers stopped fighting and froze on their sports as the heavy darkness wrapped around everything it could touch.

And then, it happened.

It was strangely beautiful, the way thousands of light beams shot instantaneously through the air like fractals of blue energy, followed shortly by a delicate hum that resonated everywhere, not unlike the chirping of birds at breaking dawn. The lights illuminated the streets as if it were a sunny day despite being in the dead of the night. All who bore witness to the otherworldly display found themselves hypnotized by its beauty, the sight so alluring, so alluring...

And just as it had begun, it ended, like a lightning breaking through the storm in a matter of seconds. During that time nobody dared make a move, too stunned at what they had just witnessed.

The Blue Eyed King sheathed his sword.

One by one, every single soldier from the enemy country fell to the ground in unrecognizable pieces, a sickening sound as their remains sploshed and bloodied the streets. It was a nightmarish sight, how an entire army was eradicated in just an instant and in such a grotesque manner.

Silence reigned over the ruined kingdom once more, as if a war had never happened in the first place.

……………………..

The prince rushed to the palace, knowing something must have happened to his older brother after realization had hit him. His imposing red wings pierced the sky as he flew, a twisted feeling that tugged at his heart telling him that something must have gone terribly wrong.

As he landed at the now rundown garden, he saw his brother’s true demon form thrashing around in torment.

Overwhelmed by his grief, the king kept ripping and tearing down the now mangled body of the opposing general. Even his own demon sword laid forgotten on the ground as he preferred to discharge his wrath with his very own claws.

The prince immediately seized him, trying his best to calm down his brother. However, the beast inside him had completely consumed him, leaving only a primal creature thirsty for blood and revenge.

Suddenly, an unexpected cry resonated through the garden, interrupting the fight between the twin brothers.

Both demons stood bewildered as the high pitched wailing continued, breaking the silence that permeated the garden. The Blue Demon quickly scanned the area, looking for the source of the strange noise, his breaths slowly evening out as he started to recover some of his lost clarity.

His blue fiery eyes widened as he noticed the sound was coming just next to the corpse of his long lost queen.

Without losing a minute the beast prowled towards her body. Upon closer inspection, her arms seemed to be enclosed around something, as if protecting it and keeping it safe until her very last breath. Ever so carefully, the Blue Demon pried her arms open, minding the sharp talons that had replaced his human nails.

In her embrace, a single intact blue rose laid. The bud was abnormally bigger than the rest of the blooms that laid broken around her, gigantic even. As the king focused on the bizarre flower, he realized that the cries were coming from inside it, just as he too observed a few slight movements on its soft inner petals

In the most gentle and careful manner, the beast opened the rose bud. What he found inside brought tears to his eyes.

Two newborn babies were cuddled inside the unnatural flower, flailing their tiny limbs and crying in distress. The infants had pale rosy skin, soft white tufts of hair crowned atop of their heads.

The king turned beast stood astonished at the sight, not expecting to find such innocent lives at the now crumbled ruins that were once his and his wife’s garden.

Scales turned into flesh, talons transformed into lithe fingers. The king slowly reached for the children with shaky arms, pulling them out of the rose and cradling them against his chest. The babies nuzzled after the warmth he exuded, one that soothed their alarmed cries little by little. It was then that they finally fluttered their eyes open, and the king let out a startled gasp.

One had light blue eyes like an endless ocean at peace, very much like the kings’ own. The other had mesmerizing green eyes like a lively forest, very much like… His heart swelled with both joy and melancholy. The child’s eyes were very much like his beloved queens’.

What the monarch failed to realize at that moment was that this was his beloved’s last gift. Unbeknownst to him, amidst the doctors that had been summoned to treat her infertility, there was an elderly woman who was praised for her unique medicinal practices involving a combination of magic and science. Knowing this, the queen begged for her help as soon as she had recognized her presence in her chambers.

The elderly woman gifted her a small satchel full of magic-imbued seeds, instructing her to add a drop of her own blood as well as one of the king’s into the satchel before planting them, warning that the seeds would only grow by the hands of the queen herself. According to her words, one of the roses would bear a child after 9 months, an heir with the same blood used to soak the seeds at the beginning.

After offering her heartfelt gratitude to the healer, the queen set to work as soon as possible, one night even pricking her husband’s finger while he slept in order to follow those same instructions. She worked day and night, tending to the roses while ignoring the worrying looks of the servitude and those of the king himself. Above all, the queen prayed to the gods every morning she would get up to keep gardening. When she noticed one of the roses growing much more than the others, the smile she thought long lost had finally returned.

The infants stared at the man holding them before raising their small hands, reaching for his face as they giggled ever so sweetly.

For the first time in his life, the Blue Eyed King broke into tears, now understanding why his beloved was in such a rush making her way to the garden.

These children were his sons, his and his queen’s very own flesh and blood.

She had given her life to save their children.

The king hugged the little boys in his arms tightly, tears after tears cascaded down his face. His younger brother, now back into his human self, fell to his knees and embraced his brother, hoping to alleviate some of his brother’s pain as he too broke down.

He could barely hear his brother’s words as he spoke between heartbreaking sobs. “No mortal shall ever cause you pain, my beautiful children. I am your father, and until my very last breath, I shall protect you.”

……………………..

As dawn broke, all the surviving Fortunians were gathered in front of the palace gates. By order of the king, every single inhabitant of the kingdom had been relocated to the citadel which will later be rebuilt and occupied.

Before everyone, the Blue Eyed King vowed and swore to protect his people by all means necessary. And if it meant cutting ties with the rest of the world, then so shall be his will and command. Fortuna had been betrayed by who they considered an ally, and he will make sure a tragedy like this one would never happen again.

For the sake of his people. For the sake of his sons.

The king unsheathed his sword, and with an all-powerful cut, he split the land around the great citadel and the surrounding villages, severing all cuts with the outside world and enveloping it in a magical barrier.

In the blink of an eye, the Great Kingdom of Fortuna was gone.

……………………..

Once upon a time, there existed a vast kingdom ruled by a great and powerful demon. However, every remnant of its existence vanished without leaving any trace behind. As ages went by, nature grew and reclaimed the unoccupied land, eventually forming a thick forest where all kinds of wild creatures lived in harmony.

For the rest of humanity, Fortuna had been long lost. This, however, couldn’t be further than the truth.

The great kingdom still stood proud and prosperous, albeit in another plane of existence cut off from all mundane ties to our world. A plane of existence where even time itself behaved in the most different and unexpected ways possible.

It was a bit difficult at the beginning, but the inhabitants soon adapted to their environment without any more trouble. In no time they managed to rebuild their homes and return to their normal lifestyles, now convinced that the decision made by the Blue Eyed King was the best for everyone.

Peace once again reigned over the kingdom. And as long as its existence remained a secret to the outside world, nothing shall ever take it away.

#devil may cry #fairy tale au #fairy tale inspired #thumbelina #Vergil Sparda #vergil x reader #vergil x you #dadgil #Papa Vergil #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert

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linneawritesstories · 4 years

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This is a repost of a story I posted previously in a different format.

“If you treat creatures kindly they will return the favor.” He watched as his teacher reached out to the dragon. His breath rushed out when the creature’s aggressive scales gently tapped her palm. “No one really wishes to be cruel.”

- @givethispromptatry

There was a dragon in the hills on the outskirts of Kingsbury, and Jarrod was going to kill it.

Not that he was a knight. Oh, no. Jarrod was a Spellcaster and apprenticed to Kingsbury’s resident Spellcaster. His teacher, Leona, said that he had promise and might even be as powerful as her one day. That was high praise from the best Spellcaster in the three kingdoms.

Of course, his teacher also said that power was useless without skill, and that he had a long way to go in that area.

Jarrod first heard of the dragon when a group of townspeople came to visit Leona after dinner one night. Leona sent him to the kitchen to wash dishes so that they could speak to her privately, but Jarrod left the kitchen door open so he could listen. According to what Jarrod heard, the dragon took residence in the hills sometime in the last fortnight. Since then, the surrounding villages lived in terror whenever the dragon flew overhead to hunt. The dragon was huge and red, they said, and local farmers and ranchers had found mangled livestock in their fields in the mornings.

Delegations were sent to the King to request aid, but so far had proved fruitless. He was preoccupied with the war with Clendyne to the south and wasn’t concerned with a dragon terrorizing small farming communities.

Please, the townspeople begged. Spellcaster Leona, please slay the dragon for us.

But she refused.

Continue reading below or on my official website.

Jarrod could not understand his teacher. She possessed more than enough power to slay a dragon. Had they not travelled to the north coast last summer, where she slew a krakken? The bards still sang songs about it, and would continue to long after her death. Jarrod could only dream of that level of fame.

Part of Jarrod’s studies was reading about magical creatures. He could tell you about mischievous mermaids and the tricksy Fair Folk. He knew how to defend against vampires and werewolves. He knew that dragons were big, with razor-edged scales tougher than any man-made armour. They spewed fire and some could even summon lightning. But perhaps the greatest danger was that they were resistant to magic.

When Jarrod asked his teacher why she would not aid the townspeople, she told him that the dragon had not caused any harm. No harm! It was terrifying people and butchering livestock. It had to be stopped.

If Leona, Spellcaster Extraordinaire, would not do it, then her apprentice would.

She would be furious if she caught him, so Jarrod waited until she was asleep before creeping across the landing and down the stairs of their little cottage. (That was another thing he didn’t understand. She was renowned and beloved. She could live anywhere and earn piles of gold, but she chose to live in the middle of nowhere in a tiny two-bedroom house). His feet avoided the creaky floorboards with the ease of long practice and he made his way into the kitchen.

Some bread, some cheese, some cured ham. That should be enough for the walk to the dragon’s lair and back again. It wasn’t far on horseback, but he didn’t dare borrow his teacher’s prize mare without asking her. She would skin him alive, or worse, ship him back to his parents in Delphany.

He did not want to return to his parents. They loved him and wrote to him and still called him their daughter.

The front door squeaked when he pushed it open. He froze and held his breath as he listened. But there was no sound of footsteps, and his teacher did not call his name. He stepped onto the stoop and eased the door closed. The latch settled with a click, but he ran down the road without waiting to hear if the sound woke Leona.

The walk was long and tedious. Leona had one lantern, and Jarrod hadn’t dared take it in case she got up to wander in the middle of the night as she was apt to and noticed its absence. But he was a Spellcaster, so he pooled his magic in his hand to create a light bright enough to illuminate the path ahead of him.

He wasn’t sure where the dragon built its lair, but he knew he was on the right track when bones crunched on the path under his boots. He followed the scattered bones up the hillside. The climb got steeper and steeper, until he found the opening of the dragon’s lair.

A burrow had been dug in the side of the hill, recent enough that the black mounds of dirt that were pushed aside were beginning to sprout grass and wildflowers. Jarrod gulped. The darkness in the burrow was impenetrable. His light did not illuminate the far side. There was no sound or movement from within, and Jarrod couldn’t guess how deep it went.

Going inside would be suicide, but Jarrod wasn’t sure what else to do. Wait here for the dragon to pass by? That would be silly. So he gathered his courage and called out, “Hey! Dragon!”

His voice echoed off the sides of the lair. The sun began to rise in a thin red and gold line that broke the horizon. Leona got up with the dawn. She would realize he was missing soon, and he wanted the dragon to be slain before she did.

He wanted her to be proud of him.

The sound of wingbeats made him look up. It was the dragon, descending from the sky toward him. It was coming fast!

The dragon was red as the rising sun, as he had heard. Jarrod’s best element was fire while water was his weakest, which made him a poor match for a dragon. Still, he chanted the incantation for his best fire spell as the dragon came within range.

Fire blasted from his hands and surrounded the dragon in a great ball. The dragon cried out once in surprise before the fire blew off it as though it were nothing.

Jarrod had no time to cast another spell before the dragon was upon. The earth shook under Jarrod’s feet from the dragon weight and the force of impact as it landed. The dragon was three times his height, and its barbed tail swished back and forth like an angry cat. It batted at Jarrod with a paw. Each toe was tipped with claws as long as Jarrod’s forearm. He had an instant to think that he was done for before the ground in front of him exploded upward.

The rolling earth knocked the dragon off balance. Leona took advantage of the distraction to plant her body between her apprentice and the dragon. Her dreadlocks blew back as the dragon regained its footing and roared, a sound of such power and fury that Jarrod cowered behind his teacher.

To Jarrod’s astonishment, his teacher bowed to the dragon. “Forgive me, Friend, for the behaviour of my apprentice,” she said, and her tone was both respect to the dragon and muted scolding for Jarrod. He withered a little - he knew that he could expect a tongue-lashing later.

But he had to stand up for himself. He was trying to do good! He was trying to help people, and make his teacher proud! “But Master, the townspeople said that the dragon was killing their animals. They’re afraid. I just wanted to-”

He stopped short when she fixed a look of muted fury on him with one brown eye. “And because something is frightening to others, that means it deserves to die?”

He knew what she meant. People who didn’t know her often found her tattoos and piercings, scars and dark skin scary. “No, but they said-”

“And did any of them say that they saw the dragon kill their animals?” She straightened from her bow and approached the dragon, which had stopped hissing and waving its tail. It stood still as she held out a hand to it, palm outward. “Dragons don’t eat livestock, fool. They know it draws negative attention from humans. It was most likely the mountain lion that air-headed mayor kept as a pet and released when it ate his dog.”

Jarrod opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had heard the gossip about the mayor’s mountain lion, both when the man first acquired it and again when he claimed it had “escaped”. The townspeople kept their children indoors for a week because they were terrified the mountain lion would eat them. The timing matched up. But.

“It attacked me,” he said, stubborn.

Leona’s shoulders rose and fell in an aggrieved sigh, but she did not look away from the dragon. “Of course it did. Here you are, about to invade his home. And who struck the first blow?”

He had no response to that.

“Is it a crime to defend your home? That’s what you meant to do by coming here. As for the townspeople, they don’t understand the mystical creatures of the world. They don’t even understand Spellcasters like you and me, though they’re happy to make use of us.” The dragon watched her and made no move to attack as she approached. “If you treat creatures kindly, they will return the favour.” He watched as his teacher reached out to the dragon. The dragon leaned forward, and Jarrod inhaled sharply, certain it was going to breathe a gust of fire and burn his master to ashes.

His breath rushed out when the creature’s sharp scales tapped her palm. “No one wishes to be cruel.” Leona rubbed the dragon’s nose. “What a beautiful colour you are! I haven’t seen a dragon as red as you since I left my homeland. The ones around here tend to be more blue or purple. My name is Leona, and I am the Spellcaster around here. May I be privileged enough to know your name?”

Although her back was to him, Jarrod could tell she was smiling from the tone of her voice. His stomach twisted that she seemed to appreciate this big brute of a creature when he had tried for a year to get her to care for him as something other than a nuisance that broke into her home and refused to leave without mastery of Spellcasting.

The dragon pulled away from Leona’s hand. Jarrod tensed, certain that this time it really would tear her to ribbons, but instead it took two steps back. Its shape swirled and shifted. Jarrod watched with open-mouthed fascination as its outline shrank and formed into something more familiar.

The dragon was now a young man, his skin as dark as Leona’s own. His hair was in a multitude of tiny braids the red of hot coals while his eyes glittered like golden sparks. Not the amber eyes of a cat or wolf, but true molten gold. It was mesmerizing. Jarrod didn’t dare get close. And when the man smiled, Jarrod half-expected his teeth to be pointed.

The dragon-man bowed to Leona. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Spellcaster Leona of the Hills,” he said, and in his voice was the musical cadence that could still be heard in Leona’s voice though she’d left her home country over a decade ago. “I am called Kipkirui. And what may I call your apprentice?”

Those unnerving eyes landed on Jarrod. His went dry. He could not speak. Leona sent an exasperated look over her shoulder at him, then turned back to Kipkirui. “He’s called Jarrod. We again apologize for the trouble he has caused you.”

This time the look she sent Jarrod was one that warned him not to disagree or say something stupid. “Yeah, sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Kipkirui smiled at him as well, and Leona took that as a sign that she no longer needed to defend her apprentice. She went to fetch her bag from where she’d dropped it when she came to Jarrod’s rescue. She slung it over her shoulder. Jarrod watched her and did not notice that Kipkirui approached him until Kipkirui was in front of him and holding out a hand.

“We must start over. I am happy to meet you, Jarrod.”

Jarrod squirmed but could see no way around it, so he clasped Kipkirui’s hand and shook it once before dropping it. He mumbled something that might have been agreement and stared at the ground. Kipkirui towered over him even in human form, which was annoying. Jarrod wished he could be so tall.

“What brings you to these parts, Kipkirui?” Leona returned to them and shot Jarrod another look for being rude again.

Kipkirui took his eyes off Jarrod long enough to answer her. “Well, I am an adult now, so I had to leave my parents’ burrow and find my own. I heard that the flowers in this country were beautiful, so I thought I might settle here. I do apologize if I frightened anyone. Humans are more used to dragons where I’m from.”

Leona grunted in agreement. “That’s true. I heard that humans and dragons used to be on better terms here, but that ended because King Lennox tried to eradicate them from the land. That was about... six generations ago? He didn’t succeed, but...” She shrugged. Public opinion of dragons remained smeared by his campaign. “Anyway, you’re welcome to come to my house. We can have a meal and Jarrod and I can show you around.”

Horrified, Jarrod stared at her. Invite a dragon into town? What was she thinking? Just because Kipkirui could take on human shape didn’t mean he looked human. If Jarrod encountered him without knowing that he was a dragon, he would have assumed Kipkirui was one of the Fair Folk.

But Kipkirui agreed. “It would be a pleasure,” he said. And Jarrod knew better than to argue, so they went back to Kingsbury together.

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blankdblank · 5 years

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Please Stop - Fili/Kili Prompt Request

Took a bit of a twist in this one.

…

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @abiwim, @jotink78

…

c-s-stars said:

Prompt Request 😊 Fíli/Mallory/Kíli if possible!

31 “Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.”

88 “You’re questioning my methods.” “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.”

83 “Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.”

8 “This is all your fault.” “I hope so.”

Middle earth version

…

In a low growl Thorin broke the hushed conversation between the tallest and smallest member of the Company inside the frigid house in the middle of the lake barely a few miles below the goal of this entire Journey, “You’re questioning my methods.”

Turning your head his scowl deepened at the furrow of your deep red brows matching your crimson curls tucked under a knit cap from Dori when he caught your shivering to match the scarf Nori had wrapped around your neck over your well worn coat. “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.” Only making his brows tighten, “I was right about the Forest so why are you wanting to take that armor back?!”

Thorin drew in a breath trying to keep his voice low to keep from being noticed from the neighbors and passing guards, “That armor was coating one of the guards that fell when Smaug attacked!”

Your hand rose, “I am not questioning that Thorin!”

He shrugged, “Then what is your objection?”

“Simply when you are choosing to make the theft. Wait until we get the mountain back.” His lips parted only to close as you said, “Thorin say you get the armor out but we signal a guard on the way out.” He nodded, “They outnumber us, you could die in the shadow of your home over a suit of armor, I understand he needs proper respect, but why not defend him when you can bring him home so his family can return to pay their respects properly.”

Thorin released a breath, “I see your point.” After a moment staring off at the mountain he nodded, “As soon as my Cousin arrives we will be marching on this city.”

You nodded, “And you will find no argument from me.” With that he gave you another curious once over then turned to rejoin his kin around the fireplace, still locked in hushed conversation about your managing to smuggle them inside the city within closed barrels as you and Bilbo managed to smooth talk the barge wielding Man, who was too distracted by your story of the travels so far to notice the extra weight inside them. Once in Esgaroth you managed to secure an empty house for the night you both snuck the Dwarves through the city into said home, on which they noticed the disturbing theft.

For all they did the Company could do nothing to ward off their worry at your pale complexion and weariness since your arrival in this city. No matter what they did you refused the extra helpings of the stew they had made and lack of sleep in what they assumed to be the start of your falling ill. Only once before had you been like this, just a couple weeks after leaving Bree, but right after a full day and night of flooding rains and the lightning storms rolling through had somehow cleared it right up. All eyes lingered on your tall form as they each recounted their moment walking into BagEnd seeing you there with your adopted friend Bilbo, who had found you unconscious on the floor of his home from your own world in your attempt in hiding from a long time foe that had discovered your location once again. No matter how little they knew you they refused to believe you belonged to a race of so called Mutants, and flat out refused to call you by your assigned title of Nibbles.

Months you had joined them, managing to convince even the most stubborn of mortals to your will with barely having to ask at all whole you adamantly battled wits with, but never without good reason for the safety of all the Company, all of whom noticed your discomfort when any of them found the slightest harm. The smallest scrape or nick seemed to drive you off alone for a small break every so often until they were covered and out of your sight, merely leading them to believe you were squeamish at the sight of blood or wounds. For your height you seemed to be easy to brush past leading to their extensive training attempts that all found you able to counter or anticipate and avoid all of their moves. Though one move you missed was the pair of Princes stealing a pair of kisses from you on your first scavenging trip alone for firewood.

The closer you got however the same troubles came up, this exhausting Journey was draining you much faster than you had been before with so many hours under the bright sun. Sure you’d learned how to control it back in your world, where you could hide away and sleep through the day and come out at night for sneak missions. Nibbles was your chosen nickname, out of sheer lack of imagination for another when you knew people would draw the same conclusion anyways. Both of your parents had proudly boasted of their abilities to drain the best of the best Mutants without even having to cross the room to do so, the powers leaving them grinning each time people would miss name them as Vampires. But honestly for all your weaknesses from your powers you could see the reason why.

The ability to persuade with a single glance, a voice that could lure anyone into any dangerous situation in a delirious haze, super sight, hearing, strength and speed. With irritatingly stubborn nails growing right back to their same short length allowing you to claw people if necessary, two slightly pointed canine teeth, needing to use twice as much energy to remain under sunlight, even in the shade. All leading to the piece de résistance, being able to drain enemies of their life forces, not just across the room but from the next room over. No need for blood or nibbling but when the clues were lined up you could see the double glances and shifting away each time a single cut or scrape they had not noticed before.

You couldn’t stand blood, not just the taste of it but the sight of it, but not for the obvious reasons. Once someone bled in front of you your mind instantly locked on theirs, a habit you’d yet to master, leading to you seeking solitude to recenter and break the link. It was on one of these instances when the Princes were wrestling after both being disarmed in a sparring match they received the small scrapes and caught just a flash of your swirling imagination while racing their every contoured rippling inch of their solid flexing frames in their battle of wills. Instantly they froze leading to their Uncles calling a deadlock through their scanning around for you only to see you walking to the stream nearby rubbing your face after mumbling to Oin about their cuts.

Your secret was out, or at least that one was to the pair who made it obvious to their kin, and for all their admirable qualities the one thing that drove you mad was their determination to try and get that mental link with you again. Leading to an all out barrage of advances, stolen moments at your sides and lingering gazes that gave them a small list of ways to just feel your mind tap theirs again.

…

“Back in the barrels.” The Dwarves all faced you only to sigh and one by one fill the barrels you managed to strap together and row to the edge of the lake with their aid using the snapped lids to each of them as paddles. On the rim of the front you sat with feet in Balin and Dwalin’s barrels helping to point out the directions to go after they insisted you rest while Bilbo sat in Thorin’s on the back row ensuring no Men were following or had noticed your group at all. Certainly they wouldn’t have to at the melodic hum you gave off in your passing through town lulling all the Men to a deep sleep until morning, but you let them imagine a possible threat to will them faster along in silence. The shore came soon enough and leaving your barrels behind to float back to town after reclaiming the rope and bags from inside you turned and started the long walk to the Mountain.

By nightfall on the second day you reached the ruined city of Dale. Everywhere charred reminders of what once was as your mental wall struggled to stay up at the flood of panicked memories trying to flood into your mind at once. Somehow you managed to drift off, bad idea, such a bad idea. The instant you did your mental wall dropped and barely ten minutes later, the eldest of the group watched your body jerk awake and stumble frantically to the rushing water in the channeled stream through the city formerly used to power a few of the workshops. On your knees you sat kneeling with your head against the marble trough with hands in the water above you breathing deeply trying to focus your mind on the water as you drew a bit of energy from the frigid liquid by spreading it across the back of your neck.

Quietly Thorin managed to follow after you and kneel at your side, “Mal?”

In a trembling tone you stated, “Just a bad, dream.”

Inching closer he stated, “I have had dreams tear me from sleep and they are far worse than simple bad dreams, jarring me for hours after. What was it? What did you see?”

Unable to take it any more your head rose and turned to lock your eyes with his, but you could not see him as he gasped at the clouds of red and gold crossing over your normally bright enchanting emerald eyes as you whispered, “I see fire.”

Instantly his hands planted on your shoulder and he felt it, your mind snap onto his breaking your connection to the flood of terrors trapped in these stones, “You can feel it? From the stones? The memories locked here?” you nodded as a tear streamed down your cheek that he brushed away with a gentle smile, “It seems our kin are closer than I imagined. The young ones aren’t as in tune with stone yet to feel it, come, you can sleep by me, I’ll hold you if it helps.” Again you nodded and followed the King who had hold of your hand to his bedroll after he grabbed yours along the way. He joined them together and laid down, with arms extended he wrapped around you and tried to force himself to at least rest his body if he could not sleep leaving the others on watch for the night between their own attempts simply to ensure you got at least some rest.

Early morning however in a waking for a sip of water nearly led to the open mouthed discovery of the Princes’ intended in their Uncle’s arms. A sight nearly making the pair lunge and tackle him until Dwalin had grabbed them both and led them away from camp to explain. Leaving them to merely grumble and move to your sides and flop around the pair of you and snuggle their ways back to sleep mentally grumbling at the large frame blocking most of their favorite contours on your frame they had snuggled up to on the frigid nights passing around the large forest.

Awkwardly in its attempt to steal the pack of dried fruit from your pocket a thrush flopped onto your face waking you and startling it away, this jolt from you woke the men around you that all turned to see the irritated Hobbit in the center of the chuckling Dwarves. A pat on your back was all Thorin gave you in his rise to go claim the empty spot beside the Hobbit glaring at the bubbling stew in front of him doing little to calm his rage at seeing the foolish Dwarf with his face buried in the back of your neck while he held you tightly. Wordlessly Thorin fought mentally for words to express his devotion to the Burglar he’d still yet to admit his feelings to while you were led closer to the fire and waiting meal and nestled between the Princes watching the debacle. Without any luck at his search Bilbo’s eyes widened when Thorin simply picked him up, set him between his legs and hugged him tightly from behind nuzzling his head into the Hobbit’s neck and shoulders until having to break for the stew leaving the grinning Hobbit at his side again, though a good deal closer.

…

Around the mountain you walked peering out for any nooks or crevices possibly signaling a door until you froze beside Bilbo gawking up already exhausted at the sight of the three mile tall staircase in a massive carving of a Dwarf. Aloud you stated, “Thorin! Remind me to punch your relative responsible for those!”

Reaching Bilbo’s side he eyed the statue and chuckled, “Ah, well, he has long since passed, Miss Mallory.”

With a sigh you started the walk to the stairs grumbling, “Then I’ll just build a time machine, go back and punch him then.” Your sarcasm however amusing to Bilbo made Thorin and Oin lock eyes remembering the tale of their Grandfather’s best architect and sculptors sharing the tale of a mysterious tall woman one day just casually strolling into their workshop one day, asking for the pair of them and then just hauling off and punching them in the face. On their backs the pair simply watched her turn and walk away catching the light flashing off her radiant crimson curls inspiring some of their greatest stained glass sculptures revealed in the year after. Shaking those thoughts free they trotted to catch up to you as you stood looking up at the bottom step three feet above your head.

With a sigh you lowered to a crouch while Bilbo wet his lips and climbed on your back, his hand extended to steady himself on the wall as you rose up lifting him onto the stairs he pulled himself onto. Before you could turn Fili had gripped your hips and lifted you up next while Kili held your feet aiding in your kneeling position before calling up as you turned, “Keep going, we’ll get each other up.” You nodded and followed the first seven steps to their end at a wall beside Bilbo.

“What the-?” You turned around spotting the end of another set of seven steps, in what you had hoped to be a square pattern of steps at the distance you grumbled at the thought of having to climb seven steps then turn, step across the three foot gap to climb the next seven for the next few miles upwards. “Fuck every inch of this.” You mumbled to yourself spotting Bilbo’s hands on the wall in his first attempt in reaching the other set without any luck at all. Releasing his lip he watched you stretch out your leg and grumble at the stretch in your thighs before lifting and shifting him to the other side, where he gave you a gentle tug aiding in your shift to climb the other set.

Five sets in you had made quite a rhythm but by the 40th you were burning in every inch of your body. Under the direct sunlight at high noon you bit your lip and panted through shifting Bilbo yet again before Fili’s and stole the next cupping of your ass to tilt you to the other side while the men would fall forward and use the foot holds, you had not noticed in your ignorance of their obscure crafting to blend into the rock wall, to complete the distance their legs could not reach. With bruised knees and elbows over their poorly withheld pants and muttered curses as you neared the belt of the statue holding a ledge, much like the one you had passed at the knees, the Dwarves behind you bickered at whose idea it was to let you set the pace.

Following their tradition of putting the weakest and slowest first they assumed you would guide them at a fair pace with common breaks every so often as any other below you would have done. But in their constant bickering and reminders of your need to not hold them back on the journey you had forced yourself on assuming the kin of the crafters could easily climb these stairs in their sleep. So ignoring your own misery you pushed on, nearly to your breaking point until you found yourself on your stomach underneath the Princes, who had lost their resolve when they saw you ready to continue on. In shared agony they panted around you while their relatives moved to circle you and settle for a well needed break as snacks and canteens were brought out.

Lowly Gloin growled out, “Two miles! Two miles of stairs you led us up!”

Mid pant you moved your arm form your face replying, “Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.”

Gloin scoffed as Dwalin but him off, “Two miles! Mahal only knows why you didn’t stop at the knees!”

Tilting your head you locked your eyes with his, “You wanted to stop?”

Dwalin scoffed back, “After a mile of stairs? Who wouldn’t need a breather? That’s why that ledge was there!”

“You never said.”

He blinked at you while Gloin fired back, “Why would you assume we would want to climb the full distance in one go? What do you take us for?”

“Dwarves.”

Thorin’s brows ticked up as he leaned forward into your view asking, “What?”

You rolled over onto your side, “You lot are always boasting about your abilities and how frail I seem, I just didn’t want to slow you down.”

Dwalin, “You still could have stopped, even you can barely move after two miles of stairs! The leader sets the pace, why we put you first so you could stop when you needed and wouldn’t get left behind.”

“Well you should have said that. I thought you put me first to keep me going.”

Thorin again asked, “What? Why would you assume that?”

You shrugged, “What else was I to assume, you have all these rules and customs you never share and then somehow have the gall to be irritated with me when I cross or ignore them.”

His lips parted then closed before he nudged Dwalin’s side, “Dwalin will guide us to the elbow after our break, then I will take the lead for the last stretch.”

Painfully you stretched out, easing only at the weight of the Princes above you helping to press on your aching muscles calming their throbbing just a little.

Atop the ledge you laid on your back watching the blood orange sky as the sun set through the frantic scrambles of the Company. Raising your head you tilted from side to side watching the stream of golden light through a hole in a jagged column at the edge of the ledge atop Thror’s carven ax. Extending your arm you tilted your head back asking, “Thorin? What’s that?”

Turning ready to shout at you he followed your arm to the same cutout before he wet his lips and turned in a circle and grabbed one of Kili’s arrows from his pack and tried to line it up, sliding the key along the wall at the end of it until he felt a smile stirring dip. The key sank in and turned freeing a relieved chuckle from him and the Company as you laid back trying to relax only to be lifted into the Princes’ arms in a tight elated hug ruining your resting.

Forcing out a chuckle you teetered to the now open doorway with Bilbo at your side as Balin described, at least in Dwarven terms, what might have passed for a decent description of the fabled stone you were to search for. Shaking your head you led the way, thankful at least that you were going down the stairs ahead instead of up, though leaving the hall you groaned at the rail-less flights and bridges ahead of you earning a repeated whisper of, “Fuck every inch of this.”

Painfully you trotted your way down following Balin’s directions until you were outside the treasury. All but spent you teetered through the door staggering to stay upright as you felt your fangs inch out more at the pulsing hoard of energy buried in this golden haze. A few steps later however against the urging of Bilbo’s silent arm flails you fell heavily from the platform into the gold below. A pained groan later died as the gold shifted making you sink slowly a couple inches into it opening a giant eye shot open as your mental wall dropped, unable to help it your abilities kicked in and you mentally locked onto the hoard of power between you and Bilbo and with each panting breath absorbed it while your hands clenched around the gold at your sides in the euphoric rush through the surge of power now coursing inside you able to fuel you for years to come.

The effects of your powers were missed by you but not the wide eyed Hobbit watching as you, with purple veins and golden eyes, glittered skin, with fangs extended between pants through the shrinking of the giant beast formerly sleeping now floating in a golden glowing orb of light until your fangs shrunk again while your veins and glittering vanished. Calmly you laid now staring up at the ceiling, still in pain from your fall while Bilbo eyed the small puppy shaped Dragon now darting across the gold to you. Winding his arm back he threw the emerald in his hand knocking Smaug into a roll to crash into your side, where he scrambled onto your chest and let out a far from intimidating growl, “This is all your fault.”

Weakly you replied, “I hope so.” Turning onto your side you wrapped your arms around him and felt your eyes drooping shut for a well needed nap.

Smaug squirmed in your arms, “I AM FIRE! I AM DEATH! UNHAND ME!”

Bilbo chuckled spotting the stunned expressions on the Dwarves’ faces as they peered in, unable to wait any longer in the growing storm outside. All moving closer to witness the tiny furious Dragon that finally managed to squirm free that curled around a pile of gold he formed with his wings again shouting, “I will not part with a single coin!”

Heavily Thorin walked to your side gently brushing your curls free from your face, “Exhaustion has tempered your sanity. There are far softer places to sleep.”

With a shrug you replied, “Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.” He chuckled then watched as your arms extended, “Carry me.”

With stern gazes Fili and Kili walked around Thorin to pick you up, Kili steadied Fili on the path back to the stairs to find a place to sleep with Balin leading them leaving the rest to follow after when one of the stones Bilbo had tossed aside was picked up by Thorin with a chuckle. Crossing the hoard Thorin got to Bilbo’s side and held the stone into his view only to hear with a shake of his head, “Already saw that one.”

Thorin grinned, “Bilbo, this is the stone.”

Bilbo froze, dropping the stones in his hands and stood up wetting his lips while he straightened his vest and turned to peer up at the King with his hand raised, extending a finger for each item he listed, “Big, white, that was it, not shimmering, not, that!” Thorin chuckled stirring an uncommon growl from the Hobbit, who pounced on him tackling him into the gold stirring an even louder laugh from the Dwarf under him in his gripping the fur lined vest across his chest.

Though in his inhale to say something Thorin’s hand had cupped his cheek, the warmth urging Bilbo’s cheek to press into it while fingers traced along the edge of his ear into his glowing curls in the light cast off the gold, in an elated chuckle Thorin replied, “Right you are, Bilbo. My divine Burglar.”

“Di-..” His words died in Thorin’s rise up to plant his lips to his beloved’s, showing him finally in a wordless expression of his undying love for the stubborn Hobbit now melting across his chest into the deepening kiss across the gold while the Company cheered. All but Bifur of course, who snatched up Smaug in his scurry to claim the arkenstone. Turning back to the others Bifur stumbled and caught himself on a knee giving the Dragon a chance to leap up and focusing what strength he had on the ax imbedded in the Dwarf’s skull. A scratched cheek later after the ax slipped free Bifur staggered backwards with hands to his forehead watching as Smaug fell onto his back on the gold only to have the ax fall blade down slicing through his neck silencing him.

In a race into the gold the lovers split for a moment joining the others in circling Bifur as Oin in inspecting his wound. A few dabs of an alcohol dipped cloth later it was being bandaged as Oin said, “Just watch you for the time being. Doesn’t seem to have harmed anything.”

In a low mumble Bifur stated, “Just an ax falling out of my skull, what could it have possibly damaged, already cannot speak.” All eyes widened as Bifur’s hands planted on Bifur’s shoulders wordlessly urging him to speak again, unsteadily it dawned on him and he mumbled, “You heard me.” Bofur nodded and was tackled into the gold through his laughter hugging his Brother smiling through the Dwarves piling on around him before going up to find the four of you to share the news.

…

Thorin grumbled again as he peered across the war room table at you on the ground level floor, in the plushiest wheeled chair they could find for you in your still stiff and aching state after realizing you had severely sprained your knee and dislocated your hip in your final fall. Horns filled the air and you were wheeled by Kili after Thorin to greet the entering King and his men who all entered eyeing the Company and you especially. Though the greetings were short lived when the Elves had arrived. As you sat in the war room with a bowl of peeled oranges that had been gathered by Bilbo from what remained of the orchards in the small farming peak between Erebor and Dale you watched the tension in the room build.

Quietly you sat as the Company all stood when introduced, at least until you stirring a rise in the Elf King’s brow until you wheeled back a couple inches stating, “I’d stand, but, ya.” He nodded his head as you inched back again and returned to enjoying your fruit.

The meeting continued into the night moving you up to the Royal sitting room when you had started drifting off in the meeting alerting the trio of Kings to their unsuccessful lack of an agreement. With tea in hand you sat near the fire while the Elf King sat across from you eyeing you carefully in the firelight before he stated, “I remember you.”

A playful glimmer flickered in your eyes as you replied, “Oh really? It must have been a hell of a daydream your mind drew up, we haven’t met before.”

With a smirk he replied, “Even so, I would not have expected you to admit to it, only one person has ever been foolish enough to punch my Father. Quite a weighty punishment for hitting a King.”

With a weak chuckle you replied, “Must have been a weighty grievance then, for him to have earned it.” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed playfully as you added, “Can’t imagine he’d have done it again.”

Thranduil shook his head, “No, he never got the chance to. We only got the one night together.” In his eyes you caught a hint of the memory of that night making you smirk as you realized who he was referring to.

Hit by an atom scrambling projectile you were torn into three versions of yourself and had to find your other selves and rejoin before you were going to die. With Magneto’s aid you finally managed it just in time and for all your attempts you were unable to see just what the other halves had been up to or where they had gone, but you knew at once arriving in this world parts of you at least felt at home.

When your cup was emptied you were rolled to your bedroom and moved onto your bed where you laid staring up at the canopy above until a door was opened behind a tapestry on the wall. A smirk eased onto your lips as the Princes climbed into bed around you and began the same timid first few kisses from the pair on your lips and cheeks hoping to continue what Balin had interrupted earlier that morning.

#Fili/Kili x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 5 years

Text

The Thrust of the Matter

A swordfight is very like a dance, and so is a kiss. Advance, retreat, feint, swipe, parry, thrust -- a delicate balance of give and take. And the metaphor advances furthermore in either direction: embrace, invasion, sex, death. In the end it is not a metaphor at all -- not an image imposed on the real, but rather the thing embodied in both sword and rose. It is folly to separate two things which, in the end, are one.

Bells toll. Birds take wing. A chorus wails, or explains the significance of the weather. Two people stand across from each other with swords in hand, each minutely aware of the other's posture, every inch of their body. Bells toll, and they clash.

The Thrust Of The Matter is a game for two or more players. Two players are the Duelists; everyone else is the Chorus. By the end of the game, the Duelists will either be married or one of them will be dead.

Before the duel begins, the Duelists each choose a sword and a demeanor. They should also decide on their prior relationship to each other, and at this time all players must discuss their comfort or discomfort with levels of physicality and dominance.

Each Duelist begins with three flowers. During the duel, each Duelist takes turns making advances towards the other. The other Duelist can choose to accept or refuse. If they accept then they narrate the physical and emotional consequences of acceptance, but if they refuse they must give up a flower to the other player and narrate how they avoided or rejected the advance. In between each Duelist's turn, the Chorus must make an observation about the surroundings such as the weather or the music, make an obtuse reference to the Duelists, or make entirely unrelated remarks; they may then give a flower to either Duelist if they choose. The Chorus is forbidden from remarking on the duel itself. (If there are multiple Chorus players, they take turns being the Chorus, or they may hold a short conversation.)

[If any player is uncomfortable with an advance or a remark, they may hold up a hand, and the advancing player must retract their statement and make another. No flowers are exchanged, and no comment can be made.]

If either Duelist runs out of flowers, the other Duelist narrates the final stroke, and the exhausted Duelist must choose once more to accept or refuse. If they accept, the sword pierces their heart and they are slain. If they refuse, the bells toll one last time as the Duelists are formally wed. Likewise, if either Duelist accumulates seven flowers, they may immediately propose to the other Duelist, who must accept or refuse. If they accept, seal the wedding with a kiss; if they refuse, cut their head off.

sample Duelist advances, arranged in order of ascending severity

We circle each other warily. Will you make the first attack?

Our swords barely touch before darting to the next position. Will you leave an opening?

I raise my arm to block your sword hand. Will you linger on the touch?

We lock eyes. Do you understand me?

My blade grazes your skin. Will it draw blood?

My blade feints unexpectedly. Does it set you off-guard?

Our swords cross, pressed between our bodies. Will you whisper to me?

I retreat two steps backwards. Will you let me go?

I overextend. Will you slip inside my reach?

We come unexpectedly close. Will you retreat?

We separate, panting. Do you charge back in?

I falter under your assault. Will you pull your blow?

Our swords clash furiously. Will you tire first?

I press against you furiously. Will you give ground?

Our swords lock and we wrestle for dominance. Will you submit?

My blade twirls around yours cleverly. Will you lose your grasp?

I shout across the ringing arena. Do you listen?

My blade draws blood across your body. Will the injury hamper you?

You take a harsh wound. Does the pain distract you?

My blade sinks into your flesh. Is the injury serious?

sample Chorus remarks, with optional continuations of a conversation

Stormclouds boil in the sky. -It's going to rain.

Swarms of ravens fill the air. -It's called a murder. -Isn't it unkindness?

A girl who fails to become a princess must become a witch.

A flash of lightning is really two bolts: one from heaven to earth, and a response from earth to heaven.

The moon orbits the earth, and the earth orbits the sun.

Who lives by the sword must die by the sword!

'I cannot help it,' the scorpion said, 'for it is in my nature.'

'Come into my parlor,' said the spider to the fly.

You betray the son of man with a kiss?

Children are made to be seen and not heard. -Isn't it the other way around?

The wind blows out the candle. -The stars are falling from the sky. -That which is eternal ends.

I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon us.

Haven't you heard? -Haven't you heard? -Haven't you heard?

When you go looking for revenge, dig two graves.

They will beat their swords into ploughshares. -They will neither harm nor destroy on my holy mountain. -For behold, I am making all things new.

Mint plants possess nothing except an urge to live. -And they do so fervently.

Do you recall how we came to that place?

A reckoning will not be postponed indefinitely.

Are those tears rolling down her face? -No, no, it's only raining.

The earth cannot hold all the blood that's shed upon it. -And so the stream flows below.

The days are gone down to darkness now. -The mountains alone remain.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Infirm of purpose!

The multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.

His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me.

There's always an ending.

i was sort of aiming to combine utena with the narration of hwbm but i think its mostly just utena

the title of this doc is sexy swordfighting, and it will remain so

this could just be a chuubos ritual but most things could just be a chuubos ritual

i can probably never publish this or ill get hit by a dozen copyright attacks

#tatterpigs #tatterpigsgiving

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