Pearlofrose - DeepSea Fantasies - Tumblr Blog

by Caducado

Oh my Ouken i dint expect that black goo to turn out like this hahah

Y/N: You are a Tilf, if you want it or not.

Bruno: T-Tilf? What? What is a Tilf?

Y/N: Tío I'd like to fuck ;)

Bruno: E-EXCUSE ME?!-

3K Followers Request:

Jushiro Ukitake Icons for @graffitiger ☆

Wet Dreams-NSFW

character list➺

>Hawks >Dabi >Shigaraki >Bakugou >Kirishima >Aizawa

warnings: somno🤷‍♀️, creampies , consent isn't stated in particular(only with Aizawa) but you should always discuss this with your partner beforehand!! Erection is also not consent to be touched!

Ko-Fi and Patreon links are in my pinned post 💕

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his wings flexing on the sheets as he breathes heavily.

He feels warm... too warm...and he subconsciously kicks the blanket off of him, spreading his legs a bit and pressing against the mattress.

He can practically feel your pussy in his dream, desperately getting through the motions in his lonely room, humping his cock between the materials as he murmurs praises into nothingness.

Maybe he knows it's a dream, maybe he's aware, but he's gonna turn a blind eye to it, his mouth watering as he latches onto your soft neck.

This time he won't coward away, he'll let go completely, pouring his love out into you and holding you tight, not letting you go like he did before.

With one final push, he can feel himself spilling into you, pulsing in your waiting pussy and breeding you like he always wanted to.

Warm spurts of cum coat the front of his boxers, seeping through the cotton and staining his bed.

He jolts awake, a huff leaving his throat as he props himself on his elbows, slowly turning on his back, looking around the dark room.

He can't stand to lay in his bed anymore, sitting at the edge of it and eyeing his phone. His fingers shakily pick it up, unlocking it and finding his way to your contact number.

A few heavy moments pass by, his thumb finally pressing against the green button as he takes a gulp of air, waiting for your voice.

He smiles softly when you answer, sleepily but so so worried, obvious rattling of the bed on your line.

"I-...I'm ready to fix this..." he whispers quietly, but hopefully, throwing on some clothes and going to the balcony.

And If someone saw you opening your windows at 3 am, no they didn't.

And if they saw the winged hero pulling your face with both of his palms and kissing you before he even got to enter your apartment, they also most certainly did not.

Dabi has wet dreams on the regular, and he's very used to having his hands in his pants every other time he wakes up.

This one felt too real though, like he could feel your lips wrapped around his cock all of a sudden, his hips bucking off the bed to meet your wet tongue.

Soon enough he's sure he felt your hands tightening around his balls as he slipped all the way to the back of your throat.

He slowly opens his eyes, still confused and trying to figure out why he woke up in the first place, the glucking sound of your throat sending his focus lower.

Your cheeks look so pretty all puffed up and full of his cock, lips stretched wide around his thick shaft.

Your glossy eyes meet his, your fingers trailing up to get ahold of his, ghosting his scarred hand in light patterns as you move slowly.

He leans his head on the pillows again, guiding one of your hands back to his balls, cupping them as he starts rocking into your mouth.

You try to breathe through your nose, his fat cock easily closing off any air attempting to slip past your throat. He can feel the spit pooling and slowly dripping in your palm, your fingers twitching as you struggle to breathe before he grabs ahold of your hair, pulling you off of him but keeping your face close.

He untangles his digits from your threads, petting your cheek gently, slipping in some praises while he works his length over your lips.

He wraps his hand in a fist around his cock, stroking it carefully, his tip bumping against your plump skin.

"Gonna cum over your pretty face...give you a nice reward for being so useful..." He says panting, speeding up his strokes.

Your eyes are half lidded and your tongue slips out shyly, meeting his tip with small kitten like licks. The first twitch of his balls gives you a brief warning for you to close your eyes, white painting your cheeks, followed by a long growl, some of his cum hooking on your tongue so that you can savor his tangy taste.

His ragged breathing overpowers all of the sounds in the room, a small "oh fuck" slipping in there too.

You sit on your heels, preparing to go and wash your face. "Come back to sleep after" you nod to noone in particular since he's almost asleep again, coming back minutes later and laying on his chest.

He sleepily pulls one of your legs over him, bringing your body closer to his. He'll seize the first opportunity to return the favor.

He's humping the pillows, not even sure if he's asleep or just daydreaming about you.

He's slamming his cock against the soft but poor replacement of you, hopeful that you might hear him from your room, purposefully moaning and whining louder as he approaches his high so so fast.

His gloved hands dig into the pillow, a hiss leaving his lips when he cums, the bed creaking while his heels dig in the mattress.

He doesn't stop after that either, now fully awake, biting the pillowcase in anger... it's not you, it doesn't even feel like you and let alone sound like you.

But he keeps thrusting his hips, mumbling angry remarks as his cockhead burns from sensitivity.

Choosing to ignore it, his thoughts run wild, a vivid image of your tits fronting in his brain. The times and times he just couldn't peel his eyes off of them when you wandered around the hideout without your bra.

You did for him...you must've...He knows you want him to look at you.

There's drool rushing out of his mouth, a fat load of spit falling and smearing over the pillowcase as his thrusts speed up, a desperate cry of your name echoing against the wall of his room, as he cums again, like a pathetic loner he is.

His face is stained in tears he didn't know he was letting drip down his cheeks, his chest tightening with post orgasmic guilt as he throws the pillow away.

There's a barely audible knock and a quiet creek of his door opening, a small prayer rushing through his brain as he turns around, clutching the sheets to his sweaty body.

"You called....?" your voice confident and inviting, kicking the door closed with your foot, he can't believe you're approaching him, his greedy hands pulling you in as soon as you're in his arms reach.

You're locked in his arms, his form keeping you safe and warm as you hide your flushed face in the pillow.

You don't know if you should move so you just let him rock his hips against your plump ass, his hard cock pressing into you all while his arms pull you even tighter to him.

There's an angry huff near your ear, warm lips pressing against your neck. He'd kill you if you tried waking him up, so you settle on going through the motions with him, ignoring the wetness pooling between your legs.

He did wake you up, but none of that truly matters right now while you focus on keeping your moans down.

You can make out the cursing and raspy whimpers of your name, his fingers slipping to your pussy, cupping it before softly stroking.

He's missing. That much is obvious.

You try angling your hips better, finally getting some friction over your clothed clit. His fingers aren't pressing even half as hard as you need them to, and you subconsciously start moving on your own, bucking into his hand until there's a sleepy but husky growl behind you.

You place your palm over your mouth, holding your breath and stilling your movement.

"Shhh...I'll take care of it..." he whispers sleepily, moving your hand from your mouth and turning your head to push his tongue between your lips instead.

His fingers slip under your panties, rubbing tight circles on your clit while he rocks against you gently. You're swallowing up eachothers moans, his rutting slowly getting more forceful, the bed creaking under you.

His hand snakes between you, slipping your panties over the swell of your ass before pulling himself out of his boxers.

A rewarding hum leaves his throat when he presses flush against your exposed skin, slipping his cock between your thighs. His fingers work your clit urgently, flicking it in time with his thrusts as he feasts on your whimpers.

He's so close to painting your thighs in his cum, secondguessing himself for a moment before he pushes the small voice in his head that's complaining about the clean up that'll follow.

He looks at your red cheeks, a grin forming on his lips, causing his teeth to clash against yours.

"Gonna cum-" he manages to get out before his cock spills over your skin, your orgasm triggered by the last rough flick of his wrist.

Squeezing his length, you milk him dry, your legs shaking and your toes curling. Both of his arms wrap around you protectively, kissing the top of your head before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

This little sweetheart thinks about you a lot, so it's not a surprise hearing him mumble your name in his sleep very often.

It can go from mumbled out lines of love, all the way to moaning and whimpering out your name and nicknames while he roams his hands over the bed to find you.

You're sat on a small chair, writing out some delayed work papers when you hear the blankets shuffling, soft snores turning into mewls that make you jolt.

Your boyfriend is passed out on his back, an obvious hard-on bulging from under the covers.

A smile forms on your lips, letting go of your pen, you carefully find your way to the bed.

"jus' leik- that...." he rushes out, fingers clutching the sheets under him. "s-so...pretty" he adds on, drool forming at the corner of his mouth.

You hope to hell he's dreaming of you, otherwise this would be embarrassing...But you edge closer, pulling down the covers off of his naked body.

Contrary to his quirk, his skin is soft and pleasant against your own, flush and heated.

You lay your head on his shoulder , scooting closer, your lips gently ghosting over his neck. Scraping your nails across his abs, you trail lower, getting ahold of his length.

Your fingers can barely touch, your fist too small to wrap around his shaft. His face is scrunched in pleasure as you start working his cock, leathering it in precum.

"Yeah...that's it baby...." he shudders out, throwing his head to the side, his cheeks heating up. His abs flex with each slow pump of your hand, eyebrows furrowing.

You try slowing down even more, not sure what you'd do if he woke up. But you find out anyways, his eyes slowly opening, blinking the sleep away.

He catches your embarrassed stare, your hand shying from his cock as you wait for him to say something. He gives you a reassuring smile, turning on his side to face you.

Still a bit hazed from his dream, he pulls you on top of him, arms funding purchase on your hips.

"Maybe I'm still dreaming" he chuckles, sliding his hands under your shirt.

You rush to pinch his nipple, laughing when he lets a manly scream escape. "Okay, okay fine! Not a dream I get it!"

He pulls you down, smashing your lips together passionately, arms snaking around your back so that he can guide your pussy over his cock.

His sharp teeth carefully nibble at your lip, both hands now kneading your ass. You plaster your palms over his broad shoulders, using them as leverage to angle your hips right, determined to make him cream his chest.

When he feels like he's not as sleepy anymore tho, he manhandles you so that you're on your back, your panties pushed to the side before he mushes his face between your legs, determined to fuck you till the sun rise💕

This man fucks you plenty so wet dreams are rare and far in between.

Yet the two of you discussed it beforehand, agreeing that both of you are allowed to touch eachother freely during the night.

However that doesn't stop you from gasping in surprise when you wake up, his cock already draggin inside your warm pussy, hitting your G spot with ease while he rocks his hips into you.

He tried being mindful, trying his best to not wake you up, but at the same time he did wonder if he could make you cum without disrupting your sleep, loving the small challenge.

The two of you are heroes though, and deep sleep isn't a luxury you can afford.

His thumb is working your clit slowly, his other arm underneath you so that he can hold you closer.

"Morning princess..." he rasps out, giving a sharp thrust now that you're awake. It earns him a soft moan of his name, breathless and adored with the sleepy daze you're in, leg bending at its knee to give him a better angle.

He smiles softly , kissing your bare shoulder gently before his hips speed up.

His fingers dip to where your pussy leaks over his cock, spreading your slick across your folds teasingly, parting your lips with two fingers and pressing down, his palm ghosting over your clit.

You're still so, so tired, desperate to reach your high but with little to no strength to move, so you weakly put a bit more pressure over his hand, huffing when it doesn't do the job.

"Please Shota...." you mewl, earning yourself a rewarding flick of his wrist, his fingers working your slicked up nub perfectly, your legs shaking from the sudden rough movement.

He bottoms out completely, focusing on you as he works you to your high, his face buried in your neck.

"Milk my cock you greedy little thing" he whispers, humping your cervix, your cunt clenching and your eyes closing.

You can't focus on the words that are leaving his mouth, but you make out the growling tone before your pussy clamps down on his cock, your body curling up as you feel his warm cum seeping deep inside your core.

A sigh of relief leaves his mouth, both of his hands pulling your body impossibly close, caging you in his arms.

villains are hard to design. making them ugly is dangerous, depending on what traits you choose to frame as monstrous or undesirable, you could very well end up saying something fatphobic, racist, anti-semitic, etc

but if you make a hot villain then people will get thirsty and demand redemptions and refuse to acknowledge their evil actions, no matter how despicable

Imagine wearing Bilbo’s ring and teasing Thorin with a remarkable blowjob, while invisible

Pairing: Thorin x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 2700

Based on this imagine from imaginexhobbit

You were watching him, crouched behind the trees. You didn’t know why exactly, you knew you no one would be able to see you, but your heart raced even so. Bilbo had been extremely reluctant to hand over his ring to you. After catching him rolling it in his fingers late at night when all others were asleep, he had confessed it all to you. The game of riddles, the invisibility, everything. He knew how close you were to Thorin and had begged and pleaded you not to say a word to him or his nephews. Of course you agreed, you loved Bilbo dearly, but you couldn’t shake this wicked idea that had formed in your head. It came at a price, of course. You had to admit, it had hurt when Bilbo had accused you of trying to steal his precious ring. You could see it in his eyes, moments after his outburst he regretted saying it. It was more out of guilt than trust that he ended up handing it over to you. “I’m only going to use it to go for a hunt” you had lied “Imagine how many rabbits I could bag. We could have a roasted rabbit each for breakfast!” His eyes had lit up at the thought, and your stomach turned into a knot “I’ll go at night, they’ll be no chance of me getting caught… Here” You had held out your hand “As insurance”.

Читать дальше

Thorin x Reader

“No! No! No more dw–“ Bilbo stopped shouting as he opened the door, looking out at the girl in front of him. “Your ears!” He covered his mouth immediately, begging a flushed apology.

“No need, Master Baggins,” she laughed, ruffling his hair, “You said the same thing when you were a youngling. Not everyday you see a half-elf hobbit! Oh, how much you’ve grown! Now, are these dwarves causing trouble?”

“Wha-I’m terribly sorry, but who are you?” he asked, peering at her, curiously. She stood only a few inches taller than him – more than a head shorter than the others in the room.

“Oh, of course, you won’t remember me.” She offered her hand, with a warm, age-old smile. “Faëlisse. Friend and cousin of your mother’s.” That explained her Tookish grin then.

“I remember mother telling me stories about you,” Bilbo mused, sleepily, “I had no idea you were still alive – or half-elf! No offence, of course, its just, you must be older than her and she passed a long time ago.”

“None taken, Bilbo,” she smiled, sadly, Belladonna’s mischief dancing through her mind.

“Hogging our guest, Master Baggins?” Gandalf’s deep voice rumbled, above the two. “Gandalf, it has been so long since we saw one another,” she scolded, “It was time I caught up with Belladonna’s little one. And you know how rude it is to mark a Hobbit’s home!”

“Yes, yes, well–“ He paused, as she folded her arms, eyebrows flickering up. “My apologies, Master Bilbo.” The wizard turned, and the two Hobbits followed him into the kitchen. Silence fell as they entered, all eyes edging between the group in the doorway and the scowling dwarf at the head of the table. The dwarf placed his cutlery down, and looked up, eyeing Faëlisse from head to toe.

“Another Hobbit?” he asked Gandalf, exhaustedly, gesturing to her slight figure, “I thought you said she was a trained–“ The blade which pinned his sleeve to the wall cut him off, and every eye turned to her. The smaller, elderly dwarf grabbed his brother’s arm as he made to get up, shaking his head. His brother scowled, but returned to his seat.

“You, erm, seem to have a little something…” She gestured to his sleeve, making the two young ones and the moustachioed dwarf smother a laugh.

“Indeed,” he huffed, pulling it from the wall, and examining the blade. “Obsidian?”

“From the magma of Mount Doom,” Faëlisse answered, happily, making even the scowling brother look up, as the king handed him the dagger.

“Forged?” Thorin queried, continuing on.

“By my own hand,” she responded, with an easy shrug.

“Impressive handiwork, lass,” the scowling one commented. “Thank you…er…” she trailed off unsure.

“Dwalin,” the gruff man put in, passing back her blade.

“A pleasure,” she smiled, “I take it Gandalf has not introduced me, so I shall take that liberty. Faëlisse Took.”

“You are not just hobbit,” the elder brother commented, curiously.

“Half-elven,” she answered, “Of a heritage which no longer exists, but I have made my homes in the Shire and at the Last Homely House.”

“You would bring an elf into this?” Thorin’s hostility flared again, and Faëlisse sighed.

“I am only half-elven.” She shoved her blade back into her sleeve, silently promising to fix Bilbo’s wall. “And even if I were a full-blooded elf, the wrongs of Mirkwood should not reflect on all my race. Nor on me.” She resisted the urge to add that he, son of Thrain, son of Thror, should know better than any one that not all who share blood are the same. Thorin shook his head, looking over to Dwalin and his brother, as the two young ones leapt from their seats to envelope her in chatter.

“Faëlisse, right?” Fili asked, holding out a hand. “Fili, at your service”

“A pleasure,” she smiled, kneeling to kiss his hand. “My prince.” He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Not yet,” Kili huffed, “I’m Kili.”

“My prince.” She repeated her action, then straightened. “You are the king’s nephew’s, are you not?” The two nodded at the same time, and she felt Bilbo’s incredulous eyes on them, turning to him. “Gandalf did not tell you? The leader of this Company is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, rightful King under the Mountain. His nephews will be Princes.” 

“No,” Bilbo ground out, “He did not tell me.” The three of them laughed, as Gandalf shrugged in the corner at Bilbo’s glare. 

“How do you know Gandalf then?” Fili asked, curiously. 

“We are both wanderers,” she answered, with a grin, “We have journeyed together many times.” Kili nudged his brother, gesturing across the room to Dwalin, who once again had his hand stuck in the cookie jar. 

“It’s a weakness,” he laughed, conspiratorially. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have more of a paunch for it.” Faëlisse smothered a laugh, as Bilbo frowned at the improper princes. 

“Oh, come Bilbo,” she teased the Hobbit, “If you are to meet a dragon, you must have all your Took blood on show.”

“You are related?” Kili questioned, tearing his eyes away from the sight of the irritable warrior.

“Cousins, distantly,” Faëlisse answered, inviting Bilbo’s frown, “I’m the fun side of the family.” The two brothers burst into laughter, the eavesdropping wizard joining them, causing Thorin’s disgruntled look as he noticed the group at the end of the table. 

“The contract,” the small, elderly dwarf said, holding out a long parchment to each of the hobbits. 

“I will make it clear, that I will not be responsible for your safety,” Thorin grumbled, firmly. “I cannot guarantee you will return.” Bilbo gulped, as the moustachioed dwarf began his story of the dragon. She caught him as he fell, raising an eyebrow at the now-silent dwarf. 

“…oops?” he questioned, making her roll her eyes, carrying her cousin from the room. He appeared again, moments later, with two cups of tea, but she didn’t miss the two others watching him from the hallway. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmured, handing both her and Bilbo a cup. “I did not realise–“ 

“It’s quite alright, Master Dwarf,” Bilbo mumbled, into his tea.

“Bofur,” he offered, as he backed away slightly. 

“And your supervisors?” Faëlisse snickered, as the two dwarves in the corridor vainly attempted to flee. 

“Bombur, my brother,” Bofur said, eliciting a timid wave from the younger, rotund red-haired dwarf. “And Dori.”

”Pleased to make your acquaintances,” Faëlisse nodded, sipping her tea. The three dwarves made a quick exit, into the living room next door, and she could hear their quiet voices as they discussed the two newcomers. Moments passed, as the voices edged into silence, before a warm rumbling grew from the room. She padded in, just in time to hear the other dwarves join Thorin in their song, Erebor’s vast halls returning to life in their words. As the singing melted to a close, Thorin looked up from the fireplace and caught her wooded gaze, and immediately the welcome halls of the song faded from her. She was not wanted here, at least by him. Wordlessly, she rolled her contract, and handed it to the elderly dwarf beside her - Balin, she remembered, before she fluttered out of the room. She could hear the two younger brothers huff at Thorin for it, but she did not stop to hear it. 

“Farewell, young cousin,” she smiled, placing a soft kiss on Bilbo’s forehead. “I will see you soon, if you are truly a Took.” Bilbo frowned, wondering at her meaning. It would wake him the next morning as a challenge, and she would smirk as he proved her right. Took blood was not so easily diluted.

———————

“Wait! Wait!” She turned to all of them, a wide smirk fixed in place, as Bilbo flew down the hill. 

“Get him on a pony,” Thorin commanded, as Fili and Kili scooped the poor Hobbit up. 

“Ah, actually,” she sped up, reigning her horse in between the two scowling leaders. “I believe you both owe me.” Their scowls deepened, if it was possible, but each of them passed over a small bag of coins. “Thank you!” She dropped back, beside her cousin and Gandalf, just as the wizard pocketed his own coin. 

“What did you think?” Bilbo demanded, folding his arms. “Surely you had more sense than to bet on me?”

“I had the sense not to bet against a Took,” she answered, with a wide grin, coins jingling as she tucked them into her pockets. 

———————

“What in Mahal’s name were you thinking?” Thorin demanded, pulling Faëlisse up by her collar. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I was thinking that if I didn’t, Fili would have been killed,” she answered, calmly, hiding her wince, as she brushed dirt from her sleeves. Thorin just stared at her, the calm demeanour flooring his rage. She turned to Fili while he gathered his thoughts, checking the blond prince for injuries.

“Raurion (lion-son),” she murmured, ruffling Fili’s hair, letting Thorin wander off to speak to the returned wizard about the troll cave, unable to find the words for the girl. 

“Follow the smell,” she muttered, gesturing vaguely at the concealed cave to the left of the clearing. Kili glanced up from reaching for the growing bruise appearing behind the ripped sleeve on Fili’s shoulder, confused.

“What?” he questioned, making the previously oblivious Fili jump, and turn to glare at his younger brother, moving away towards Oin.

“They’re wondering about the troll cave,” she replied, pointing to the nearby group, who had turned to look around the area. “It’s over there!” She raised her voice, nodding towards the hidden entrance, from which the rotten smell floated. She could feel the darkness growing around her as the dwarves edged towards the cave, weapons and complaints at the ready.

“You coming?” Kili asked, scrambling to his feet.

“I’ll keep watch.” She pulled out one of her swords and a whetstone, kicking back to lean against a large rock. He shrugged, disappearing into the cave with the others. 

“Radagast, calm down!” she exclaimed, entrapping the sobbing brown wizard in a hug, “What’s wrong?” 

“Greenwood,” Radagast shivered, looking up at her, with tears in his eyes, as Sebastian snuffled out from under his hat, curling into Faëlisse’s wild, earth-brown hair. “The Shadow is back.” Gandalf swooped out of the cave, pulling the other wizard aside.

“Um, no,” Faëlisse scolded, following the two, “I have as much right to hear this as you, Mithrandir.” Gandalf sighed, but Radagast continued to speak.

“Mirkwood has returned, and it is spreading – the spiders, the forest is darkening, goblins are returning.” She knew the thundering footsteps in her ear couldn’t have been a good sign, but she couldn’t quite place it until a distant roar echoed across the plain, unheard by her companions.

“Wargs,” she whispered, Radagast’s hysteria fading as she lifted Sebastian from her hair, “Wargs!” The dwarves who had begun emerging from the cave sprinted out, but not in time to catch the bolting ponies. 

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf roared at the company, but Faëlisse simply cuffed him under the chin as the dwarves fired back with empty answers.

“It is Azog,” she snarled, picking up the few discarded packs, as Radagast’s black owl clung to her shoulder.

“Radagast, take Quessë back,” she said, as the owl refused to release her. “Quickly, we must go.”

“She will stay with you,” Radagast answered, tucking Sebastian safely back beneath his hat. “I will lead them off.”

“These are Gundabad wargs, they will outrun you.” Gandalf shook his head, tapping his staff irritably.

“Those are Rhosgobel rabbits,” Faëlisse pointed out, earning Radagast’s mischievous grin. “I’d like to see them try.” With that, the brown wizard took off across the plains, whooping, sending the Wargs bounding after him in a cacophony of movement, as Gandalf took the lead.

———————

“This was your plan all along!” Thorin snapped, turning on the meddling wizard. “You think the elves will bless this quest? They will try to stop us!”

“Nevertheless, we have questions we need answered,” Gandalf pointed out, “And injuries to heal, and it will take no little tact or charm to gain such answers. That is why you must leave the talking to me and Faëlisse.” 

“What questions?” Thorin demanded, not letting the wizard’s trickery pass so easily. “Faëlisse can read the map!”

“There are still injuries,” Gandalf answered, making Thorin’s eyes flickering over the tired, but mostly whole company, allowing Gandalf to slip away to speak to Lindir.

“Bruises, but nothin–Faëlisse!” he exclaimed, suddenly noticing the red stain crossing her mud-soaked shirt, the way she swayed a little on her feet, even as the owl still clung to her. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His questions were echoed by the Company, until the elf-horn from the plain sounded again, turning all eyes back to the front. Dismounting to greet Gandalf, Elrond’s eyes scanned the company, until he was nudged, urgently, by a golden-haired elf, as two young, brown-haired elves wove their way into the company, grasping Faëlisse, worriedly.

“You are injured!” one of them exclaimed, turning to the company, “What did you do to her?” 

“I am fine, Eln (Elladan),” she soothed, brushing her fingers through the tips of his hair, “There were… obstacles… to our journey, this is not the fault of the company.”

“Was it an orc blade?” the other asked, hurriedly, “Those were Gundabad orcs, they pois–“

“It was a troll, don’t worry, Elr (Elrohir),” Faëlisse answered, as Elrond and Lindir, too, joined the group. “Adar. Lina.”

“Lindir, take Faëlisse to her room,” Elrond instructed, making the more experienced elf nod, grasping her arm and half her weight. “Elladan, fetch hot water and clean bandages. Elrohir, go with Lindir and find out what he needs.” “Hey! Where are you taking her?” Thorin blocked the path, as Lindir tried to lead Faëlisse from the room.

“He’s taking me to clean my wound, Thorin,” Faëlisse assured him, with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Lindir is almost my brother, he will keep me safe. Lord Elrond is not the same as Thranduil, you can trust him as much as you can trust me.” 

———————

She could hear footsteps in the corridor – given the distrust of elves, she could hardly call it unusual. Thorin’s footsteps had a distinctive click when he was brooding. Elrohir entered with the herbs Lindir had requested, before joining Elladan at her bedside as Lindir set to work on the poultice.

“I swear, if he does one more lap of this corridor, I’m going to spike his food with poppy milk,” Faëlisse complained, resisting the urge to yell out to the pacing king. Elladan chuckled, shaking his head.

“He was a little stressed,” Elrohir commented, the king’s fretful face flashing across his mind. 

“Always,” she sighed, rolling her eyes at the brothers. “Brooding is his natural state.”

“No, I mean, he was worried,” Elrohir compounded his words, with a pouty face. “Like, I could feel his eyes burning into my back when I entered kind of worried.” Faëlisse scoffed, shaking her head at her brother.

“If you’d met the man before, you’d know his eyes burn into anything that moves,” she managed through a wince, earning a soft laugh from the brothers, as Lindir pressed the poultice to her wound. “I can’t imagine how many elves he’s tried to set on fire being in their home.”

“I’ll be back,” he promised, looking them sternly in the eyes. “No moving – you’ll dislodge it.” He turned, and vanished from the door, immediately earning the ceasing of footsteps, before they began again, hurriedly.

“Is she alright?” Thorin’s voice travelled easily through the walls. 

“She is quite fine, your Majesty,” Lindir replied, calmly. Faëlisse could hear the hidden smirk in his voice, raising an eyebrow at the brothers, who just grinned back at her. “I’ll check if she’ll see you, if you would like?” 

“I shouldn’t disturb her,” Thorin hesitated, making the brothers snort.

“If anything, you will be a calming influence in that room,” Lindir assured him, as the door clicked open and closed again. “I hate to say this, but Elrohir’s right.” Faëlisse glared at him, as he wrapped her wound.

“Excuse me?” she questioned, sitting up once he fixed the bandages in place.

“You’ve scored a king,” Elladan translated, despite her already fatal look.

“The only one who’s scored a king is the mountain he calls home,” she answered, as Elrohir pulled the door open to invite Thorin in, just in time to see Faëlisse’s knuckles land firmly on Elladan’s shoulder. “Hi, Thorin.”

“Am I interrupting?” Thorin questioned, as Elrohir pulled up another chair for him.

“Not at all,” she smiled, widely, “Have you met Elladan, Elrohir and Lindir?” She gestured to the three elves around her. “Elladan and Elrohir are Elrond’s sons, and Lindir is his partner and friend.”

———————

“How is Faëlisse?” Fili questioned, innocently, as the brothers sidled up to Thorin in the corridor.

“Healing, and happy,” Thorin replied, resisting the urge to grind his teeth at the memory of one of the brunet elves fixing the braid in her hair.

“Are her brothers with her?” Kili asked, guiding his uncle into the dining hall, where the rest of the company was causing a rather subdued ruckus.

“Brothers?” he queried, taking a seat between Balin and Dwalin, with his nephews opposite him.

“Elladan, Elrohir, and Lindir?” Fili said, munching down on some salad. “And Lord Elrond – remember, she called him Adar, he’s in charge. They’re not actually related, but she’s basically adopted them as her family.” Thorin’s thoughts floated back to the room.

“Yes, they were,” he confirmed, picking at the salad, “You’re sure they’re her family?”

“She didn’t stop talking about her crazy brothers,” Kili informed him, with a wild grin, “Gave us half our ideas for pranks, between her childhood and theirs.” 

“I’ll have to remind her to stop talking to you,” Dwalin muttered, glaring distastefully at the greenery in front of him.

“Stop talking to who?” Faëlisse’s voice made them all jump, as she took a seat beside the brothers.

“Us,” Fili and Kili sulked, simultaneously.

“Arm?” Dwalin grunted, unceremoniously. 

“Good as new,” she smiled, happily. “Lindir and Elrond are the best healers around.” “Oi!” Oin complained.

“I thought you were deaf?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Dead? Me? You’re the idiot who got herself stabbed!” he grouched, turning back to the table, as Gloin shrugged, helplessly. Faëlisse and the Durin brothers burst into laughter, as Elladan and Elrohir entered, snatching their chairs from the table where Elrond and Gandalf sat.

“Do you mind if we join you?” The question was aimed at the whole table, but all eyes were firmly fixed on Thorin. He considered the two for a moment, before nodding.

“By all means,” he replied, tactfully, “It is the least we can offer in thanks for your hospitality.” The elven brothers grinned, taking their seats on the other side of Faëlisse, and immediately descending into chatter with the Durin brothers. Faëlisse glanced across the table mid-laugh, meeting Thorin’s almost-smiling eyes with her own. She smiled, softly, before turning back to the others, wincing as she twisted her injured shoulder. 

Thorin watched as Faëlisse kissed each of her brothers and her cousin on the cheek, and then Kili and Fili, bidding them goodnight warmly. The rest of the company was too absorbed in their chaos, so she simply waved, not risking the makeshift dance floor, before she made her way over to them.

“Goodnight,” she smiled, planting a gentle kiss on Gandalf and Elrond’s cheeks, before hugging Balin. She hesitated in front of Dwalin, who just opened his huge, tanned arms, letting her leap in for a warm hug.

“May I walk you to your room, milady?” Thorin asked, before she could dismiss him.

“Only if you are going that way, your majesty,” she agreed, as he rose to his feet.

“Indeed I am,” he said, nodding goodnight to the others at the table. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Elrond.” She lead the way out of the hall, before she stumbled a little. Thorin caught her with her good arm, and steadied her on her feet.

“Are you alright?” he queried, carrying a little of her weight. 

“Indeed, thank you,” she smiled, gently, “Lindir’s herbs are starting to kick in, I suppose. They tend to make for a potent combination. I appreciate your help.” He pushed open the door to her room and she sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling out a small container of poppy milk that Lindir had left for her. 

“You know which room you are?” she asked, recalling that the dwarven leader had lost his way even in the Shire.

“Well…” he muttered, remembering the unfamiliar carvings on the door, the maze of marble halls, “I’ll find it.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“Stay here for tonight,” she yawned, fumbling with the ties on her delicate dress, before slipping it off to reveal a long shift beneath it. “I will show you the way in the morning.”

“I shouldn’t,” Thorin protested, weakly, as she climbed, sleepily, into one side of the huge bed. “It isn’t pro–“ “It is practical,” she interrupted, burying her face in the pillows. “If you would prefer properness, feel free to wander the halls until Elrond takes pity and sends someone for you.” He sighed, knowing she was correct, before stripping down to just his trousers, and climbing into the bed beside her. She seemed to already have been lost in the sea of blankets, and he wondered, briefly, what he had even been worried about.

“Faëlisse!” Dwalin’s voice thundered into the room, fists slamming loudly on the door the next morning.

“Come in, Dwalin,” she answered, blearily, “And stop that forsaken banging.”

“Thorin is–“ His sentence stopped dead as he stared at the scene in front of him. “Thorin is right here,” she said, as the red-faced dwarf king could do nothing but stare at his best friend. “He could not find his room last night, and I was too tired to show him the way. Now either both of you leave me in peace, or Thorin and I both get to go back to sleep. Either way, I’m sleeping.” The two dwarves rumbled out a chuckle, and Dwalin backed out of the room.

“The others are not awake yet,” he said, turning away, “I will…return to my room.” Thorin sighed, flopping back onto the mattress, as Faëlisse curled back up.

She blinked her eyes open, the soft pillow beneath her head distinctively cold against the warm surface she was pressed against. The warm, breathing surface. The warm, Thorin surface. She peered up at him, desperately hoping to see his eyes closed, so she could edge away without his noticing, despite the arm wrapped around her shoulders, but she was met with gunmetal eyes. Very open gunmetal eyes.

“Good morning, again,” he greeted, softly, allowing her to unfurl from him. “You were having a…rather aggressive dream. It was either be cuddled or be kicked.” His soft laughter was infectious, and she giggled, as she ran a hand through her curly hair. 

“Apologies,” she offered, as the door inched open again, revealing eight mischievous eyes. Mischief turned to fear as they realised they’d been caught. “Ah, I knew you four would make a formidable team,” she commented, as the culprits slunk into the room. “Mahal help us all.”

“Did you sleep well, Faëlisse, Uncle?” Fili asked, innocently.

“Well, he must’ve slept better than he would have wandering the halls,” Faëlisse defended, though she couldn’t help the rising flush.

“So you’re saying this is all because Uncle has no sense of direction?” Kili confirmed, eliciting snickers from his companions, and a growl from his uncle.

“I don’t believe either of us had enough mead last night to justify any other suspicions,” Thorin grumbled, but no one missed the matching pink tinge on his cheeks.

“Faë!” A child’s voice squealed, as a tiny bundle of dark hair raced through the open door, pouncing on her.

“Estel, my little rovén-hén,” she smiled, scooping him into her arms. “How have you fared?” “I’ve been to Lothlorien!” he exclaimed, excitedly, launching into babble about the other Elvish homeland. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, then, turning to Thorin, who was staring at the infant in disbelief.

“Estel, that is Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,” Faëlisse informed him, easily, “Thorin, this is Estel, Lord Elrond’s ward.”

“You’re a king?” Estel’s eyes widened. “What’s it like? I’m gonna be a king when I grow up!”

“Are you?” Thorin snapped out of his daze, as the child crawled over onto his lap.

“Yeah! I am!” he said, bouncing up and down, as he began to describe his perfect future kingdom. “Are you going to marry Faëlisse?” The room paused, letting the statement sink in, as Faëlisse and Thorin stared at the child, horrified, with the four mischief-makers unable to control their laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, turning to them, as they sank to the floor. “Gilraen said that people only get in bed together if they love each other very much. And he’s not her brother!”

“Thorin and I are friends, rovén-hén,” Faëlisse explained, finally snapping out of her shock. 

“But–“ he began, furrowing his little brow. “I think it’s time you showed Kili and Fili where to get breakfast,” she interrupted, flying him off the bed, despite the protests of the mischief-makers.

“I can do that!” Estel exclaimed, grabbing one of Kili’s hands and one of Fili’s, leading the two out of the room at a run, with a still-laughing Elladan and Elrohir on their heels. Silence fell across the room again as the door shut, firmly, behind the group.

“Is Estel…Is he your son?” Thorin asked, desperately trying to sound only curious.

“Oh, no,” she answered, easily, standing to pull on a clean, lavender shift and dress. “I mean…he is in all but blood. His mother is Gilraen…he reminds her far too much of her widow, so since Elrond took them in she has drifted away.” Her musing was interrupted by the black flurry which flew through the window, attaching itself to her shoulder. 

“Ah, welcome back, Quessë,” she smiled, scritching the owls dark neck. 

“What’s so funny?” Dwalin grumbled, suspiciously, as the laughing Durin brothers and the two elves were led in by a smiling child. “And who’s the kid?”

“Estel, Lord Elrond’s ward,” Fili answered, as the others struggled to still their laughter. 

“And your amusement?” Balin queried, from a distance. 

“I have never seen a face as red as your king’s when this one asked if he was going to marry our sister,” Elladan replied, through his laughter. The room stopped, then burst into uproarious laughter. 

“Oh Mahal,” Bofur choked, staggering up to them, “What did he say?”

“He just…stared,” Kili managed, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes, “They both did! I thought they were going to implode. Good job, kiddo.” He ruffled Estel’s hair, and the human child stared up at him, confused.

“What? I still don’t understand why this is funny!” he complained, huffily. 

“Because, Esté,” Elrohir said, glancing down at the irate boy. “Those two are madly crushing on each other, but they haven’t admitted it yet.”

“But, whyyyy?” Estel’s brow furrowed. “Why haven’t they? I’m going to a–“ “No, no,” Elladan grabbed the child before he could take off again, “You can’t say a word about this to either of them, alright? Pretend we didn’t tell you.” “Clueless questions about marriage are quite fitting, however,” Fili mused, catching Kili’s twinkling eyes. 

“Oh yeah, keep doing that,” Elrohir nodded, grinning, “We’d never get away with it, but Faë’ll let you off easy.” Estel matched Elrohir’s grin, mischief forming in his bright, dark eyes, as he sprang from Elladan’s arms and bounced at their feet, eyes fixed on the huge stacks of pancakes on the table. 

“Last one to the table’s a rotten egg!” he grinned, shooting off to one of the wooden stools, sending the other four scrambling after him.

Thorin collided directly with his wrathful general as he exited Faëlisse’s room, wrinkling his nose at the disgusting smell.

“What is that?” he complained, stepping quickly back, to get a good look at Dwalin, just as Faëlisse appeared beside him. 

“Estel beat you to the table, didn’t he.” It was more a statement than a question, earning an irate growl of affirmation from Dwalin. A large, brownish egg yolk rested on the top of his bald head, the greyish tendrils of off egg white sticking to his hair and beard. The rest of the Company rounded the corner, quickly retreating at the sight before them. “I’ll show you to the baths.” She raised her voice, summoning the other dwarves. “At least if you’re all together Thorin can’t get lost.” She danced out of the king’s reach, taking up the lead.

“Clothes?” Faëlisse requested, knocking at the door of the change room. “Dwalin, especially, Estel and I will get the egg out of yours. You’ll want to at least start the rest of our journey clean.” She looked down at Estel, reproachfully, who looked down at his feet, pouting. The door opened, eliciting loud shrieks of protest, as a basket was handed to her. 

“Oh, sissies,” she huffed, as the culprit – a towel-enshrouded Bifur – closed the door, quickly. “It’s not like that.” “You wouldn’t be saying that if Thorin didn’t have a towel on, lassie!” Bofur’s statement was followed by the resounding flick of a towel slapping against bare skin, and a squeal from the offending dwarf. 

“There are innocent ears out here, Bofur,” she scolded, as Estel finally looked up from his feet.

“There are innocent in ears in here, too!” Dori complained, and even without looking in, everyone, including Faëlisse, could see him clutching a confused Ori’s ears.

“What does that mean?” he questioned, frowning. “What difference does a towel make? Aren’t you and Thorin getting married anyway?” That sent another wave of laughter through the dwarves.

“We better go do the washing,” Faëlisse said, hoisting the basket onto her hip.

“You didn’t say no, lass!” Kili called, but she just shook her head, leading Estel towards the laundry rooms to the echoing sound of Kili’s pained squeal.

“Stop encouraging the kid,” Thorin scolded, as the rest of the company moved towards the baths. “He may be genuinely confused, but you aren’t.” The dwarves clamoured in disagreement, and Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to Dwalin, who just shrugged.

“I’m confused too,” the warrior teased, darting out of the way of Thorin’s towel-whip. “Perhaps to a different extent to the child.”

“What’s so confusing?” he huffed, sinking into the warm water. “Faëlisse didn’t trust me to find my way through the halls.” “Well, you did get lost in the shire,” Bilbo pointed out, breaking his silence on the issue. “I can’t say I blame her. Especially with how obvious the mark on my door was.” 

“Well, then, what’s so confusing?” Thorin repeated, flicking water at his sniggering nephews.

“You think we believe that you would’ve stayed if it was anyone except her who said it?” Balin asked, raising an eyebrow from beside Thorin.

“Aye, if it’d been me, ya would’ve stormed off and had to be fished out of some ravine on the other side of Middle Earth,” Dwalin agreed, on the king’s other side.

“I–“ Thorin frowned, insistently blaming his heated cheeks on the warm water. “Definitely would’ve,” Fili completed, with a shit-eating grin. 

“Why don’t you just admit you like the lass?” Gloin asked, reclining back in the warm water.

“Even I can see it,” Bilbo agreed, before ducking under the water, soaking his light curls into a dark mop.

“Aye, ya look at th’girl same as Gloin looked at Mizim,” Oin nodded, sagely, ear horn sitting at the side of the pool.

“I thought you were deaf,” Thorin snarked at the old healer.

“Dead?” Oin repeated, irritably, “And here I had the same discussion with Faëlisse last night. You’re both as stupid as each other, you’ll make quite a pair.”

———————

“Touch me again, you great slug,” Faëlisse snarled, kicking aside the huge, rotten tooth she had knocked from the goblin king’s mouth. “And I’ll serve your delightful subjects your intestines for dinner.”

“Will you, now, daughter of Feanör?” The Goblin King sneered, ensuring that he fastened her limbs together as he lifted her the second time. Her skin crackled with heat, sending him into a howling release, but not without tearing the sleeve from her coat. She snatched it up, irritably, tucking it into her belt. 

“To think, this coat lasted through Sauron’s attacks, only to be torn by a measly Goblin,” she huffed, as Gandalf’s voice bellowed through the chamber. 

“Take up arms and fight, you fools.” She was getting very sick of being grouped among the fools. She snatched Dwalin’s axes from the goblin beside her, tossing them to him with a shout, before spinning to hand Thorin Orcrist, in exchange for her various obsidian daggers and sword. He froze, as her hand met his, staring down at her uncovered arm, and the scars that danced up it, white and red and ridged.

“Thorin!” she snarled, slicing a goblin away with his sword. “Give me my blades! And take yours!” The Dwarf King shook his head, looking up at her, abruptly, resuming the weapons trade without a word, his gunmetal eyes glazed, as she turned back into the battle, familiar black-bladed sword swinging.

———————

“Thorin, don’t be a fool!” she growled, snatching, vainly, at the Dwarf King’s charging coat. “Thorin!” Azog overpowered him all too quickly, outnumbered by the white orc and his huge, white Warg, not mention the cheering audience of orcs. Bilbo lunged from nowhere, the glowing Sting held before him, just as Faëlisse leaped from the tree. She landed on her feet on the white Warg’s back, pressing her long, obsidian blade to the Orc’s neck, even as he gripped Bilbo by the collar. 

“Unhand the Hobbit,” she hissed, burrowing her blade deeper into his skin. 

“He is not who I want anyway,” Azog growled, unceremoniously tossing the small creature aside. “The lines of Durin and Feanör ending at once? I could not have asked for more.” Without warning, he flipped backwards, snatching at air where Faëlisse had stood just moments before, only blistering footprints left in her wake on the Warg’s skin. Above his head, the Lord of the Eagles called loudly to his kin, the company of Thorin Oakenshield firmly in their talons. 

“A daughter of Feanör, huh?” Bofur queried, with what was an attempt at cheer, as he took a seat beside her on the Carrock. 

“Indeed,” she smiled, absently, pulling aside the dwarf’s torn and singed sleeve to reveal the blistered burn beneath. She reached for an ointment, waving his shirt over his head, reluctantly, all eyes still fixed on Thorin, even as Oín began tending to other wounds. “I did not take the oath, but I was born the same day my father did, his only daughter. There was nothing I wanted more than to please him, for a time, and then I realised I couldn’t. I was only half-elf, and a girl, at that. I hadn’t taken the oath before I realised what it meant, and then, I couldn’t. The Silmarils cost me everything, everyone I loved. How could I vow to return them to a father whose madness only grew?” She finished cleaning the wound, covering it with a gauze, and letting the hatted dwarf pull his shirt back on. Thorin suddenly shot up from where Gandalf was kneeling over him, leaping to his feet just as quickly.

“You! What were you doing!” Thorin’s voice was low, but harsh, and the relief which had flooded Bilbo’s face vanished. “You nearly got yourself killed. Did I not say that you would be a burden?” The others hustled, awkwardly, unwilling to interrupt their leader. “That you wouldn’t survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” Faëlisse watched Gandalf curiously, but the wizard seemed no more comprehending than the rest of them, as the scene unfolded. “I have never been so wrong in all my life.” And suddenly, Thorin’s anger vanished as quickly as Bilbo’s relief had, and he tugged the confused Hobbit into a warm embrace. The other dwarves hummed, happiness scattering through the group, as Thorin continued to converse with the hobbit. As the sun faded, eagles swooping back out of the landscape, all eyes fixed on the distant peak, alone among the flats.

“Erebor.” Gandalf broke the reverent silence. “The Lonely Mountain. Last of the great Dwarf Kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

“A raven!” Oín exclaimed, as a bird twittered past, “The birds are returning to the mountain!”

“That, my dear Oín, is a thrush,” Faëlisse corrected, from behind them, making the dwarves jump, peering back at the small figure, enshrouded in darkness, petting the black-feathered owl which had returned to her. 

“I will take it as a sign,” Thorin shrugged, turning his eyes back to the mountain, “A good omen.” Faëlisse smothered her doubt, as her optimistically-eyed younger cousin looked forward with the dwarves, pulling out a needle and thread to attend to her torn coat, as the dwarves scattered to set up for the night.

“Faëlisse.” Thorin took a seat beside her, as the others’ loud chatter faded into mountain-rocking snores.

“Thorin,” she answered, turning to the bruised dwarf king. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks to you and your cousin,” he admitted, nodding, “And the meddling wizard, of course.” “Careful, he is not so deep a sleeper that he will not hear your insults,” she laughed, catching Quessë on her wrist as the small owl swooped back down from the air. “Hello Quessë.” Even as she cooed at the bird, she could feel Thorin’s eyes burning into the side of her head. “You should get some sleep, after all, it takes a lot of energy to almost die.” He hummed back, noncommittally, but his eyes turned away from her anyway, for a moment. 

“I’m serious, Thorin,” she urged, pushing him off his perch, towards his bed roll. “You need to sleep. Whatever you wish to say can be discussed in the morning.” 

———————

“Thranduil.” Her history with the elven king was nothing if not amicable, so the stout glare he fixed her with now only caused irritation. “Thranduil, Elven King, please, this is madness.” His guards lead the dwarves away even as she spoke, leaving her to stand before him alone.

“Madness?” he questioned, turning his icy eyes back to her as the door clicked shut. “Madness is a quest to reclaim a mountain of accursed gold, from a dragon who has killed as many as Ancagalon the Black!”

“Smaug is barely an ant compared to Ancagalon,” Faëlisse protested, logically. “I have faced dragons more fearsome than this and won. You could help us, and win the favour of Erebor when the time comes that you need it.”

“Need it? You think I need help from these dwarves?” he spat, looming up over the already shorter halfling. 

“I know you do!” she snapped back, Quessë eliciting a sharp sound of support. “Mirkwood has returned. Spiders and shadows range your woods as I haven’t seen since Sauron’s death!”

“Enough!” Thranduil growled, as she swiftly dodged his hand. “Take her to a cell.” Elven hands caught her wrists, dragging her backwards, but she slapped them off.

“I can walk on my own,” she snarled, glaring at the young blond. “Legolas, my prince.” She nodded, civilly at him, and kept walking, until he opened a cell door before her, and she stepped in.

“Are you alright?” her cellmate queried, and she looked up into the concerned eyes of her shivering young cousin. 

“Indeed I am, Bilbo,” she smiled, pulling off her coat and handing it to him.

“No, you must be freezing,” he disagreed, attempting to hand her back the warm sheepskin.

“I am not cold,” she answered, shaking her head. “I know it is not up to the Baggins taste, but somewhere like this there is little we can do.”

“How are we going to get out of here?” Bilbo asked, finally accepting the jacket, pulling it around his cold shoulders.

“We’ll find a way.”

She grinned as Bilbo held up the keys to the cell, days later.

“I told you the Took blood would come through,” she laughed, quietly, as he set to work retrieving the dwarves from their cells. “This way, to the basement.” “Basement?” Gloin protested, earning himself an immediate shushing. “Why would we go to the basement? We want to get out, not go further in!” 

“Because the basement is where the produce which goes to Laketown is kept,” Faëlisse answered, pulling the door open to reveal two sleeping, drunken guards.

“You’re not serious,” Dwalin huffed, staring at the barrels before him in dismay.

“Barrel rides,” she grinned back, mischievously, earning Kili and Fili’s smiles. “It’ll be fun!”

“This is not fun,” Ori whimpered, as an Orc arrow landed in the wood between his fingers. 

“Get down,” Faëlisse scolded, pushing the young dwarf’s head into cover. “Those arrows are poisoned.”

“Kili!” she growled, sending the arrow at his eye-level into flames, “Get your head down. We cannot hit them from here, just wait until we get past.” He grumbled something about her being no fun, but ducked his head down anyway, still trying to remove the vision of the Orc’s arrow from before his eyes. 

“I said stay in cover!” she snarled, shoving Kili behind her, growling out a curse as the arrow aimed for him clipped into her thigh. Kili’s returning arrow hit the Orc in the eye, knocking him backwards.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, worriedly. “I’m sorry I didn’t–“ “Shh, Aiwë (small bird), it’s fine,” she assured him, turning back as Balin spoke to the bow-wielding Bard. “Bard!” The dark bargeman looked over to her, in surprise, suspicion softening.

“Faëlisse.” His eyes darkened at her wound. “You are injured.”

“I am,” she agreed, as a hum of worry rang through the dwarves. “But that is not the point. It has been too long, dear friend.” 

“Too long indeed,” he nodded, wrapping her in a gentle embrace. “How did you end up with these dwarves?”

“I offered them my assistance,” she answered, shrugging, turning back to the group. “Bard, this is the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Everyone, this is Bard. And your weapons are in one of those barrels.” She gestured vaguely at the fifteen soggy, half-smashed barrels on the shore, and the dwarves turned to them, excitedly.

“Way to win favour,” Bard laughed, shaking his head at her. “Always full of surprises.” “Indeed, how are Sígrid and Bain? Little Tilda?” she continued, fondly remembering the three young children.

“Very well, but they will be better for seeing you,” Bard replied, looking down at her.

“I am afraid I do not come without the company,” she said, shaking her head. “And they will be more difficult to get into Laketown. And more dangerous for you to harbour.” “I have my barge,” Bard offered, reluctantly eyeing up the dwarves and hobbit. “Get back in your barrels and I can take you. Faëlisse, you can stay out – your leg will only be worse for movement, and the Master welcomes you.”

“I know my way around a wound,” Faëlisse muttered, pulling the fresh bandages tighter around her leg, “But at this point, I almost wish it had taken me longer to heal.” She stared out at the dismal, dark sky of Laketown, offering Tauriel one last hug goodbye, before limping a little out the door.

“You should stay here and mend, lass,” Balin told her, once again, as she boarded the boat, Tilda crying into her sister’s shoulder. “The children will miss you.” “I do not see anyone else here who has faced down a dragon and won, Balin,” she answered, tugging her brown hair back into a ponytail. “A daughter of Feanör must use her curse as a gift.”  Her skin crackled, charring around her fingertips, and Balin nodded, sighing.

“It does not make you invincible,” Oin grumbled, appearing behind them.

“No, but it does make me impervious to the dragon’s flames,” she grinned back, eyes glinting with challenge.

———————

Smaug exited the mountain, enraged, already spitting flames at the desolated land. 

“No!” Faëlisse snarled, vaulting from her ledge on the mountain’s edge, sending the dwarves bellowing after her. “She’s on him!” Fili breathed, excitedly.

“She’s on him!” Ori choked, horrified.

“She is literally riding a dragon,” Kili whooped, jumping up and down. “Oh, no.” Flames never reaching so far as Dale, before they circled upwards, around him, Smaug took a sudden turn downwards, spiralling towards the city. “She’s crashing a dragon.” A sudden force tugged him aside with a fiery flash, and two figures dropped from the sky.

“No, no, no!” Bard growled, tossing aside his bow, as Bain stared into the sky, horror tinging his young face. The two of them belted down the stairs of the watchtower, racing for the river on the outskirts of town. “Why was she riding the bloody dragon?”

He arrived at the river at the same time as the Company, Smaug’s huge body overshadowing the site. 

“Why was she…I didn’t think she’d be–“ None of the dwarves replied, staring in horror at the unmoving surface of the lake.

“What are you staring at?” Tilda’s voice questioned, innocently, searching for something more interesting than the fallen dragon.

“Whatever it is, can you stop?” Sigrid continued, huffing, “She needs a medic.” They all looked over at the two girls. Three girls. Faëlisse was sitting beside Sigrid, blinking dazedly.

“That was a nice shot, Bard,” she mumbled, dizzily, before slumping backwards into the mud.

“Faë!” Tilda screamed, scrambling for the halfling, as the others hurried over, Oín and Gandalf quickly settling by her side.

———————

“And here I thought my cousin was wrong when he told me you had traded your honour for treasure. Elves and orcs stand on your doorstep,” Faëlisse said, voice echoing decisively through the stone hall, as she and Dwalin thrust open the doors to the throne room. “Your cousin Dain is set to arrive and plunge into a battle you will not even look upon. You just betrayed Bilbo’s trust, and mine, and your Company’s. And you sit upon the throne as though you deserve it.” 

“Silence!” Thorin growled, jumping to his feet, “If you wish to join the traitor, I can throw you from the battlements as well.”

“Go on, then,” she dared him, eyes flashing, “Touch me and you will lose your hand, king or not.” 

“You sit here in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head,” Dwalin spat, “And yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.”

“Go. Before I kill you,” Thorin growled back. She could see the pain in his eyes, behind the hatred, the confusion. She could see him hearing his own voice but not recognising the words. The two of them stalked out, but she paused in the doorway, earning Dwalin’s questioning gaze. She waved him forward, and he hesitated, until she shoved him on his way.

“You know the worst thing about all this?” Faëlisse’s voice was unshakable, sharper than any blade. “I thought you deserved this throne, once. I fought to put you upon it, to put my faith in you over the advice of my family, of my age-old allies and friends. We fought to put you upon it. And you stand before us as though it is a birthright you had no help in claiming.” She stormed back down the hall, snatching Orcrist from his belt, before dancing back out of reach. “You are worthy of your grandfather’s crown, sure enough, but not of Ecthelion’s blade.” She slammed the door behind her, and ran, blindly, tears scorning her cheeks, tracing the familiar path back to the battlements.

“I am going to fight,” she interrupted the dwarves’ debate, hanging Orcrist on the wall beside the others’ weapons. Not a word was spoken. “Farewell, my friends.” She trapped each of them into a tearful hug, as they stared at her, uncomprehending.

“But, Thorin said–“ Ori began, but she shook her head.

“He is not my king,” she told him, sadly, “And he is not the same person I grew to love.” She gave the young dwarf a quick peck on the cheek, swinging her legs over the battlements. As she was grabbed by the arms from either side.

“Wait! Faëlisse, no, you can’t just…” Kili trailed off, still gripping her right arm tightly.

“You can’t just go,” Fili continued for him, from her other side. Both of them held their grip resolutely as she tried to shake it off.

“I can and I am,” she replied, carefully working to pry their resisting fingers from her arms, “I have a responsibility for Bilbo, and a duty to myself. Thorin has fallen as far as my father did – I will not watch that again.” Fili paused, but released her, as Dwalin laid a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll come back, though?” hke whispered, voice shaking a little. 

“I just stole your Uncle’s precious sword,” she laughed, bitterly. “He will not have me back. I will write, so will Bilbo. You have my word.” Kili’s eyes tore between her and his brother, face falling further if possible, but he let her go.

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing each of the brothers on the forehead. “I love you. So does Thorin. He will come back to you, I am sure of it. Your place is in your home, in Erebor. My place can no longer be here, even if it tears my heart.” Then she dropped, swinging on the rope Bilbo had slid down, and somersaulting to her feet. She paused, at the bottom, and waved to them, before disappearing into Thranduil’s tent. 

“Faëlisse,” Gandalf breathed, as she entered. “Are you alright?”

“Unharmed,” she replied, dusting herself off.

“But…Faë,” Bilbo protested, quietly, staring, shell shocked at his cousin. “You love him.”

“I stole his precious Orcrist from his very belt, Bilbo,” she laughed, even as tears melted from her eyes. “And told him he was not worthy of Ecthelion’s blade. I called him his grandfather. My place was no longer in Erebor. But I will fight to defend it, if I must.” This last she said with a pointed look into Thranduil’s cold, blue eyes. 

“You think I fear a halfling who was foolish enough to fall for that dwarven scum?” the Elven King scoffed, his head snapping back with a loud crack as her fist slammed across his face. Tauriel leapt into a defensive position, fending off any further attacks, but Faëlisse had already turned away. 

“At least he has a heart when he is in his right mind,” she told him, spitting at his feet. “You know what I am capable of, Thranduil. And it will bring me no joy, but I will burn your entire army to the ground if I must.”

“Faëlisse,” Gandalf rumbled, warningly. 

“There will be no need,” Bard assured her, with a warning glare at Thranduil. “We are far from the greatest danger to the mountain.”

“Azog,” Faëlisse agreed, the white warg’s howl curdling her blood. 

“Will you follow me, one last time?” Thorin’s  voice cracked as spoke, but the Company only nodded, reaching for their weapons. He reached back, pulling Orcrist from the walls, scanning the 13 faces before him. 

“Where is Faëlisse?” They froze in their movements, faces filled with guilt and worry.

“She followed her cousin,” Fili piped up, bravely. “As we should.”

———————

“And here I thought you could fight your own battles, agrecthion (despised)?” She emerged from behind the burning catapult, black blade drawn. 

“Ah, the line of Feanör ends at last,” Azog rumbled back, stumbling to his feet again.

“It is well past our time,” she smirked back, with a shrug. “But Coivë-antë (Life-Giver; name of her blade) has yet to fail me.” She would at least leave him with another scar. 

———————

“No!” Tauriel snatched Fili’s wrist as he tumbled, a long gash running across his chest, and Faëlisse swung her blade at Azog, making the white orc simply growl, as though she were a mere nuisance. Fili stumbled forward again as Azog disappeared from sight, back into the hill. 

“Fili,” Faëlisse fretted, hurrying to the blond prince. “Are you alright?” 

“I am,” he nodded, looking to Tauriel. “Thank you, Captain.” Tauriel just nodded, with a gentle smile, catching the blond prince as he swayed. 

“I have to go,” Faëlisse said, hurriedly. “Tauriel, can you make sure he makes it back to the Mountain?”

“Yes, but where are you going?” the elf queried, beginning to lead Fili down the stairs. “You cannot just face him alone.”

“Ravenhill,” Faëlisse answered, before springing from the window the same way Azog had, landing in a snowdrift on the nearby hill, and disappearing. 

She was silent as she pounced, tackling Azog to the ground. 

“I told you,” she growled, tearing her dagger across his chest as he wrestled her off. “You have to go through me.” Azog tossed the smaller creature aside, leaving Kili in his wounded pile to the side, and facing Thorin again. 

“Pathetic.” His voice echoed over the battlefield. “Your halfling girlfriend fights for you.”

“I am no one’s,” Faëlisse snapped, dragging herself to her injured feet, still swaying. “And I have fought for longer than even the King Under the Mountain.” Azog scoffed, knocking her unsteady form aside as she approached him again. Tauriel was out of his line of sight as she appeared, reaching for her fallen dwarf. As the second prince disappeared from the battlefield Faëlisse felt her chest lighten a little, before Azog decided she would stay down this time, satisfied by the blood pooling in the snow around her, and turned back to Thorin.

Thorin stood on the ice, panting. 

“Move!” Faëlisse yelled, urgently. “You have to–“ Azog’s sword emerged from the pond, slicing through Thorin’s foot, followed by the Orc himself, turning his blade on Thorin as he stumbled backwards. Faëlisse staggered to her feet and leapt forwards, throwing all of her small body against the Orc, knocking him back. She felt his blade sink into her stomach, but she pushed again, harder, and he fell back, losing his grip on the blade. She pulled it from her stomach, sinking to her knees from the pain, but sliced it across the exhausted orc’s knees anyway, separating his lower legs from his scarred body. Azog screamed in pain, collapsing over the edge of the hill as Faëlisse’s vision faded to black and she fell forwards into the snow. 

“Faëlisse!” Tauriel’s voice was the last thing she heard, Thorin’s shocked, horrified gaze the last thing she felt. 

Tauriel snatched her friend from the ground, embedding her hand over the wound to stem some bleeding, as the dwarf king stared, hopelessly. 

“Can you get yourself back to the Mountain?” she asked, looking down at the fallen dwarf, blood seeping from his foot and various other wounds. “Or shall I send someone to fetch you?”

“I…can walk,” Thorin answered, clambering to his feet and limping after her. “Why did she do that?” The elf in front of him scoffed, shaking her head. 

“Why do you think?” she challenged, not slowing her fast pace.

“I treated her poorly the last time I saw her,” Thorin continued, lost in his thoughts. “I treated all of them so poorly. And they followed me into battle.”

“You are their king,” she told him. “But, first and foremost, you are their friend.” The room was flooded with elves – from Mirkwood, from Rivendell. 

———————

“Tauriel!” One of the brunet elves Faëlisse had called her brothers appeared, as they entered the infirmary the mountain had become. “Where’s Faë?” He darted through the crowd, managing to clear his view to fix his eyes on the limp halfling in Tauriel’s arms. He snarled an Elven curse, before turning back into the crowd, leading Tauriel after him, with Thorin staggering to keep up. 

“Adar!” Elrohir summoned, urgently, making Elrond look up from bandaging Fili’s wounds. He leaped to his feet, shouting to one of the other Elven healers nearby, and gesturing to Tauriel to lay her down. Her face was deathly pale as breaths struggled through her lips, blood seeping out with each one. He pressed his hands to the wound, with a shout behind him, sending Lindir bustling over with a needle and thread. 

“Faë,” the elf minstrel choked, kneeling down beside her, as Elrond began to stitch the wound. 

“Fetch Mithrandir,” Elrond ordered Elrohir, “Then find your brother and keep Estel out of here.” Elrohir nodded, a last lingering glance over Faëlisse’s still form, before he vanished back into the crowds of people. 

“Lord Elrond, your son–“ Gandalf’s words cut off, abruptly, and Thorin watched in horror at the first time he had seen the wizard rendered speechless. What he had hoped to cause as a triumph now settled deep into his soul as the signature on her death warrant. Gandalf knelt beside the two elves, as Elrond finished stitching, resting his hands over the wound. 

“We need Radagast,” he breathed, looking back at the elves, fear written across his face. 

“Radagast is in Rhosgobel!” Lindir protested, wildly. “He will not get here in time.”

“Where is Quessë?” Gandalf demanded, turning to Thorin and Tauriel as they stood above the scene. 

“I…she flew away.” Thorin scanned his memory, finding only the mess of black feathers which shot past his face as Faëlisse pounced on the white orc. 

“No,” Gandalf muttered, sinking back to his knees, casting his eyes over the friend who had stood beside him for longer than any other, “No. She can’t have.” He jumped to his feet, barging past the mismatched pair that stood at be bedside, prickling at one another’s presence. If the shorter wizard hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve stormed directly into him. 

“Radagast,” he breathed, eyes catching the brown wizard. “How did you–“

“Animals are better eyes than people.” He looked past, expression falling grave, fixing on Faëlisse. He knelt beside her, as Thorin wondered how many more people would kneel beside her and do nothing. Laying his hand over her wound, he whispered in an ancient language, Quessë and the hedgehog snuffling into her curly brown hair, chirruping quietly. Faëlisse’s eyes flickered open, recognising Radagast’s form learning over her. 

“Radagast?” she breathed, meeting the wizard’s worried brown eyes as he looked up at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Quessë fetched me,” he answered, earning a proud chirp from the tiny owl. “Good thing, too. Gundabad blades are nasty things.”

“Ugh, you’re telling me,” she sighed, as Sebastian moved to curl up on her chest. She looked up, catching sight of Thorin and Tauriel standing over her. 

“You two should really see a healer,” she commented, vaguely, taking in the various lacerations scattered across their forms, and the single foot Thorin balanced on. “You scored a pretty rough blade to the foot, Your Majesty.” Thorin almost winced at the formality, but did not have the chance, as the two other injured were hustled away to be tended. 

———————

“Shh, shh, its alright, Raurion,” she soothed, reaching for the trembling heir as he shot up in the night. Fili stared at her, eyes wide, then sank back into her shoulder as she clutched him to her. “You’re safe.” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, as her fingers threaded through his knotted hair. “I’m sorry irak’amad.” 

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Raurion.” She leant forwards, pulling her blanket up around Fili. “The most hardened warriors have battle dreams. There is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“What happened to your arms?” he asked, suddenly, as the white, ridged scars on her forearms glowed lighter in the moonlight, and he recalled the ridges he had felt when he had untied her from the battlement.

“I fought myself,” she replied, voice shaking, as she tightened her arms around him. “I fought myself in a way which no one should. Don’t ever, Fili. You are far too loved for that.” She felt a tear that wasn’t her own splatter onto her arm, but she only leant back against the cold stone behind her, a soft hum rising from her chest.

“You are too loved for that, also, irak’amad,” Fili said, after a long pause, breaking through her humming. She smiled, softly, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

“Thank you, Raurion.”

“Kili, Kili. You’re safe, Aiwë.” She felt Fili stir, and shift off her, both of them reaching for the crying prince. “It’s just Faë, and Fili.” She clutched him to her as she had his brother, as Fili watched, gripping his little brother’s hands firmly.

“I don’t know what I’m snivelling about,” Kili offered, attempting to wipe away his tears. “I did not see the worst of it.”

“You have the right to remember,” Faëlisse told him, firmly. “You both do. The right to remember, the right to cry, the right to be scared. There is no weakness in fear or in memory. And there is no weakness in seeking help.” She opened her arms a little, and Fili joined the huddle, bringing the warm blanket with him, warding out the chill.

“It seems the lass has adopted yer nephews, ye miserable ol’ bastard.” Dwalin’s voice woke her the next morning, and she fluttered her green eyes open to catch sight of the whole company gazing down upon them. Kili and Fili were each tucked under one arm, with the blanket tightly wrapped around the three of them. Seeing that they were still asleep, she fixed her glare on the loud warrior, earning him a nudge from his brother, and the instruction to be quiet. Thorin limped over from the other side of the room, and she avoided his light eyes, leaning back again and begging for sleep to return.

“Well, can’t say I blame them,” Thorin muttered, with a wry smile, careful not to raise his voice any louder than it needed to be. “I’d prefer someone with some sense and kindness over a gold-sick fool.” Muffled laughter drifted through the company, tinged with relief, as Dwalin slapped Thorin on the shoulder.

“Estel! Faë is sick, don’t wake her.” Faëlisse lifted her head as Elladan’s familiar voice carried into the room, following quick footsteps.

“No, no, I’m awake,” she whispered, smiling up at them. “You can only come in if you’re really quiet, rovén-hén. Will you go back to sleep?” Estel nodded, obediently, clambering into the pile, and curling up on her lap, in the small gap between the slumbering young dwarves. Elladan shook his head, looking down at the pile of sleeping bodies. 

“Made to mother.” Elladan grinned, and padded out of the room, calling over his shoulder. “Adar will want to check your wounds soon.” 

———————

“Estel!” Kili cooed as he woke, the rest of the company having drifted out of the room. “I didn’t know you were here. How do you like Erebor?” 

“It’s huge!” Estel exclaimed, bouncing up and down in Faëlisse’s lap. “And really pretty! But it made Amalsain (new mother) sick.” 

“That was not Erebor, rovén-hén,” Faëlisse chuckled, ruffling the little boy’s hair with her now-freed hand. He immediately perked up, smiling again.

“I like it then!” he declared, happily. 

“Alright, sweet as this is,” Elrohir declared, entering beside his father, “You’re gonna have to break it up so we can check you.” Kili, Fili, and Faëlisse all groaned, reluctantly shuffling apart, each of them frantically reaching for a warm blanket or coat from their pile, much to the amusement of the watching dwarves. Elrohir knelt beside Fili, Lindir beside Kili, and Elrond beside Faëlisse, with Estel still clinging to her side. 

“Any pain in the night?” Elrond asked, as she pulled her shirt up to reveal the wound, making Faëlisse laugh.

“You mean other than the pain of my internal organs restitching themselves, right?” she teased, making Elrond roll his eyes.

“Ew,” Estel complained, wrinkling up his nose. “That’s gross, Amalsain.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Fili agreed, as Elrohir cleared him with a simple bandage change. 

“Did you sleep?” Elrond continued with his questions, swallowing his amusement at the two young boys with the bitter appearance of the hole in Faëlisse’s abdomen.

“Of course, I had two very effective dwarf prince heat packs,” she answered, earning a playful punch from Fili, “I am a firm believer in the theory that warmth and hugs ease any pain.” 

“And here I thought you were just being kind.” Fili feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I feel used,” Kili joked, also joining them. 

“Well, what can I say?” she grinned back, wincing as Elrond gently cleaned the wound. 

“Oi, give the lass some space,” Dwalin commanded, trundling back into the hall. “Bombur’s busy in the kitchen if yer gonna come ’n ‘ave breakfast.” Kili perked at that, and Lindir grabbed him before he could follow Estel in leaping to his feet.

“You literally got stabbed yesterday,” the elf minstrel scolded, “And your leg is broken. Take it slowly.” Kili pouted, but rose more demurely, as Elrohir helped Fili to his feet.

“All you Durins and your troublesome legs,” Faëlisse teased, as both of them limped around for a moment, finding their bearings on their injuries.

“Oh, says the girl whose stomach was punctured,” Kili retorted, poking his tongue out at her. 

“Your foot is injured as well,” Fili pointed out, gesturing to the bandaged limb.

“Sprained.” Elrond answered her questioning look, as she noticed the source of her sore foot for the first time. 

“At least it’ll heal faster than your insides,” Dwalin offered, sniggering, as he reached over to help her up, as the elves packed away their things.

———————

“Bombur, you have truly excelled,” Faëlisse told the red-head dwarf, as she limped into the kitchen with a stack of emptied plates. “I could not be sadder that the hole in my stomach decreased my appetite a little.” Bombur blushed as she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, with a smile. 

“Thank you, Faë,” he murmured, smiling, as she filled a bucket with warm, soapy water from the cauldron over the fire. “It was my amad’s recipe. She was such a fabulous cook.” 

“And you would make her proud everyday,” she assured him, plonking the  plates into the tub. “Go and have fun. Send one of those other slackers in to dry for me, you have done so much this morning already.” He guffawed at that, bustling out the door, leaving the kitchen to fall into silence. Moments passed, then the huge, wooden door clipped open again, and uneven footsteps crossed the floor. Thorin came into sight, without saying a word, picking up a drying towel and one of the plates.

“Thank you,” she said, tightly, quickening her previously lazy scrubbing.

“No need to rush just because I am here,” he told her, noticing the increased pace. “I already have quite a backlog to get through.” 

“Perhaps it is not for your benefit that I hurry,” she replied, almost under her breath. He paused his movement, for just a moment, then continued.

“That would be… understandable,” he conceded, after a time, lapsing back into the tense silence he had entered in.

“You must have come in here for a reason, Your Majesty,” Faëlisse demanded, eventually, as she removed the last plate from the sink. “You are their king, you are one of the worst injured among us. Anyone else could be here.” 

“Perhaps I wanted to help,” Thorin attempted, weakly. She didn’t deign that with a reply, other than to turn away and pick up another drying towel. “Or…perhaps I came because I knew you were avoiding me.”

“Mahal, I wonder why ever that might be,” she snapped back, taking all of her self-restraint not the slam the last plate down. 

“Faëlisse, I… you–“

“I know that what I did could be called treasonous. I know that you can punish me with exile, Thorin,” she snarled, slamming her down and clenching them around the carved stone until her knuckles whitened. “But I am injured, and, quite frankly, I would not make it back to Imladris, even with Adar and the others tending me. Now, do you see? I am selfish. Self-preserving. I do not want to die from a wound inflicted while I acted in defence of my banisher. I do not want to die knowing that it is because the person I foolishly let myself fall in love with simply did not care for me once he had his precious mountain back!” She tossed the towel over her shoulder and stormed out, as well as she could with her foot screaming, and blood seeping from the reopened stitches in her stomach. Lindir met her at the door, wrapping her in a tight embrace, shielding her from the gaze of the dwarves, though she didn’t miss the horrified expressions written across Fili, Kili, Estel, and her brothers’ faces.

“Oh, Faë,” Linder comforted her, “Come on, we’ll get you patched up.” Elrond followed behind as she was led away from the kitchens. 

“What in Mahal did you do?” Thorin was still staring, blankly, at the door, when Kili and Fili burst in, closely followed by Dwalin and Balin attempting to pull them back. “You would banish her after she saved our lives?” His nephews stood before him, seething, and he could see the shadow of Dis within them both in that instant.

“I didn’t…she just…” he stumbled over his words, leaning back against the counter. “She thinks I do not care for her.”

“Yeah, that’s the least of our problems!” Fili snapped, angrily, “She thinks you intend to banish her! I thought you came in here to fix things. I would’ve done it instead if I thought you would make it worse!”

“I didn’t say anything about banishing her!” Thorin yelled back, making the others’ eyes widen. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Why is she so upset with me?”

“What?” Kili questioned, incredulity lacing his tone. “Why is she so– Mahal, you don’t remember.” Realisation dawned over him, and he stepped back, running a hand over his face. “You don’t remember.” The four faces in the room stared at him, dark-eyed. 

“What happened?” He mumbled it at first, then stepped forward, raising his voice. “What happened!”

“You almost killed Bilbo.” Dwalin’s voice was quieter than any of them had heard it before. “And then you almost killed her for defending him.” Thorin stumbled back the single step he had taken, sinking against the counter, but his cousin hadn’t finished. “You cut her sleeves off, took her coat and boots, and tied her to a ledge on one of the battlements in just her dress, and sat guard yourself for a night, to ensure she stayed there the whole time.”

“Once she was freed, the Orcs had already arrived,” Balin continued where his brother had left off. “She and Dwalin went down to your court to call you once more, after she’d recovered. She was damn near hypothermic. You told Dwalin to leave before you killed him. She stayed, and–“ “I remember that,” Thorin cut him off, voice hoarse. “And I must make another apology to you, Dwalin. You have been more than loyal, better than any friend I could ask for, and I treated you like that. I am so sorry.”

“I have put it in the past,” Dwalin grumbled back, gesturing to the door, “I am not the one who fears banishment.”

———————

Faëlisse wandered up the height of the battlements, then clambered up the short gap to the ledge which jutted from near the mountain’s peak, closed off from internal access by a collapse. The battlefield was still scattered with bodies, and three tents stood proudly amongst them – Thranduil’s, Dain’s, and Bard’s. Dain did not need his tent – after all, he was cousin to the king, and would be staying in the mountain. But he insisted it stand, simply to spite Thranduil, whose tent was smaller. A few figures picked through the battlefield, carrying the bodies to their appropriate place. She twisted one of her blades in her hands, running her fingers along its delicate edge. The view was scarred by the battle, as the harsh sunlight glared down on the truths. She slipped off her coat, eying the long, white, ridges which had stood unchanged for more than a year, and could almost have laughed at herself. Breaking such a streak over the King Under the Mountain.

“Irak’amad.” Fili’s voice made her jump from her thoughts, guiltily jerking the knife away from herself, as he appeared beside her. “It’s cold up here. Put your coat back on–“ He ran his hands over her bare arms, gently prying the knife away and tucking it into its sheath on her belt. “You’re freezing! I brought a blanket, and a Kili… and an Estel.” He crossed to her other side, letting Kili squish in on the side closest to the descent. He wrapped the blanket around the three of them, and Estel grinned, burrowing in to sit on her lap, recreating the morning’s position. They settled into a comfortable silence for a moment, just watching the busyness below, before Kili spoke.

“He doesn’t remember.” Faëlisse turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Fili shifted closer, turning so that he was facing in across the group, freeing up her arm. 

“Thorin, he doesn’t remember when he threw Bilbo out,” Kili reiterated, bluntly. Faëlisse scoffed, bitterly.

“I’m not sure if that’s better or worse,” Faëlisse scoffed, bitterly.

“Me either,” Kili admitted, lapsing back into silence, as Estel snuggled into Faëlisse, already asleep in her lap.

“He’s not going to banish you, Faë,” Fili picked up in his brother’s silence. “He…is not the most tactful.” Faëlisse and Kili both snorted, eliciting a wry smile from the blond heir. “But he loves you. I would never ask you to forgive his actions – I don’t think I ever will – but…could you let him offer an apology before you go?”

“Go?” she questioned, looking back at him. “I thought you said he wasn’t going to banish me.” 

“He’s not, but…I thought, once you were better, you’d want to…” Fili hesitated, bewildered.

“He thought he was giving out a punishment befitting a crime,” she murmured, thoughtfully, staring out over the plains again. “Even if he was wrong…”

Kili and Fili darted on and off the ledge for the rest of the morning, but she stayed, Estel asleep in her lap until the afternoon, when he too scampered down the descent, reappearing moments to inform her that Bombur had made lunch. She drifted, warily, into the small dining hall outside the kitchen, immediately being summoned into a seat with Elladan and Elrohir on one side, and Estel and Bilbo on the other. Lindir, Elrond, and Bombur sat in the other nearby seats, Gandalf and Radagast having disappeared earlier in the day. The meal passed uneventfully, with Bofur’s jokes earning laughter from even Thorin, before the topic fell to her. Dain had not joined them for breakfast, having eaten early and left to tend to his men.

“Are you going to introduce me to the young lass?” he asked, eventually, catching sight of her brown locks beside Bilbo’s.

“My cousin, Faëlisse,” Bilbo piped up, with a warm smile at the Dwarven king of the Iron Hills. 

“Our irak-amad,” Fili grinned, mischievously, earning a glare from Thorin, and a surprised snort from Dain, as he lapsed into Khûzdul to speak to his cousin.

“Will you be staying in Erebor, Miss Faëlisse?” Dain queried, catching Thorin’s sharp elbow before it could hit his stomach. 

“Forgive me, my Lord Dain,” she answered, with a careful smile, “But I am not sure of my welcome. I hope to stay until I am healed.” 

“You are welcome here for as long as you wish,” Thorin assured her, hurriedly. “I would not have any member of the company who won our home back turned away.” She smiled, again, more warmly.

“Then perhaps I shall see whether I am wanted or needed,” she rephrased, looking back at Dain. “I have lived too long to waste time where I am doing no good.” 

“A wise principle,” Dain agreed, sagely, but she didn’t miss his eyes flickering to the elves at the end of the table. “But I would almost expect it from the mouth of an elf.” 

“Well, I am half-elven,” Faëlisse stated, coldly, “So perhaps that is not so far from accurate.” Dain couldn’t help it, as his head flicked between her and Thorin, half-whispering to his cousin in Khûzdul. 

“I did not see you or your people offering aid in our expedition!” Kili snapped, eventually, even as Thorin gestured for his silence.

“Actually I recall your courtiers calling it an ultimate folly,” Fili continued, glaring at the red-haired ruler.

“Aiwë, Raurion, that is enough,” Faëlisse commanded, limping up to their end of the table, “I can see that my Lord Dain disapproves of elves as much as his cousin. Perhaps, my Lord, you would take that argument up with me, or at least, in a language I speak fluently. Khûzdul has never been shared with me.” 

“You call even Dwarven princes in that tongue?” Dain demanded.

“You would tell me they dislike it on their behalf?” she challenged, getting up into the seated king’s face, at his eye level. “I do not think it is your business who the princes of Erebor interact with, or how. You are neither their father nor their uncle. You did not even bother to consult them when you discussed their home with their uncle, and now you think you can speak for them in their friendships?” Dain hauled himself to his feet, towering over her, but she didn’t so much as flinch. “I have faced Morgoth, Sauron, Azog, even my own brothers. You will not intimidate me with mere size, tele-falch kanuina.” 

“What did you call me?” Dain asked, anger fading into genuine bewilderment, as Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel burst into uncontrolled laughter. 

“Ass-crack of lead.” She said it with an entirely straight face, looking Dain directly in his brown eyes. The dwarf stared at her for a moment, then his face split into a broad smile.

“Ass-crack of lead?” he guffawed, clapping her on the shoulder. “Oh, my dear, the last time I heard something like that, the man turned around and begged for forgiveness after learning I was a king.” 

“I am afraid that I was already aware,” Faëlisse informed him, as the whole table eyed Dain, tensely quizzical. 

“That is what makes it better,” Dain answered, taking his seat again. “You are made for my cousin. Erebor could not ask for a better queen.” Thorin elbowed him before he could catch it this time, shaking his head, a mortified blush rising to both his cheeks and hers. 

“What have you been calling me?” she hissed at Thorin’s nephews.

“Auntie,” Fili grinned back, and she groaned, turning to meet Thorin’s eyes, awkwardly, as Dain laughed between them, apparently pleased with his matchmaking efforts.

“I mean…” Thorin muttered, hesitantly, “He’s not wrong that Erebor could not find a better queen. That I could not find a better queen.”

“You’re saying this now.” Faëlisse folded her arms. “Here?” 

“You’d prefer I didn’t say it?” he asked, smiling softly. “I am so sorry, amrâlimê. I treated you deplorably.” 

“Oh no, not the eyes,” she sighed, squinting against his power. “You’re right. You thought it was punishment for a crime, but you were wrong. It was deplorable.” She turned away from him, then glanced back at his worried face, before glaring over at Kili and Fili. “You two started this.” 

“Oh, come on, irak-amad,” Kili grinned.

“I even gave you a way out,” Fili agreed, “I said you didn’t have to forgive him, that I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re the one who pointed out the crime and punishment thing.” She huffed at them, then turned on her heel, looking back at Thorin.

“Thorin, I…” she stammered, looking him in the eye as they perched on the battlements. “There are some things we need to discuss before we go any further with this.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, hesitantly. “I must apologise for…everything, really.”

“Thorin, please,” she murmured, shaking her head, eyes fixed on the floor. “You haven’t even been looked at me for weeks. You hung me from your battlements. You almost killed my cousin. And all for a rock. Now, Gandalf has the Arkenstone–“

“Gandalf has it?” Thorin growled, leaping to his feet. She stepped back from him, and he froze, staring at her in horror. The room around them was silent, even as hands fixed themselves on weapons.

“You can’t be surprised after what you’ve done,” she told him, coldly. “If Gandalf returns it, I want you to let Dwalin destroy it.” 

“Destroy the Arkenstone…” Thorin muttered, his eyes dark. “After all this.”

“Thorin, either it stays here, destroyed, or Gandalf takes it,” Faëlisse said, stepping back further, clenching her sword tightly. “And me with it.”

“And us,” Kili and Fili murmured, behind her. “There is no point having this mountain if you would handle the throne the same way it was handled when it was lost.” Thorin looked up at them, the darkness fading from him, as he stared around at the agreeing faces. 

“Thorin,” she whispered, tears clinging to her cheeks. “Please. I don’t want to do this without you.” He stepped towards her, instinctively, but she only drew her blade, holding it between them, shakily. The room held its breath, even as Dain pressed his own blade on Faëlisse’s, lowering them both, slowly, he made no move to prevent her from lifting it again.

“The Arkenstone has done Erebor no good, cousin,” he advised, from his seat. “A Queen would.”

“Dwalin, destroy it,” Thorin commanded, eventually, nodding to Dwalin. The warrior stood, and Gandalf handed him the stone, and he disappeared from the room. Thorin took a seat, sighing deeply. 

“You have to see what it does to you, Thorin,” Faëlisse breathed, sheathing her sword again. “Gold sickness changes you, and that Arkenstone is the source of it. Erebor cannot have a king who will not spend even a single coin in his management of the kingdom.”

“I am not my grandfather,” he ground out, glaring up at her. 

“Then don’t act like him, Thorin!” She raised her voice, gesturing at him. “You sat in your throne room for weeks refusing us any rest as we searched for your precious Arkenstone. You almost killed my cousin and me. You left Kili and Fili in Laketown alone! He would have died if it wasn’t for Tauriel and me! And you left! You walked out Bard’s door as if he was nothing to you, not the precious nephew who’s photo you wear on that chain! If you are not your grandfather then do not act like him!” She stormed out of the room, her footsteps silent even in her rage, brushing off Elrond and Lindir as they reached for her, as Elladan held Estel back.

“Don’t you dare follow her,” Fili growled, matching his uncle’s movements as they stood. “You haven’t the right to see her after whatever that just was.”

Dwalin re-entered, the shards of silver stone gripped tightly in his palm.

“Give them to Gandalf,” Thorin commanded, a sudden wave of inspiration washing over him. “They will be set into gifts for our allies.” The room stared at him, as though he had gone even more insane. “I cannot have it’s remains in my kingdom, I have proven that well enough.”

———————

“Irak’amad!” Kili called out to her, practically bouncing up with his brother, weeks later. Elrond had left almost two weeks ago, taking Estel with him – though he assured her it was temporary – and all their injuries were almost completely healed. Quessë had returned, and remained happily on her shoulder wherever she went. Balin followed more slowly after the brothers.

“Aiwë, Raurion,” she answered, happily. “What are these?”

“Crowns!” Kili answered, eagerly, passing her an intricate silver piece, inlaid with the glimmering white stone. “The silver will be for King Thranduil,” Fili elaborated, holding up two more similar crowns, “The gold for King Bard and the copper for King Dain.”

“And the ring is for Lord Elrond,” Kili added. “They’re made from the Arkenstone.” She almost dropped the crown she was holding, looking up at them both.

“Your uncle is intending to give part of the Arkenstone to Thranduil?” she questioned, incredulously. 

“It seems so,” Balin nodded, almost as disbelievingly as her. 

“And…he – and we – had a request,” Fili continued, nervously.

“Indeed?” she asked, suspiciously.

“Well, Thorin cannot go himself,” Balin started, and she nodded, realisation sinking in.

“I would be happy to accompany the princes,” she assured him, happily, ruffling Kili’s hair.

“He was hoping you would accompany them as regent of the crown,” Balin clarified, her face immediately falling. “Kili is travelling to Mirkwood with the intention not only of passing on the gift, but with a proposal for the Captain of the Guard.” Her face brightened immediately, and she grinned.

“Can Fili not be the ambassador to the crown?” she asked, despite her smile. 

“Well, I can, but…” Fili conceded, almost pouting.

“But you’re proposing this to me for Thorin,” she finished, shaking her head at him, and ruffling his hair. “I will discuss this with him.” She placed a kiss on Fili’s golden brow, and on Kili’s. “Will you accompany me, Balin?”

“It would be an honour,” Balin replied, laughing a little, as the two set off towards the throne room, gathering the jewels from the princes’ hands.

“Thorin,” she greeted him, warmly, placing a gently kiss on his cheek. “I see you have been busy.” 

“I needed to get rid of the Arkenstone, and it seemed only fitting that it finally did some good for the kingdom it has done so much harm to,” he nodded, as Balin returned the precious pieces to their proper places.

“I also heard you wanted a second regent of the crown on the trip,” she added, as Thorin took a seat beside her on the steps leading to the throne. Balin hurried to excuse himself, and vanished from the room, with the quiet thump of the door to the throne room.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured, thoughtfully, “I would…appreciate such.” “And you truly think I would be the most appropriate candidate?” she queried, looking him directly in the eye.

“No one, except perhaps Balin, matches your diplomatic skill,” Thorin agreed, maintaining her gaze. “And…well…if you were to accept my proposal, it is only appropriate for the Queen of Erebor to lead the journey to our closest allies.”

“That is a rather roundabout way of asking me to court you, my King,” she smirked, widely. 

“And that’s a rather roundabout answer,” he snarked back, pulling out a small box, revealing a silver bead, with a tiny, darkly pigmented carving of an owl, and a ring of entwined strands of silver and gold, embedded with a delicate emerald. “Will you accept my offer of courtship, and take your place as Queen Under the Mountain?”

“Of course,” she smiled, pulling out a tiny box of her own. “If you will take me.” Her silver bead was intricately decorated with a longsword through a crown, and the ring was wide and flat, with a small sapphire embedded in the eye of the crow carved upon it.

“Uncle! Did you know Faëlisse was courting someone?” Fili scrambled into the room, with Kili on his heels. 

“She’s got a new braid, and a ring. This must’ve been going on for a while!” Kili continued, outraged. “How did we not know?” “Boys!” Faëlisse shouted, following them in, casting an apologetic smile to the confused company.

“No, no, this is interesting,” Bofur interrupted her attempt to pull them from the room. “Who’s the lucky man?” Ballin shook his head, as the rest of the company stared, accusingly at her.

“Are Kili and Fili the only people in this mountain who have eyes?” she asked, folding her arms. “Why am I not allowed to braid my hair and wear a ring, but Thorin is?” 

“If Uncle had a new braid, we’d – Wait!” The brothers turned on their uncle, looking him up and down with a scrutinising eye. Dwalin picked up Thorin’s left hand, and waved it in the air, the new ring glinting.

“You!” Kili bellowed, accusatorially. “You’re who Faëlisse is courting! And she gave you a ring as well! Is that an elven thing?” 

“Oh, Mahal,” Thorin groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Who else would it be?” Faëlisse questioned, suddenly incredulous. “I didn’t think you were actually asking. You two have been trying to pair us up for a year and suddenly you’re ready to believe I’m courting someone else?” Fili opened his mouth, but closed it again, and they both folded their arms, pouting, as she burst out laughing.

“Well, now that that mystery is solved,” Dwalin huffed, though he couldn’t hide his grin, “Back to business?”

———————

“King Bard,” Faëlisse smiled, embracing the man warmly. His children raced over, clustering around her, clamouring for attention. “Hello Sigrid, Bain.” She scooped Tilda up, scrunching the small girls nose, as Bain showed off his new sword. “We have a gift for you, from Erebor.” Fili laughed at her, as she struggled to pull the crown out singlehandedly, and took it himself, handing it over to Bard.

“Thank you,” the king acknowledged, carefully unwrapping the package.

“It was forged by our Uncle himself,” Kili informed him, happily, “From the shards of the Arkenstone, and the first gold mined in Erebor since our return.” 

“I am honoured,” Bard smiled, as Bain immediately snatched the crown from him, handing it to Sigrid.

“Put it on him, put it on him,” he demanded, grinning at his older sister. Sigrid laughed, lifting the crown above her father’s head, and resting it over his brow.

“Suits you,” Faëlisse laughed, spinning Tilda in the air, before landing her in her father’s arms. “But we must keep going. We need to reach Mirkwood before nightfall.”

“Good luck,” Bard called after them, as the children waved goodbye.

“Oh, wait! We forgot the coronation!” Kili exclaimed, turning them around. “Your official invitation.” He handed over the small envelope. “The children are welcome too, of course.” 

“My Prince,” she greeted Legolas, still astride her horse, “We bring a gift and proposition from Erebor.” He looked her up and down, suspiciously, but nodded, and she dismounted, gesturing to the others to do so also. Legolas’ guards led the horses away, while he led the envoy deeper into the realm, sending a messenger rushing ahead.

“King Thranduil will see you right away,” the messenger told them, greeting them at the door. “This way, please.” They entered the hall, familiarity washing over them, as Thranduil stared down at them from his throne.

“Faëlisse,” he greeted, warmly, the two exchanging kisses on one another’s cheeks. She had saved him in the Battle of Five Armies, and Elrond’s insistence had helped to mend the bonds between them.

“Thranduil,” she smiled, happily. “You know Prince Kili, and Crown Prince Fili.” The two princes stepped forward, and exchanged greetings with the taller elven king.

“Such a delegation cannot be here on a social visit,” he queried, leading them into a conference room and offering them seats.

“And we are not,” Faëlisse agreed, withdrawing the wrapped crown from her pack. “We are here to offer a gift to consolidate connections between Erebor and Mirkwood, as well as your official invitation to the coronation of the royal family.” 

“And?” Thranduil questioned, knowingly, his eyes tracing over Kili, who hadn’t stopped looking around since he had arrived.

“We have a proposal for my dear friend Tauriel,” she confirmed, nodding. Thranduil nodded, gratefully receiving the wrapped package. He unwrapped it, carefully, revealing the glinting silver and stones.

“The Arkenstone?” he asked, placing it gently on the table.

“My uncle thought it suitable for the jewel to be shared among our closest allies,” Fili piped up, his first words since he had greeted the king.

“I appreciate it,” Thranduil smiled, warmly, and Faëlisse grinned. A knock at the door interrupted any response, and Thranduil called for it to open. 

“Tauriel!” Faëlisse beat even Kili in greeting the Captain of the Guard, wrapping her friend in a warm embrace.

“Faë,” Tauriel greeted, “Prince Fili, Kili. How may I be of service, my King?”

“The delegates of Erebor have a proposal for you, Captain,” Thranduil replied, causing Tauriel to look back at them, querulously. Immediately, Fili and Faëlisse stepped back, pushing Kili forward. The dark-haired dwarf was almost trembling as he stood before her. 

“Tauriel, would you do me the honour,” he paused, retrieving a small box from his pocket, “Of accepting my offer of courtship?” Tauriel glanced between the faces in the room, but Thranduil merely nodded to her.

“Yes!” She resisted the urge to squeal. “Yes, I will, Kili. I will.”

“Now, I hate to interrupt,” Faëlisse interrupted, stepping forward before Kili could offer the gifts. “But it is my responsibility as regent of the king to inform you that accepting this courtship also means accepting the responsibility of a Princess of Erebor.” Tauriel nodded, looking her old friend in the eye.

“I accept,” she murmured, and Faëlisse squealed, bouncing back out of the way, and allowing Kili to offer his ring and bead. 

Sweet Dreams

Based On: http://imaginexhobbit.tumblr.com/post/93237523509/imagine-waking-up-to-being-thorins-teddy-bear

Disclaimer: A lil NSFW but only implied.

“Ugh,” You pulled up the collar of your cloak, trying to block the chill air that swept across the cavern, “It’s so cold.”

You tried not to let your teeth chatter, you rarely let others see you shiver. You had always had an odd pride about your ability to handle the cold.

“Oh, is it?” Kili tucked his hands into his sleeves, “I barely even noticed.”

“It’s like the fire isn’t even burning,” Fili was holding his bright red ears, “I could roll across the fire pit and still be cold.”

“Sounds worth a try,” Kili looked longingly at the heat of the fire.

Читать дальше

reblog Mulder’s drawing of bigfoot titties or be cursed for 12 years and 12 nights

Reblog or your mom will die in 928 seconds.

I love my mom.

I am risking nothing

I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY

Will not risk.

sorry followers :(

Reblog or your mom will die in 928 seconds.

I love my mom.

I am risking nothing

I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY

Will not risk.

sorry followers :(

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

The Most Loyal Traitor

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Warnings: slight gore, blood, swearing, mentions of sex and suggestive speech

A/N I had no idea how to tag this so I just tagged it to the best of my ability. 

Summary: (Y/n) was one of the most loyal fighters for the Resistance. That was until she was blamed for deaths that weren’t her fault. When the Resistance turned their backs on her, she did the only thing she could to survive.

The Junior Deputy rounds you like the wounded animal you are. One of Jess’s arrows sticks out of your leg as you sit against a tree. A hard boot connects to your face which lands you in the dirt. You laugh, pushing yourself off the ground to sit against the tree again. 

“Did you think you could really get away?” Rook questions you. 

You grin up at her, blood spilling from your nose and staining your teeth red. “Nah,” you mutter. “I like a good chase.”

“You think this is a game, traitor?” Jess barks at you. You chuckle at the nickname you’ve managed to coin over these past few months. “What’s so funny?” 

“Ignorance,” you answer flatly. “You and the whole fuckin’ Resistance.”

Rook kicks you again, now staining her boot with your blood. “We’re not the ones that turned their back on the Resistance.”

“There you go again makin’ accusations without knowin’ the whole story. Seems like you Resistance fighters are real good at that,” you spit.

“The fuck are you goin’ on about?” Jess growls, stalking toward you. 

“Does it really matter, Jess? Whatever I say won’t change anything and definitely won’t make the Resistance change how they feel about me.” 

Rook comes and kneels on one knee next to you. She grabs your face, seemingly examining you and chuckles suddenly. “And here I thought lust was a sin,” she mocks you, turning to Jess. “Looks like Eli was right. She’s a little more than just Jacob’s favorite soldier.” Rook flicks what looks like to a hickey on your neck and gets back to her feet. “Does Joseph know? I can’t imagine what he’d do to you both if he knew.”

You roll your eyes. “If that’s your way of trying to scare me, you’re doin’ a horrible job.” 

Rook shakes her head, twirling a knife in her hands dangerously. “Nah. I’d be a bit disappointed if that scared you, to be honest. See, the reason we tracked you all the way out here is because Jacob has really pissed the Resistance off. Why doesn’t really matter, but they left it up to us to try to get it through his thick skull that he won’t win. What better way to strike fear into the heart of a cold-blooded killer like Jacob than to mess with what he values most? Obviously, we can’t get to his brothers, or even Faith, easily. So you’re the next best thing-his little play toy.”

Suddenly, Jess grabs your left wrist and pins it to the tree you sit against. Rook walks over and places her boot close to the wound on your leg, creating agonizing pressure as she goes to work cutting your left pinky off. You scream, struggling against the two women, but are no match for the both of them. The sickening crack as Rook cuts between your top and middle knuckle makes you dizzy and seeing your severed finger in her hand only intensifies this feeling. 

She presses the severed finger into the palm of your injured hand. 

“You make sure Jacob understands that if he ever does anything like that again, we will find you and we will cut off all your fingers until he finally does understand. Got it?”

You nod slightly, glaring up at the deputy. 

A small, satisfied smile graces her lips as she looks down at your bloody hand clutching your own finger. 

“If you’re lucky, they may be able to reattach it.” She nudges your jaw with her fist and stands up. You watch as they leave you alone to bleed in the middle of the woods. You cut off some of your shirt and wrap it around your finger. 

“Jake?” you say into your radio. “Jacob, I need some help here.” 

No response.

“I’ll be honest with you,” the doctor says. “I don’t know if reattaching this will work. And if it does, it may not be for the better…” you wince as he moves the finger. 

Jacob stands by, arms folded over his chest with a hard, blank glare on his face. Deputy Pratt stands by, unable to comprehend that Rook, the new deputy he had known, did this to someone. This was different. Very different.

“Leave it off,” you say, surprising the doctor a bit. “Statistically speaking, I’ll probably only get half the use out of it anyway. It’s not even vital to my hand.”

The doctor stares at you for a second. “Okay, if you insist. Let me fix it up so it won’t get infected. Jacob’s eyes focus on the bloody stub and he turns abruptly. He speaks into his radio, rather harshly from the looks of it, and you only realize what he’s saying when a few days later the deputy turns up in one of the cages. 

Every time you see her in one of those cages you can’t help but laugh a little bit. It reminds you how easily Jacob could end everything for her. 

“Well, well, well,” you say, walking up to her cage. “Seems you forgot how easy it is for Jacob to have you here.” You kneel in front of the cage. You’re vaguely aware of Pratt walking up behind you. 

“If it isn’t the traitor in her natural habit, being Jacob’s little bitch.”

“I think that title is reserved for your colleague over there, don’t you?” you question, looking back at Pratt. Truth is, you actually get along with him quite well and you keep Jacob from injuring him too much. You just want to get under her skin, and from the look on her face, it worked.

“Traitorous bitch,” Rook spits at you, literally. A bit of saliva lands on your face and you wipe it away with your left hand. Her eyes lock onto your wrapped finger. 

“You keep callin’ me that…” you start, wiping the spit on your jeans and making eye contact with her. “but have you ever had the intelligence to investigate why I’m a traitor for yourself? No? Didn’t think so…” You chuckle to yourself and pull up a chair. Leaning over, you stare at Rook. “See, at one point, I was one of the Resistance’s most loyal fighters. Even before you stumbled into the picture. I was always out there stickin’ it to the cult,” you laugh, gesturing with your arm. “I was so trusted that Mary May and Pastor Jerome would let me lead groups to go gather supplies and such. 

Rook’s eyes stay focused on you. 

“I warned them to not go after that stash. Told ‘em that it’s too suspicious, that it’s too out in the open for the Peggie’s to not be planning an ambush. Low and behold, they didn’t listen to me. One of ‘em hit a trip wire which caused smoke bombs to go off. Peggie’s shot ‘em up, bullet’s rippin’ holes through ‘em like Swiss Cheese. I didn’t even recognize the people I called my friends.” 

“Why didn’t they kill you, too?” 

“Ah, yeah, that… See, I never killed the Peggies if I didn’t have to. One of the people I spared was there and decided to spare me. Imagine this. Me, a little younger, stumbling back into Fall’s End covered in the blood of my friends, only for Mary May to scream at me for not being a better leader. I tried and tried to explain that I warned them and that they didn’t listen, but she, much like them, didn’t listen either. And then, she banished me. Kicked me out of the Resistance.” 

You lean back in your chair and look up at the sky. 

“I stumbled around from one Resistance post to another only to be threatened and sent away. I begged and begged for them to listen, but no one cared. Not even your beloved Dutch. I was thinking about just getting the hell outta town, but then you just had to start the fuckin’ reaping and I was stuck.” You lean forward, glaring into her cage. “I did the only thing I could do to survive.” 

“You… joined the cult.”

You huff out a humorless laugh and lean back again. “I still remember the look on Joseph’s face when I limped my way into the church. I was…” you look back to the sky, your voice softening. “I was days away from death. I barely made it onto the church pew, even with John helping me.”

“I can’t believe it. The Resistance’s most loyal fighter comin’ in here,” Jacob said as John set you down on a church pew. 

Joseph stepped down from the small stage-like area. “What brings you here?” he questioned. 

“Survival,” you answered, only continuing on because of the confused look they gave you. “The Resistance kicked me out,” you continued weakly. “I figured I was dead anyway, so why not?”

Joseph looked at your fragile state. Your eyes were bloodshot, your skin was pale and sickly looking, you were thin-too thin. He knew just by the looks of you that you were telling the truth. 

“You wish to join us?” 

“Don’t make me say it.”

Joseph gave you a small smile, walking over to you and gently pulling you to your feet. “You are safe, do not worry.”

“After I was nursed back to health and formally accepted into Eden’s Gate, I went to Jacob. And I guess you know what happened after that.” You shoot her a sly smirk as you lean back for the last time. “So yeah, call me a traitor all you want, but it wasn’t me that turned my back on the Resistance, it was the Resistance that turned their back on me.”

“And you just expect me to believe you? Why should I? Your whole story could be bullshit.” 

“Believe me or don’t, I don’t really give a shit, especially because I’m on this side of the cage with Jacob in my corner. It’s the truth, though.” You stand and turn, seeing Pratt coming closer. 

“It’s true, Rook…” he mutters meekly. He begins to talk more, but you walk away. Unsure of where to really go, you make your way up to Jacob’s office and are slightly surprised to not find him there. You sit down on his desk and clutch your finger, the pain still radiating through the severed digit.

“Still hurts?” Jacob says, entering the room silently. You head snaps up at him. 

“My finger was cut off, Jacob. Of course, it still hurts.”

Jacob cocks an eyebrow at you. 

“That came out harsher than I meant. Sorry,” you mutter, looking down at your hand. He walks over and forces you to look up at him before pressing a kiss to your lips. He starts off soft before gradually becoming rougher. He cups your face, deepening the kiss even more. “Wait, Jake, is now really a good time for this?” You look behind you to see that the sun is setting.  

“Yup,” he answers, sucking on your neck. You groan, grabbing his bicep. Suddenly, he lifts you and walks you both to his bed. He drops you and gets on top of you as you both undress each other.

There you both lay, bodies naked under the sheets of the bed. Jacob’s arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him. Your head rests on his shoulder with your left arm on his bare chest. You stare at your hand, still unable to believe that your finger is gone. Jacob reaches up and grabs your hand, pulling it to his mouth to kiss the injured finger. You smile slightly and press kisses to the side of his neck. 

“This is the first time you haven’t kicked me out of your bed right after…” you mumble.

“Maybe I’m goin’ soft,” he mumbles back. 

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” you tease him. 

He sighs. “Never did I ever imagine us endin’ up like this when you stumbled into that church. I had my doubts about you, but you proved your loyalty.”

You laugh a little bit. “I’m the most loyal traitor.” 

Jacob laughs, which takes you by surprise. Then he rolls over and kisses you once more. “Round two?” 

🎃Monster Matchmaker candidate 21/30. Name: Dante Race: Dullahan Nature: focused This contemporary gentleman is looking for companionship that enjoys night walks and comedy movies. His favorite time is taking care of his horses and running with them. He easily becomes an attraction at the party, always very gesticulating and knows how to communicate. When you want something you go to the last consequences to achieve it. Never ask about his h-e-a-d if you are not extremely close to him. Just don’t. Trust me. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

MasterList

Here’s a list of all my writings! Hopefully this makes things easier for you guys! :)

Far Cry 5

Sinner’s Gate 1 2 3 (Joseph Seed x Female Deputy) -on hiatus-

Judge’s Watch (Jacob Seed x Gender Neutral Deputy)

Hide and Seek (Jacob Seed x Female Deputy)

Temptations (John Seed x Female Deputy)

Indulgence (Joseph Seed x Female Deputy)

Boshaw Special (Sharky Boshaw x Female Deputy)

Night Shift (Staci Pratt x Gender Neutral Deputy)

A Different Path 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52  53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 Finale

The Greatest Gift (Christmas Special to “A Different Path”)

Love’s Holiday (Valentine’s Day Special to “A Different Path”)

Читать дальше

Hi, I'm rereading some of my work and I notice that most of the sentences start with a subject and it tends to get really annoying after a while. Any tips on other ways I could start my sentences?

How to Diversify Your Sentence Structure

This is a really common problem that I think a lot of writers have! Having a repetitive sentence structure without variation can make your prose really choppy, boring and difficult to read, while overall weakening your voice.

Here are some techniques to help you change things up a bit!

Switch around your subject

Very basic grammar: Every sentence has a subject and a predicate. I think when we think of subject in a sentence, we often think of person. This might be especially true in creative writing because we deal with characters.

For example:

Amelia opened her front door and walked outside. She felt a cold breeze blow through her. She realized that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather. Amelia turned around and went back inside to grab a jacket.

In this example, Amelia is the subject of every single sentence, and a verb is followed immediately afterward. Because every sentence begins with ‘Amelia’ or ‘she’, there’s no variety and it’s a little bit boring to read. 

Here’s what it could look like if I switched the subject around somewhere.

She felt a cold breeze blow through her.

A cold breeze blew through her.

The difference is subtle, but now the subject of the sentence is the breeze, not Amelia. The sentence structure is still the same: The subject is followed by a verb. However, because the subject is different from Amelia, it still brings variety to how your sentences read. 

Here’s what it looks like now:

Amelia opened her front door and walked outside. A cold breeze blew through her. She realized that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather. Amelia turned around and went back inside to grab a jacket.

Now that every sentence doesn’t begin with “Amelia” or “she” it seems a little bit more interesting.

Put dependent clause before subject 

So we changed one subject in a sentence, but we still have multiple sentences that have Amelia as the subject. It still doesn’t have too much variety in sentence structure, and as a result, it can be stilted.

So let’s try bringing a dependent clause before the subject.

She realized that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather. Amelia turned around and went back inside to grab a jacket.

Realizing that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather, Amelia turned around and went back inside to grab a jacket.

By bringing ‘realizing’ before the subject, I created a dependent clause and succeeded making the first word something other than the subject. 

However, because it’s a dependent clause, ‘realizing that she wasn’t dressed appropriately’ is a sentence fragment — it’s an incomplete thought. So I combined it with the last sentence to make it complete.

So after those two techniques, let’s compare the original with the rewrite.

Original

Amelia opened her front door and walked outside. She felt a cold breeze blow through her. She realized that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather. Amelia turned around and went back inside to grab a jacket. 

Rewrite

Amelia opened her front door and walked outside. A cold breeze blew through her. Realizing that she wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather, Amelia turned around and went back inside to grab a jacket.

Now because there’s a variety in sentence structure and subject, the paragraph  is not only more interesting to read, it also flows better and more smoothly. It also has the added bonus of diverse sentence lengths which was lacking before, and it helps make the writing more engaging.

I just wanted to note: there is nothing bad about having your subject as the first word in a sentence. I don’t want anyone to feel like they have to change every single sentence they ever wrote. Like in my example, the first sentence starts with Amelia. That’s fine.

The problem is that when every single sentence starts that way, it becomes repetitive. You can still have some sentences that start with your character, just make sure to throw in some other sentence structures, and your writing will be more engaging!

Outside of this specific example, you can also try playing around with dependent clauses in your existing sentences as well.

Jamie walked into the haunted house, despite her reluctance.

Despite her reluctance, Jamie walked into the haunted house.

The sentence is the exact same, but I just switched around where the dependent clause ‘despite her reluctance’ is placed. Even though it has the same meaning, it can provide a different feel or at the very least, switch up having your subject as the first word of every sentence.

I also talk about this in my guide about how to make your writing flow better. Sentence structure has a lot to do with making your writing sound cohesive and eloquent, so I would definitely recommend checking that out as well!

Thanks so much for asking Anon, I definitely struggled with this too when I was just starting out. I remember seeing how every single paragraph started with a name, and that was really annoying me, but I had trouble figuring out how to fix it. I hope this helped!

Worst Generation's ships from Volume Expo

Source : Artur - Library of Ohara from twitter

Prismtone: Range Murata Anime Works 1998 - 2006 (part 2)

Spring Herald, 春天的信使 (2019) Film by Curie Lu.

uhhmm sorry to bother you but can i have a request in which Mccree, Reaper, the Shimadas and Junkrat have a wet dream with their crush on them? how they react having their crush around after that and maybe what the dream was about? please and thanks btw your blog and imagines are so cool

Your wish is my strong recommendation, hope you enjoy :)Warnings: NSFW, mentions of past rape in Junkrat’s chapterRequests are closed.

Читать дальше

Jacob: *sings only you, stalks me like a prey, walks around me & generally breathes*

Me: