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lathalea · 4 months

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The Shrieking Monster

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ This is a gift for @babe-bombadil as part of the @whiteoliphaunt 2023 exchange. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ Happy New Year everyone! 🥳

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield & Dis & little Fili & Kili Rating: G Warnings: family fluff Author's notes: A story set in the Blue Mountains about Thorin trying to be both a ruler and a good uncle at once. Young Fili and Kili are making it a tad difficult in their own cute way. Special thanks to @naryaflame for your linguistic help with a name :) If you prefer, you can read this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains Amad - mother

It was a perfect morning. Thorin stretched and yawned, settling himself on his favourite chair in the kitchen. The air that whiffed into the dwarven stronghold from the outside felt warm on his cheeks and smelled like spring. As he sipped his morning tea, that strong, aromatic blend Dori bought in Bree, his sister appeared at the threshold. She gave Thorin a bright smile and, seeing her steaming mug on the table, she sat next to him. The lazy silence of the early hours of the day was soon broken by the appearance of two dishevelled pebbles, one with a thatch of golden hair, the other – with his hair as brown as a bear’s fur in winter. After the mandatory morning hugs, Thorin readied breakfast while Dís prepared her sons for the day, humming to herself. Thorin could not stop himself from smiling. His sister was probably already thinking of her visit to the market. She adored going there in the morning, especially on the days when the merchants arrived with new goods – and today was one of those days. Thorin sighed. As much as he wanted her to have a very much needed moment of respite – his sister-sons were quite a handful, to put it mildly – he was painfully aware of what it was going to mean to him. Half a day of having his eyes around his head and his ears pricked up for any unusual noises they may create… or worse – the ominous silence. In the past, there was only a handful of moments when he and Dís realised that the boys went completely silent. It never bode well.

This day, however, started with the pitter-patter of the boys’ bare feet, chatter and laughter, and the clatter of their bowls as they ate their oatmeal. Dís reminded them to behave while she was gone, and left for the market. Fíli seemed very content about this state of things, knowing well by now that staying with his mother’s brother meant visiting various places in these halls, like forges, or assisting Thorin in other exciting ways. It was different with Kíli – his loud wails of protest at being so cruelly abandoned reverberated against the walls of their home. Thorin imagined they must have followed their mother through the corridors of Thorinuldûm for a long while. Her Little Bear, as Dís called him, was still too young to understand the connection between Mommy leaving, and the sudden appearance of candied rhubarb or his favourite cream toffees.

Distracting Kíli from his misery was not easy, but Thorin managed it by offering to take the boys for a new adventure. Their big blue eyes shone as he told them they would be going to the lower levels of the city together. It was a real treat – Kíli had never been there before and Fíli visited them only a handful of times.

Thorin had a mind to visit the Engineers’ Quarter and show the lads around while discussing some technical issues with one of the water engineers. And so they began their adventure. As they descended down the wide stone stairs Kíli stumbled and yawned, so Thorin decided to carry him the rest of the way. Soon Little Bear began snoring in his arms, and Thorin attempted to ignore the fact that his own tunic was becoming gradually soaked through with his nephew’s saliva. He also started suspecting that the moniker “Little Bear” must have surely come from the fact that Kíli seemed to weigh more and more with every step, like a true bear.

“At least he is not crying,” Thorin muttered to himself, and kept on walking. Thank Mahal for silver linings.

As they arrived at their destination, however, the situation got worse. The Engineers’ Quarter was a crowded place that smelled like tar, coal, and burned leather. Not minding the much larger adult dwarves in their soot-stained clothes who carried – or carted – their wares from one place to another, curious Fíli began rushing between them, oblivious of the chaos he was creating. He took a look at the wheelwright’s workshop here, and then he had to see the toolmaker’s booth there; he then insisted on seeing how parchment was being made, and attempted to find the place where they manufactured those shiny cogwheels. If not for his golden mane, Thorin would have lost his nephew at least a couple of times. Brór, the water engineer he had a meeting with, joined Thorin in the chase for the high-spirited boy. Instead of looking at the water supply pipeline blueprints and trying to fix a problem with water pressure, they ended up unwillingly playing a hide-and-run game to the delight of the onlookers. Seeing your own king running back and forth through the great cavern with one giggling pebble strapped to his chest while chasing after the other one must have been very amusing… for anyone but him, Thorin thought with resignation. His resignation grew even more when he noticed Fíli climbing onto a tall work table… and jumping down onto a heap of coal.

When Thorin finally caught the runaway, they were both out of breath. Although it was rather Fíli who caught his uncle – the boy ran into him and clung to his left leg as if a throng of orcs chased him.

Fíli raised his teary-eyed face to Thorin and sobbed out, “A monster wanted to eat meeee…”

“A monster? Here?” Thorin’s brow furrowed.

It took him a while to reassure Fíli that no monster was going to eat him. In turn, Thorin promised to get rid of the said monster that apparently lurked in a nearby chamber, and shrieked at him. He left his nephews in the care of Brór who tried to look solemn, but his twitching lips betrayed him. Thorin grunted and entered the chamber, carefully looking around, adjusting his eyes to the dark surroundings. And then he saw two glowing points of red. And heard the shrieking.

When Thorin returned to Brór, Kíli was fast asleep once again. Leaving Little Bear in the engineer’s care once again, he took Fíli’s hand and led him to the entrance of the dark chamber. When they opened the door, they both heard the continuous shrieking now. His nephew stopped and refused to walk inside, covering his ears and closing his eyes.

“There are no monsters here, Fíli.” Thorin reassured the boy. “See for yourself.”

“Nnoooo…” muttered Fíli, hiding behind his uncle.

“Do not be afraid,” Thorin added. “Nothing will hurt you here. I promise.”

On the bench by the door stood a lantern. It took him a moment to light it. With the lantern in hand, Thorin crossed the threshold and approached the nearest lantern that hung on the wall, and then another, and another. Soon, the whole chamber was bright as day, each lantern giving off a pleasant yellow glow.

“You can come in now,” Thorin smiled encouragingly.

With his ears covered and his eyes set on the shrieking, wobbling entity in the middle of the chamber, Fíli shook his head.

“This is not a monster.” Thorin stepped towards the huge bulbous shape that made so much noise. He placed his hand on the top of the strange shaking thing and added, “This is a washing barrel.”

Fíli blinked and took a good look at it. The two red glowing points did not look like a pair of evil eyes any longer. Those were two ball-shaped lanterns standing on top of the… thing. That shrieking noise now seemed to sound like a couple of cogwheels that needed a bit of oil, and not like a monster’s screech. And the arm that seemed to reach out to grab him before, turned out to be a cast iron lever.

“A… barrel?” Fíli looked at his uncle and took one uncertain step towards him and the strange contraption.

“Correct. A barrel that washes your clothes,” Thorin explained in an even voice and at the same moment the shrieking stopped. “Look, it has just finished the washing cycle. Let me show you how it works. First, you open this hatch, like so… Watch out for the water! These clothes are clean, they only need to be wrung out and dried.”

As he spoke, Fíli slowly started closing the distance between them, his eyes becoming wider and wider.

“... but if you want to wash your clothes,” Thorin continued, “you need to put them inside, here, and add some soap suds. Then you close the hatch, pour some water here, crank this lever a few times, do this, like so, and wait for the washing barrel to finish its work!”

Thorin kept on talking until Fíli seemed to be completely in awe of this new piece of machinery, his fear completely forgotten. He peppered his uncle with tons of questions: how many cogwheels were there, how many times one should crank the lever, what the barrel was made of… and so on, and so forth. When they left the chamber, there was a big smile on the boy’s lips instead of tears.

On their way back home Fíli exclaimed, “This was the bestest adventure ever!”

Thorin thought that sometimes being an uncle happened to be quite rewarding. Even if his tunic was still wet from Kíli’s sleepy drooling.

***

His attitude completely changed less than half an hour later, when his nephews disappeared. Both of them. At once.

Stumbling over several painfully angular wooden toys, Thorin searched the boys’ bedroom. Nothing. He even looked under their beds (twice!), but there was no sign of the boys anywhere. They weren't sitting in the common kitchen nor searching for snacks in the pantry. Nor in Dwalin’s rooms where Kíli liked to play hide-and-scare with the big warrior. There were nowhere to be found – not in the rocking chair by the fireplace, nor even in Balin’s study by that large desk where Fíli liked to play so often. Thorin closed his eyes. If he did not find his nephews before Dís returned from the market, his sister would have Thorin’s own head on a spike. The wrath of dwarf-women was ten times fiercer than the one of dwarf-men. In the case of his little sister, the number was much higher, at least a hundred times. And Thorin would do everything he could to avoid being on the receiving end of it.

There was no time to lose. He recruited Dwalin, Óin, and Halkatla, Balin’s wife, to the task of finding the boys, but they returned empty-handed. No one had seen the boys since their early lunch. Then, they were supposed to take a nap, and Thorin remembered their yawning as they closed the door to their bedroom behind him.

And now they were gone. Kidnapped? — No, impossible, Thorin thought. Dwarves cherished their children like the greatest treasures they were, and no one else was allowed into Thorinuldûm. There were no goblins nor other dangers here either. It felt as if the boys magically disappeared in a puff of smoke. Thorin looked around the wide corridor he stood in, but he found no traces of the missing boys.

“Have you checked all of their favourite places?” Halkatla asked, her red-and-silver braids clinking as she turned her head towards Óin.

“Aye, we did,” he nodded. “Not a sign of them.”

“Those wee rascals! I bet they are up to somethin’.” Dwalin said. “They remind me of us. Remember that time, Thorin, when we were around their age or so, and half of Erebor was lookin’ for us all day long?”

“It would be difficult to forget it,” Thorin admitted. “We wanted to avoid another boring lesson with our tutor…”

“...and instead we went to explore the mines! What a shame we lost our way,” Dwalin grinned and nudged him. “It was fun!”

“Aye, fun on an empty belly. If only you had not forgotten our food,” Thorin replied, relieved that his nephews had a proper meal at least.

“If only ye had not forgotten that map ye were supposed to borrow from your father’s desk,” Dwalin chuckled.

Before Thorin could form an adequate riposte, a mousy-haired dwarf approached him.

“M’lord, Master Brór says that the pipeline is fully functional again,” the messenger bowed.

Thorin gave him a nod of thanks. At least he brought a piece of good news. Master Brór was a skilled engineer, and the way he handled Thorin’s own sister-sons…

“Either way,” Dwalin continued, “we had a real adventure on that day, hadn’t we, Thorin?”

A thought appeared in Thorin’s mind. Master Brór. An adventure.

“There was one place where we have not searched yet,” he turned to his companions.

“I am listening,” Halkatla tilted her head, reminding him of a curious raven.

“The Engineers’ Quarters.”

***

Master Brór was more than happy to receive words of thanks from Thorin in person for fixing that pipeline issue once and for all. Despite Thorin’s hopes, he had not seen Fíli or Kíli since they left the Engineers’ Quarters with their uncle earlier that day. Dwalin muttered a curse under his breath.

“Well, that’s it. I’m goin’ to check the workshops,” the warrior said.

“I’ll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right,” Halkatla followed him.

“Let’s go,” Dwalin replied, his voice trailing off as he walked away. “And those wee cave bats would better be there or I swear…”

Master Brór addressed Thorin, “I will spread the word as you requested, my lord. Someone must have seen them, I am certain of it. They could not have simply disappeared.”

Thorin agreed with him and began his own search. The rocks could not have swallowed them whole! Magic was out of the question as well, there had to be a logical solution to this! Thoring pulled at his short beard in frustration. Wandering through the area and looking for any signs of his nephews in places they visited earlier that day, he wondered if Óin had any luck. The healer was waiting at their home in case Fíli and Kíli returned there on their own. Perhaps the three of them were already sitting by the fire, with Óin telling the boys countless amusing stories, while Thorin and his companions were checking every nook and cranny on the lower level, going out of their minds with worry. He raised his head, listening to a peculiar sound and trying to figure out its source. It sounded like… shrieking. It was not at all difficult to recall Fíli’s eyes shining with fear, awe, and then curiosity at the sight of the washing barrel.

Without thinking, Thorin turned his steps towards the chamber that housed the “monster” Fíli had been so afraid of not so long ago.

When Thorin arrived at his destination, the door was ajar. Thorin could hear the shrieking very well, but there were other sounds too. Very familiar sounds.

He took a deep breath and shouted, “Dwalin! I found them!”

***

When Thorin stepped inside the chamber, the sounds became even clearer. One of them he identified as uncontrollable giggling, and the other one, slightly muted, sounded like: “Woooo! Woooo! Wooooo! A carousel! Woooo! Faster, Fíli! Woooo!”

Thorin breathed out a sigh of relief only to be struck by a pang of dread a moment later.

Fíli stood by the washing barrel, cranking the lever, grinning from ear to ear, and laughing. Kíli was nowhere to be seen, but his enthusiastic shouts seemed to be coming from inside of the barrel. Inside, not outside. Thorin swallowed; he considered screaming in terror, but something told him that this was most definitely an example of behaviour unworthy of a king. It took him a moment to melt the ball of ice that was forming in his stomach. He closed the distance between him and the barrel in a blink of an eye.

Thank Mahal, the hatch was open. Inside, Kíli sat with his back against a wall of the large metal container inside the machine, surrounded by various articles of laundry, with a happy grin on his face, and a stray sock on top of his head. A wave of relief washed over Thorin.

“Uncle Thorin! Uncle Thorin!” Fíli exclaimed. “We’re playing carousel! Want to jump in?”

Thorin did not.

“It is time to return home, boys,” Thorin simply said, taking Kíli out of the barrel. His clothes were damp and he smelled like those violet flowers Dís liked so much, but other than that, he looked happy, and what’s more important, he was in one piece – just like his older brother.

“But uncle...” Fíli started.

“Your amad will be home soon. Do you not want to see what she bought at the market?”

“A sugar horse? She promised!” The boy recalled his favourite treat.

Holding Kíli firmly against his chest with one arm, Thorin held out his hand to Fíli.

“Let us go and see,” he said with a smile as his nephew’s tiny hand grabbed his.

There would yet be time for scolding and for a conversation about not sneaking out anywhere alone, but for now, the only thing that Thorin wanted was to safely bring his little rascals home.

He only hoped they would manage to reach their halls before Dís returned.

***

When Dís crossed the threshold of their home later in the afternoon, she was greeted by complete silence. Her sons were nowhere to be seen, which was very suspicious. They were always the first ones to run to her and see what she brought them this time. She expected Thorin to welcome her and help her unpack her basket, as usual — but he was not there either. Was this that ominous silence she dreaded so much whenever her boys were executing another of their silly mischiefs? Not really. It seemed as if their home was empty… until she heard a familiar sound coming from a nearby chamber. Dís put the basket on the floor and tiptoed deeper into their halls.

The picture that unfolded before her eyes was the last thing she had expected. Her brother was half sitting, half lying on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting on the backrest, his eyes closed. Fíli was cuddled up to his uncle’s side, his hair tousled, making her think of a skein of golden yarn. Kíli lay on the opposite side of his uncle, his head resting on Thorin’s lap and turned towards her. He had his thumb in his mouth. Dís could clearly see the darker stain of drool on her brother’s trousers and stifled a giggle.

All three of them were asleep, of course. And all three of them were snoring in perfect unison. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that she had a working sawmill in front of her.

This scene was too adorable for Dís to interrupt it, so she decided that she would let her three boys sleep a little longer. There was no harm in a little nap, after all. Besides, she was tired, and there was still some space left on the sofa…As she drifted off to sleep beside them, her last conscious thought was: “Why do all three of them smell like my lavender laundry soap?”

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#WO2023!#thorin oakenshield #dís #lady Dís #fíli #Kíli #the hobbit #thorin #tolkien #lotr #fanfic #dis #fili and kili #the line of durin #fluff #thorin oakenshield fic #the hobbit thorin #hobbit fic #wo2023

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atlantic-sugar · 1 year

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You’re My Favourite Gift

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Summary: Presents and confessions

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters

Warnings: teeth-rotting fluff

Word count: 1.5k

Taglist: @benjification

Notes:

(c/g) = Christmas Gift

OOC GHOST!!

NOT PROOFREAD!!

Masterlist

“No way! You didn’t!” You gasped as you held up the new (c/g) you’ve been wanting since it came out in shops.

“Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!” You wrapped your arms around Price’s torso giving him a big hug. He chuckled as he patted your back.

“No problem (Name). You deserve it after all the hard work. So do the rest of you. I know it’s upsetting that we couldn’t get home for Christmas this year, but I’m happy I’m spending it with all of you.” Price smiled.

“We’re all grateful for you too Cap.” Kyle started only for Johnny to interrupt. “So we’ve got ya a lil somethin’!” He hands Price a nicely wrapped gift.

Price takes the present gently. “You didn’t have to get me anything lads. I was already-” “See, I told you he would pull the ‘you didn’t have to get me anything’ card!”

The guys around you laughed. All except Simon. You looked over at the man who was lounging farthest away from the rest.

Deciding to make your way towards him, you started to get up only to hear a small gasp from Price. “Lads. Now this…this is something.”

Price looked down at the expensive packet of cigars and a framed picture of 141 after their first successful mission together. Gaz, Soap, Ghost, Quipt and Price. All together. Soap had so much dirt on his face Price pointed it out to Kyle beside him.

“Soap you look like an idiot.” Kyle laughed aloud. “What do you mean?! I look bloody gorgeous in any picture.” Soap exclaimed. Even though he knew he looked like an absolute mess in the photograph, he knew the meaning behind it was important.

“Yeah you fabulous in this picture too?” You asked, holding up your lock screen with a selfie you snuck with Soap one day getting the rest of the task force in the picture. Only you and Soap posed as the rest only looked up without realising they were in a picture.

“Gah! That looks- heheh I look great!” He awkwardly laughed. “Not going to lie, you look great with that filter.” Gaz pointed out. Everyone laughed again as the fire crackled from the fireplace.

“I have one more gift actually!” You got up from the carpet and walked over to the Christmas tree, picking up a small squared box.

“Simon this is for you- I know you said you didn’t want anything but…” Turning around you were about to give it to a special someone, only for them to be gone.

Letting out a small ‘oh’, you’re smile slightly faltered. “I’m going to go find him. He’ll miss the dinner if he’s gone.” You told the group who nodded at you. Most of them getting up to set up the last bit of the food.

Determined to get your gift to Simon you began your search. Looking into his office, nothing. Courtyard, nothing. Finally reaching his room, you saw a small light from under the door.

Taking in a deep breath you knocked on the door. Nerves banging up inside of you. You were finally going to tell him. Tell him how you feel.

“Who is it.” Simon’s gruff voice could be heard from his room. “Hey, it’s me. Can I come in?” You asked. Silence followed. You waited for some time to see if he’d answer.

Nothing.

You sighed. It’s not like Christmas was over because of this, but it was disappointing. Even after building up all that courage.

“Dinner is ready. So if you want to have it with the rest of us, it’s best you come down soon.” You mumbled and walked away from the door.

Before entering the room where the rest of the group were, you shook off all the feels and marched inside. You put away Simon’s gift under the tree again to keep it safe.

“Will L.t. be joining us?” Soap asked. You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not sure. I hope he does.” Just as you two finished, the doors reopened and Simon walked in.

Helping Price bring over the rest of the food with Gaz, you all sat down. (Price sat at the top of the table of course.) You sat beside Johnny. While Kyle and Simon sat across from you two.

“Alright then. Let’s eat!” Price announced and Johnny immediately began to eat up everything.

~~~~~

Light Christmas music could be heard from the living room. Everyone had finished their food and have headed off doing their own thing.

Simon walked towards the fireplace and sat down. Looking and the flashing lights from the Christmas tree he looked over.

Noticing a small present underneath the tree, he stared at it. Curiosity eventually got the best of him. Getting up from the sofa he stalked towards the tree.

Kneeling down he looked at the small tag on the present. Doesn’t say who it’s from but there is a name.

To: Simon

He stared the small box. He thought about leaving it there. Maybe it was for someone else. Dumbass, he’s the only Simon around.

Slowly he began to peel back the neatly wrapped paper. Checking his surroundings to see if anyone had seen him.

He looked at the small black box. Slowly opening it, his eyes widened. It was a watch. A black watch with a silver designs engraved in it.

Attached to the leather band was a small ghost charm. He stared at the small gift in his large hand. A note was attached to the top of the inside of the box.

“Dear Simon. I know you didn’t want anything for Christmas but I had to get you something. I hope you like it!

Ps: I fancy you”

Simon stared at the bottom of the note. “I fancy you.” He felt a small smile tug onto his face. ‘Fancy?’ What are you guys in, secondary school?

He rose up to his full height with the box in hand. He felt his face was warmer than it first was under his mask.

He had to find you. Thank you. Tell you.

He left the room and began to yours. When you’re room came to sight he didn’t realise he picked up his pace and without thinking he knocked on your door.

No answer.

He knocked again and got nothing. Figuring that you weren’t in your room he began to look around the base.

After 20 minutes of looking for you, he found you outside in a warm coat and a scarf, looking all cozied up and warm even in the cold winter weather.

Hearing the door open behind you, you turned around. Surprised to see a 6,4 British man walking towards you with a small box in his hand.

Panic arose within you, realising he had seen the message. “Simon, I can explain the note…!” Before you could say anymore his arms were wrapped tightly around your smaller frame.

The two of you stood there in silence. You embraced him back to try and keep him warm, as he was only his a long sleeve shirt, jeans and his shoes.

“You have no idea, what’s going on right now do you?” He mumbled against your shoulder. You shook your head. “No, but I like it” you smiled.

Simon took in a deep breath and sighed, his warm breath slightly grazing over your cheek as he lifted his face from you shoulder.

Only now noticing his mask had been brought up over his mouth and just resting on his nose. “Me too.” He whispered a reply.

“I appreciate what you do, and have done for me.” He mumbled. A small heat starting to rise in his cheeks. Looking up at the man you slowly took his hands.

“We should probably head inside. It’s starting to get really cold. I don’t want you catching a cold.” You smiled up at him. Simon nodded.

Following you closely behind Simon stopped you when the two of you entered back into the warm building.

He took you by your arm and turn you around. “Simon what’s going on..?” You tried to speak, only to feel rough, scarred lips on yours.

Taking some time to understand what’s going on, you’re kind went fuzzy. Simon Riley.

Kissing you?

Without even noticing you kissed him back. His hands rested on your waist while he leaned down to reach you, as yours rested did around his neck.

He slowly pulled back from the kiss. Your lips unconsciously chased after his as he stood back to his usual height. You opened your eyes, to a surprise.

“Why…? Out of the blue…?” You whispered your questions as you took in all the facial features of the man in front of you.

Dirty blonde hair cut short but still long, the cold icy blue eyes, the small scars that were littered around his face. His chiselled jaw, and sharp nose.

Simon took your face in his large hand. You could sense his nervousness from feeling so exposed to another person. He sucked in a deep breath.

“There was a mistletoe. That’s what we’re supposed to do…right?” Your face burned as Simon’s eyes looked down at you fondly.

His face moved towards your shoulder and rested up above your collarbone. Feeling his warm breath beside your jaw, you shivered.

“I fancy you too and not only is this watch the most thoughtful gift…” His face lifted from your shoulder and looked you right in the eyes.

“You’re my favourite one.”

25-12/22

A/n: I hope you enjoyed that! Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you have a lovely day and a happy new year! <3

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #modernwarfare #modern warefare 2 #mw2 spoilers #mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost riley #christmas #christmas fanfiction

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johannadc · 2 months

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Li'l Greg Gets a Football

Look, Sherlock gave me a football! Now I can get out for a match with the lads.

Gregory... (Mycroft takes Greg's hand) I urge you to let me have any gift of Sherlock's thoroughly inspected and disinfected before you touch it. You know how he is.

True. He'd probably think being covered in blood at a crime scene made a gift more special.

Later...

M: Now, before you go out on the ... is it called a field?

G: Sure, that's fine.

M: I insist you eat a light but healthy meal. Here's a charcuterie platter, plenty of protein, and a green salad.

G: Aw, Myc, you take such good care of me.

G: But what's this over here? Biscuits! Lots of types, too.

M: Of course you want to eat dessert first.

G: I insist we share. Here's a heart-shaped one from me to you.

#li'l mystrade #li'l lestrade #li'l mycroft #yarn mystrade #yarn mycroft #yarn lestrade #mystrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade

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aziraphales-library · 8 months

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Hey lads! I honestly appreciate what you're doing with this blog, it's super cool and helpful. Anyways I wanted to ask if there are any fics where Aziraphale tries to keep up with modern fashion? Like trying on modern clothes and Crowley being head over heels by his new look? Thank you 😊

Hi! We have fics like this on our #clothing tag. Here are some more...

Suzanne Somers And The Village Walking Club by JonsiGray (G)

Crowley is away in London for one night--one! When he returns home it's to Aziraphale taking a stroll through the village with a group called the Tortoise Strollers wearing none other than a leotard, tights, pink leg warmers, holographic trainers, and head and wrist bands. Crowley tries to talk Aziraphale back into his senses but Aziraphale believes his ensemble is modern and stylish. “You were wearing, that!” said Crowley, pointing to the offending clothes. “I know it’s a bit modern,” conceded Aziraphale. “Modern! It’s thirty-some years past its sell by date.” “But it looked good on Suzanne Somers,” said Aziraphale, a little hurt.

comfort zones by sometimeseffable (T)

"Will you please just come out here?" Naturally, since the fashion of Egyptian nobility suited Crowley’s tastes far more than Aziraphale’s, this led to some problems. “Alright. But no teasing!” -- Crowley convinces Aziraphale to try a change of wardrobe. Inspired by the art by WhiteleyFoster

A Rearrangement of Styles by pilatesandpinot (E)

When Aziraphale and Crowley attend the wedding of their friends Anathema and Newt, they end up tempting each other with their guest attire. Fic featuring Crowley in a kilt and Aziraphale in a much more modern suit but with a special surprise underneath ;)

A Grand Gesture by PinkPenguinParade (T)

“Crowley?” he called. “Yeah, angel?” came from the other room. “...What am I looking at, here? It appears to be a suit in my wardrobe, that is not my suit and not your size.” “Oh, that.” Crowley appeared at the doorway, one hand behind his neck in what Aziraphale was learning to recognize as shyness, something he’d never expected from his demon. “Was s’posed to be a surprise, but... guess that’s knackered, now.” Crowley has a special night planned for his angel.

Tokens of Love by southdownsraph (T)

When Aziraphale asks Crowley to take her shopping for a wardrobe update, she has a little wobble about her shape, but after some comfort from Crowley, she feels confident enough to finally confess how she feels.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #clothing #mod d

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piplicious · 9 months

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Dip Week Day 3!!!

Hello I wrote a little something based on a conversation I had with @/pipcorn. But I have like no experience as a writer!!! So you have to be nice to me. + theres a drawing inside :3

Word count: 1366 words

Ship: Damien x Pip

Warnings: none whatsoever

Summary: it's Damien's Birthday and everything is on fire.

"By the power of all unholy and evil I command --all the mortals come to my birthday party!!!"

Despite the very clear and easy to understand demand of his highness son of Satan, no one was there. Creatures of darkness were present, of course, but that was about it. The little black demon beings were all sat at a special table, reserved specifically for them, with all the appropriate evil meals served and ready. But what about Damien's other friends (or so he'd like to think of them)? Did he not manage to make everyone in class like him by being a little asshole?

Unfortunately, Hell was going through a bit of a financial crisis, and some unplanned budget cuts had to be made. Instead of a big fancy banquet Damien had to make do with a regular size birthday party. Well, it was a bit below regular, you can't underestimate the impact inflation and excessive risk taking by systemically important financial institutions have on otherworldly dimentions. Obviously.

As a result, materialistic humans didn't really feel like attending such an underwhelming event.

"AAARGH"

The AAARGH didn't help. So strange! At least one boy should've come. One very specific little lad! And a very important one, too, but shush about that.

And yet no one was there. The party had started whole 5 minutes ago after all! Could it be… that maybe the invintations got lost? Well, no, because then Pip surely would've come. Damien made sure to personally disturb the signal in the 500 meters radius area by shooting his rubber duck-like voice all the way to Pip over the phone exactly 5 times. One time -- a month before the birthday, so that the blond has enough time to prepare the presents. Then a week before the celebration -- enough time for Pip to make sure to cancel all the plans for the special day. Then one day before the birthday - in the morning and in the evening. And don't forget the mandatory 5 AM call.

And so, utterly dissapointed, the grumpy lump of rage continued pouting even harder than usual. I'd like to say that his hope for humanity was completely gone by that time (6 minutes past the official beginning of the party), but let's be honest, it's South Park, why would it ever be there in the first place.

"Happy Birthday, son. Today is a beautiful day and you're only 9 years away from the day I tell you the truth about how you were made."

"Dad. WHE--??"

"I know, I know what you want to say, I see that half of the room is on fire already. But first I have a very important gift for you."

"DAAAAAA--"

…!

And there, a sudden strike of silence hit the room. Damien's instincts freezed and crashed! The "gift" that loomed out of the hallway made him unsure whether to hiss or wag his tail. Or both?

"G-good morning, Damien! I'm here to wish you a very happy birthday and hopefully entertain you for the duration of my stay here…! Hope you didn't… miss me?"

The little british boy that just came in already managed to pick up that something about Damien's reaction was off, as the later made incomprehensible noises and it was hard to read what exactly he was feeling at the moment. It would seem illogical, as Pip was the exact person lacking at the event, and yet the way he appeared rubbed the demon in a wrong way.

"Are you… mad at me? Ohh… I see… No one has come to your party? No worries!!! I understand how you feel, sogga, no one attends my celebratio--"

"Why are you wearing that!!!"

"Oh it's a clown outfit, your father asked me to--"

"DAD?????"

And so Satan had to step into the conversation between the fourthgraders. What an interesting sentence out of context!

"You see, due to the financial situation we couldn't afford a professional entertainer, and dead soul tortures are already reserved for when you get good grades, so I figured getting your buddy to pretend to be a clown for your birthday would be good enough."

"I DON'T WANT HIM TO BE A CLOWN!"

"But why?"

Giving absolutely no answer, the hissy boy left the room and it almost seemed like he had a little tear in his eye. And so, Pip, Satan, and a hoard of unholy creatures whatever they are, were left astounded in a room with more fire in it than food or tables.

What a confusing situation! But of course giving up would mean missing the chance to save your lo-- your friend's important day, right? That's not a very caring behavior. Pip would not want to leave Damien behind, no. It takes some thick gloves and a lot of bravery to deal with wild kittens like that. And a heart big enough to give them all the space they need to not feel intimidated anymore.

"There, there."

Pip sat near the curled up demon, petting his back and waiting for him to cool down and relax his eyebrows at least a bit. And boy did he take his sweet time cooling down, this is not your average tray of freshly baked brownies.

"I-I don't want to rush you or anything, but could I perhaps get a hint about why you're mad at me?"

Nope. Not happening.

"It appears I have to try guessing myself… Do you want me to leave?"

Damien shook his head. Somehow everything became even more confusing.

"Are you… afraid of clowns?"

Not that either.

"I don't know what else it could be then…"

"…I wanted you to come because you want to. Not because you have to."

The boy who for some reason had to remind Pip about his birthday 5 times looked away in embarassment. Could it be that there was actually some kind of thought process happening behind those eyes? It seemed that this time his friends' intentions actually mattered to him and it wasn't just about seeming cool in front of the elite of the class. Pip was nice sincerely and it made a big difference! If he came willingly it would be clear what he came for. Damien's smile or something gay like that.

"…How much did he pay you?"

"For what?"

"For you to come."

"Oh good golly i'm going to get paid?"

The utter confusion in blonde's eyes eventually cleared up all the doubts in Damien's mind.

"No."

"Oh alrighties."

"I think I understand. Only a brit would willingly attend a party where the only food being served is unholy goop and satanic porridge."

"It's not that, Damien, I just--"

Pip started fidgeting awkwardly with the fabric of his clothes like a shy anime girl. Unusual, since most of the time when he liked someone it was extremely visible to everyone around. Well, it was, it very much was visible this time either but somehow not to Damien.

"You see, back when I was born as a little baby in a small town of--"

"Shorter."

"I have feelings for you."

"Oh. Wait what. Wait. That's gay."

"Indeed it is, Damien. I understand if you want me to leave even harder than before now, I--"

Instead of jokingly utilizing the diverse pallete of homophobic slurs in English language the demon boy's eyes immediately brightened up. He didn't exactly know why yet, but it actually… cheered him up? His buddy was actually more than just a buddy! They could spend so much time together like those two yaois from their class! Now the hard part is actually somehow returning feelings and admitting the same thing. Oh Go-- Oh man it sure is more embarassing than he thought… But it must be oh so worth it!!!

The poor British thing just sat there waiting for any even remotely coherent answer. His anxiety was only soothed by the fact that the fire in the house began slowly extinguishing, which probably meant that Damien wasn't angry with him. Fortunately he didn't need to wait too long.

"You're my boyfriend now."

"Okay."

There. The hardest part is now behind, time to jump straight to the part that has handholding and fun dates in it.

***

#DipWeek2023 #pip pirrup #sp pip #sp pip pirrup #south park pip #south park pip pirrup #damien thorn #sp damien #sp damien thorn #south park damien thorn #south park damien #south park #sp dip #dip sp #south park dip #damien x pip

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year

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Happy Birthday, LoZ! And a very Happy Birthday to the best lad, Hyrule!

Here's a little ficlet to celebrate the occasion.

Surprises (Ao3)

Linked Universe | G | 955 words

Hyrule forgets that today is a special day. Luckily, Legend remembers for him.

Legend had been acting weird all day.

First, that morning he’d practically dragged Hyrule away from the rest of the group under the pretense of needing a partner to scout out a nearby area. That wouldn’t have been too strange if not for the fact that everyone else was staying around the camp, strategizing and preparing for their next move. But Hyrule was always glad to help out, especially when it meant spending more time with Legend, and so he’d gone along with it.

After that, they’d come upon an eerie (and very interesting) looking cave and the veteran had suggested they explore it.

“Wait, really?” Hyrule had asked, surprised. “But you hate going anywhere without a map!”

“Well, sometimes I’m fine with it,” Legend had countered. “So, are we going in or not?”

They had, of course, gone in.

It was every bit as fun and exciting as Hyrule had thought it would be, but there was always that nagging suspicion at the back of his mind.

Legend was hiding something, he could tell. The tough part was figuring out what.

When they finally returned to camp, Hyrule was still just as stumped as ever. The veteran hadn’t given any hints as to what could possibly be going on, and when Hyrule had questioned him had stubbornly denied anything being amiss.

Tired and confused, Hyrule flopped down on a nearby log and sighed.

“Everything all right?” Twilight asked. He was sitting over to his right, ignoring Warriors who had just cracked his latest dog joke. They hadn’t stopped since Twilight’s secret had gotten out, and the rancher looked thoroughly finished with the whole ordeal.

Hyrule shrugged. “Legend’s just been acting strange today. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

Twilight grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure everything’s just fine.”

Hyrule narrowed his eyes. The rancher sounded almost too casual. But he was already turning away to swat at Warriors and so Hyrule left it alone.

Dinner passed without anything odd happening, and Hyrule gradually found himself relaxing. Maybe nothing was wrong at all. He certainly hoped that was the case.

But then, as everyone finished the last bites of their meat skewers, Wild stood up.

“Roolie, we’ve got a surprise for you.”

Hyrule’s eyes widened. “Oh…really?”

Grinning like a kid on Hylia’s Day, Wild nodded. He scooped something up from the ground beside his pouch, and walked over, cradling it carefully in his hands. Hyrule leaned forward to see what it was.

“Here!”

Wild held out a small plate. Resting atop it was a miniature cake, complete with what looked like chocolate frosting and a tiny garnish of berries. It was so pretty, Hyrule hardly wanted to eat it.

“We all found the ingredients!” Wind piped up, happily. “And Wild made the cake!”

“But the person who masterminded this whole operation,” Warriors said, with a mischievous smirk, “was none other than our grouchy vet!”

He pulled Legend into a one-armed hug, and Legend shoved him off, cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

“Well, it’s not like you were gonna tell anyone when your birthday was,” he muttered, scowling. “And you deserve to have your special day, Roolie.”

A wonderfully warm feeling washed over him and Hyrule found himself blinking to clear the mist suddenly over his eyes.

“Thanks, guys,” he said, with a smile. “Really, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course, we did!” Wind exclaimed. “We weren’t gonna let you go without a birthday!”

“It’s just not right,” Twilight agreed.

“Well, I appreciate it.” He looked around the group, a sheepish grin lifting his lips. “To be honest I kinda forgot what today was so, this was a really nice surprise.”

“I knew it,” Legend said. He had managed to stop glowering at his boots and was now smirking knowingly at Hyrule. “Only you would forget your own birthday.”

Hyrule chuckled. It was true, of course. He just had never felt much need to hold the day in high esteem. He had been born, he had life—end of the story. There was no reason to make a huge deal out of it. Especially now, with so much at stake, and the group just coming down from Twilight’s near-death experience. Drawing undue attention to himself was the last thing Hyrule wanted.

But it had been far too long since he’d gotten a good surprise. And he had to admit, it felt really, really nice.

“Now, dig in!” Wild said, excitedly. “That cake isn’t gonna eat itself!”

He laughed and took a huge bite. It was even more delicious than he had expected.

Later that night, as he was dragging out his sleeping roll, ready to nod off with a full belly and a happy heart, Hyrule felt a hand settle on his shoulder. He turned and found Legend there, looking slightly uncomfortable.

He frowned. “Everything okay, Vet?”

“Yeah, I just–here this is for you.” Legend held out a bit of balled-up tissue paper and dropped it into Hyrule’s open palm.

Curious, Hyrule pulled aside the paper to find a brilliant gold ring within, studded with emeralds.

“It helps keep your strength and stamina up while you’re using magic,” the veteran explained, with a small smile. “That way you won’t get so tired when you have to cast powerful spells.”

Hyrule blinked rapidly. “Leg you-you didn’t have to…”

Legend rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did. It’s your birthday!”

A beat passed, then the veteran spoke again, this time tentatively. “Do you like it?”

Hyrule smiled and slipped the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly. Lunging forward, he captured Legend in a hug.

“I love it! Thanks, Vet.”

For a moment, Legend was stiff. Then, slowly he relaxed and gently wrapped his arms around Hyrule.

“Happy birthday, Roolie.”

#wrote this in an hour while very tired so hopefully it's good #trin writes #linked universe #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu wild #shameless fluff #HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROOLIE #ficlet

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smashing-teacups · 1 year

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A Breath of Snow and Christmas

Summary:

It is Christmas Eve, and Dr. Claire Beauchamp's third week on the pediatric rotation at Boston Children's Hospital.

One of her patients is a very special four-year-old named Claudel.

And his favorite nurse, Jamie, is intent upon making Christmas magical for the little lad.

A three part modern AU Outlander Christmas series.

“And last but certainly not least,” said Dr. Hildegarde over the flutter of shuffling notes, “we have our friend Claudel—”

A high-pitched squeal of laughter cut her off, and a dozen pairs of smiling eyes glanced up to watch the friend in question whirl like a tornado around a large redheaded man.

“Who is that? Who goes there?!”

The little boy let out another shriek of delight as the man’s booming voice added, with exaggerated indignation, “Heyyy, where did my— who stole my phone?! I ken I had it in my pocket jes’ a second ago!”

With a fond shake of her head, our attending looked back down at her clipboard. “Four-year-old male, admitted with cystic fibrosis exacerbation. Go ahead, Dr. Beauchamp.”

Lips still twitching with amusement, I cleared my throat. “Right, Claudel LaRue, direct admit from home for pseudomonas flare. Got his PICC line on the 16th, we are on day”—a pause to check my notes—“eight of zosyn and tobramycin, and as you can see, he appears to be feeling much better.” A collective chuckle rose from our team as the child bounded onto his hospital bed and began an enthusiastic victory dance, waving the stolen phone over his head.

“G-tube feeds going well?” my attending prompted. “How are we doing on hydration?

“Better,” I confirmed. “He actually surpassed his fluid goal yesterday, and his weight is up by half a kilo since admission.”

Dr. Hildegarde nodded, making a few notes on her paper. “Any word from foster mom?”

My face fell. “The nurses say she calls every few days to check in, but they haven’t heard from her since Monday.”

A humming, noncommittal noise, another mark on her paper. “Par for the course with this one. Be sure she knows he’s being discharged on the 30th. Last time, she forgot to come pick him up.” With a sigh, she clipped her pen to the top of the chart and tucked the file beneath her arm. “No changes to his orders, then?”

“No, nothing for today.”

“Very good. That’s it for the morning, then, everyone. Have a safe holiday, and stay warm out there. Call if you need me, Claire.”

I gave a small salute, exchanging goodbyes and Merry-Christmases with the other members of my team as they dispersed posthaste, eager to get home to their families. As the last of the clacking heels and Oxfords disappeared around the corner, little Claudel let out another squeal, smoothing over the needleprick of jealousy in my heart.

Drawn to the sounds of joy, I sauntered to the open door and leaned against its frame, watching with tender amusement as the Scotsman spun in circles, making a show of trying to find the thief who had stolen his phone. I’d only been on the pediatrics rotation for three weeks, but I recognized him as one of the nurses on the unit; at well over six feet tall, with a mop of russet curls and an unmistakable brogue, he was difficult to miss. His name started with a J, I thought — Jeremy? Jason?...

“Ah, Dr. Beauchamp!” he exclaimed as I rapped my knuckles on the doorjamb. “Thank goodness ye’re here.”

At once mildly (pleasantly) surprised that he knew my name and a bit ashamed that I couldn’t reciprocate, I tried to cover the deficit with a chuckle. “Having a bit of trouble in here?”

“He can’t see me!” Claudel crowed, blue eyes sparkling. “I’m inbisible!”

Catching on to the game, I gasped, jumping back. “Who said that?!”

The little boy howled with delight, flinging himself onto the bed and kicking his legs up in the air. I exchanged warm glances with the Scotsman — Christ, what was his name? — who blinked both eyes at me in a quick, owl-like movement that I only realized belatedly was meant to be a wink.

“He looks so much better,” I remarked, leaning in toward him to speak sotto vocce.

“Aye,” the man agreed just as softly, both of our eyes locked on the boy. “Really turned a corner in the last couple’ve days.”

“Did he get his breathing treatment already this morning?”

“No’ sure.” At my inquisitive look, he smiled a bit bashfully. “I’m, ah… I’m not actually his nurse today. Just here as a friend.” Keep reading...

#outlander fanfiction #Christmas fic #Jamie x Claire #smashingteacups

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anonymousfoz · 5 months

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December 6, 2023

Two men walked through the graveyard near the facility. It was recovering from the outburst. The first man was tall. He wore a special military uniform. His hat and yellow goggles were off on the table. Over his grey uniform sat a bulletproof vest, and the phrase "S.C.P." was on his uniform on his left arm, and a revolver hoisted around his waist. The other man was a little smaller, in a nice newly bought red and green tux and wearing a Christmas hat.

The two men stopped, and the olden man took off his hat before placing it near his chest. The second man stopped to look down. He was confused by the unnatural behavior before it dawned. These were soldiers killed in the Mariah attack.

"Which-"

"Tobias Thomas Turkey, 15." The olden man started. "He had so much left in his life yet decided to sacrifice himself to save others. Thomas was a quiet lad with a curious mind. He wanted to fix things and learn how they worked. Always came in with a wholesome mood and seemed to shed light on others. His smart wits and incredible technology prowess saved more lives than lost. May he rest in peace among the stars as we were truly an angel among us mortals."

"And the second one?"

"Salem G. Hallows Eve, 21, Salem showed her courage even till her death. To protect others was her duty. A sister to most, but a role model to all. Through thick and thin, she was always there for anyone who needed help. She showed she was willing to give it all up to save the rest. She wasn't with us as long as Thomas was, but her impact was almost as great. She came from the military and quickly found a home with the rest of us. To never hear her again is something worse than death. For in my late 40s, I have never found another soul with such wisdom and rage. May she rest among the stars and the deep vacuum of space. Hopefully, the two remain with each other, watching over each other and the lives of everyone they saved."

"So, just kids." The older man went quiet before he responded minutes later.

"Brave, innocent people, you helped to kill for a dumb parade."

"Mister Jackson, we don't have to start doing the blame game. Besides businesses is a market that kills, their family has gotten money for our simple mistake." The older man scoffed, causing the businessman sweat. "Machine accidents do happen."

"You people make me sick. You always think money solves issues. Money doesn't take back the lives lost."

"What does?" The older man smiled before pulling out his revolver and shooting the business man in his leg. The businessman fell hugging his leg while screaming swears. The somber man walked him to the businessman with a smile.

"I would kill you…" he smiled at the pain of the other. "But that would be too easy. Making you feel the pain and fear they went through is much more satisfying. To see the life flash in your eyes. Money doesn't fix that."

"You're a psychopath!" And with that, the older man turned around to take a drink in honor of his fallen comrades before walking off, leaving the businessman to bleed. All that was left for him was to get drunk until he could no longer feel the empty hole that was left from the loss of the most important people of his life.

As for the business man, Mister Jackson was right about one thing. The two remained together, not as angels or souls among stars…. but rather guardians. The businessman couldn't believe his eyes. It was as if two holidays were above him. He figured that Tobias' was Thanksgiving as the giant pilgrim dressed Turkey stood overhead. On the other hand, Salem was a large black cat with witch like features. A cat witch was a clever idea for marketing. Damn his mind for his logic of thinking, but it didn't matter now. The business man begged for his life, but the two animals remained silent. Eventually, the cat was the first to talk with a familiar voice… a haunting one nevertheless.

"What to do with you? So many ideas come to mind, but only one is set in stone. If you get my drift Tobias"

"Surprisingly, for once I do. For only one as selfish as yourself deserves a fate more cold than Christmas snow." The turkey stopped as the cat began to cackle in the irony as the three remained outside in snow. "Irony aside, the only thing left of you shall be iron." The businessman looked down at his hands as they began to stiffen, and a sliver substance began to coat him.

"You shall be a perfect example of what happens to those who try to mess with the natural order of time." The businessman began to move before his legs were solid stone, and only then he began to apologize, but it was already too late. He was nothing but stone. The cat let out loud laughter, which seemed to disturb the turkey. "Oh, come on, Tobias, let me have some morbid fun. After all, it fits me perfectly."

"Oh sure, and I suppose feathers fit me pretty well. I didn't ask for my last name to be Turkey." The two walked away, leaving no trace of them. They had a new purpose in their extended life, and a trip to the North Poll was soon on their way to meet with the man himself, Santa Claus.

#my writing #unreality #fiction #unnamed project #writing #writeblr #seasonal writing

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kloppinthekop · 3 months

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꧁ hello! ꧂

amy ᝰ ❧ scorpio sun and moon, she/they, grey-ace, 30s

i support liverpool f.c. and mostly write about domitrent on ao3.

i have a ph.d. in english literature, specializing in science fiction, but i really only write for fun these days.

other interests include: kate bush (queen of my heart), goth and post punk music/subculture, horror and sci-fi films, jane austen, mary shelley (i am always ready to bring frankenstein into any conversation), orphan black, star trek, studio ghibli, and more.

a masterlist of my fics and other scribblings are below the cut! a gentle reminder that i do not take requests for fics; however, headcanons are welcome and my askbox is open!

you can find most of my fics on archive of our own (ao3). some may be archive-locked (only viewable to users who are logged in on ao3). fics are sorted by type, ship/pairing, and then alphabetically listed within each category (for the most part). ratings are indicated in parentheses next to each title. if you are under the age of 18, please do not interact with any mature/explicit fics. full list of tags and any potential content warnings are available on ao3. masterlist to be updated periodically.

꧁DOMITRENT꧂ (dominik szoboszlai/trent alexander arnold)

dream come true (M, eventually E) 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔰 ➾ [work in progress]

→ Dominik, whose dreams of becoming a professional football player ended years ago due to injury, has dedicated himself to a new passion: physiotherapy. After moving to Liverpool to complete his studies, he meets Trent, a local lad whose dream of playing in the first team is about to come true. But what if, in meeting one another, their dreams become intertwined?

꧁HENDOLLANA꧂ (jordan henderson/adam lallana)

borne in red (E; dubcon) → In a world where men have been discovered to be infertile, the few men who are not sterile are forced into service of Captains and their Wives. Adam Lallana is one of these "studs," also known as Reds. He is also, dangerously, in love with men. Over a course of Ceremonies, he discovers that his Captain has a secret, and that his proclivities may be indeed similar to Adam's own desires…

A Hendollana AU based on Margaret Atwood's novel, The Handmaid's Tale.

⟡ by chapter: chapter one: waiting | chapter two: discovering | chapter three: being | chapter four: waiting | chapter five: coda

꧁DOMITRENT꧂ (dominik szoboszlai/trent alexander arnold)

we lit the fire and it's burning bright (E) → After the Liverpool vs Manchester City game (where Trent scores the equaliser), Dom takes Trent back to his apartment and proceeds to take him apart with his hands and lips.

working on the riddle of your heart (E) → Dominik can’t stop thinking about Trent. Ever since pre-season training, he has been obsessed. God, Dominik wants to be possessed by Trent.

you're out there killing the game (E) → Trent gets his arse out for all to see, but Dom wants it to be just his.

꧁CARRAVILLE꧂ (jamie carragher/gary neville)

gary knows; or, gary the fool in liverpool (T) → Liverpool’s lost the league, and Gary’s lost his damn mind.

a christmas carraville (merry crimbo, ye big lug) (G) → God I love him, but my husband is an idiot, Jamie thinks. In which Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher are married, but Gary doesn't know it yet.

champagne supernova (happy new year, ye tosser) (T) → It's New Year's Eve, and all Carra can think about is whether a certain Manc will kiss him at midnight. Maybe a little liquid courage will help light the way.

package deal (it's valentine's day, ye dimwit) (E) → Gary's got a Valentine’s date with an idiot.

꧁GERLONSO꧂ (steven gerrard/xabi alonso)

days of legends past (G) → "When you left, it broke my heart." Three vignettes related to various and sundry myths and legends.

꧁HENDOLLANA꧂ (jordan henderson/adam lallana)

fools in love (G; archive-locked) → aka, five times that other people noticed Jordan and Adam were dating before they did, and one time they finally realize that they’ve been a couple all along.

hounds of love (G; archive-locked) → Jordan's not sure what his soulmark will be yet, but what he does know is that he's terrified. A slow-burn soulmate AU.

merry to go 'round (G; archive-locked) → The lads buy a house together at the end of the 2026 World Cup campaign, and not a single one of their teammates (former teammates now) are surprised.

soft lad (E; archive-locked) → Five-hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes… it took a span of two pre-seasons for Hendo to realize that he was in love.

vignettes: tickertape (G; archive-locked) → After the trophy lift, Hendo searches for a tangible piece of memory…

vignettes: turf (G; archive-locked) → Lallana leaving LFC, but choosing a certain squad number for familiarity…

꧁OTHER SHIPS꧂

put myself on a pedestal - virgil van dijk/jarell quansah (E) → After the Union Saint-Gilloise match, Jarell says some things to the press that perhaps ought not to have been said. It's Virgil's job to educate him. But perhaps there are things that Virgil also ought not to say out loud… Then, Jarell comes over to his house one night after training, and Virgil finds a more effective way to stop Jarell from saying stupid things.

eu sou... - eric dier/dele alli (G; archive-locked) → Dele is um idiota but so is Eric. Pining ensues. footballers watch: eurovision 2019 - multi-ship (G; archive-locked) → What it says on the tin. [Pairings include: Carraville, Hendollana, Gerlonso, Deledier, and other random cameos.]

꧁GEN FICS꧂

klopp in the kop, forever - jürgen klopp (G) → Jürgen Klopp, the normal one, is about to live a normal life, for the first time in his life.

vignettes: takumi (G; archive-locked) → Second day at Anfield • Daemon!fic aka His Dark Materials/Football RPF

⟡ domitrent headcanon - who's naughtier, domi or trent?

⟡ domitrent headcanon - valentine's day

⟡ domitrent headcanon - who fell first

⟡ domitrent headcanon - dealing with injuries

⟡ domitrent headcanon - sex positions

⟡ domi and trent headcanons - fashion styles, shopping habits

⟡ domi, trent and jude headcanons - jealousy

⟡ trent and jude headcanons - food habits, sweet tooth

⟡ cheeky - domitrent

⟡ the prince and the scouser - domitrent

⟡ queen's gambit AU - domitrent

⟡ anfield is a cauldron - gen!fic

dividers created by @cafekitsune

#pinned post #about me #masterlist #fic masterlist #my fics #fanfiction #football rpf #ao3 #fanfic #domitrent #gerlonso #carraville #hendollana #virgil/jarell #liverpool fc #liverpool #kloppinthekop #blog intro

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lathalea · 9 months

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The White Raven 6/9

Yes, it's happening, I'm back with a fresh new chapter of this fic, and I'm so nervous! It took me a while to get here but I hope you'll like the next part of Thorin and Carra's story.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra Rating: G Warnings: mentions of injuries/death Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being an amazing and insightful beta reader and helping me out with Very Important Things Like Commas and Temporal Issues In Middle Earth😍🤣 Extra special thanks to @legolasbadass (yes, again, OMG, you're so popular! 🤣) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and very deep discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚 Thank you everyone who showed their support for this story, you motivated me to continue writing 💙 You are the best readers in the world 🤩🤩🤩

Khuzdul: Lulkh - fool Yasthûnê - my wife ’ugbalul ’uhaskhajam - [the] greatest sacrifice Adad - father Tharkûn - Gandalf

Thorin did not know how much time had passed. A few heartbeats? An hour? An eternity? Vaguely familiar shapes circled the darkening sky above him. Ravens? Eagles? He did not know that either. Thinking did not come easily any longer. His thoughts were muddled. His wound pulsed in pain with the rapidity of trickling blood. And he could not move. His foe’s blade had pierced his body. Some unknown solid weight pressed him to the cold, unforgiving surface. It was difficult to breathe. His nostrils filled with the stench of Orc blood. The icy chill spread through his limbs.

He opened his mouth, but only a whisper came out before Thorin lost the internal battle with his own body.

“Carra…”

Silence. Bird-shaped clouds in the sky. Snowflakes on his cheeks. Or perhaps tears. He could not keep his eyes open any longer. His mind slowly drifted off into the darkness.

***

“Uncle! Uncle Thorin!” A faraway voice invaded Thorin’s mind, stirring it awake. This voice sounded familiar. But he was tired. Too tired. The darkness beckoned, offering the comfort of oblivion. He needed to rest. Sleep.

“Look! Kili! He is here!” another voice replied, slightly deeper than the previous one. “Under that Orc carcass?” the first voice asked.

“There is so much blood… Isn’t that Azog?”

“Aye! Or what’s left of ‘im,” a third voice joined in. Older. Raspier.

“Look at his back!”

“Either that’s Orcrist’s tip or I’m the Goblin Queen! That son of a goat did it! Quickly now, lads, help me take that beast off Thorin. Fili, on my mark, pull!”

There was movement. More voices. Piercing pain. A dull grunt filled Thorin’s ears. Was it his own voice?

“He’s alive!”

“Thank Mahal! Uncle Thorin, can you hear me?”

“He’s unconscious, you lulkh!” “We need to get rid of that filthy Orc blade first. It’s stuck in ice.”

“Slowly now!” A sea of pain washed over Thorin, his whole body stiffening with each wave. But the darkness patiently waited for him and took him in its merciful arms once more.

***

“He’s still breathing!”

“Thorin, wake up! Wake up, ye lazy bastard!” someone growled straight into his ear. “Damn it!”

“Dwalin, look, we stopped the bleeding.”

Those voices again. Pulling Thorin back into consciousness. Into the pain and emptiness.

“Let’s finish dressing his wound and then we’ll take ‘im to Oín,” the growling one said.

“What’s that, Fili?” the young, familiar voice said. “Where?” “Over there, by that pointy rock on the other side of the river.”

“Looks like a dead Warg to me,” the one very close to him rasped out. A pair of hands kept on doing something to his chest. It hurt. He wanted it to stop.

“Too small for a Warg, Dwalin. It’s… by Mahal’s beard!”

“Where are you going, Fili? Wait for me!” The first voice sounded irritated.

A sound of hurried footsteps. Iron-heeled boots against ice.

“Those two can’t sit in one place in peace if their life depended on…” the raspily-sounding one grunted. “I tell ya, Thorin, when ye’re better, we’ll send them on guard duty. First morning shift for a month. That’ll teach ‘em!”

Somehow, it made Thorin want to smile. But now, even smiling hurt.

“It’s a raven! So big! Look at its wings! Why are you staring, Fili?” the youthful voice reached his ears again.

“I think it’s… the White Raven.”

“What?! It’s just a fairy tale!” “I’ve seen this raven before, Kili,” confidence rang in the second voice. “I think it followed us on the way to Erebor. It helped me fight off a Warg-rider in the Misties just before the eagles came.”

Thorin took a reluctant breath. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears.

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good. There is so much blood… Is it dead, Fili?” “Let me see… That’s a nasty wound.”

Thorin’s muscles tensed. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to speak. But his body didn't want to obey.

And then he heard two gasps at the same time.

“What’s happening?”

“Do you see it too, Fili?”

“It’s… it’s magic!”

“No, it’s a shapeshifter!”

“Look! Look!”

“A woman?!”

Both voices intermingled in Thorin’s exhausted mind, making less and less sense. He needed to act. He needed to… He breathed in. The air smelled like snowdrops.

“Thorin! Ye’re back! And here I was thinkin’…” A tattooed forehead and a bushy moustache appeared before his eyes. “Stop squeezing my hand so hard!”

“Carra…” Thorin managed to rasp out. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“What are ye sayin’?” Dwalin demanded.

“Help…. her…” He tried again. “She is…” “What? I can barely hear ye.”

The last wisps of strength were leaving him. He could feel the darkness beckoning to him once again. “Yasthûnê…” Thorin articulated slowly. “My… wife.”

***

Warm rays of sun gently caress Carra’s cheek, and she enjoys the sensation for a short while before opening her eyes. It takes her a moment to adjust to the bright light. She lays on soft ground, the strands of her silver-white hair interlacing with the lush green blades of grass. A multitude of colourful flowers adorns the meadow around her, their sweet fragrance wafting through the air, intertwining with the lazy buzz of bees. She rolls onto her back and stares at the perfectly clear blue sky above. Then she takes a deep breath. A distant echo of pain rings out in her mind, but there are no bruises or wounds on her body.

When a puffy white cloud drifts into her blurred field of vision, Carra wipes off the wetness from her cheeks, stands up, and looks around. The endless meadow seems to stretch for miles in every direction. A soft breeze kisses her face, bringing the faint sound of water lapping against a distant shore. She follows it, and soon, a sparse grove of trees appears in front of her. Beyond it, she sees a stream, its silvery current sparkling in the sun. For a brief moment, an orange butterfly dances just above her nose and then flies off towards the meadow behind her. Carra’s eyes follow its flight when a curious harmony of sounds draws her attention back to the stream.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

It seems to be coming from across the stream, and Carra decides to find its source.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

As she walks through the grove, she encounters a young doe nibbling on a nearby shrub. It glances at her curiously and then trots away, as if deciding that Carra’s presence is disturbing its meal.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.

Carra walks on, her bare feet sinking into the silky soft moss, step after step, until she finds herself at the edge of the grove. The stream is only several steps ahead. Its murmuring waters bring a hum of voices.

Tap-tap. Swoosh. Ta-tap. Ta-tap. Tap.

An irritated sigh.

“Another broken thread?” A warm, feminine voice asks. It makes Carra think of spring in full bloom.

“Too many of them. It seems like another busy day for my husband.” Another woman speaks, her voice as melodious as the nearby stream.

“And you? You have been weaving since dawn,” the first one says.

“This pattern grows ever more complicated. It changes much too often for my taste these days.” The other woman sighs again. “Tell me that at least your work bears fruit.” “Some of these seeds refuse to sprout. The taint is spreading. I feel it in the earth.”

“The Fallen One is regaining his strength,” a third voice joins in. Deep and resonant. “I see his traces beyond the veil.”

Carra takes a careful step forward and focuses all of her attention at the opposite side of the stream. There, a garden of breathtaking beauty blooms before her eyes. Within it, she notices three silhouettes, the owners of the voices she hears. At first, their appearance seems similar to Elves, but soon after, Carra quickly understands her error. They are taller, their posture and movements are even more graceful, and there seems to be an otherworldly glow about them. Whenever she tries to look up into their faces, Carra has to squint—not only because of their radiance but also because their features seem to be ever-changing, fluid, like water in a mountain stream. Each of these noble figures is clad in finely ornamented robes that sway slightly when the same gentle breeze that brought her here plays with their hems.

One of the ladies kneels on the ground, ignoring the dirt stains on her garments. Their fabric is as green as her eyes. Her right hand rests over the brown, freshly turned soil and wisps of chestnut hair fall over her eyes. The other lady, her hair wavy and black as night, sits by a strangely-looking wooden frame with numerous threads attached to this elaborate contraption. Their colours form an intricate, multi-level pattern that seems to grow—bloom—in all directions in Carra’s eyes. She immediately feels dizzy and has to look away. Then her attention focuses on the third figure that joined the others a mere moment ago. A strapping man, his aspect equally stunning as those of his two companions, strolls towards them, his movements measured and dignified. As far as she can discern, he is clean-shaven, unlike Dwarves, and his long, white hair flows freely down his shoulders. In his hands, there is a silver jug, its surface glistening in the sun.

“Even though you bring morbid news, you are a welcome sight, brother-in-law!” the black-haired lady says, clasping her hands and moving away from her loom. “May I offer you some refreshment?” He bows reverently to his companions, and before they respond, he fills three silver cups with the contents of the jug.

Carra licks her parched lips.

“The sweet water from your fount!” The Green Lady stands up graciously and takes one of the cups.

“I know how fond you are of its taste.” The man’s hair dances in the wind as he speaks. An orange butterfly flutters among his flowing strands. “You come bearing gifts but it is not why you are here.” The Weaver looks into his eyes.

“I have simply come to admire your weaving skills,” he offers.

“Dear Dreamer, you are curious about my winged children, are you not?” The Green Lady gives him a nod.

“It is only natural,” he refills her cup. “Some of them bear our blessing, do they not?” “Indeed they do.” The Weaver approaches him with her cup and states, “How interesting that you chose today of all days.”

“My visions are blurred. Inconclusive.” He stills, gazing up into the sky, and then turning his attention back to the two women. “Tell me, have our gifts to them remained a blessing or have they rather turned into a curse?”

The Weaver sits back at her loom and looks closely at the glistening fabric; her fingers run along some part of the pattern hidden from Carra’s sight. “Your children have been fulfilling their duties well. Although the youngest one tends to make my work a tad more challenging.”

“The youngest one?” the man frowns.

“The one with wings dusted with silver.” The Green Lady takes a sip from her cup, her features schooled in a neutral expression.

“Silver? That certainly explains quite a bit. Your husband and his experiments…” The Weaver shakes her head. “Why now? Why this one?”

“I truly cannot say.”The Green Lady gives her an enigmatic smile and takes another sip. “But perhaps you would rather see her for yourselves.”

“Perhaps we would.” The Weaver’s fingers hover above the countless threads of her loom while the man nods. The butterfly lands on his shoulder, folding its orange wings.

“Very well. She has been listening to us long enough,” the Green Lady says, taking a look at the dark patch of planting ground under her feet. “Come, child.”

It takes Carra a blink of an eye to realise that she is not standing in the grove any longer. She gasps and blinks twice, but her eyes do not deceive her. Now she faces three luminous beings—in their garden across the stream.

“Great Mother!” she whispers and falls on her knees in front of the lady clad in green, bowing her head. In the presence of these great figures, blinded by their magnificent splendour, she feels like a feeble, featherless fledgling that fell out from its nest.

“Rise, Carra,” the Green Lady addresses her softly, and Cara does what she is told. “Do you know why you are here, my child?”

“I…” she croaks faintly, unable to stop staring into Great Mother’s incandescent face. A kaleidoscope of images fills her mind. The freezing ice. Thorin’s face when he notices her and his widened blue eyes. The Pale Orc, his teeth bare, with his blade pointed at her mate. Her bloodied talons clawing at Azog’s face. And then—darkness.

“I have died.” She hears her own voice.

In a blink of an eye, the images are gone, dispelled like a wisp of smoke on the wind. Only the orange butterfly swirls around her head.

“Do you know, child,” there is a frown on the Weaver's face when she turns to Carra from above her loom, “how thin these threads are? How delicate? Even the slightest whiff of wind can change the pattern—or destroy it as if it was a spider’s net.”

“I have only tried to protect the pattern,” Carra swallows, feeling three pairs of eyes on her.

“You have saved some vital parts of it, that is true, but I hear that you also left us with tangles in the weave,” now her life-giver speaks, her eyes glistening like emerald waters of a fathomless lake.

“Forgive me, Great Mother. The line of Durin had to stay unbroken. I did my best. But I have failed,” Carra hears her own trembling voice. “Darkness clouded my dreams…”

“And so you staked out your own path, Silver One,” the Weaver speaks as if to herself, patting her index finger against her lips in reverie. “Which left us with all those new thread combinations.”

Then she exchanges a glance with her companions, and the man called Dreamer speaks.

“See for yourself,” his eyes, grey like a wolf’s fur, rest on Carra. First, he raises his eyebrow but then motions her towards a small rock basin. She can swear that this object has not been there a moment ago. He takes the silver jug and fills the basin with a narrow, glistening stream of water. The orange butterfly dances above it and then rises above their heads. The water’s surface resembles a mirror, and Carra’s eyes are drawn to the movement she seems to see in its depths.

Countless veins of silver run through coarse stone walls of a cave, glittering like gossamer strands that cover foliage at dawn, but instead of dewdrops, tears flow down from a Dwarf-woman’s cheeks, following the crevices of her wrinkled face. She wears a crown of snow-white braided hair and a dark blue robe with golden ornaments. In her weatherworn hand, she holds a piece of parchment with a green, rectangular seal at the bottom. Beside her sits a slightly hunched elderly Dwarf with bushy, grey whiskers and rows of faded tattoos on his bald head.

“Now we are the last ones, Dwalin,” the Dwarf lady sobs. “My boys… My brothers… And then Balin… Dain and his son… Gone.”

“Aye,” the old warrior gently closes his hand over hers. “But they will not be forgotten.”

“Gone…” Carra’s lips tremble as she stops herself at the last moment from touching the water. As she moves her hand back, a curtain of ripples falls over the image, changing the scenery.

The image of the familiar green and black shape of the Great Gate of Erebor fills the rock basin. An army of Dwarves rides to battle on their war rams, led by the King Under the Mountain. Carra recognizes his blade at once. Orcrist. It is Thorin! She gasps. The Raven Crown graces his temples frosted with grey. And his beard has the same colouring as her feathers. Silver-white. As the events unfold, she recognizes them from her past dreams. The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills join forces with the Men of Dale. The battle is long and bloody, but the allied forces ultimately crush their enemies. At that moment, the vision changes. She does not recognize this new detail. An armour-clad warrior rides from Dale on a white war ram. As soon as Thorin sees him, he dismounts, and soon both men greet each other with a strong embrace.

“The city is safe, adad!” The young warrior grins, taking off his helmet. The wind plays with his entangled hair, which seems to glow in the setting sun.

“You did well, Thráin,” Thorin replies, his gaze softening. He presses his forehead against Thráin’s and whispers, “You made me proud, son.”

A faint whiff of wind kisses the water’s surface, transforming it into a flurry of silvery ripples.

By a gilded cradle sits a young Dwarf-woman. Her chestnut hair glints as if enchanted with fire, contrasting with the snow-white laces of her sleeping gown. The mithril beads in her braids clink when she takes her babe into her arms, and a smile brightens her heart-shaped face.

“You will be a king one day,” she whispers lovingly, kissing her little one on his forehead. Quietly humming a sweet lullaby, she adjusts the blanket her son is wrapped in. Carra notices that its hem is embroidered with little black and golden ravens.

A sudden wrinkle on the water disturbs its surface, making the water glitter like diamonds.

A cold, pale sheen illuminates the green marble walls when the King Under the Mountain ensconces on his throne. The source of this light comes from a jewel of unmatched beauty set over the king's head. The golden and obsidian crown rests on his raven-black hair. But the ruler of Erebor, Thorin II Oakenshield, is not smiling. A deep, menacing frown darkens his face. In his hand, he holds a wide dwarvish sword. Blood drips from its tip onto the cracked marble floor. There is no red-haired Dwarf queen beside him. There are no children playing at his feet. There is only deathly silence. And the shadow he casts is that of a dragon.

When the visions finally fade, Carra finds herself staring into the bottomless depths of a pair of grey eyes. She does not notice when the orange butterfly lands on the edge of the empty jug.

***

“Carra…” her name sounded like a helpless croak. Thorin’s throat was parched.

It took him a while to regain all of his senses and open his eyes. He lay on a large cot in a spacious tent that looked suspiciously like a work of Elvish hands. He grunted. Every single part of his body seemed to hurt. Bandages covered most of his torso, and he could not move his arm without inducing even more pain.

A louder groan left his lips when he tried to sit up and failed. Something in the nearest corner of the tent moved.

“Your Majesty…” A young Dwarf in a healer’s tunic appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “You are awake!”

“Where…” Thorin coughed. Even breathing drained his strength.

“All is well, my lord. Try not to speak, please. The enemy is defeated. Erebor is once again ours.”

“Is… my…” His attempt at speaking failed once more.

“Your kin and companions are alive and well, Your Majesty.” A mug was pressed against his lips, and Thorin greedily drank its contents. He welcomed the sweet taste of water on his tongue. It probably came from the spring at Ravenhill.

Ravenhill.

His heart sank.

“Carra…? Where…?” he whispered. Every word felt like a struggle.

“Forgive me, my lord, who?” the healer frowned.

Thorin did not respond. He was already asleep.

***

“The White Raven?” Dain Ironfoot’s brow furrowed as he clutched a tankard in his hand. “Here, in Erebor? Are ye drunk, Fili?”

“It’d take more than a mug of ale to make me drunk, Uncle!” the young dwarf protested. “I swear on Mahal’s beard. She fought the Pale Orc together with Uncle Thorin and…”

“She?” said Agnarr, one of Dain’s captains who sat on his left, raising his eyebrows, which resembled a thick, black caterpillar.

“Aye! I found her myself! And then Tharkûn said… well, he didn’t want to say anything about her at first, but I convinced him to tell me…” Kili started with a mischievous smirk, only to be interrupted by his brother.

“He followed the wizard day and night and bombarded him with questions, until Tharkûn had enough,” Fili whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards Dain.

“Well, I convinced him, didn’t I?” Kili huffed. “The wizard said that if not for her, Thorin’s fate would have been very different! You saw that wound of his.” “Aye, if that orc blade went in a bit lower, he’d be resting in the catacombs together with the kings of old,” Ironfoot muttered under his breath.

“Exactly. Besides, before he left, Tharkûn mentioned something about treasure, too!”

“A treasure?” Dain Ironfoot asked.

Kili shrugged in response, “I don’t think he meant the gold in our mountain…”

“Wizards and their riddles…” Dori sighed, pouring himself another mug of ale.

“So ye’re telling me,” Dain demanded, “that a creature straight from our legends appeared out of thin air and fought the Pale Orc with Thorin? And that the White Raven is a woman?”

“And a pretty one, too!” Bofur winked. “That hair of hers…! White as snow!”

“More like silver-white to me,” Fili puffed out a cloud of pipeweed smoke.

“Was she not supposed to be a great bird? Like the legends say?” Dain grunted.

“She is!” Kili nodded eagerly. “I mean, she was a bird, but then she turned into a woman, I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Now she looks more like a Dwarf,” Fili added.

“A raven looking like a Dwarf?” Vari, son of Nari, another of Dain’s soldiers, scratched his bald head.

“And a bit like an Elf, too,” Kili grinned and waved his hand in the air. “She has pointy ears, you know. Ouch, Fili, why did you kick me?”

Dain groaned, “Pointy ears…? By Mahal’s beard, I think I need another mug of ale.”

“Are ye drinkin’ without us, ye sewer rats?” Dwalin appeared by the table, followed by his brother.

“We’re all celebratin’ our victory over the orcs and wargs!” Captain Agnarr pointed at the multiple groups of Dwarves gathered around them in one of the least ruined halls of the Lonely Mountain.

“There’s nothing better for a soldier’s morale than a few casks of the Iron Hills ale,” Balin sat beside him and poured two mugs—for himself and Dwalin. “What would you say about a toast?”

“To victory?” Ori proposed.

“We drank for that last time,” Vari shook his head.

“If all you said is true, lads,” Drengi, a large dwarf, said, two golden teeth glinting in his mouth, “we should be toasting the White Raven.”

“To the White Raven!” strong voices echoed against the ceiling of the cavern as more dwarves joined the toast with their mugs raised into the air.

“To Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain!”

“To King Thorin!”

“To the Lonely Mountain!”

“To the Longbeards!”

In the growing racket, Balin turned to Fili and Kili.

“What did you tell them, lads?”

“Nothing much besides what we saw when we found Uncle Thorin after the battle,” Fili said.

“And that the White Raven helped us during the Quest,” added Kili. “Fili, I completely forgot! Remember what Uncle Thorin called her when we were taking him back to the Lonely Mountain?”

Fili nodded, but before he answered, Balin put his hand on Kili’s shoulder.

“That, my boy, is better left unsaid.”

“But Uncle Dain said that the King Under the Mountain will need a queen now and that he has a perfect candidate for Uncle Thorin. How can Uncle Thorin marry her if he…” Kili continued.

“This is the conversation that Thorin—and Thorin only—needs to have with Dain. Do you understand?” the elderly dwarf searched their faces solemnly.

“Aye, Uncle Balin, we do,” Fili reassured him.

***

“...since we moved his majesty into the Mountain. His fever has dropped and the wounds are healing well but he keeps on asking about someone named Carra.”

“Thank you, Nari, you were most helpful. Try to catch some sleep. I will stay with him now.” Words spoken in a soothing timbre of voice reached Thorin through the haze of dreams.

“Balin?” he blinked a few times, trying to chase the drowsiness away.

“I’m here, laddie,” a familiar silhouette in a burgundy robe stood before him. “You gave us a scare for a wee moment there.”

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling at the sight of the familiar face of his old mentor. As he attempted to sit up, an intense spike of pain ran through the left side of his body. The only thing he managed to do was lift his head slightly. At that moment, an additional pillow was placed beneath it. He grunted. At least the Dwarvish beds were much more comfortable than the Elvish ones.

“Carefully now, laddie. No sudden movements. Your foot needs time to heal properly. Your left shoulder and arm were badly injured too. The healers had to use a splint…”

It was a challenge to focus on Balin’s words, but as the dizziness subsided, Thorin’s thoughts became more coherent. Various parts of his body ached, his left leg felt heavy, and he could not move his left arm—it was indeed encased in a splint, exactly like Balin said—but he was able to take a look around the room. Even if he did not recognize this particular place, he recognized its walls hewn from the same greenish rock as the walls of the old chambers he used to live in as a young prince. A lifetime ago. And now, he was home again. Home.

“Tell me everything. Is Erebor safe?” With a pained grunt, he turned towards Balin.

“Aye. Worry not, the Mountain is well-protected. Dain is here with his warriors. We are working on making our home liveable again,” Balin replied, patting Thorin’s right hand, which lay on the bed. “You did well, laddie. The corridors and caverns are echoing with stories about the return of the King Under the Mountain who killed the Pale Orc and avenged his esteemed grandsire.”

Killed. He swallowed, attempting to ignore the memories of that fight that came back to him like an unstoppable flood—and of the price he paid to survive. Or rather, the price someone else paid for him. He lost her.

“King? Me? A Dwarf who succumbed to the curse that plagues his house? Who valued hoarded gold over…” With a sneer, Thorin looked away, his voice hollow. “I am not worthy of that title, Balin. Not any longer.”

“Do you remember that audience in the throne room when King Thrór met with the refugees from the White Mountains? You were still a prince at that time.”

“How could I forget? Not only did I break protocol, but also I interrupted Grandfather. I declared that if he would not send his troops, I would fight the Orcs who invaded their homes—on my own. Mother was truly ashamed of me on that day. And Father would not speak to me for a month.” “Ah, the impulsiveness of youth,” Balin nodded. “But you have always had your heart in the right place. Do you remember what I told you on that very day?”

“Life is like a battle. When you fall, you have to rise again and fight. Otherwise you lose,” Thorin said under his breath. He recalled the countless nights when he whispered those words to himself, lying on the hard ground, far from home, when the thought of retribution was the only thing that drove him forward.

“We reclaimed our homeland thanks to you. You overcame the curse and led us to victory. You have fought and won this great battle, Thorin,” the elderly Dwarf spoke softly.

“I did not. Not alone,” Thorin admitted, unable to look Balin in the eye, his throat constricted. Something ached in his chest, and it was not his wound. “I had help.”

“Indeed. I saw the Pale Orc’s corpse. It bore marks of dwarven weapons… and others that bore resemblance to talons and a beak,” the older Dwarf said.

Thorin did not reply. Not because he chose not to speak but because the right words would not come to him.

After a pause, his mentor added, “Fili claims that he heard a deafening sound, like a large bird’s screech, only moments before they caught sight of you on the frozen river.”

“A screech…” Thorin repeated to himself. Something stirred in his mind; Azog’s hideous grimace, the ice beneath him reverberating with a strange sound that filled the air, and the moment when the tip of Orcrist’s blade plunged into the Orc’s chest. He blinked several times. His own words rang in his ears.

“Carra, no!”

He remembered the darkness that came afterwards. And pain.

A life for a life.

It should have been him.

Balin’s voice seemed to come from far away.

“... I heard the guards retelling the old legends of the White Raven. And a new tale is spreading through Erebor: a story about a large, white-feathered raven that bravely fought by the King Under the Mountain’s side at Ravenhill,” he said.

Thorin remained silent, staring at the white sheets that covered him. White as ice on that day. White as the feathers in her wings. He felt cold.

Silence seemed to stretch between them like the bottomless chasm beneath the Mountain until Balin spoke again.

“Help me understand this, laddie.”

Reluctantly, Thorin’s fingers found the leather band strung around his neck and pulled it from under the blankets that covered him. His old friend’s eyes widened at the sight of a silver-white feather.

“The White Raven…” The words in Thorin’s mouth tasted like ash. “Carra. I have known her for most of my life. After Smaug's attack, she left her nest behind and followed me to the Blue Mountains.” Thorin met his mentor’s eyes.

“The White Raven... The stuff of legend, eh?” Balin hummed, examining the feather with reverence.

“I am aware of what it must sound like. Legend or not, she is real. She was,” he corrected himself, swallowing hard. “At Ravenhill… Had she not intervened, Azog would have taken my life. She chose ’ugbalul ’uhaskhajam and gave her life for me instead.”

“Thorin… By Mahal’s hammer, laddie, what are you saying?” The feather fell from his mentor’s hand onto the bed. “’Ugbalul ’uhaskhajam, the act of sacrificing one’s life in battle to protect another, is only performed by one’s kin!”

“Or a spouse,” explained Thorin flatly.

Balin looked down at the silver-white feather and then glanced towards the door before speaking again.

“Dwalin told me that you spoke of a wife,” the elderly Dwarf said. “We thought it might have been your feverish mind speaking, nothing more.”

“It was not. She is… Carra was my wife, Balin.” His own whisper sounded hollow.

Balin stayed silent for a few heartbeats and then cleared his throat, as if deciding on something.

“That certainly explains quite a bit—including a very curious occurrence. You see, Thorin, after the battle, we did not find any signs of this revered bird at Ravenhill. Instead, there is a strange woman of mysterious provenance in our infirmary, and the healers…”

“Here, in Erebor?! Alive?” Thorin grabbed Balin’s sleeve, seeing him nod. “Tell me, what colour is this woman’s hair?!”

“Her hair is like this feather: white, dusted with silver,” his mentor replied. “She lives and is under good care. We brought her into the Mountain together with you, but...”

“Thank Mahal!” Thorin rested on his right arm, lifting his upper body as much as he could. “Balin, take me to her at once!”

Swiftly, he moved to the side in an attempt to rise from the bed while a pang of pain shot through his body, sudden like lightning. He fell onto his pillows, taking deep breaths and fighting a wave of dizziness.

“I am afraid you are in no shape to walk, laddie,” Balin rested his hand on his uninjured shoulder. “You are on the mend, but the healers say that you will need time to…”

“Balin! By Mahal’s beard!” Thorin fisted his hand, trying to curb his temper and ignore the pain. “Do you not understand? I need to see her!”

“You are as stubborn as your grandfather,” the elderly Dwarf shook his head in defeat. “Let me talk with Nari and see what can be done. I will be back in a jiffy.”

Balin’s jiffy felt like an eternity to Thorin, but he waited, albeit impatiently.

Carra was alive.

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pink-bear · 2 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Nagito Komaeda

Yeeeeeah I knew I had to do him eventually-

Stuff under the cut. Character is depicted as 18+

THIS IS 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He often acts like he doesn’t need or deserve aftercare, but not howdy does he ever. Sometimes if he’s feeling especially vulnerable, he’ll start crying while being tended to.

And of course he gives it back in spades. Every whim someone could ask for would be fulfilled (to the best of his ability) without question.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Being the pessimist he is, he wouldn’t find any part of himself as attractive.

His partner, on the other hand, he p much loves everything about them. In awe at the absolute beauty of this lad/lass/whatever the non binary equivalent would be-

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His cum is a bit on the runny side, and it tends to get everywhere when it’s not inside someone. Cumshots are quite messy, which he finds embarrassing-

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves wearing collars. Feeling completely dominated as he’s fucked, collar pulled tight by his partner…pure bliss 😌

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

No experience. His talent doesn’t get him lucky, unfortunately. That would be from his erratic personality and extreme self depreciation (turns out that’s an extreme turnoff for a lot of people).

Despite this, he lasts a lot longer than the average first timer.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style. He feels a bit intimidated by eye contact, so whether he tops or bottoms he prefers doing it that way.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Does not at all understand goofiness during sex. In fact depending on what it is, he may even see it as his partner mocking him (which he’ll ramble on about how he deserves it).

So unless you want a rambling, self deprecating Nagito, keep it to a minimum.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Has a happy trail that goes from his belly button to a bush of white hair. The rest of his body hair is sparse, most of it on his groin.

He’ll shave if asked, but prefers to keep things natural (yet tidy…because it can get just as wild as the hair on his head).

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Romance is a bit of a tricky thing to him. I headcanon him as demiromantic, so it’ll take a very special someone to break him out of his shell.

Once he finds the right person, however, he can be very sweet…in his own Nagito way. Expect lots of praise.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Nagito actually jacks off a lot. Usually in a very desperate, loud way. He’ll be whimpering and moaning his partner/person he’s obsessed over’s name over and over. After he’s finished (sometimes multiple rounds), he’ll reprimand himself for being so depraved.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

To go alongside the collar thing, he also enjoys being choked. It makes him feel weak, and he likes feeling weak.

And yes, being choked by Akane did give him a half chub-

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere his partner wants to go at it, honestly. He’s not picky or one to complain when his partner calls the shots.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Unless he’s going through one of his high libido phases, it’s pretty much entirely up to his partner. Even when he’s on his off days, he’ll indulge his partner by participating in some good ol coitus.

When he’s in the mood, he’ll practically be humping his partner’s leg lol

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Apart from unhygienic stuff, there’s not a lot Nagito would say no to. He’s just depraved enough to be willing to try just about anything at least once.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves giving oral, and will do so without his partner even asking. Regardless of what equipment he’s working with, he’s quite skilled despite his lack of actual experience.

He doesn’t expect oral in return, not seeing himself as worthy. But oh, seeing his partner go down on him fills him with such hope! And maybe a little despair? Who knows with that guy...

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It all depends on his stats of mind. If he’s feeling manic, his thrusts are fast and uneven. If he’s feeling calmer, his lovemaking reflects that.

Pretty straight forward, honestly.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’d be down for it most of the time. After all, he sees himself as a living toy, so if his partner needs him, he’s there to provide.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

With his talent, risks kinda don’t exist for Nagito. The likeliness of getting caught in the act is low, and getting his partner pregnant is even lower (unless they’re actively trying). Sooo risky sex is just…slightly spicier sex lol

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It depends on how he’s feeling that day, but he can usually keep up with his partner. If his libido is high he can go a while, but on his off days he’d only be up for one or two rounds (and only if his partner initiated it).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Doesn’t have any himself, since he never sees the need for them. If he needs to get off he’ll use his hands.

But if his partner wants to use them, he certainly won’t complain. In fact he’d more than likely enjoy them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

On certain occasions, Nagito is ruthless with his teasing. When he’s feeling superior, he’ll practically torture his partner with teasing, and only give in when they’re practically sobbing for a release.

Being on the receiving end doesn’t quite work as well. Since he feels inferior most of the time, he’ll have all the patience in the world, so teasing wouldn’t do much to him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jfc talk about noisy. Unless he’s got some sort of gag in his mouth, this guy will not shut the hell up. Plenty of moaning, whimpering, begging and overall nonsense. Doesn’t matter if he’s topping or bottoming, he’s letting his partner know just what they’re doing to him.

Expect plenty of noise complaints lmao

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Is a submissive top. His dick/ass is there for their pleasure, and he lives to be a living sex toy for them. Just be sure to give him the proper aftercare and attention :’)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

So...how does Nagito’s luck affect his size? Is hung like a horse? Did back luck give him a less than stellar member? Big or small???

The answer is........he’s pretty average! Yeah, at around 6 inches, his dick is kinda ordinary. Cut and with a slight upwards curve.

That being said: It has an uncanny ability to feel satisfying to pretty much everyone. Whether they’re size queens or can’t take big dicks well, he feels extremely satisfying inside. He’s just right, and maybe that’s where his luck comes in.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His libido is…strange.

He goes through phases where he’s essentially asexual, and the thought doesn’t cross his mind for even a moment, to being completely sex crazed.

There’s no trigger or schedule to when it get switched on and off, it’ll just…happen. He could be given aphrodisiacs in his off days and barely react, or he could be turned on by something as simple as someone’s hands on his horny days.

His partner will have a hard time keeping up with these mood swings, so it’s best to just go with the flow and accept it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

With his poor sleep schedule, having a roll in the hay can really tire the guy out. So usually after the sex is all over, he’s out cold. It’s a good way to get him to sleep...if not a tad inconvenient-

🌸🌸🌸

I can tell I’m gonna have a lotta fun writing this guy if I ever get around to it~

Hope you enjoyed! And if you don’t agree with any of these, that’s fine! These are just my personal headcanons!

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#danganronpa smut #headcanons #danganronpa lemon #danganronpa #nagito komaeda #lemon #smut #do not tag as kin #NSFW.

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