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elodieunderglass · 1 year

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the first chapter of Moby Dick rewritten in tiresome modern idiom

CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land part of the world, I thought I would sail around a little and look at the watery part of the world. I'm probably the most mentally healthy person you know. Whenever I feel my face getting grim; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself accidentally reading the ads in the window of funeral homes, and following funeral processions through traffic; and especially when I'm hangry, and only my extremely strong moral principles stop me from deliberately going out in public and methodically slapping people's earbuds out - then I know it's high time to get to sea, ASAP. This is my substitute for getting in fights. I'm too mentally healthy to kill myself; I quietly and considerately put myself on a ship and sail myself away instead. There is nothing surprising in this. Everyone feels exactly the same way, and if they don't, they're lying.

You think I'm lying? Exhibit A: a city. Go to your local coastal city. Everyone is looking at the water. They drive over from other neighborhoods just to come to the water. They make a day of it. They're not doing anything, they're just staring at the ocean. Why? Is it because they all work office jobs? No! Here come more of them! They cram themselves up to the edge of the water and stare at it. WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT. Perhaps the ships themselves all packed together, each one with several compasses on it, creates some kind of critical mass - all of the small compass-magnets on all the ships in the harbor combining into one really big magnetic field - and the people get sucked into the field and trapped there. That's science.

Exhibit 2: the countryside with lakes in it. Every path you follow in the countryside brings you to some water, such as a stream. There is magic in it. If you take your standard fool with ADHD dissociating in the middle of a supermarket and put them outside and give them a shove, they'll automatically lead you to water (if there is any nearby) (try it). Another good experiment to try is to get lost in the great American desert in a caravan supplied with a metaphysical professor! Try it in the great American desert at home!

Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are a match made in heaven. Married forever. That's science.

Here's an artist who wants to paint you the dreamiest, most enchanting landscape. What does he put in it? Trees, meadow, cows, a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, obviously. He will probably put a path in it and make lots of triangular mountains in rows and have them be different shades of blue (naturally.) But there's gotta be a stream in it. Go visit the prairies in June, and wade for forty miles through knee-deep through tiger lilies. What's missing from this picture? Water!

If Niagara Falls was made of sand instead of water, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why would a guy given a handful of cash have trouble deciding whether to buy a coat (which he needed) or go to the beach? Why are all the best, healthiest, sexiest and most mentally healthy people obsessed with the sea? (You get me.) When you were first on a boat, did you not succumb to VIBES? Consider ancient Persia. Consider ancient Greece. They understood about vibes, and also gods.

SURELY ALL OF THIS IS NOT WITHOUT MEANING.

And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all! You get me! You understand it now.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I get weird, don't you dare imply that I buy a ticket and get on a boat. I have never had money in my life. How dare you. Anyway I don't go as a passenger - that's bougie, and something boring people do. Passengers never have a good time. And although my C.V. is incredible - I go to sea SO MUCH, you guys, I have lots of experience - I don't go as a boss, or a cook. That sounds like far too much work. Hard work. Disgusting, respectable, bougie, and far too responsible. I can literally only look after myself. Do not ask me to look after ships or shit. In fact, I have only a vague idea of what a ship is. There's so many different kinds of ships - don't get me started and DO NOT GET INVOLVED. Also, I'm allergic to glory.

It's kind of attractive to go as a cook. I mean, I'm allergic to glory and there's some glory attached to the position of the ship's cook, but, like, you're not management-track and so it's still credible. But I don't really want to cook (say) roast chicken. I really fucking love to eat roast chicken. I'm one of the best at doing it actually. I really appreciate when people go out of their way to butter, season, baste and roast a chicken for me. Picture a roast chicken and I am Looking Respectfully at it. Maybe something more, maybe I'm worshipping it. Don't make this weird. If you want to get weird about my relationship with roasted chicken, why aren't you getting weird about the ancient Egyptians? They ate roasted hippos (look it up) and the pyramids were basically pizza ovens. So it's pretty hypocritical to think that I'm being weird about roasted chicken when I've never made mummies out of chickens or built a religious pizza oven dedicated to honoring them: check and mate, haters.

Anyway - I like to go to sea as a manual laborer. A simple sailor. Salt of the earth… er… sea. Yeah, true: as a job it sucks. They make you jump around, order you around, treat you like shit. They expect you to jump around the boat like a grasshopper. And yes, at first, this sucks. It's degrading, especially if you come from a middle-class family. Worse, it's awful if you've already had some kind of professional job before signing on to be the dirt on the boss's boots - like, if you went to college and worked as a teacher and actually got kids to pay attention to you, really feeling this connection to work/teaching/identity or some shit, and now you are just literally the scum on this captain's boots, in the lowest possible job in the world. It hurts! It hurts your dignity. But the hurt, and also the dignity, both wear off in time.

So what if some old bastard sea captain orders me - ME! - to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, compared to the shit in the Bible, compared to the shit in the news, compared to the shit everyone else has to take. Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. We're all just serfs under capitalism, right, so why not just be honest about it: I prefer the honesty. Anyway, however the old sea captains may order me about - slapping and punching of course - I have the satisfaction of knowing that it's the same experience everyone else on Earth has, but more honest. Everyone else in the world is being served the exact same way. Either in a physical or a metaphysical way - sometimes people get the shit beaten out of them in person, sometimes online, sometimes emotionally, it happens to you in EVERY JOB, you sign on to get pushed around and slapped in the teeth: so the point is that when you're a sailor, it's a clean and honest slap. All the workers of the world share the same universal slap to the face that gets passed round, one slap passed all 'round the chain, like paying it forward, but it's a slap; and we should all accept this Universal Slap as the price of living, and then offer each other healing back massages, brother to brother, and slap each other and then kissed the places we slapped, and be happy.

I could examine that but I'm not going to.

Anyway: I always go to sea as a sailor. I've said that already. You're welcome. BUT THE POINT IS, they pay you. If you're a passenger, they don't pay you, at least, not that I've ever heard of [citation needed] (do they pay passengers?? Is there a job I can get where I can be a passenger and get paid?? Look this up.) Yeah so passengers have to pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. (That's Adam and Eve. You get it.) But BEING PAID. GETTING PAID IS THE BEST. NOTHING COMPARES TO GETTING PAID. EVERYONE LOVES THAT SHIT. Which is surprising, since we also apparently believe that money is the root of all evil, and isn't there something in the bible about "no rich people can get into heaven," right? And yet it's universal, literally everyone loves payday. Ah! How cheerfully we send ourselves to hell.

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (I've said this already) because it's FRESH AIR AND EXERCISE. Okay so think about ships. Normally, bosses stand on the "bridge" thing, and because we're sailing a boat, the nose is going into the wind and the butt part of the boat is at the back. That's how wind works. But if you think about it, winds usually go in one direction more than other directions (unless the men have been eating beans and farting: it's Pythagoras, look it up) SO if you're a boss standing on the boss-deck, the wind is blowing FROM the sailors TOWARDS you, and YOU ARE ACTUALLY BREATHING THE AIR THAT SAILORS ALREADY BREATHED. The boss THINKS he breathes it first, but he doesn't. He gets the air at the BACK of the boat and sailors get the air at the FRONT. So it's better to be at the front of the boat (sailor) for health reasons. This is a metaphor for life and work, etc.

But I have smelled the sea lots of times as a paid sailor and WHY I should decide to go on a whaling expedition - ok so you know how there's an invisible police officer of the Fates who has me under constant surveillance, who secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way? YOU get me. You know him. "The poor FBI agent tasked with reading my search engine history" YOU GET ME. Anyway, "Ishmael, why, after having a perfectly well-reasoned, and very smart of you, part-time job as a spontaneous random sailor, did you decide to escalate that to joining a WHALING EXPEDITION, which is worse in every way?" Well, ask my fucking secret FBI agent, he can answer better than anyone else. Including me. You get me. Also, obviously, this was predestined, part of the Universe's Grand Programme for its talent show, which was all scheduled way before our time. The concept of sending me on the whaling voyage comes in as a kind of interlude or solo between the main performances of the Universe's great talent show. I bet it was advertised llike,

"PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF THE UNITED STATES EMBROILED IN ONGOING LEGAL DISPUTE.

Whaling voyage by some guy called Ishmael.

BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."

Like a commercial break in between the big acts. A filler episode. Lightens the load for everyone else. Though I can't explain why the stage managers - the Fates - chose such a shitty role for me, a WHALING VOYAGE of all things, when it feels like others were given magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces - it seems a little unreasonable at first. Why doth Ishmael get shat upon, etc. But then I think about all the circumstances, the plot points and motivations that were cunningly presented to me under various disguises - FBI agents, bouts of random hanger, gay awakenings, you get me - and you can see that actually, I was set up. And worse, between them all, these Fates and Circumstances conspired to make me believe it was all my own choice and good judgment. Is Free Will an illusion? Are my decisions bad? We will NEVER know because I, Ishmael, am just a little guy that the Universe plays head games with.

One of the ways the Universe tricked me into starring in this performance and then mocking me for it was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (whaling expeditions usually contain whales.) Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then of course, if you have a whale, you have the wild and distant seas where the whale rolls around with his body-the-size-of-an-island; the dangers and nameless perils of the whale; whales are also found in interesting places I haven't seen; this all tipped me over the edge. Maybe normal people could've resisted, but I am tormented with an everlasting itch for obscurity. I hate everyone else's oceans. I want the forbidden seas.

You know The Horrors? Of course you do. You might be surprised that I, the most mentally healthy person you've ever met, a person who is self-aware enough to go to sea when they're at their fucking limits, a guy who likes fresh air and manual labor and normal things, is familiar with The Horrors. Well, you'd be surprised. I know what's good, I'm an extrovert. But I'm still quick to perceive The Horrors. And how I deal with the horrors is a very extroverted thing: I'm social with them, if they'll let me. It's smart to be on good terms with The Horrors. You should always be on good terms with your permanent neighbors. That's how extroverts deal with The Horrors, and I recommend it.

I think that's enough explanation for why I welcomed the whaling voyage. The great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild figments of imagination that pushed me into doing it, the whales came marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. They marched into my innermost soul in endless processions and occupied it, you see, I was quite helpless under this occupation - I consented to the haunting and the whales marched in to haunt me - and amidst them all was one grand shrouded white phantom, like a snowy mountain in the air.

You get it.

You know how it is, with whales.

(read the actual first chapter of Moby Dick here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm)

#mody bick

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kakiastro · 6 months

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12h + the type of dreams you have

Can’t talk about dreams without Morpheus💜

Hey yall! I wanted to talk about how the 12h and the type of dream themes you will have based on the sign it’s in. The 12h rules our subconscious dream state while we are sleeping. The sign it’s in can be repeated themes and patterns you see in them. The 12h is ruled by Pisces which is ruled Neptune and traditionally Jupiter. Some people believe your dreams represent what’s going on in your conscious world, some believe they’re messages from a divine figure and others believe it’s your soul traveling to different timelines. Whatever your personal beliefs are, the 12h can give us clues on the type of themes we can expect.

To get a better analysis on your own 12h; look at your 12h sign + 12h sign ruler and house + degree + aspects to your 12h sign ruler. If you write out your dreams in a journal, see if there’s a connection to your 12h

Today, I’m just going to breakdown 12h signs just to give you an idea, write down and observe the things you remember .

ELEMENT THEMES:

12h Air dreams-fast paced. intellectual, may involve you coming to a decision on something that’s been bothering you mentally. Dreams may involve the sky, tornadoes, animals that fly, you could be flying.

12h Earth dreams- slow paced. grounded and stability. May involve you feeling out of wack and to find some sort of grounding in your life. Dreams can involve forest, trees, the ground, earthquakes.

12h Fire dreams- intense and fast paced. passion and creativity. May involve you lacking the passion for something in your life. If you’re creatively blocked, it will show up in your dreams. Fire, arguing and fighting, romance can be some of the themes

12h Water dreams- fast or slow paced. emotional. It may involve some sort of emotional disturbance that’s bothering you. Water also represents memory and reflection so you can dream about things that’s mirroring you. Dreams about water, your mom, your home, tsunamis, ocean, lakes can be involved

ARIES

-dreams may be very action oriented, there’s a a lot going on in them. You may have a lot of dreams that include arguing or fighting involved. The dreams could be fast paced as well so you may have trouble remembering them due to how quick they are. Dreams may be fiery or heated. You may have had dreams where you were dressed as a warrior or fighter. Dreams can also involve knifes, blood, leaders in your community (which can include you if you’re one) you may wake up with a headache.

TAURUS

-slow paced dreams that involves houses (external), maybe you’re always traveling to different houses. Houses being built or collapsing. Food may also be a big thing in your dreams, either you or someone else is doing the cooking. You may have ability to taste food in your dreams. You can be at different types of restaurants in your dreams.Money is another thing that may appear in your dreams, such as dreams of being at a bank or you working at a bank. It can literally be you surrounded by money. Jewelry can be another thing you see, dreams of fashion shows.

GEMINI

- very fast dreams that’s very airy. May have dreams that change from one thing to another in an instant. It’s like a tv show, switch from one episode to another. May have dreams that involve your siblings, your school with former classmates, aunts and uncles. Dreams of you traveling in a car or bus to different places in your neighborhood. Lots of communication and talking going on in your dreams. You may remember the conversations than the actual dream itself. Dreams can also take place in a library

-I have this placement and a lot of my dreams takes place at my old high school. I also have had dreams of my late uncle who’s passed visit me and we have conversations. A few cousins have come to visit me as well. Yes, I usually have several dreams in one night and they’re all connected to each other. The most I’ve had that I can remember was 7 in one night. Crazy!🤪

CANCER

-I feel like this can be either slow or faced paced lol. May have dreams of close family members especially your mom. Dreams may take place in your home or childhood home. May have had dreams that involves family reunions or get together. Dreams can include babies or nursery rhymes. Young children (age 0-4) , the moon, elephants or wolves can pop up. Being around water such as ponds, waterfalls and rivers. People may be really emotional such as crying or being angry in your dreams. Dreams of women in your life or just women in general.

- I have an intercepted chart so cancer is also in my 12h. I have dreams of my family all the time! Elephants have appeared in my dreams as well. My dreams has also taken place in my childhood neighborhood or home. I’ve also had dreams of childhood friends due to the Gemini influence in this house as well.

LEO

-fast but intense. Dreams may involve a lot of your childhood memories and all the things you liked as a kid. You can relive your childhood through your dreams. May have had dreams where you or someone is getting lots of attention. Dreams of meeting famous people and having conversations with them. You having your picture taken, lions or big cats may appear in your dreams. You being at the playground or around a playground. Children may pop up, if you don’t already have children, you may have had of dream of what they’ll look life before they are conceived.

VIRGO

-slow moving. Pay attention to the smaller details in your dreams because they’re more important than the larger scheme of things. Dreams may include spacious type of areas, libraries, at your job. Your Co-workers may pop up, your manager or supervisor as well. Dreams where you’re at the doctors office or talking to one. Conversations will be important in this sign as well because it’s also a mercurial sign. Conversations may be more detailed like

for example: you may talk a lot about sweets but chocolate cake may get brought up in your dream. The chocolate cake is the important part because that’s probably what you’re craving or what you need to slow down on.

The “devil is in the details” as the old saying goes

LIBRA

-dreams may include the people that you are closest too outside of your family members. If you’re a business owner, your dreams may take place there. If you’re in a serious relationship or married, you may dream of your partner a lot. Even if you’re single, you may have lots of dreams of your future partner before actually meeting them in person. Lawyers can appear as well.

SCORPIO

- you may have lots of nightmares or see lots of nightmarish things in your dreams. Sex dreams is really common with placement. You may have lots of “spiritual sex” with people you are attracted too 😝. Your dreams may take place in dark themed places such as night clubs, night time, in abandoned places, alleyways and dark corners. Dreams will be intense and will feel overwhelming when you wake up. You can also dream of death and birth as well. The phoenix may appear in your dreams.

SAGITTARIUS

-dreams can take place on a plane or in a different country/area from where you’re from. You can have dreams where you’re sitting in an airplane flying somewhere. Traveling could be a big theme in your dreams. If you go to church, your church may appear in your dreams, people from your church may appear. Even if you don’t go to church, it may pop up in your dreams or you being in one. Horses may show up in your dreams a lot, you may have had dreams of centaurs before. Running can also play a huge part, whether it’s you or the people in your dreams.

CAPRICORN

-dreams may take place at your job setting. Your boss may show up in your dreams. You may dream a lot of your grandparents especially your grandma. Dreams may take place in cooperate type of buildings. Dreams may take place in an area where there’s lots of big corporations such as New York. Dreams can also take place home but the home feels cold or you’re alone in it. Mountains can also show up, whether it’s you on top of one or just the image of them. Capricorn has water energy due to the symbol being a Sea Goat so you may have dreams of water. Goats, Crocodiles, Bats may appear. Bones such as your teeth falling out can be a theme.

AQUARIUS

- dreams that involve lots of people moving in your dreams. Dreams may not make a lick of sense with this placement😅 speeding, such as your driving fast or the dream is going a mile a minute. Out of all of the signs, I think Aquarius may be the toughest to remember and pin down due to the fact that aqua rules over abstract 🥴. Your social circle and your acquaintance may pop up. You may have random ass people pop up in your dreams like uhhh “who you?” LOL. Funny enough, those random people may actually appear In your life or if you believe in reincarnation, they could be past life people. Your dreams may be futuristic, you can dream of big events before it actually happen. Water, you carrying it or someone else can be a them.

PISCES

-Pisces is right at home here so you may have remember your dreams with ease. You may have the ability to astra project easily as well. The ocean (internal) may be huge theme. You probably have seen the depth of the ocean in your dreams. Fish or sea life in general may appear in your dreams a lot such as whales, Starfish and Sea horses. Music may show up in your dreams, like you may hear full lyrics to a song. You may dream of musicians. You may have dreams where the setting is taking place in a hospital or some type of asylum.

What type of dreams do you have?

I’m also open for readings, information in my pinned post

#astrology #astrology community #knowledge #love astrology #astro observations #advanced astrology #birth chart #tropical astrology #12h #Pisces #neptune

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

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“𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕐𝕠𝕦”

𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: PussyDrunk!Gojo, SoftDom! Gojo,Kinda Aftercare , Oral Sex, Fingering, Praise, Established Relationship, It’s Modern AU, but it’s implied Gojo left you a long time like yk….in the manga

Bad Summary: Finally after being apart for so long your big strong boyfriend shows you how much he missed you.

It was like he was a new person—

“Sat—-!!”

“Need you…”

Not physically by sight—-however his kisses—-so needy but not as teasing and rough as it was from the last time you kissed.

His lips were softer than you remembered, there wasn’t a part on your body Satoru didn’t miss to feel.

It was as if you weren’t real to him.

However, you didn’t know whether to stop him to kick him out, or let him keep going as he placed your body on your fluffy bed.

When he came to your door at the late hours of the night you didn’t even have time to process it.

Seeing him leaning on your door, having to kneel a little since he was always so much taller than average door, all black outfit, hair down and messy, his piercing ocean blue eyes revealed to yours, and his reaction was priceless.

“Y/n…”

“Satoru…”

It was a mixture of shocked and happy, sad yet relieved?

When he captured you into his strong arms, one large hand behind your head and the other on your lower back.

You tried pushing away to make sure that was him, that he was really back to you, but he kept you close against his chest just for a moment longer.

He couldn’t let you see the tears that escape his eye.

So, you’re here, (his) night shirt being slowly taken off your now nude body, his eyes marveled. Nearly drooling at how much you’ve changed.

“You’re hotter than before.” A snarky remark from Gojo, as he looks down at you basking in your form, yup. That was him alright. “C’mere.”

“Gojo you—!”

“Just…please…” Gojo cut you off with a tinge of urgency in his voice, he was kneeled between your legs rubbing the sides of your thighs, “Just let me have this…” His final words were muffled against your lips, “Please.”

You nod slowly, maybe it was his abs showing from being shirtless, or you still being in shock, but you let him do what he wanted.

It never ceased to fail you how small you felt under Gojo. He was 6’7”, and had a strong build, the man can tower almost anyone, but in this particular time you felt trapped under him.

As his lips lingered all over your chest you hum out his name, just how he likes, you can hear a muffled groan vibrate against your nipple from your reaction as he sucked on one breast and fondled with the other.

You could hear him unbutton and unzip his pants to toss to the floor, his print against his boxers made your eyes almost pop out your head.

Gojo noticed. Smirking a little at your cute reaction, he crawls to you placing your hand on his bulge and you squeeze it teasingly earning a small whimper from his mouth and a smirk against your lips.

You knew you had to talk about this with him, he has been gone for 3 years. 3 long years of no calling, texting, anything. You can’t remember the amount of tears you shed when you thought he was possibly dead or in trouble and thinking about the pain of it all stirred a fee sniffles from you.

But almost as if Gojo read your mind he cupped your face, his thumb wiping your tears as he didn’t cease to let go from your kisses.

“I know..” he mumbled as he traveled to your neck and that same hand that was once on your cheek now intertwined with your hand to hold tightly. “I know, baby I know..”

Gojo remembered your sweet spot on your neck, kissing that to get another sweet mewl from you. His opposite hand moved between your warm, wet thighs to rub wide circles on your clit with his three fingers.

“S’wet for me…”

He couldn’t take it anymore he needed to taste you now. Gojo’s darken eyes stayed on your cunt, moving down to kiss your slit, almost making out with it the same way he did with you at your door.

“S-sato!”

Gojo’s tongue was always something you could never fight against, he always had a love for sucking on your clit as his middle and ring finger dragged in and out of you. You took it upon yourself to hold your thighs up to your chest, giving him more acess to your (his) pretty little pussy.

He looked up at you with low lidded eyes, winking as his mouth hidden inside in your slit. You bit your lip seeing being still be so lewd. He spits on your clit, taking his fingers out to trace more circles before latching right back on with his soft lips.

“M’ so! M’ so close!”

Your moans were something that Gojo just COULDN’T handle. The way your body was grinding against his tongue, the way your hand massaged your breast, the way how your legs shook so much as you kept saying, “Yes yes yes yes yes Sato yes!”

It was enough to make him cum until touched.

And that he did.

Pulling away from you as you were panting from your first orgasm of the night you notice the small stain in your boyfriend’s underwear as he stood up.

“Well that’s a first.” Satoru let out and airy chuckle as he sucked on his fingers as if he was licking off some kind of dessert.

His underwear was tossed, leaving his pink tip standing painfully hard and leaking to your viewing, he crawls back to cage you in his strong arms.

Usually, Gojo would have just bottomed out after some teasing, but no. Not now, he admired your flustered face, you were always so beautiful to him, pushing back your curls, to let you taste himself on his tongue you pull back a moment, “Sato..I missed you.”

He smirked, forehead to forehead he was about to align himself, but you pull up his face with your shaky hands to cup his cheeks, “Tell me. Tell me you missed me too.”

His cheeks turned pinker than they were before, you brushed his white bangs to see his eyes completely and he paused.

“….I missed you….so much y/n.” The words were not above a whisper, he couldn’t say it any louder in fear he may cry. Right now, Gojo just wanted to be inside you. He needed to be inside you.

He needed to show you how much he missed you.

The night was filled with creaky bed sounds, skin slapping, and moaning.

“I missed—you!”

Gojo strained out as many times as he could as his hips snapped against yours. His hand never letting go of yours, his lips barely leaving your lips, he was so fixated on you and only you he didn’t even realize how many times he have already came himself.

The sting of overstimulation as he was on top made his arms weak, his entire body weight as he kept grinding his dick inside you drove you mad. His hot breath in your ear of praise of how tight you were, how warm you were, how much he didn’t go a day without thinking about you, how it ached for him not to just call you and tell you where he was.

He laid it all on the line and more to show you he missed you.

You both were a mess, your body shivering of sensitivity as Gojo rode out your 4th orgasm.

First from his tongue and fingers

2 from his dick

and the last of him cleaning you up with his mouth.

His body was sweating and hot against yours. Gojo didn’t care he threw you on top of him and kissed your so slow and sloppily he almost started to riled himself back up as he rutted against you from below.

“….I love you….I love you y/n….” He whispered breathlessly looking at your tired face, “Do you love me too?”

His voice was tinged with worry, you caught your breath with his and looked at him for a moment, capturing the sad look in his eyes. He knew deep down, even after tonight if you don’t forgive him he will understand, but he still needed to ask for his own selfish reasons.

“Do you love me?” Gojo asked again, this time his arm around your waist squeezing you tighter as you laid on his chest.

“….I always have and will love you, Satoru.”

His lips curled into a smile. You’ll never know how much he needed to hear those words.

#gojo #TimikosGojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x black reader #gojo x female reader #gojo fluff #black reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #gojo x poc reader #gojo x chubby reader #gojo x you #jjk x black reader #jjk x chubby reader #jjk x fem!reader

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idiopath-fic-smile · 6 months

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more Singin' in the Rain ot3, now on the honeymoon boat

part one

part two

The ship was a grand one. Cosmo, whose nautical knowledge began and ended with that Douglas Fairbanks picture about pirates, could tell that much. There was a majestic dining room and a wide, clean promenade and state-of-the-art engines that would get them to Europe in just a few days. The dining room even featured a four-piece band, who were a little stiff but not half bad.

His room, his island of privacy away from Don and Kathy and their combined magnetic pull, was bigger than he expected, well-appointed. It went a little overboard embracing an Egyptian theme, although the decorators had tastefully stopped short of including an actual mummy in a giant stone sarcophagus. He was grateful for that. The piano, as promised, sat in the place of where a desk might normally be, keys gleaming invitingly.

There was just one problem.

“How,” said Cosmo, dropping onto the bed, “did you manage to accidentally book us two adjoining rooms?”

“I’m sorry,” said Don, crossing his arms. “There must’ve been a mix-up at the offices.”

“Maybe the travel agent heard wrong on the telephone,” said Kathy. She rubbed Don’s back consolingly. Don shot her a grateful look. It was all very sweet, probably.

“How?” said Cosmo again. “Nothing sounds like ‘adjoining.’ It doesn’t even have a rhyme.”

“Are you certain?” said Kathy.

Cosmo nodded; he’d already run through the alphabet, twice. “The closest I can get to is ‘disappointing.’” Don was leaning into Kathy’s back rub like a cat, but his face was full of uncatlike guilt. “Don,” said Cosmo, “look, pal, I appreciate the free ticket, but please tell me you’ll fix this.”

“I already talked to the cruise director and there aren’t other rooms,” said Don. “We’re out in the ocean, what do you want me to do, alert the coast guard?”

“Alert the coast guard,” said Cosmo, “flag down a passing mermaid, strike a bargain with Poseidon himself!”

“Who?” said Don.

“The Greek god of the sea,” said Kathy, like that was the important part.

“I don’t speak any Greek,” Don replied, “do you?”

“I will swim to shore,” Cosmo said, to nobody in particular.

“We can swap over to a different ship when we get to port if we need to,” said Don, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. He must’ve felt worse about his screw-up than he let on. “In the meantime, the door locks from both sides, so—”

“I’m not—worried that you’ll barge in at all hours pestering me for a cup of sugar,” Cosmo broke in.

Don blinked. Kathy went very still beside him.

Out loud, it sounded more suggestive than he’d meant. Why had he picked sugar, the sauciest ingredient of the baking world?

“Or flour,” he amended.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“I.” Cosmo sighed. “Why am I the only person in this room who seems to know what a honeymoon is for?”

“Why,” said Don, wide-eyed, “what’s it for?”

“D’you think, if I jumped in the sea and started paddling now—” said Cosmo.

“Don’t worry,” said Kathy. “Don and I can be very quiet.”

And the trouble was, this was worse. The prospect of hearing them from the other side of a single thin door was one thing, and honestly it was plenty bad—Cosmo had played a role during several key moments of their courtship but at least he could say he didn’t know what they sounded like in the throes of passion—but for reasons that Cosmo did not feel like examining, the thought of them stifling themselves in the act, the thought of them naked in bed together, touching each other, biting down on a giggle or a moan, and whispering, ‘Shh, don’t wake Cosmo,’ made him feel like his whole stomach was a sore tooth.

“Don’t put yourselves out on my account,” he told them. Belatedly, he realized that was maybe the worst thing he could’ve said. He blushed, and then he stood, face still flaming—Damn his Irish complexion—nodded to them both, and fled to the promenade.

The ocean stretched in all directions as far as Cosmo could see. It was dizzying, and also strangely calming. He stared out at the waves and reminded himself, hardly for the first time, that it wasn’t Don’s fault how Cosmo felt about him. It wasn’t Don’s fault, and it wasn’t Kathy’s fault that she was maybe the most charming woman he’d ever met. You could certainly blame Don for booking the rooms, for not double-checking over the telephone, but there was no malice to it. They were both, at the end of the day, wonderful people who had decided to open this trip up to him for whatever reason, and besides, his bed was piled with any number of pillows he could jam over his head if they did make noise at night.

He stood there holding onto the railing for a long time. Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Feeling better?” said Don quietly, almost lost under the roar of the water. Without really trying to, Cosmo turned to look at him. Under his coat, Don was wearing a nicer suit than before, and the color had returned to his face. He looked—well, he looked like a handsome movie star married to a gorgeous starlet. Don took a few steps and rested his hands next to Cosmo’s on the rail.

“It’s the salt air, I think,” said Cosmo, nodding. “Feels like I could do anything. Why, I might write another musical, wear my trousers baggy, become a pirate.”

“Your trousers are fine as is,” said Don.

Cosmo shrugged. “A little change can be good.”

“Sure, unless it isn’t.” Don sighed. It was an awfully sad sigh to be having about the fit of a guy’s pants, Cosmo thought, but then Don turned to him and added, “You know, we really have missed you.”

“Don,” said Cosmo patiently. “I was at your house this Thursday. I stayed for three hours. I drank all your gin.”

Don didn’t make a crack about the gin, which was probably a bad sign. “And before that?”

Before that, it had been a while. Cosmo winced inwardly. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “you’ve been busy, Kathy’s been busy—”

“We invited you over, four different times,” Don interjected. “If I’ve done something, if we’ve done something, I wish you would just tell us.”

In front of them, the sea rolled and rolled. Cosmo thought about deflection, about twisting the moment into a joke, a sword duel where cold steel met only an outstretched rubber chicken: squeak.

He let out a long breath. “Why the Hell did you bring me along on your honeymoon?”

“We brought you along because we wanted you along,” said Don. “Whenever you’re not there, we wish you were. It doesn’t need to be any harder than that.”

“So it isn’t…” Cosmo started.

“What?” “You and Kathy aren’t having problems? Hoping for a buffer, or a distraction?” It was a very new theory on Cosmo’s part, and once the words had left his mouth, he realized how badly they fit the facts at hand.

Don smiled a private little smile. “Me and Kathy are doing just marvelously.”

“That’s splendid,” said Cosmo, because he had to say something, apparently. Marvelous didn’t bode well for Cosmo’s sanity at night, but it beat his friends being sad. “Lovely.” He let his cadences drift into a so-so British accent. “Capital show, old sport. Tip-top. Simpy spiffing.” Not his best work.

Don lay a hand on Cosmo’s coat sleeve, at the elbow. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” he said. “It’s meant to be a formal affair but you’ve still got time to change.”

Whenever you’re not here, we wish you were. Obviously, Don didn’t mean “whenever” in the strictest sense—Cosmo got the feeling he was not present in Don’s mind, say, when Don was in bed with his beautiful wife—but the thought now made him feel warmer than the gin had. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “why not,” and Don thumped him encouragingly on the back.

“Cosmo,” said Don as they headed back into the body of the boat, “piracy, really?” Cosmo grinned. “Don’t blame me, blame that salt air. Makes a man feel like anything’s possible.”

Kathy and Don looked enchanting at dinner, and Cosmo cleaned up alright too, if he didn’t say so himself.

The food was good—salmon with hollandaise sauce and French beans, braised duckling with apple sauce, some fancy beef thing, salad Dumas and ice cream for dessert—and the band had relaxed a smidge and was playing something from this century, which was nice.

Over dessert, Kathy told them about how, one night several months before meeting Don, she’d been at a speakeasy during what turned out to be a police raid.

“What were you doing in a speakeasy?” Cosmo asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Why, drinking milk and reading Austen, of course,” she replied, a picture of guilelessness. Don snickered, and she grinned.

“I walked full-speed into that one,” said Cosmo.

“Buddy, you ran,” said Don.

“I was drinking,” Kathy acknowledged, nodding, “but really that’s where the best dancing is. The best music, too.”

Cosmo, who lately only drank at parties or at home because it was easier and safer, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hot jazz?”

“The hottest, at least in Los Angeles. Once we’re back, we should all go!”

“I could always stand to take in more culture,” said Cosmo.

“Oh no,” said Don, “don’t let her pull you into her sordid past. Did you forget the end of the story is ‘and then the police came?’”

“That’s more the middle,” said Kathy. “Well, middle-end.”

“So how’d you escape the reaching arm of the law?” Cosmo asked.

Kathy swallowed her ice cream. “I saw the police were all rushing in through the front door, and I dashed to the back and through the performers’ dressing room. I’d done makeup for some of my school plays, so I fought my way up to the mirror, grabbed a grease pencil—a few lines here, a few lines there—borrowed an old coat of the back of a chair, ran maybe half a block, and pretended to be an old lady.”

“Really,” said Cosmo.

“It’s mostly in the walk and the posture,” she said. “And it helps that a few of the street lights were out.”

“And the cops were fooled?”

“One of them asked me if I’d seen any young people running that way,” said Kathy.

Cosmo clapped his hands together with glee. “Don, you married a criminal mastermind! Never make her angry.”

Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders and flashed her a besotted look. “I don’t intend to.”

Kathy nestled into the half-embrace. “Tell me more about—was it Coyoteville? With the ventriloquist.”

“Dead Man’s Fang,” said Cosmo. “And your wish is my command, but I don’t know what else there is to say. We came, we saw, we lost our sleeping arrangements to a puppet.”

“He tucked it in that night, remember?” said Don suddenly.

“He did!” said Cosmo, delighted.

Sometimes when Don started in on the official line about how they’d studied at the conservatory and the rest of that baloney, Cosmo worried that some part of Don believed it, that it was Cosmo’s job alone to remember how long they’d traveled that strange, bumpy, often farcical road together towards some measure of success and respectability in Hollywood. But Cosmo had completely forgotten that particular detail. He had burned it from his mind.

“After he fell asleep, one of you might have moved the dummy and claimed that bed,” Kathy pointed out.

“He left it with the head turned facing us, eyes open,” said Don. “Neither of us were touching that thing.”

“So instead, Cosmo had to put up with Don all night,” said Kathy solemnly.

“So instead, I had to put up with Don all night.”

He could still recall the potent mix of resignation, terror, and guilty excitement he’d felt, huddling up on that mattress together. Their act at the time had involved being in close quarters a lot—at one point, the choreography had Cosmo leap onto Don’s back and then immediately continue playing the fiddle—so it wasn’t like touching Don was a novelty, back then. But doing it offstage, out of costume, away from any onlookers except for Esther Quill the ventriloquist dummy, it had felt like an entirely different proposition.

Don had been a real champ about it, though. When Cosmo had started shaking with withheld hilarity that this was his life, the punchline of all punchlines and nobody to share it with, not just Don’s best friend but his literal bedwarmer, Don had clearly assumed it was a simple case of the shivers, and so he’d bundled Cosmo close, tucked Cosmo’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around him, muttering warm in his ear about how if Cosmo dropped dead, Don was out a dance partner “and that whole routine wouldn’t work as a solo number, it’d go over like a brick.”

“Just imagine what barnyard animal they’d have you opening for then,” Cosmo had whispered back, because Oatmeal, Nebraska had already happened to them. “A pig who juggles. A cow acrobat. A chicken magician. Just a little sleight of wing, folks, nothing up my feathers.”

And Don had laughed, and held Cosmo tighter, and the ventriloquist had shushed them, which had made them both crack up again. It had been a long night, and not one Cosmo would forget in a hurry.

“Who runs hot as a Holland furnace, let me tell you,” he added now, in case his tone had shifted a few shades too close to dreamy.

“Oh, I know,” said Kathy, smiling.

Don raised an accusing finger at him. “Well, you were shaking like a leaf! You’re lucky I was there, especially when we didn’t have so much as a sheet of our own!”

“Wait, why didn’t you have any blankets?” asked Kathy.

“The blankets,” said Don airily, “were for the puppet.”

And so dinner had been a joy, and after that, Don and Kathy invited him back to their room for a drink or two, because they’d had the common sense to bring alcohol, which was of course not offered by the cruise. The three of them sat on Don and Kathy’s bed (much bigger than Cosmo’s—not that he was jealous, he didn’t need the space, but the sheer expanse of mattress really did rival a small country, and Cosmo was determined not to picture in any detail how the two newlyweds might make use of that) and passed a flask around and had some more laughs and when Cosmo next got a glimpse of his watch, it was three in the morning.

“I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Kathy. She’d shucked off her heels at some point and now her stocking feet were in Cosmo’s lap. Don sat on her other side, head on her shoulder. He’d loosened his tie early on, and his suitcoat was draped over one of the bedposts. While they were drinking, it had all felt very natural. Looking at them now, Cosmo had the sense he was intruding on something private, something intimate.

Granted, they weren’t exactly trying to kick him out, but Kathy was drunk, or tired, or else she was both drunk and tired, and it was up to Cosmo not to outstay his welcome. They had a whole two weeks together, after all, and their rooms were barely a wall apart.

“My regrets, Cinderella,” said Cosmo, “but I can feel myself turning back into a pumpkin.”

He made as if to stand, but her feet were in the way. Very gently, he picked up her ankles, lifted them off his legs, stood, turned her like they were doing some sort of a dance move, and deposited her feet in Don’s lap instead.

“There,” he said to no one.

A long pause followed. Don and Kathy blinked up at him. He sorely regretted moving her. It had seemed like the most elegant solution. Probably he should’ve found one that didn’t involve taking hold of her legs, skin warm through the thin layer of nylon–

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What makes you the carriage?” she said at last.

“What?” said Cosmo, who really did need to make an exit.

“Cinderella,” said Don, apparently reading her mind, which was swell for them.

“Better that than the mouse footman,” Cosmo told her. “Or the lizard coachman. Or the horse.” Or—who else? There were a lot of characters in Cinderella, he realized.

“There’s a prince in that story, Cosmo,” said Kathy. “A human prince.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, patiently, “and you’re married to him, your highness,” He sketched a little bow but Don and Kathy weren’t looking at him. They were having one of those silent couple conversations, with mostly their eyes and eyebrows. A career in movies before the advent of sound had probably given Don a real advantage in that department, Cosmo thought, although Kathy seemed to be holding her own.

“It’s a made-up fairytale,” Kathy said at last. “Why, it can go any way you want it to.”

“The lady’s got a point,” said Don.

Cosmo blinked. He knew how it sounded, knew that to the untrained ear, it certainly—there were overtones, or undertones, or just plain tones that vibrated with suggestion. Cosmo had grown up in Vaudeville and now he lived in Hollywood; these things happened every now and then. These things did not happen to Cosmo. He was good for a dance or a laugh, and nine times out of ten, that was enough for him, but he wasn’t exactly fending off amorous advances—not like Don, and probably not like Kathy, either.

Also, Don liked women. Don only liked women, as far as Cosmo knew, and they had lived out of each other’s pockets for years.

The fact that a late-night ménage à trois rendezvous was increasingly the only explanation that held water in his head—it said more about Cosmo’s fragile mental state than it did about Don and Kathy’s true motives, he decided.

Don and Kathy who were still sitting on the bed, waiting for some sort of response.

“I wouldn’t, uh,” Cosmo started, and then realized with a stab of panic that for once, he didn’t have a joke in the wings, waiting to go. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

“You said earlier today you might become a pirate,” Don offered. Kathy cuddled up close against his side, watching with bright, intent eyes. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Enter pirate, stage left.”

“I said I was thinking about it,” said Cosmo, trying not to sound affected and missing by a mile. “A fella can think about all kinds of things he wouldn’t do.”

Case in point: Cosmo was not about to climb back into bed with them, no matter how cozy that bed was, no matter how warm and inviting and beautiful the two of them looked together.

His hands were starting to shake, he realized, and if Don saw that, and past experience was any judge, Cosmo might spend the night being cuddled for warmth again. What was Cosmo’s life? He didn’t go in for horoscopes, but maybe he should’ve, maybe that was the key to understanding the whole puzzle: Cosmo Brown, born under the one constellation that resembled clown shoes. He swallowed back a hysterical laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Why not?” said Kathy quietly.

Because he didn’t want to ruin his oldest friendship and his most promising new one, all in a single go. Because he hated rejection, and the thought of two no’s that close together made his head spin unpleasantly. Because then there would be no more innocent touches and smiles and nightcaps in Don and Kathy’s room.

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. Mentally, he shook himself.

“If everyone who thought about being a pirate became one, the whole US of A would fall apart,” Cosmo informed them. “Nobody would work, or pay taxes, or go to see films. Not to mention the national parrot shortage—just try to get ahold of birdseed anymore! There’d be a run on eyepatches and tri-corner hats, and the price of a simple pirate earring would shoot through the roof, in fact—”

“It’d cost a buccaneer,” Don filled in. He sounded almost sad, which was a mystery because that bit was evergreen.

“That’s right,” said Cosmo. He rocked back onto his heels, at a loss for a moment. He’d really been counting on that joke to clear the air.

“Cosmo,” said Kathy. “Do you want to go, or do you want to want to go?”

Cosmo struggled to make sense of that. He struggled to parse it in a way that worked outside his own feverish imagination. His entire mind came up short. That was where it got you, going on the road with only an eighth grade education, he thought. His was a cautionary tale.

Maybe ninth grade was where they taught you how not to twist a moment in your head to the point where it really did seem like maybe Cosmo could’ve kissed either of them, could’ve kissed both of them, and it would’ve been fine, or even more than fine. Maybe it was that, and Dickens, and Geography; Cosmo still could not locate Siam on a map. Or Paris. Come to think of it, ménage à trois and rendezvous were the only French he knew besides bonjour. This time, he did laugh. It was that or scream.

“I am both too drunk, and not drunk enough for this talk,” he said, turning for the door that led directly back to his room.

“If you’d rather stay—” said Don.

“Of course I’d rather stay, Don,” Cosmo snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. “But leave me enough dignity to fill half a shotglass, at least.” Don and Kathy said nothing. When he got to the door, he sighed. “Sorry, that was—I’m sorry. See you at breakfast.” “Goodnight,” said Kathy.

Alone in his room, Cosmo closed the door and ran his hands through his hair. Pirates in Cinderella, he thought. Offers to stay, with his room not 30 paces away, at three hours past midnight. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.

#singin in the rain ot3

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yelenasfloppyhand · 6 days

Text

Spencer Reid × gn!reader.

Warnings: mentions of death, not explicitly mentioned gunshot wounds, grief and blood.

Summary: when what should be an easy case ends up going horribly wrong.

"You're okay honey, look at me. Good that's so good baby, keep looking at me" Spencer sounded frantic as he begged you to keep looking at him. You weren't entirely sure what had happened. One minute you had the unsub in your sights, your gun raised towards him. And the next you found yourself on the dirty floor of the old warehouse where the team had located the unsub.

"Spence... my stomach hurts" you whine, clearly you're disoriented, maybe it was the pain, or possibly the blood loss. You'd looked down only to see Spencer's shaking hands pressed to your abdomen, blood now coating his normally clean hands.

"I know honey I know, you're gonna be okay" his eyes, oh his gorgeous eyes that were a comforting warm brown with golden specks smothering the space around his irises, they were staring back at you with... grief? Fear perhaps?

"I don't wanna die..." it was pathetic how weak you sounded, and if you weren't currently bleeding out in your husbands arms you would've reprimanded yourself for letting your mask slip, for allowing your fear to cover your tough facade. But you truly hadn't been this scared before, maybe that was a lie... maybe you were more scared when you first laid eyes on your newborn daughter, the daughter that you and Spencer loved to death. Death is a funny concept, or at least that's how you see it, you can recall Spencer telling you that he had seen a bright light whilst in deaths grasp. But you couldn't help but be scared, for you had no idea what laid beyond the life you're living, was it dark? was it inviting? Perhaps it is like a hug... or possibly comparable to bring thrown in a frozen lake?

"D- don't say that. You're gonna be okay, and we're gonna go home to our baby girl. And you're gonna give her kisses like you always do, you're going to read her her favourite story. I promise." You couldn't fault him, his promise was inviting, it was almost believable. But you'd been studying human behaviour for years and you knew when someone wasn't sure of their own words. You could see the salty tears that threatened to roll down your husbands cheeks like a wave rolling calmly across the undisturbed ocean surface.

You could didn't have the heart to tell your poor husband that you weren't leaving this warehouse alive. The hope in his eyes was enough to diminish any thought of arguing against his prior statement.

Your toes and fingers were begining to tingle, maybe it was death pulling you're life from you on string at a time... perhaps it was the blood loss making you feel weightless, whatever it was you weren't entirely sure if you welcomed it or not.

"I- I don't wanna die... but- I think im ready" you whisper, at this point your skin is deathly pale and you can feel your chest struggle to move as you attempt to fill your lungs what ever air you can aquire. You felt heavy, but yet somehow also weightless, like you were sinking into a cloud, clouds are mostly condensation so surely you could be heavy enough to sink through one whilst also being light enough to have remained on the cloud. Well now you just weren't making any sense, how could you lay on a cloud, despite it being an obvious metaphor you felt troubled by the way your mind was traveling.

"I know... baby I know." Spencer sniffles, oh... he knew? Perhaps it was the calmness in your expression, maybe it was the smoothness of your voice. You felt guilty, you had a wonderful husband and a 3 year old daughter that you would die for. You didn't want to leave your husband widowed at 31 and you didn't want to leave your daughter wondering when you were coming home, you didn't want her to think that youd abandoned her. But you knew that there was no way you could survive this. You could feel it, you could feel yourself... dying.

"I'm sorry" your voice shook with regret and guilt as you stared into your husbands glassy eyes, you allowed your eyes to wander over his face almost as if they were frolicking through a beautiful garden, you adored his beautiful nose, and the few freckles that graced his smooth shining skin, the small amount of stubble peaking through as he had been to preoccupied getting your daughter dressed for preschool this morning to shave, you lastly glanced at his full pink lips that were pulled into an odd mix between a frown and a soft smile.

"It's okay sweetheart. You can go." It felt odd him telling you that you had his permission to go. Go where? You weren't entirely sure yourself, but once the words had left his beautiful lips you could physically feel yourself relax slightly.

You'd always found the thought of kissing someone that was dying odd, as a child it almost felt like necrophilia when a character would kiss their dying lover in a movie. Perhaps you'd mellowed with age, or perhaps you couldn't fathom the idea of dying without kissing the love of your life once more.

Spencer gently cupped your cheek not caring for the blood that was smeared against your pale cheek, he gently slotted his lips against yours. After 10 years they still fit perfectly, it was almost like finding the missing piece of your puzzle that you've searched years for.

And so for one last time your normally vivacious bright eyes turned dull, staring into nothingness as your body gave into the blood loss. Spencer couldn't bring himself to look into your dead eyes so instead with a shuddering breath he gently closed your eyes but not before pressing a goodbye kiss to your forehead.

Note: thank you for reading, please don't hesitate to correct any grammar mistakes. Also just a reminder my requests are open so feel free to request a story.

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds

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sophaeros · 2 months

Text

arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interview #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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ellewritesalright · 1 month

Text

The Lost Princess - Part 1

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Synopsis: The old Queen Mother of Kerch's former royal family is offering a hefty reward to whoever returns her rumored-to-be-alive granddaughter to her. Kaz being Kaz hears about the reward and hatches an elaborate plot involving a fake princess. Reader is a lowly amnesiac orphan and escaped indenture who flees to Ketterdam where she gets tangled in Kaz Brekker's plot.

A/N: Hello friends!! Here is part one of a series I started writing a few years back but never published. It's inspired by the movie and musical Anastasia. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope it makes enough sense haha

Warnings: sickness, mentions of death, mentions of drowning, mentions of violence. pls let me know if I've missed anything

Word Count: 2056

..........

It was happening again.

You sat upright in the bed of your cheap lodgings, swinging your legs to the side and touching the floor. The threadbare rug was itchy against your toes as you took deep breaths, a desperate attempt at grounding yourself. Still, the dizziness did not subside. It came along every so often, never without the cryptic nightmares. There was always vertigo and memories of plunging into dark waters.

At least, you thought they must be memories. There was a significant gap in your mind from birth to the age of about ten, and the first thing you could remember was waking up on a fishing boat on the True Sea. The fishers handed you over to their boss, a wealthy merchant named Devisser, once you made port, and you were made to work for him in a fifteen-year indenture. You had worked as a scullery maid in that man's second home on the southern shores, but you managed to escape your indenture five years early, running off to Ketterdam.

Nowadays you were free to do whatever you pleased--if it was within budget, of course. You had precious little in your life, and you couldn't squander your money in the gambling dens of the city.

You had to be smart if you were to make it to Os Kervo. Another maid at the house had said that there was a better chance of smuggling yourself to Novyi Zem than to find a safe passage to Ravka, but you didn't let her sway you. You had to get to Os Kervo. It was difficult to explain, but you felt instinctively that someone was waiting there for you. In your dreams, the better and brighter ones where you could feel the warmth of arms around you, there was a voice that whispered, "I'll meet you there, my little tiger. We'll be together in Os Kervo."

The only trouble was how you could get there. You had no travel papers or identification, and it was difficult to obtain any--even fake ones--with such little money. It was a difficult position you were in.

So you went about your life, picking up odd jobs using fake names. Your name is already fake as it was. The surname, Vos, was given to you by one of the more kind fishers who pulled you from the water. He gathered a mound of blankets around you and sat with his arm around you, trying desperately to keep you warm. Sometimes you wondered about him, wondered whether he was still fishing for Devisser. Perhaps if the captain of that ship had not seen fit to hand you over to their boss the kind fisher would have taken you in. Life might have been better if you had been offered a chance at a family instead of an apron and a crushing daily workload.

Your feet carried you to the wardrobe in this shabby lodging room. You had to sweep a spider off your jacket before you slipped it on. The morning air was a nice reprieve against your warm face as you walked down the streets. Shops were opening, food vendors were starting the fire in their ovens; Ketterdam was waking up.

You meant to walk further than the Barrel, but you stopped as you saw the window of some sort of pawn shop. There was a dress in the window. It was the emerald green of a kind of fabric you had never owned but knew instinctively would be smooth to the touch, like a flat stone one might skip on the ocean. There was something so familiar about the short ruffles of the over-the-shoulder sleeves; perhaps you had seen a guest at the big house wearing something similar when you used to spy from the door to the servant's quarters.

There was no way you would be able to purchase such a beautiful gown, you barely had enough money to get by as it was, but you were drawn into the shop because of it. You had to spend some more time around it and the other beautiful items in the shop. You hadn't been around such lavish things since… well, never.

The bell above the shop door jangled, alerting a woman at the counter to your appearance. She smiled, but the sight struck you in the chest. As an amnesiac orphan, you learned early on that people saw you as weak, helpless, and naive. For your youth and lack of guidance, you were perceived as easy pickings, and people tried their tricks on you more often than you could count, especially here in Ketterdam. You'd learned to tell what was genuine and what was fake when you interacted with others, and the woman's smile was the first real smile you'd seen in a long time.

"A beautiful dress for a beautiful young lady," the woman said.

You shook your head with a pleasant enough smile. "I was just looking. I could never afford such a thing."

"And yet here you are in my shop." She followed your eyes to a case of assorted valuables. When she saw the dull music box you stared at she hummed. "Would you like to know a secret?" You turned to her "That music box is from the old palace. It belonged to the missing princess herself, I swear on Ghezen and the saints."

You pondered the validity of her words, keeping a level expression so as not to upset her with your doubt. Everything you heard about the dead royal family seemed like it happened a lifetime ago, and no amount of rumours about one of their daughters being alive somewhere would make it any less a ghost story.

Still, you smiled politely. Despite her pleasant expression, she was only trying to sell you something, something you would not need even if you could have it. It wasn't even the most eye-catching thing in the display, just a decrepit old music box of tarnished silver. The music probably didn't even play anymore.

"It's lovely," you lied, "though I don't believe I could afford it."

"I could give you a special deal. I like to think there's something in my shop for everyone. The music box deserves to go home with you."

"That's generous, but--truly--I cannot make a purchase."

She tilted her head at you. "What is it you want, my dear? You've come into my shop, looked around, and you have the nerve to refuse my generosity--what is holding you back?"

"I've already told you," you said, "I couldn't afford it."

"And if I gave something for free?"

You brushed her off. "That's a terrible business model."

"Perhaps. But I like you, little runaway that you are. You're a long way from home--you deserve something nice."

You felt your pulse quicken. She shouldn't have known that. You weren't on the list of runaway indentures, so the stadwatch wouldn’t be looking for you. You breathed in before you could turn to her, balancing your composure with great care. Emotions were not useful in situations like this. "What brought you to that conclusion?"

"You keep your head down, which is normal in the Barrel, but you're not doing it out of habit, you're doing it out of fear. You must be hiding from something--from someone."

She was apt, you'd give her that. The trouble was figuring out the degree to which you could trust her. She could sell you back to Devisser in a second if she wanted to, but she could also be willing to help you. After all, she did say she liked you. You looked her in the eyes and then spoke.

"I'm trying to get to Ravka. The thing is, I don't have the money for travel papers, be they legal or illegal. I can't afford even that, and I could never afford anything in your shop." You straightened out, about to leave. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time--"

"Brekker can help you."

You stopped in your tracks.

“He can get you to Ravka, no travel papers necessary.”

You faced her again, questioning, “Where can I find this Brekker?”

“He owns a club down the road from here. The sign has one of those annoying blackbirds on it.”

“A raven?”

“No, a pesky crow.” She fiddled with a set of keys around her neck. “Anyways, he can help you on your way. I assure you.”

“How much will this information cost me?”

“Nothing, my dear. I hope you make it to Ravka.”

You thanked her, ducking your head as you left the shop. You kept a wary eye about you as you wove through the streets, finding your way back to your lodgings. There was little trust in such a wicked city as Ketterdam, specifically here in the barrel, and you were constantly looking out for any sign of danger. The shopkeeper wasn’t dangerous, not from what you could tell, but you had to keep your wits. One false move and you could be sent back to Devisser.

You couldn’t let that happen.

..........

Kaz stepped out from the back of the shop after the bell above the door rang out once more, signifying your departure. He was lucky to have been behind a particularly packed shelf furthest from the door, else you would have seen him and wouldn’t have explained your plan to Eugenia, the shopkeeper. Eugenia, for her part, did well to nudge you in the direction of the Crow Club. Undoubtedly she would want some credit for that, he knew. And, just as he thought, she brought it up as soon as he reappeared.

"I've found your missing princess for you, Kaz," Eugenia smirked. "And how valuable she'll be for you."

"You didn't do anything for me, Eugenia. She'll be just as impossible as the others," he retorted.

He'd been auditioning young women to play the part of the missing princess for months now. Ever since he'd heard of a hefty reward posed by the old duchess and grandmother to the princess, he'd devised a plan, learning everything he could about the toppled royal family.

"I think she's the one. Do you know why?"

He kept his stare neutral, but the disapproval remained on his lips in permanence. Eugenia liked to speak as though she knew best, leading tourists and tramps into traps as she sold them tin under the guise that it was rare silver. Even wisdom offered by her would be false.

She continued. "She'll play the part--and she'll be damn good at it--because she's desperate. Desperation makes us do what we otherwise would not."

He tilted a brow at her. "What do you want?"

"Waive six months of my rent," she said. There was no way she thought that he would accept this deal. He didn't even have confirmation that you would find him or that you would be willing to go through with his masquerade. Eugenia was a fool.

"If she is a good fit for the princess, I will waive one month of your rent," he bargained.

"Hold on, she is going to make you a million Kruge--I deserve more than a month for that."

Kaz frowned at her, leaning into his cane. Who was she to make demands? "Firstly, there's no guarantee that she can do the job. Secondly, even if she is a good fit, I don't owe you anything. You decided to send her to me before you thought to broker a deal; I don't owe you a thing."

She thumbed at her ring of keys. Eugenia was upset with herself and with him, he could tell.

"If she can play the part," Kaz said, straightening out, "I am willing to waive three months of your rent on the condition that you supply me with whatever I might need from this shop free of cost."

"Whatever you need for the job, right? I can't just give you anything you want from now on."

He nodded. "Just for the job. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

Kaz left the shop without the rent that he'd initially come to collect, but with something much more valuable if he played his cards right. He'd only caught a glimpse of you, but he was inclined to believe what Eugenia said. Desperation makes us do what we otherwise would not, and you had sounded plenty desperate.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series please comment on this part or send me an ask. And if you want to request a fic, please feel free to send in an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Tags: @justvibbinghere @happyhauntt

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfic #shadow and bone fanfic #grishaverse fanfic #the lost princess

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bookworm-with-coffee · 9 months

Text

Softly. . .

(Kili x Reader)

(A/N); Hillooo!! Let's switch up the angst today, lovelies with more Kili love!! As always, enjoy!!

Plot; When Kili is dying and can't rely on Tauriel, who then can he count on?

Pairings; Kili x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; long fic, blood/injury, mature themes, coarse language, violence, unrequited love, angst, eventual fluff

________________________________________

Exhaustion burned like a sting through the muscles in your legs. Having travelled so far in the span of a day, the Company had made it from the stability provided by Beorn's home now to the depths of Mirkwood where the days seemed timeless and dark. Your own footsteps rang like a drum in your ears, the grip that an Elven soldier had on you was unyeilding.

Completely stripped of your outer layers and weaponry, you felt unbelievably helpless as you were marched along the winding bridges to perhaps a worser fate than death. You all didn't know.

"Tolo hí", a cocky Elf unwisely shoved Thorin towards a staircase, the King matching the taller male's glare. You angrily tried to shrug yourself from the grip of the soldier holding you, attempting to stick up for your Company's leader. The Dwarves shared your sentiment, Thorin waving all of you down before the fights could begin. You all weren't exactly in a position to stir trouble, after all. Things had to remain peaceful for good negotiations.

"Don't struggle. I will be back", he assured you all, his ocean gaze burning with surity before he ascended the steps to the throne room. The Elves forced you all onwards, your path leading you further down into the bowels of the city; the dungeons. The leader Legolas, he'd been named; scrutinized you with his harsh gaze, undoubtedly noting how you stood out like a sore thumb amongst the others of this Company. One human female and thirteen male Dwarves certainly made for an interesting travelling circus, in his eyes. Yet, you knew you were missing one more member of your group.

Bofur noticed Bilbo's disappearance first, always seeming to keep track of your whereabouts as much as the missing Hobbit's. You all declined to mention your lost fifteenth member of the Company, trying to avoid making it known that you were seeking him out hopefully. Some part of your heart screamed to you that he was already here, that he hadn't abandoned you all. He would rescue you all soon, you were sure of it.

The Elves finally made their stop, the soldier that held you releasing the hard hold he had on your arm. You were sure you would have bruising later. Your captors began to lead your group in pairs or singles up and down stairs, completely separating you all. Balin turned to you, attempting to offer you assurance with a steady smile and a glance that told you, everything will be fine. You hoped so as you were finally lead away from the older Dwarf with Bofur. Worry flashed in Fili and Kili's eyes as you ascended stairs to your right with your cellmate, the brothers both having some level of protectiveness over you.

The cells were small with no chairs or any form of comfort, only the cold floor to sit on. While trudging forwards, you were suddenly shoved into the small room behind Bofur, crashing into him and hitting the floor. "Oh, shit!", you hissed, rubbing at your head and helping him to his feet.

"Are ye alright, Love?", he asked, wholeheartedly unconcerned with himself. His hand moved your own to check for any blood or wounds that the fall may have given you, finally sighing in relief. "You'll be fine". Patting your shoulder, he moved past you to look through the bars of the now locked door. He gripped the bars, much like the others had started doing. All of the Dwarves, save for Balin, kicked and threw themselves desperately at the bars in their attempt to dent or break them. The metal was completely reinforced, the Dwarves risking harm to themselves more than their cell bars.

"It's no use!", Balin shouted. "This is no Orc prison. These are the dungeons of the Woodland Realm!". Dejected, everyone dropped to the floor, inclusive of yourself. Balin was right. There was no escaping unless Thorin could strike a deal with the Elven King, Thranduil. An agitated roar left Dwalin's throat, punching the bars before throwing himself down as well. You would all have to sit this out and wait.

Turning your head to your right, you gazed down at the other cells. Kili's cell with Fili's above his, Ori and Dori together to his left, Balin to his right. Nori was probably further up from Kili. Dwalin's cell was behind yours, meaning Gloin and Oin were probably in the cell beneath your own. Bifur had been locked with Bombur in the cell by the staircase you'd climbed. They were the first to be locked up.

Gnawing on your lower lip, you found your gaze landing on Kili. He was your closest friend and the one you worried for the most. This quest had been costing on you both, mentally and physically so. But, you'd found comfort in each other.

On the days when it rained, the young Prince was always there to tell a joke that reminded you of sunshine. When you were cold, he would offer you his strong and heated arms. Kili had already saved your life numerous times, always throwing himself in harm's way just to protect you.

In the late hours of the night, you'd offer solace to the homesick Prince who often dreamed of his mother and home in the Blue Mountains. It was in these quiet hours when he was unafraid to open himself to you. Sometimes you'd spar and train with him to give him relief from his restlessness, participate in pranks or tell him stories of your homeland if he was down. Your bedroll was always beside his leaving the Company to speculate on your relationship with Kili.

There was nothing to tell, to your disappointment. Kili had admitted no feelings for you and vice versa. Some part of you feared losing the fierce friendship and bond with him, should he know the truth and not feel the same. Your feelings for the Dwarf were obvious to everyone, even to Fili, who had become like a protective older brother to you. Yet, they were not obvious to the one who held your affections.

Your head turned to find Bofur's gaze already on you, an amused grin splayed on his expression. He sat with his back against the opposite wall, his brows risen suggestively. "What?", you sputtered, feigning innocence.

"Am I supposed t' act like I don't know who yer' starin' at or what?". He laughed softly, folding his arms with a shake of his head. A flush of heat hit your cheeks in embarrassment. "You've got it bad, Love".

"Got what?".

"The love bug", he shrugged. "You're in love–".

"Don't say it any louder!", you hissed, a few giggles escaping the Dwarf.

"I don't know how long it's been since I first noticed it, but I've known for a long time now", he confessed, your head dipping in further abashment. "And there's no shame in it". Bofur nudged your leg with his foot, offering you a kind smile when your eyes lifted again to meet his own.

"Does Thorin know?".

"He'd have t' be deaf, blind and stupid not t', Love", Bofur guffawed.

"Oh dear", you groaned, hiding your face in your hands.

"Fili knows". Your eyes widened in shock, peeking through the splits in your fingers at the dark haired Dwarf. Thinking it best to be honest, he continued, "In fact, I don't think there's a soul amongst us, save for Kili himself, that doesn't know about this. Sorry, Lass".

"And you thought of telling me when??", you gaped.

"When Dwalin would finally be at snapping point at yer lovesick bantering", he laughed. "Which surprisingly, he hasn't reached yet". You groaned again in your shame, too embarrassed to show your face. " 'Ey". He nudged your leg again. "Don't be ashamed. Dwalin is a patient Dwarf, as are we all. We understand". Your calf being the only thing he could grip from where he sat, Bofur began to caress it to try and soothe you. "Jus' be thankful yer' not sharing yer cell with Dwalin right now".

Your hands fell from your face whilst you giggled, the both of you finding humour in his additional statement. "I'm in the next cell, not deaf, Bofur", a grumble followed quietly.

"Aye. Noted. Sorry!", he called back softly, the both of you lapsing again into a short fit of shared laughter. You realized it was his aim all along. With gratitude shining in your gaze, you inclined your head to your cellmate.

"Thanks, Bofur". Tipping his hat, he grinned with immeasurable mirth,

"Yer' always much welcome, Lass".

The wait for Thorin's return began. Or to be rescued by Bilbo, whichever first. Hours, perhaps even days were passing. You didn't know. The dungeons of the Woodland Realm fell silent for some time, your eyes coming to close. Cheerful music and voices softly began to pour down from the upper levels, almost lulling you asleep with its beauty. Your stomach growled painfully, reminding you that you hadn't eaten since Beorn's. Footsteps descending from the throne room caught your immediate attention, however. Your brows rose, peering from the bars of your prison cell as the familiar figure of the redheaded Captain of the Guard, Tauriel made her way past your cell before travelling downward. Patrolling. Kili had occupied himself with something and it was clear that the pointy-eared bitch couldn't keep her nose out of his business.

"The stone in your hand", she whispered sternly. "What is it?". Was nothing sacred?? Could he not have something in his possession??

Your chest puffed out, ready to tell her to leave and mind her business when Kili finally replied, "It is a talisman". This caught your curiosity as well as Tauriel's. "A powerful spell lies upon it. If any but a Dwarf read the runes on this stone, they will be forever cursed! ", he spat, forcing her to gaze at the dark object. Good job, Kili. You relished in her shock, relaxing as she finally seemed to be leaving. "Or not". Your mouth fell open. What was he doing?? She was your enemy! Tauriel backtracked her steps, returning to Kili's cell. "Depending on whether or not you believe in that kind of thing, it's just a token", he shrugged, a soft laugh escaping him. It seemed as if Tauriel was smiling as well. "A rune stone. My mother gave it to me so that I'd remember my promise".

"What promise?".

"That I will come back to her", Kili smiled, your heart burning with envy at the kindness he shared with her. Never in all the nights you'd spent in his company, had the Princeling shared this special rune stone with you, nor its backstory. Not that it was anyone's business, of course. But, you now found yourself wishing that he had shared something this intimate and unique with you. "She worries. She thinks I'm wreckless", he continued with a sigh.

"And are you?", Tauriel failed to fight her smile, clearly enjoying her time with the Prince.

"Nah". When throwing the stone again, however, it slipped from his grip. It skidded out of his cell and under her boot. You'd tensed, worried that it would've fallen into the nearby chasm. Now it was in her possession and she'd confiscate it for sure. Her nimble fingers held it into the dim light, looking over the intricate runes that covered the small stone. Kili had stood, worrying over the stone the way you had. "It's quite the party you're having up there", he mused, trying to draw her attention from the stone.

"It is Mereth en-Gilith", she replied. "The Feast of Starlight. All light is sacred to the Eldar, but Wood Elves love best the light of the stars".

"I always thought it is a cold light, so remote and far away", he confessed. Incredulously, she whispered,

"It is memory! Precious and pure!". Her turquoise eyes fell to the dark stone occupying her palm. "Like that promise". Reaching it forwards, she allowed Kili to take it back. "I have walked there sometimes", she added, gathering his undivided attention. "Above the forest and up into the night. I have seen the world fall away and the white light of forever fill the air".

Looking down at the Prince, he seemed effortlessly taken by her. His hazel orbs were glittering in awe, his lips parted in a state of wonder. And could he be blamed?? Tauriel had pure, creamy skin, unblemished and ageless with the beauty of the Elves. Long, thick tresses and a graceful air about her. She's a far more skilled warrior than yourself, which Kili also seemed to admire.

"I saw a Fire Moon once". Another story he'd failed to share with you, intriguing the Elf in his presence further. His smile grew as he leant against the bars. "It rose over the pass near Dunland. Huge! Red and gold it was as it filled the sky". Tauriel sat by the stairs of Kili's cell, intently listening to his story the way you would have. "We were an escort for some merchants of Ered Luin. They were trading in silverware for furs. We took the green way south, keeping the mountains to our left. And there up ahead, this huge Fire Moon lighting our path. I wish I could show you".

Some part of you knew and berated you for not seeing this coming. Perhaps it was blissful ignorance? Or misplaced complacency in your heart?? Kili always had a predisposition of curiosity towards the Elves, having shamelessly flirted with one of them in Rivendell and admitting, accidentally to his humiliation, that he found one of their males attractive. So, what chance did you stand against them?? None.

Dejectedly, your head hit the rough wall behind you, their shared laughter and conversations bitterly reminding you that you never did stand a chance to begin with. It was clear that your feelings for the Prince weren't returned. Only now was it plain for you to see. Hating the way jealousy's unkind flames wreaked havoc within your mind, tears began to burn in your eyes without forgiveness. With a sigh, your face suddenly crumpled and your shoulders shook, sobs wracking your body. Bofur heard your silent sniffles, being the light sleeper that he was. "Hey!", his voice cooed to you softly, instantly waking from his daze. "What's goin' on??". Your throat felt tight, your heart aching painfully within your chest. Desperately, you wiped at your eyes, the kind Dwarf moving to sit on your left. He needed only to look through the cage bars to realise what ailed you. His gaze softened, surprised at this revelation. However, it didn't stop his warm arms from circling you. Your head fell into the crook of his neck, safe from the negativities of the world. Bofur's large hands worked comforting caresses on your back and shoulders. "There, there now", he hushed you. "There, there. I've got ye".

"It hurts, Bofur", you wept. Part of his heart broke hearing those words, knowing that no joke he could offer you now would make it better. He felt useless.

"I know", he whispered. "I know it hurts". Bofur's heated arms tightened their embrace, some part of him hoping that they would help remove the pain. "He didn't know how ye felt for him. And as far as I'm concerned,—", he wiped at your face. "— he's an idiot for not bein' in love with ye instead of that daft Elf maid". You chuckled bitterly,

"She's hardly daft. She's beautiful".

"Perhaps on the outside", he conceded. "But, if Kili can't see the beauty that's both outside and within yerself, don't waste time pursuing the heart that clearly isn't yours". You knew what he was implying and the thought of disregarding your feelings for the Prince horrified you.

"It's not some simple fixation, Bofur! I love him!", you sighed hopelessly. "It's not easy to let go of someone you–". He nodded in understanding. You felt connected so deeply with Kili, you were sure that the concept of soulmates existed. You'd never felt anything like this before. And now, every part of you felt like that connection was being torn away. It was agony.

"Whatever ye decide, I only hope as yer friend that ye choose your happiness above all else. Even if it's hard". You nodded. "I'm here for ye, Lass. We all are, remember that".

Sleep eventually took you within Bofur's embrace, the kind Dwarf refusing to let you go. Despite no romantic attraction to you, he still valued your happiness and everyone else's. You were exhausted, in desperate need of food and sleep. Even if it was a tad of rest, he'd still help you get it with a bit of comfort.

The wait to be rescued continued for some hours thereafter, Tauriel finally leaving to join the festivities above. Marching footsteps thundered through the halls, startling you awake. Thorin was back, at last. Alive and unscathed to your relief.

"Did he offer you a deal?", Balin's voice called out, all of you eager to listen.

"He did", Thorin replied, his voice growing to a yell that echoed through the very heart of the Woodland Realm. "I told him he can go ishkh khakfe andu null!! Him and all his kin!!". The white haired Dwarf sighed through his nostrils in exasperation, shaking his head.

"Well, that's that, then", he huffed. "That deal was our only hope".

"Not our only hope", the King shot back, his eyes glimmering with the same hopes in all your hearts. He too had faith Bilbo would return.

The Hobbit wasn't too far away, having already infiltrated the kingdom using the Ring that not one of you knew about. It had saved him from the Goblins and he'd use it to save you all too. Bilbo's steps were invisible and silent when he descended into the bowels of Mirkwood. He'd cautiously followed the Elf that bore the prison keys, marking his patrols. The wine cellar was where most of the guards seemed to be. They spoke of the festivities above, the keeper of the keys not willing to forsake his duties. "They're locked up!", the others insisted, snatching the keys to hang them on a hook. "Where can they go?". Bilbo smiled. If only they knew..

"I'll wager the sun is on the rise", Bofur ground out beside you. "Must be nearly dawn".

"We're never going to reach the mountain, are we?", Ori's faint sigh echoed. Your heart sank for the Company. You'd been enlisted to help them, but there was naught left that even you could do for them now. Fili stomped in frustration, throwing himself on the floor.

"Not locked in here, you're not", the familiar voice of Bilbo rang out. You felt as if you'd waited forever to hear those words, relieved to see your friend alive.

"Bilbo!", you gasped, clawing at the bars with a grin.

"Bilbo!!", the others began to shout happily, collectively overjoyed to see the Hobbit as well.

"Shh!! There are guards nearby!!", he hissed, starting with Thorin and Balin's cells, working his way upwards. He worked his way along with Fili, Ori and Dori, Oin and Gloin, Kili, followed by Bifur and Bombur.

Finally, he reached your cage. Once the door swung open, the Hobbit was in your arms, happily embracing you back. "I'm so glad you're alright!", you laughed ecstatically.

"Same with you!", he assured, breaking from you with a grin to continue on his way to let out Dwalin and Nori. Bofur lead you down the steps, Kili seemingly waiting for you by the bottom, relieved to see you again. The sentiment wasn't shared. A flush of resentment had filled your heart, your brows creasing at the Prince.

"Are you alright, (Y/n)?". His question fell on deaf ears. Noting your short-sleeved tunic, he continued, "You're looking cold. Here, I'll–".

"Just leave me alone", your words were a sharp grumble, your eyes unusually apathetic. You moved past the Prince as if he were nothing. Hurt and confusion flashed through Kili's eyes whilst he watched your retreating figure, his hand slowly dropping to his side.

Various members of the Company, noteably Thorin, Balin and Fili; onlooked in shared confusion at your uncharacteristic behaviour. Had something happened??

Dwalin clapped Kili's shoulder in passing, drawing the Princeling back to focus. He quickly followed his gathering kin at the top of a stairwell with varying routes. "Not that way!", Bilbo's call was still a whisper, leading you all onto one of the others that lead downwards instead. "Down here! Follow me!!".

Freedom, you thought. You all followed close behind the Hobbit, confident in his plan of escape. Strangely, he seemed to know where he was going. Or so you thought until you reached what looked to be a wine cellar. The sounds of snores reached your ears as you descended the last steps to your destination. A group of intoxicated Elves were resting their heads on a table, completely ignoring their guard duties. Having followed Bilbo down first, Kili growled, "I don't believe this– we're in the cellars!!". Bofur followed after,

"Yer' supposed t' be leadin' us out, not further in!!".

"I know what I'm doing—", Bilbo tried to respond, Bofur cutting in,

"Shh!!", holding a finger over his mouth. The Dwarves all filed in ahead of you, Dori and Dwalin flanking you protectively out of instinct. From where he stood with his brother, Kili eyed you with a pensive gaze, his strong brows knitted together in concern.

"Everyone! Quickly! Climb into the barrels now!", Bilbo's orders were hushed, his eyes desperate. He had a plan. That much you could tell.

"Are you mad?!", Dwalin hissed. "They'll find us!!".

"No, they won't! They won't! Please, please, you must trust me!". Following his words, you watched then as Bilbo turned to Thorin with a pleading gaze.

"Do as he says", the King whispered. Instantly, everyone began to climb into the barrels, even Thorin himself. Only, there were two problems. One, there weren't enough barrels for you to join the Dwarves. Two, you would surely be too big for a barrel. Thirteen concerned sets of eyes caught onto that situation rather quickly, various whispers of,

"What about (Y/n)?", "She needs somewhere to hide too!!", "Where can she go??", filling the room.

"Calm down!", the burglar begged quietly. "Let me think!!".

"No time!", you insisted. "I'll have to go without". Whispers of protest rang out from the Dwarves, not satisfied with your situation.

"For the love of Mahal, (Y/n)! Don't be a fool!", Fili chided.

"Climb in my barrel?", Kili offered hesitantly, your brief harshness towards him being forgotten in his concern for your safety. Bofur's head snapped towards him with an expression that read, 'Really?? After the damage you've done?'.

"I will not risk your safety", Thorin interluded, your gaze falling to the leader you respected so much. "There's no time. Climb in with Kili". Your previous resentment towards the younger Prince was already gone. And despite your hurting heart, all you truly wanted for Kili now was for him to be happy, even if it was without you.

Climbing up, you slipped quickly into the warm alcove of the Princeling's barrel. It was a tight squeeze, but you managed to fit everything under your shoulders into it. "Are you comfortable?", Kili's voice was a gentle calm, his hot breaths fanning over your face.

"I'm fine", you matched his hushed tone, your body slowly warming in the close proximity you shared. Little did you know, you'd be needing it..

Now satisfied with your situation, the Dwarves all stuck their heads out. "What do we do now?", Bofur asked.

"Hold your breath", was the only response you received from the Hobbit before he pulled a wooden lever.

"Hold our breath??", Bofur sputtered. You all then realised what was coming. The ground tilted up, gravity seeming to change for you and the Dwarves. A set of strong arms held you in the form of a brace as the barrel you were in spindled and became weightless. Everyone cried out, falling for what felt like an eternity.

Water suddenly submerged you all, cold and biting against your skin. Once hitting the surface, you gasped for air as every limb fell into a state of shock. "Breathe", Kili's instructions barely registered, your nose burning and head buzzing. He gazed up at you, attempting to warm your face and arms with his heated hands.

"Where's Bilbo?", Bofur's head bounced from the water. Despite the chattering of your teeth, you smiled amusedly,

"He forgot himself". Thorin followed in your amusement with a smile of his own,

"Give him a moment". A moment was all the Hobbit needed, falling stiffly with a scream into the waters by Nori's barrel. The tri-haired Dwarf hauled Bilbo against his barrel, getting him to hold on for the journey ahead. "Well done, Master Baggins", the King commended proudly. It was much deserved. Still being the humble burglar he was, Bilbo waved the act off as if it was nothing. Thorin began to motion everyone along. "Come on! Let's go!".

The barrel you shared with Kili had become uncomfortable as it tipped forwards, your bodies squishing together. In any other instance, you'd crave this contact. Yet now, it was painful for more than one reason. Both of you used an arm each, dipping them into the numbingly cold water to row your barrels along. Sunlight poured in from the end of the cave's tunnel, the water seeming to give you speed in its new flow. You soon realised why. "Hold on!", you shrieked, the barrel cascading forwards into ferocious rapids. The current carried you all forwards and down the river effortlessly, the coldness having been briefly forgotten in your adrenaline. The Company's escape was brilliantly carried out. All you needed to do was leave Mirkwood to the lands beyond. It seemed so simple until a horn's cry pierced the air. You'd all been caught!

Fear leapt into your throat whilst you all rounded a corner, thrown forwards again to see Elven soldiers closing the gates of the river. "NO!!", Thorin exclaimed, his barrel being the first to reach the now closed door before you all followed after. Freedom seemed more further away now than it had ever been. And it was only going to get worse. Orcs had now made their appearance, slaughtering the Elves that were preventing your escape.

"Watch out!!", Bofur shouted. "There's Orcs!!". Corpses of both Elvenkind and Orc fell into the waters, all of them battling furiously amongst themselves. Kili had forced you to crouch uncomfortably, your legs burning at the tightness of the squeeze. He was aiming to protect you from the flying arrows and falling bodies, bracing you. His hazel eyes travelled to your own, clouded with fear. You'd never seen him so afraid, your hand subconsciously reaching for his.

"Slay them all!!", a foul voice ordered in the words of Black Speech. This was not Azog's voice, but one just as hideous. You decided to release yourself from the brace, standing straight with Kili to fight the Orcs that leapt into the water. Your heart raced, pounding within the confines of your chest. You all needed to get out of here. There had to be a way out. And that's when it came to you. The lever! You climbed out of the barrel, Kili shouting your name in protest whilst you waded in the freezing waters to the stairs of the wall. The sunkissed concrete instantly warmed your numb limbs whilst you clambered up the steps. It was so relieving to feel the warmth beneath your palms, that you dreaded eventually having to go back into the freezing waters below.

You dodged a blade slicing down towards you, rolling to the side and onto your back. Darting your foot upwards at the Orc who had tried to end you, it fell from the wall and to the forests below. Scrambling to your feet, you raced forwards across the wall. "Kili!!", Dwalin shouted, your head snapping in the direction of the call. The Prince had followed you onto the wall, catching the blade that Dwalin had tossed him. He used it to slay the Orc that had tried to pursue you to the lever. You hadn't realised either the creature or Kili's presence, grateful that he'd flanked your back. Fili always kept one eye on his brother, even when they weren't side by side. He threw blades into the Orcs that tried to overpower Kili in his attempts to protect you. Bolg had seen your motives of escape, noting that you had no weapons or the like. He had to stop you now if he ever wished to end Thorin and his kin here. Kili saw the hideous Orc arming his bow, his eyes blowing wide in horror as you fought your way through the carnage, unaware of the threat. His feet hit the ground in a dead sprint, slicing through the Orcs in his path like butter.

"(Y/n)!!", his throat burned with his scream. His heartbeat thundered in his ears deafeningly, finally catching your steps. The arrow flew, hitting flesh. You'd fallen to the floor with a yell, Kili crashing on top of you with a shout of his own. Your back ached from the impact, Kili's palms stinging from grazing the concrete.

"Kili??", you breathed, your brows furrowing in concern and confusion at his actions. Why had he stopped you?? The Prince's expression of shock fell suddenly into a pained grimace, your eyes drifting downwards to see the obscenely large arrow that had impaled his knee. "Kili!", your panicked cry left your throat raw. Bolg grinned in a sense of victory, having hit at least one target. Fili's head snapped upwards at your scream, spotting his brother's ailments with terror,

"Kili!!". The young Prince ground out a yell between his teeth, feeling the stinging sensation of blood dripping from the malicious wound. The sensation was unlike any pain he'd felt before, burning within his blood like a disease. What had he been pierced with?? He suddenly fell back with a scream, your figure quickly entering his vision. Kili's brows creased, his eyes fixed on you whilst he panted erratic breaths. His hand grasped the one you'd offered him with an almost painful grip, his eyes suddenly darting to his right. Tauriel broke through the woods, slashing and firing arrows with a graceful precision. "Kill her!!", Bolg shrieked. "Kill the She-Elf!!".

Kili's lips had parted, entirely enamoured by her presence. Not allowing your resentment to cloud your judgement, your hand broke from the Princeling's grip, hurrying to instead pull the lever down for the Company to escape. "We need to get out of here!", you yelled, Kili nodding in agreement. Without thinking, he slid forwards, his legs dangling above the barrel you'd shared. Both you and Fili saw this as a bad idea.

"Kili!!", Fili exclaimed.

"Wait!! I'll remove it!!—", Kili's cry of agony cut you off as he slid into the barrel, the arrow snapping painfully from his leg.

"Shit!", you cursed, leaping into the freezing waters without a thought, clinging to the barrel that Kili was in. Alike to Bilbo, you'd have to hold on externally. And it would be no easy feat. The rapids bashed at your face constantly, submerging you in its chaotic stream as it went. You were gasping for air whenever you could manage it, the water painfully blurring your vision and disorienting you. The grip you had on Kili's barrel was starting to wane, his hands gripping onto your arms. The water settled eventually from rapids to a speedy and winding current, no longer depriving you of sight and air.

From your view in the river, you'd spied Fili, Dwalin and Thorin using the Orcs' weapons against them, lopping down the branches they stood on and bashing the ones that tried to attack them from the banks of the river's flow. Legolas had joined the fight, using every resource in his surroundings, inclusive of the Dwarves' heads as he leapt from one side of the water to the other. In any other situation, you would've laughed at the expressions of Dwalin and Dori as they both were stepped on first, followed by the others who didn't seem to enjoy it either. The blonde Elf used the sword that had belonged to Thorin. Orcrist. It seemed wrong in the hands of Legolas, but he used it to a valuable advantage against your shared enemies. Thorin had even graciously covered for the Elf whilst he fought, ensuring no untimely demise met him. It was more than he deserved for the way he treated you all, yet you couldn't help that Thranduil would see it as a token of friendship at some eventuality. For now, you all had gotten away. The Elves had given up their pursuit of you to instead drive out the Orcs, a bigger threat. The Orcs still were on the hunt for you all, but it would take some time for them to catch up.

The river slowed, all of you able to clamber from the barrels and onto the rocky shores of the land once more. Your legs shook when you finally stood on them again after your large dose of adrenaline and cold. Stumbling forwards, you couldn't feel your hands, now so cold that they were stinging in the fingertips. The cool air blowing from the mountains nearby had goosebumps rising in every pore of your skin, your teeth chattering with the damp cold that enveloped you. However, your gaze focused on only one person, a trail of red water following behind him as he limped onto dry land to sit on a boulder for support. Concern, fear and anger rippled through every ounce of your blood like a wildfire, helping you forget the cold. You marched towards Kili, his face screwed in pain as he tried to wipe his wound clean. Bofur had stood near him, his eyes lit with the same concern as yours. Kili had spied his gaze first. "I'm fine", he snapped. "It's nothing". You wordlessly knelt by him, attempting to inspect the wound when he noticed you and swatted you away. "Don't". His harsh tone caught you offguard, your brows raising in challenge. "I'll be fine". Despite his confidence in saying it, not even he had full belief that his words were the truth.

"Let me see it", your voice was a terrifying calm, your gaze showing the emotions simmering beneath the surface. Your eyes met the Prince's in a silent battle of wits, his brows creased in an anger to combat your own.

"I said it was nothing—". Your hand pried his away from the wound, feeling the nausea beginning to creep up. The wound was deep, perhaps to the bone, and was bleeding openly. Bruising had already strangely appeared around the cut and it seemed horribly inflamed for a simple arrow wound. Kili spied your eyes brimming with tears, his blood running cold with remorse.

"Kili", you sighed beneath your breath.

"I've had worse. Really—", he tried gently, your head shaking.

"You need a healer. You need proper medical help".

"(Y/n), it's just a little cut!", he downplayed it with a frustrated edge to his voice. "Stop being so overdramatic!".

"You want me to stop being concerned for you?? Then maybe stop endangering yourself for once!!", your words shattered the air, shocking everyone in the Company. Kili's eyes flickered sadly from your own. "Better that the arrow really had hit me instead of you!". Anger flashed in the Princeling's gaze.

"Oh really? And why is that??".

"It would've been better than listening to your bullshit", you huffed, storming away from the stubborn Prince. Kili's head slumped, his face screwed up in a glower. Dismissing the tone you'd taken with his nephew, Thorin had established that you were all to leave promptly after Kili's wound was to be bound, Fili taking it upon himself to tend to his brother's leg.

"She's angry with me", Kili mumbled beneath his breath, his hazel eyes lingering where you sat with Ori. Fili almost laughed, his amusement twitching his smile.

"She is", he agreed, squeezing out the blooded cloth he was using for the wound. Ocean orbs flickered up to his brother's melancholy expression. "It's what caring for a person entails, Kee".

"She's been different to me. Distanced", the younger Prince continued with a sigh. "She does not look at me the same. Mirkwood has changed her".

"Maybe", Dwalin mused, catching onto the conversation. "Or perhaps she saw y' gettin' friendly with that Elf maid?". Kili's brows furrowed in confusion, turning his gaze to the older Dwarf.

"Why would that bother her??". Shrugging, Dwalin responded,

"If y' don't know by now, ye never will, Laddie". Know what? , Kili's mind echoed, his eyes closing from exasperation. He had not the energy to ask. The Prince only hoped that you'd be willing to talk to him again as you once did. Whenever that may be.

"I'm absolutely drenched", Ori groaned in irritation, pouring the water from his boot.

"Think about me. I'm human. Not a short, walking furnace like yourself". The younger Dwarf spared a laugh despite his misery. Sensing a pair of eyes on your back, you turned to find a man standing on the hill above. His bow was drawn, aimed for you and Ori. Instantly, you covered the smaller Dwarf with yourself, Dwalin leaping down from where he stood to protect you. The older Dwarf held a large branch for a makeshift weapon and shield, baring his teeth like an animal defending its young. The Company became highly strung, Kili standing to his feet without a care. The stranger fired an arrow at Dwalin's branch, already anticipating the Princeling's next move and firing an arrow at him as well. The second arrow bounced from the stone Kili had attempted to throw, the Prince's eyes wide in surprise.

"Do it again and you're dead", the man spat, his resolve showing in the threatening tone of his voice. He had armed his bow with a third arrow, everyone's hands raising in a form of surrender. Balin stepped forth.

"You're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken?". The bow was instantly aimed for the cheerful Dwarf, his feet coming to a halt out of caution. "That barge over there. It wouldn't be for hire by any chance?". The stranger's brows creased, his weapon slowly being withdrawn.

"And what makes you think that I would help you?". The stranger gladly took the barrels you all had used, loading them into the boat with the others he had. Balin was the negotiator, offering every reason for this stranger to give refuge to and accept payment from you all. The man's coat, his three children and wife. To your surprise, the man was a widower. Alike to Balin, you felt the same remorse and shame creeping into your heart at these findings. A single father trying to raise his three children alone in a barren town of ice, water and poverty. You could see why he was cautious of you all.

"Oh, come on. Come on, enough of the niceties", Dwalin finally grunted.

"What's your hurry?", the bargeman shot back.

"What's it to you?".

"I would like to know who you are". His brown hues crossed over you all, lingering on you for a brief moment. "And what you are doing in these lands".

"We are just simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills". A lie from Balin, but a well told lie. The bargeman had no reason to believe him and he most likely didn't, his eyes crossing over you again.

"And what about you?", he asked, directing his attention to the one who stood out the most. Female and human in a troupe of male Dwarves. It was a very uncommon sight indeed. "What's your story?".

"It's none of your business", Kili snapped.

"I don't believe I was asking you".

"This is my family", you replied, gathering the archer's attention wholeheartedly. The Dwarves felt some part of their hearts warming at the thought of you considering them family. You'd spent many months with them, lived through many hardships and they knew that you'd meant your words. It showed in your eyes. The stranger's brows rose, an amused smile playing on his lips,

"Thirteen Dwarves is quite an unusual family for a human, wouldn't you think?".

"Hardly", you replied, continuing Balin's lie with more truths of your own. "We've been through the worst together. I love them. And I would be prepared to give my all to see our kin again". The bargeman saw the truth of your words in your keen gaze, but his instincts were calling to him.

"Are you certain that you not a Ranger of the wilds, baring the gifts of your true kin??". Your expression remained neutral. How had he known??

"My true kin??".

"Your sharp senses. You heard my coming before that of your family. And you bare the mark of Ithilien on your leather boots. A tree crowned with six stars and a crescent moon". Your silence was answer enough for the bowman, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. He was a harder man to fool than you'd first presumed. His eyes flickered to Balin with a knowing smile. " 'Simple merchants', you say??".

"We need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?", Thorin chimed in. With reluctance still prominent in his demeanour, the stranger marked the barrels he'd pulled from the water,

"I know where these barrels came from".

"What of it?".

"I don't know what business you had with the Elves, but I don't think it ended well". The bargeman turned back to you all, readying his ship to depart. "No one enters Laketown, but by leave of the Master. All of his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil", he huffed, throwing rope at Balin. The Dwarf turned his attention to Thorin who mouthed something in Khuzdul, encouraging him to continue pushing the debate with the stranger. And push he did.

"I'll wager that there are ways to enter that town unseen!".

"Aye", he agreed. "But, for that, you would need a smuggler".

"For which we would pay double", Balin insisted almost pleadingly.

Something suddenly snapped in this stranger, causing him to relent and follow your cause. It wasn't the money he was promised, but the desperation he'd seen all too many times before in those he loved. After accepting thanks from both yourself and Bilbo for his help, the man introduced himself as Bard. He set off with you all post-haste, setting his course for Laketown. The misty haze covering the water was thick, the waters almost black and dead, save for the movement of the vessel you stood in. Bard used a large oar for a rudder placed at the back of the boat, steering the ship through the dark. "Look out!!", Bofur had shouted, spotting jagged cliffs ahead, spotting randomly and towering by many feet in the waters. Bard steered by them with an expert precision.

"What are you trying to do?", Thorin piped up. "Drown us??".

"I was born and bred on these waters, master Dwarf. If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here".

"Oh, I've had enough of this lippy lakeman", Dwalin grumbled beneath his breath. "Let's say we throw him over the side and be done with it". Bilbo huffed in frustration,

"Bard. His name's Bard".

"How do ye know?", Bofur asked.

"Uh, I asked him??", the Hobbit answered as if it were obvious.

"I don't care what he calls himself, I don't like him", Dwalin shot back.

"We do not have to like him", Balin shrugged. "We simply have to pay him. Turn out your pockets, lads". You'd already given Balin your coin purse, taking to leaning stiffly leaning against the right side of the boat. The conversations faded from your ears, the cold air still nipping at your skin. Your eyes came to a soft close, riddled with exhaustion. A burning warmth enveloped your numb hands, two larger ones coming to rest upon them. You knew those callouses, your gaze falling to your right. Kili's hazel hues were set upon the waters, as your own had been.

"I never got to thank you for saving my hide", you mumbled, offering his larger hands a caress. "Again". Guilt played within your gaze, his eyes meeting yours with a slightly amused smile. "I'm sorry, Kee".

"I am too. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way that I did either. You were just worried. I would have been".

"I'm still worried", you confessed, brushing his fringe from his face, noting his skin with concern. "You're so pale, Kee". The back of your hand pressed to his forehead. "You're burning up". He removed your hand with a great amount of gentleness, rejection needling your heart. You'd spied his leg, dark blood weeping through the fabrics wrapped around it. The Prince drew your gaze with his breathtaking smile,

"I'll be fine, (Y/n). You'll see".

Those same words echoed in your head with Kili splayed across Bard's bed only a day later. You'd seen his eyes become red with inflammation and exhaustion, seen his skin turn a shade of pale white. You'd seen him become weaker with every passing hour, now unable to stand properly. All you had seen, despite his assurances, was his slow suffering. And it was killing you from the inside out.

Every part of him was rippling in agony, his body trying to burn off the poison raging in his blood to no avail. Sweat was trailing down the Princeling's skin, matting his hair. His breaths were erratic in his struggle to breathe. "(Y/n)", his voice cracked, his hazel eyes almost terrifyingly dull, yet clouded with fear. He felt a fool now, having ignored your words of warning on his injury. Because some part of him understood now, alike to yourself, that he was dying. He had been all along. Hot tears stung his eyes, his fingers barely able to reach for your hand. Taking your lower lip into your teeth, you tried to keep from breaking down. You had to remain strong for Kili, but hope was disappearing with every passing second. He squeezed the fingers you'd offered him with what little strength he could muster. "I'm— I'm so sorry". A pained groan left him, trying to restrain the urge he had to move.

"Don't start that", you told him, returning the grip on your hand. "No goodbyes yet, Kili. We can still save you". Bard brought out a box of various herbs on a separate table. All were useless to Oin.

"None of these are any good to me. Do y' have any kingsfoil??".

"Kingsfoil? It's a weed?", Bard replied, brows creasing in confusion. "We feed it to the pigs". Kili's grip suddenly became painful on your hand, feeling as if a hot knife had been plunged through him. A wail escaped his throat that had you wincing, Fili rushing to your side again to offer not only his brother comfort, but you as well. The eldest Princeling had tried to convince you to leave with Thorin, promising you that this was only benign. Now, Fili was grateful that you'd stayed, not allowing your friends to go this alone. He was facing the possibility of losing his younger brother this very evening and here you were, holding the blonde's hand with your spare one to alleviate the stress. Amidst Kili's groans of pain, Bofur rushed to the table, exclaiming something about Kingsfoil.

"Don't move!", he'd told the younger Prince, recieving a pointed glare from him in return. Bard had left the house with his son Bain and a black arrow in tow. It was very possible, given the tremors you'd felt this evening, that Smaug had awakened. However, Bain had returned sooner than expected, claiming that his father had been pursued by guards and the black arrow hidden safely. Hope was fading faster by the second as the tense waiting began. The air was eerily quiet in Laketown, save for the odd cries from the Dwarf in your care. You all waited on Bofur, praying that the intuitive Dwarf would return with the herbs. Sigrid stepped outside, praying for her father's return as well as Bofur's.

"Da?", she called out, hearing movement along the wooden boardwalks of the town. When turning to retreat inside, her blood-curdling scream caught your attention. Sigrid tried to close the door, the Orc that had tried to strike her jamming his sword between it.

"Get away from the door!!", you yelled, Sigrid leaping back only to get thrown on one of the chairs, moving to hide under the table with her younger sister. Fili had charged from your side and into the Orc, battling by hand. More came crashing in through the roof, both Bain and yourself using the furniture at your disposal to fight them off. It became a struggle to fight their growing numbers in your attempt to protect Bard's children as well as Kili.

On any other occasion, you would've despised her presence, yet now you couldn't be more grateful for the extra set of hands Tauriel offered as she stepped into the room with her blades drawn. Her keen emerald eyes scanned the room, immediately beginning her onslaught against the growing number of Orcs in Bard's living room. Legolas leapt in not too soon after, joining your fight against the hellish creatures. You spoke not a word to either of them, taking their help as an advantage. Another wail from Kili broke the room, seeing that an Orc had gripped his injured leg, pulling him along the bed. Tauriel threw a knife into the skull of the Orc, the Princeling falling to the floor with a cry. You'd rushed to his side, Legolas flanking your defence. His skills with Elven daggers surpassed even the skill of Tauriel, weaving through the room like a graceful, yet sharp wind. "Get down!", Fili had yelled, pulling Bard's children behind the fallen table to hide. Kili had grabbed Tauriel's dagger from the dead Orc who had attacked him, using it to try flanking your defence and Tauriel's. Instantaneously, he'd collapsed with a scream, one of the Orcs vaulting from the room in its escape. The battle was forgotten, your makeshift weapons clattering to the floor. You heaved Kili's heavy body into your arms, the Prince now writhing in excruciating pain.

"Kili", you tried to calm him, your voice tremoring with the chilling anxiety rushing through you. Oin and Fili sprinted to your side with urgency, Tauriel's mouth falling open at the wound on Kili's leg. Black blood dripped onto the floor, the Morgul poisons all too familiar to the Elf.

"You killed them all", Bain gasped, almost feeling sick at the sight of his home.

"There are others", Legolas stated, readying his weapons to face of with your shared foes once more. "Tauriel, come". He beckoned his counterpart, hesitation showing in her features.

"We're losing him!", Oin begged, looking to Tauriel for help. She was capable, her people far more skilled than your own in the arts of medicine. Her eyes were wide, darting between you all and the retreating form of the Elven Prince. Her duty to the world, to her Prince Legolas surpassed the needs of your Prince, your best friend. Despite her curiosity of Kili, Tauriel didn't share the feelings for Kili that he had for her. For the Dwarven Prince, it was almost like love at first sight, continuing to be enamoured by her, her graceful and kind spirit, her smile. For Tauriel, it was a silly dream to pursue love with a Dwarf. He was handsome for one of his kind, but her heart lied with her duties, her people and with the man she'd slowly come to love. Legolas. Despite his father's wishes, she was not one to easily give up in the pursuit of love and it was clearly requited by the Prince. You envied her for that reason. Tauriel moved past your group without anymore hesitation.

Every part of you stung with hurt for Kili, knowing that he would feel that same agony you had alongside his current ailments. Unbridled rage filled your heart, watching as she left him helpless, screaming. "So that's it??", you called to Tauriel, allowing Fili to take his brother whilst you stood to confront her. "You'll just let him die??". The redhead turned, confusion etched into her expression.

"And what would you have me do? Orcs are running rampant, more innocents will die if I do not help them". Tears fell freely from your eyes.

"He's dying!!", you roared, gesturing to Kili. "He hasn't time! Save him!! Please!".

"I cannot linger—".

"Bullshit!! He opened his heart to you, Tauriel!! You can't leave him like this!!", you bellowed. You saw in her gaze that perhaps she knew of Kili's attraction to her. Yet, you'd come to understand why she'd taken to ignoring it.

"I can't—", she whispered with a shake of her head, turning again to leave.

"Please, Tauriel", your voice broke, lowering to a whisper only she could hear, "I love him". And that's when Tauriel understood. Guilt swam in her gaze when she looked upon you again. The stabbing pain of unrequited love sat heavy in your eyes.

"I'm sorry", she murmured, the entire apology heartfelt and genuine. You watched, helplessly as the Elf darted from the balcony and to the rooftops beyond, falling to your knees. A frustrated cry left your lips, Sigrid covering her mouth from seeing you this distraught. Bofur stumbled through the door, baring the Kingsfoil weed. He'd spied your tear stricken face with terror, seeing the desperate situation he'd returned to.

"There's no time!!", you shouted, staggering to your feet.

"(Y/n)? What will ye do??", he asked, all the eyes in the room falling to you.

With surity, you replied, "I have to save him".

You ordered Tilda and Sigrid to ready you some cloths and warm to hot water to best extract the essences from the herbs. Oin, Fili, Bofur and Bain took to lifting the now thrashing Prince onto the kitchen table. Being a Ranger from the South, kingsfoil was commonly used for healing practices by your kin, but you were not schooled in medicine. Your skills were honed on navigating the lands, tracking, stealth and basic combat. You felt useless, only faintly remembering hearing a few healing chants. Most were in Elvish, some in the common tongue of men. The words were lost on you, save for one or two chants. You would have to try.

"Are y' sure y' know what yer doin', Lass?", Oin piped up, watching as you peeled the leaves and flowers into the water.

"No", you huffed a bitter chuckle, your eyes falling down to his own. "But what choice do I have?". Fili eyed you from where he held down his brother, his ocean gaze glistening with hope.

"I have faith in you", he murmured.

"As do I", Bofur added, smiling to lessen the pressure. Oin nodded, giving you his seal of approval. He admired your gaul to act swiftly and take initiative. You would make an excellent healer in his opinion.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped Kili's leg, a pained scream leaving his lips. He writhed, kicking away your touch. His eyes had darkened, having no perception but the agony he felt. "Hold him down!! Please!", you begged the lads, all of them contributing. You tore the fabric away from Kili's wound, nausea creeping into your throat as it had the first time. The wound was still bruised and open, weeping black blood as a large swollen mound with dark veins. No time, you reminded yourself, reaching into the water. Scrunching all the leaves you could find into your palms, you silently prayed that the blood of Numenór flowed true within you as you began the healing chants you could remember. "May the blessing that was given to me, be sent from me to him. May he be released from death", you commanded, pushing the kingsfoil into the wound. His back arched, a piercing cry leaving his lips. Your eyes closed applying pressure. "May the blessing that was given to me, be sent from me to him. May he be released from death".

"Tilda!", Sigrid shouted, the two joining in holding down Kili's limbs as he continued to struggle from your touch. Oin and Fili watched in awe as you repeated your words over and over. Your chant was in common tongue, yet it seemed to breathe life into the room itself. You had begun to think and worry that nothing would work, that Kili was too far gone. Tears slipped again from your eyes, your voice remaining sterdy despite the tightness wanting to creep through your throat. Your mind was wholly set on saving him, imagining him as spriteful as the day you'd met him. Love and care poured through every fibre of your being and perhaps the Divines felt it?? You prayed that they'd help encompass all that energy for him if they did. Feeling the tension slipping from Kili's limbs slowly, you heard his cries dying into calmer, but ragged breaths. It was working..

"May the blessing that was given to me, be sent from me to him. May he be released from death", you repeated with more fervour, finally having the courage to open your eyes to meet his own. His hazel hues were no longer pale and dull. They were now full of life. His lips were parted, eyelashes fluttering in some semblance of shock, as if you'd pulled him from water to save him from drowning. And you had saved him. The darkness that clouded his vision, blinding him to all else was broken. It was as if he was watching the sun rising for the first time, seeing that divine light cracking the dark horizons open to see you. There was only you in his line of sight, pulling him like a lifeline. Kili found himself wondering how you'd ever come to be so beautiful. The infatuation he'd held for Tauriel paled in comparison to the affection for you that wormed its way past his broken heart and into his soul. And perhaps it had always been there?? The Prince felt a sense of relief fill him, coming to understand why he'd always felt differently for you. It had been you all along, he was only blinded to it.

Kili's pain faded from him, his body no longer fighting the poison. It had been neutralised, expelled from him. Death couldn't touch him any longer, or so he felt. His body instead burned with a warm, pure light. Every part of him relaxed under your touch, a soft sigh leaving the Prince as his breathing turned to some form of normality. His blood ran red through your fingers, cleansed now. The swelling would slowly decrease over time, as would the inflammation and bruising. You smiled, crying from your relief. The stiffness in your limbs created by the tense situation had dissipated. A breathy laugh, wet from your tears left your throat. You'd done it, you'd saved him. Bofur happily placed a hand on your own, both Tilda and Sigrid alight with joy over this victory. The girls circled the table, taking you into their shared embrace, giving you words of assurance, congratulations and gratitude for helping protect them. Fili grinned, sharing in some semblance of relieved laughter, resting his forehead on his brother's in a familial embrace.

Everyone had relaxed, leaving the room to allow you to continue in your endeavours to finish your work on Kili's wound. You pulled the kingsfoil from the scar, rinsing a cloth with the water the herbs had soaked in. The water was still warm and clean, fragrant with the essences of the weeds. You wiped the fabric over the wound, brushing away dirt, dead flesh and irritants. Once it was clean and dry, you started to bind his leg with cleaner fabrics that Bain had sought for you.

"I have never seen the healing practices of the Dunédain until this evening. That there was a privilege to witness", Oin marveled, turning to the blonde Prince who had also been in some state of awe at what he'd seen.

Softly, your hands worked at the bindings on Kili's leg, placing the material thickly over his wound to ensure it was well protected from weeping blood. "(Y/n)", The Princeling beneath you croaked, his voice hoarse and raw from his screaming. You smiled with a wistfulness, relieved to see him so at peace.

"It's okay, Kee", you breathed. "I'm here. Lie still for me, alright?". His hazel hues held an emotion you couldn't read, fluttering in their attempt to stay awake. A tired smile slowly etched onto his face, twinkling weakly with his usual cheekiness.

"You're so,—", his voice cracked. "—so beautiful".

Your brows knitted together in confusion when you glanced at him from his leg. He was clearly delusional. He had to have been.

"You're a bit dazed, Kee", you smiled, politely dismissing his words. "You need to rest".

"You are", he insisted beneath his breath. "You're so, so beautiful". You felt his warming fingertips brushing over the hand that rested on his thigh, the goosebumps from his touch spindling across your skin. "You were crafted by the sunglow of another world. Your light saved me. It wasn't a dream". Your lips parted, unsure of his kind words and the clarity behind them.

Kili breathed as if it were difficult to talk, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion. His smile still remained, eyeing your hands when you brushed your thumb over the fingers that rested upon your own.

Slowly, his breathing evened out, a light sleep taking the Prince as you continued to work. Once securing his bandages with a light knot, you leant down, brushing your lips over his forehead with a silent prayer that the Company was alive in Erebor. That the ruin that Bard had predicted wouldn't come to pass. Fili shared your sentiment, his eyes worriedly meeting your own before he embraced you in gratitude, thanking you once more for saving his brother. But, your complacency was only temporary.

When you stumbled onto the rocky shores in the cold light of the dawn, you beheld desperation, sadness, loss and terror amidst the ruin that had come to pass. Smaug's onslaught was without mercy or conscience. Bard had been right all along. Now, you were praying that he was alive with his son. You'd grown worried for the bargeman and his son after seeing Smaug plummet from the skies.

Frantically, you searched the shores for the two males. Tilda was in your arms, fresh tears pouring from her eyes. Sigrid clung to your free hand, shouting for her father. The Dwarves were readying the cannoe you'd all travelled in for the trip to Erebor. It felt wrong to leave everyone behind. You wouldn't leave yet, not until the girls had their father back.

Kili was hardly focusing on helping his kin with the small boat, his hazel eyes admiring you from afar. "Kee?", Fili called to him, beckoning him to help.

"Eyeing the lass?", Bofur asked with some suspicion and confusion, a smile twitching on his lips.

"What if I was?", the younger Prince shrugged, missing the hopeful glint in the older Dwarf's eye. "I have to make sure she's alright". Fili turned to Bofur, his brows raised. Both said no more in watching Kili ascend the shores. You had begun to make your return, Bard and Bain now reunited with the girls in the small encampment.

With exhaustion heavy in your steps, you smiled at the brunette Princeling on his unexpected approach. Your mind flashed back to those warm callouses brushing against your skin, goosebumps flushing across your arms at the thought. He'd hardly spoken a word to you since the previous night, making you question if he'd even been coherent when he mumbled those sweet words to you. Perhaps it was your wishful thinking in the end?

"Ready to go?", you'd asked him, beginning to stray past him whilst he'd stopped.

"(Y/n)", he called to you, the softness in his voice halting your steps. Your brows furrowed,

"Kili, we need to go".

"I need to talk to you". His hand reached for your own before you could turn away, gently tugging at your smaller fingers. Even after all this time, you found yourself unable to ignore the intensity of his hazel hues, something unreadable sitting hard within his gaze. "Please", he spoke, barely above a breath.

Instinctively, you turned fully to face him, your thumb brushing over his larger hand. "Of course", you replied, almost unsteady with nervousness. Some part of you felt that he may assure you that he had no feelings for you, that his words to you had been hollow. And you prayed that if he were to reject you, that he'd do so softly.

"I just want to say thank you", he confessed. "For saving my life".

"Kili, you needn't thank me", you insisted, his other hand pressing something smooth and cold into your palm. "What are you—".

"The days are growing darker, (Y/n)", he cut in, clasping your fingers around the object. His second hand warmed your cold, stinging skin. "Last night, I realised how little time we may have left and I have grown so afraid that I won't have the time to say what I must to those who matter". Your brows creased in concern, always content to allow him to express his innermost thoughts. "I'm giving you this token. As a promise".

"Kili—", you tried to desist him to no avail.

"Amrâlimê", he hushed you with a silken voice. It was like the word had caressed your very soul. A smile splayed slowly onto his features whilst his eyes seemed to read yours. "You felt it too, didn't you?".

"Felt what, Kili? I don't know what that word means", you replied with a quiver to your whisper, his grin growing.

"I think you do", he bounced back, a featherlight playfulness present in his glimmering gaze. "It's my promise to you. That I'll always come back to you". You saw the glassing of tears within his gaze. "Even at death's door, I will come back to you".

"Why would you promise such a thing to me, Kili?", you asked, confusion clouding over your expression. "When your heart clearly belongs to another??". To Tauriel...

A soft laugh slipped from the Princeling's lips, an affectionate glow radiating from his tender gaze. "It was infatuation, an idea that I'd tried to pursue with Tauriel", he murmured with a soft shake to his head. "It was foolish to pursue that which was but a shadow to how I feel for you, (Y/n). I know now how I feel— how I've felt all along for you and I'm not afraid. I was just too blind to see our connection for what it was". You felt his fingers squeeze yours, his eyes playing across your more delicate features. "For that, I hope you can forgive me and realise that my words to you last night were not of a daze, but from my heart. You make me feel alive".

Ignoring the tears that stung in your eyes, you finally felt as if your own heart had been freed, your smile like a pure light shining on the Prince. The warmth of Kili's spare hand reached to cradle your face, swiping his thumb over your glistening eyes.

The short gap between you was no more when your head had dipped, the softness of his lips engulfing your own in a deep caress. Kili's hand twined into your curls, pulling you flush into him whilst his other hand remained with your own, as if to solidify his promise to you. Your thumb worked soothing caresses over his rough skin, getting lost in his kiss before you heard whistles from the shore nearby.

Your lips parted from the Prince's, quickly missing the sensation of his hot touch in the biting cold of the morning breeze. Whistling and clapping, Bofur stood upon the cannoe, overjoyed at the scene playing before him. "If you both are done, we do plan on travelling today! ", Fili shouted, a playful grin on his expression.

Both yourself and Kili lapsed into a soft bout of laughter, sharing an affectionate glance before you allowed the Princeling to finally lead you to the boat to travel home.

The End. . .

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Hey readers!!

I hope you all enjoyed this fic!! I have a LOTR fic in the works as we speak, so keep your eyes peeled, folks! As always, any and all feedback is welcome! If you wish to be added to my tagslist, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in! ❤❤

As always, thank you all for your support in my works!! ❤❤

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Translations;

Tolo hí = "come on" (Elvish/Sindarin)

Ishkh khakfe andu null = "go pour excrement on your head" (Khuzdul)

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TAGLIST; @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @emrfangirl @deadlymistletoe

#kili x reader #kili #kili durin #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fanfic

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