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gwen-ever · 3 years

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Until My Last Breath (Chapter 1)

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived... whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin's past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins' house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC

Rating: M

Warnings: angst,sad,

AO3 LINK: HERE

Notes: I would like to thank all of you, who commented the prologue, rebblogged it and liked it. It was a very heartwelming and I hope i wont let you down with this first chapter. In particular i need to thank@lathalea for always checking my chapters and make surei dotn mess up and, trust me, this week she really put a lot of effort to do so hahahahahha.The style its quite different from the one I will use in the rest of the story, it is just a general introduction but i really hope you cvould guess some things <3 <3 <3

Mashkil: Dirt

'Angûna: Filth

"What is she doing here?!" roared Thorin Oakenshield, an accusing finger pointing at the newcomer, who in the meantime had placed her wooden bow in a corner and removed her heavy black travelling cloak, worn out by numerous weather conditions.

She felt the king's gaze burn like fire, but tried avoiding glancing at him, even when he took one step towards her like an animal ready to attack. She shifted her gaze upwards, focusing instead on the tall figure of the sorcerer who was smiling at her with the side of his mouth.

"My dear, let me introduce you to the master of the house, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf announced in a quiet voice, ignoring, as she did, the dwarf lord's question.

With small steps Gandalf stepped to the side, indicating a small hobbit in the middle of the hallway with his hand.

The hobbit bowed his head slightly to the side to get a better look at her. He probably didn't like being surrounded by all those intruders, and now that another one had been added, he was in complete panic. She could understand him, as she could imagine him being unaware of everything that was going on around him.

For a moment she felt genuine compassion for him, yet it was not as if she had entered in the best of moods and maintaining that facade of indifference was beginning to be difficult for her.

Keeping her composure she smiled at him slightly, making a small bow with her head as brought a hand to her chest grasping the flap of her red tunic.

"Geira, daughter of Geiri, at your service," she introduced herself.

"Traitor to her folk!" Dwalin added contemptuously, shouting at the top of his lungs.

She tries to ignore the dwarf words smoking with the side of her mouth to the Hobbit infront of her. But then another voice spoke, a voice which she could never forget either in a thousand years.

"What are you doing here, you dirty mashkil?!" Thorin growled loud, his voice echoing between the whole of the whole house.

Her intention to remain calm was shattered like a crystal glass thrown to the ground. A shiver ran down her spine and a sigh escaped her mouth. She slowly lowered her hand from her chest and the armour of indifference she had built up wavered at the mere sound of the dwarf speaking to her.

Geira looked up, finally returning Thorin's gaze. His blue eyes stared at her as cold as a winter night in a blizzard, and what she felt was... nothing.

She felt nothing, or so she told herself.

"You have not been asked for introductions, King Under the Mountain," she spit, as angry as ever.

As soon as she finished those words several elderly dwarves around the table burst into exclamations and in the blink of an eye some of them stood up and she recognised them, every single one who stood up..

She knew who they were and they knew who she was.

One dwarf in particular kicked the stool he was sitting on and slammed his two iron fists into the wooden table, making it creak under his force.

"You filthy traitor, say that again!" roared Dwalin, looking her straight in the face. “Try to say it again!”

Geira didn't have time to dwell on how much she could recognise him even after all those years, for her gaze was caught by the muscles in his arms that seemed to flare with anger, and the scars on his forearms seemed to come alive with a life of their own. So many years had passed, yet she felt no nostalgia, only a great emptiness, that was all she had to feel. Yet she had to pull herself out of that situation, for the sake of what she had promised herself.

"Sit down, Dwalin..." she murmured, brushing her fingertips over the pommel of her sword strapped to her side.

"Don't you dare tell me what I must do, you 'angûna, just breathing your air disgusts me. You should die just for daring to show your face here!"

"This is not dwarven territory..." she explained, gritting her teeth.

"As long as I'm under this roof, everything around me is dwarven territory!"

At this point, however, she could not control a grimace. "Ironic how you're watching and paying attention to my presence instead of thinking about how to take back your territory." she spit glaring up at him.

The dwarf roared, moving away from the table in one swift motion. "One order from you Thorin, and I will make her bitterly regret it! Bloody traitor!" he yelled out of himself.

Geira shifted her gaze to the dwarf king still standing, looking him straight in the eye as she waited for a silent response to the demands of the warrior dwarf beside her: and she got it.

The frown in the middle of his forehead deepened, but his eyes remained as cold, as icy, and as terrible as the ones he had looked at her with one last time so long ago.

A dominance in his gaze, an anger, a hatred that had brought her to her knees back then. A look that had drained her of all light inside, like the words that had followed shortly afterwards, the last words he had ever spoken to her.

But this one she was not begging him at his feet. If he wanted to take her life away once again this time, Thorin would have to do it by looking her straight in the eyes and fighting as equals.

Thorin had opened his mouth to give an order as she sharted to count her breath and moving her hand closer to her hip, but they both were preceded by the most unlikely voice of all, which unexpectedly defended her.

"Excuse me, but I don't think that's any way to talk to a lady." All eyes shifted to the side of the hallway, to Bilbo, some admiring, some confused, some threatening, even her owns, which grew wide eyed at such words. The hobbit stammered under that attention and linked his feet, "though, I mean... that's what you say it is.... that it is," he concluded, glancing at Thorin, "at least, not in my house. No sir!" he adjusted the braces of his trousers, more out of the discomfort he felt than anything else.

Geira let go of the hilt of her sword at her side, surprised at how the little hobbit had spoken to Thorin, perhaps because she didn't know who he was, but that small gesture of courage intrigued her, as something hadn't intrigued her in a long time. She noticed an amused look from Gandalf at the hobbit as he continued to rock back on his heels, probably expecting for Dwalin and Thorin to sit back down in their seats, but they did not.

Instead a clatter of crockery and a couple of chuckles rose from the door next the living room, intruding on the vast silence that had spread across the room, breaking the layer of ice that was growing thicker between all of them.

"Uh. uh someone has angered Master Dwalin, hold this pint brother, be very careful."

"I am careful, you're the one standing on my foot Kili!"

"Then move it, no? We're missing all the fun because of you!"

The entire room quickly turned towards the source of the noise, all but one dwarf, Thorin, who didn't take his eyes off the dwarf maid figure for a moment, and like the others, kept his attention towards the side door of the dining room.

Before Geira had a chance to wonder what was going on next door to the small dining room where the dwarves were sitting, two young dwarves appeared, two pints each in hand. One with hair as golden as molten gold, the other with brown hair, frizzy and terribly familiar.

Geira held his breath for a few seconds.

"Oh shut up Fili, you're always in the way, if you'd move over maybe I'd see why they stopped shouting too," the younger dwarf mocked his brother, raising his pints in the air to go sit in his seat.

"Surely uncle has finished," replied the other making the same movements as the brunette, "or the other burg...lady... has arrived...".

The blond-haired boy could not complete the sentence as soon as his blue eyes rested on Geira.

His mouth opened wide, causing the two beads on his moustache to sway to the side of his mouth.

The hazel-haired dwarf tilted his head to the side as he looked at his confused brother, slowly sitting back in his seat. "What is a burg...lady?"

Finally, his gaze landed on her as well, but unlike that of the dwarf still standing beside her, his open mouth soon turned into a warm smile.

"SO YOU ARE THE OTHER NEW MEMBER! WELCOME!" he yelled, opening his arms in the air, raising the two pints he still held in his hand.

Geira said nothing, remaining impassive, feeling the other brother's eyes still on her.

"WELL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? TAKE A SIT! I ALSO HAVE ANOTHER PINT, IF YOU WANT IT !" The other dwarf invited her with a dramatic gesture of the goblet, but she did not move an inch.

“Kili…�� Thorin murmured to the brown haired young dwarf, glancing at him.

“Why were you yelling like that then? And why are you still up, we were about to tell Mr Beggins how-”

“Kili,” the older of the two brothers, froze suddenly, casting a glance towards Geira's side calling his brother to attention.

Geira noticed him and casually covered the visible seal on the pommel of the sword with one hand and knew from the glittering brown eyes of the younger dwarf that he understood.

His big brown eyes widened, as did the blonde-haired dwarf's mouth. "You are a..." the dark-haired dwarf murmured as his mouth curled up in a small smile.

"Fili, Kili, be quiet!" Thorin stopped them, but the two young brothers continued undaunted, not realising that they were only making things worse.

"Oh, come on uncle, it's wonderful! It'll be all..."

Uncle.

"I said silence!" roared Thorin, slamming his fist on the table.

At the dwarf lord's growl the two brothers were astonished, opening their mouths wide but remaining as he had ordered in silence, however, casting pointed glances towards the opposite side of the room. They knew immediately that something was wrong.

Geira's hand slipped away from her pommel and she did not let them see what had caused her to hear those last words as the two young dwarves did as their uncle told them, sitting down in silence, but not stopping to look at her.

Geira looked up at Dwalin, who glanced at Thorin, who most likely replied with another glance, because he nodded in return. However, he did not fail to look at her one last time with a look full of fury.

The dwarven king narrowed his eyes slightly before he turned his attention to the sorcerer once more in complete silence.

"I want her to leave," he said emotionlessly.

"I am afraid it can't be possible," replied Gandalf calmly, as he returned to his seat.

"I won't let her stay here. I won't let her stand around my company, and put them in danger by only her presence," he growled low, talking as if she wasn't there listening. "I don't trust her! And I don't trust anything she says!" Thorin retorted seriously, not once looking at her face.

Geira clenched a fist, trying to keep her composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

How dare he speak of trust? Him of all people, when it was he himself who had betrayed hers. How dared he!

She gritted her teeth as a blind fury clouded her vision.

Gandalf remained silent for a few moments, observing the king of all dwarves before replying.

"You will have to, I did what I thought was right and calling her back from exile is the right choice," he explained.

"The right choice?" resumed Thorin, his blue eyes twinkling menacingly "And how, shall we hear?"

Gandalf gestured with his hand towards Geira, inviting her to speak with a movement of his head; thirteen heads turned towards her, and even Thorin laid, finally, his eyes on her face.

For a moment his gaze alone made her flinch, making her eat back words she had not yet spoken. And yet, she had to say them. For herself, for her father, for her one hundred and seventy years of exile and for all the pain she had to go through because of that damn dwarf who was staring at her. She swallowed up her anger and her vision slowly became clear again.

"I am here, to fulfil my oath," she explained, looking the dwarf king straight in the eye.

A thin chill spread through the room, seeping into the bones of the newcomers; Bilbo, however, watched the scene in curiosity, struggling to understand. Perhaps now he would receive the answers he had been waiting for since the beginning of that exhausting evening.

A dull clatter echoed through the room, the sound of a cup slamming against the wooden table.

"This is too much!" roared Dwalin as he pulled himself up onto his seat again. "One word from you, Thorin, and I will rip her head off her shoulders, as I should have done years ago!"

Thorin didn't answer; he stood up, continuing to look her straight in the eyes as if what she had just said was none of his business at all.

"Your oath?" he asked her calmly, too calmly. With a couple of strides he approached her, his fists clenched and his jaw contracted. "Your oath is worthless now. It was broken long ago. Your words, your oath are nothing more than a pile of cold ash," he began growling low.

She almost dug her nails into the skin of her hand.

"It is a lifetime oath, you were there when I had sworn it," she addressed him as calmly as he had.

Thorin's jaw clenched a second time and his breathing became irregular.

"And I was there when you broke it," he uttered a low growl. "I saw you break it, you did it before my eyes..." he added contemptuously.

A pang of pain cut through her chest as everything that had happened that day appeared in her head. She seemed to see his gaze again, to feel the tears running down her face, to feel her heart being torn from her chest. She seemed to see her world burning before her eyes, her life burning before her eyes, and then... the exile.

The exile to which he had condemned her.

"I don't want to keep my oath for you if that's what you're worried about, King Under the Mountain," she spit staring directly into his eyes.

"I don't care why you want to keep it, I don't need you to keep it!" Thorin shouted at her, roaring out of his mind. "Your words mean nothing to me, a'lâju Mahal!”

A scraping of a chair followed the dwarf lord's words. "Thorin..." whispered Balin, but Thorin was as unstoppable as a blazing fire.

"You have no place among us, you have no honour, you have no name, you have no clan, you are nothing!

Your oaths were broken when you turned your back on us! Your blood is as tainted as your father's!"

For Geira that was the final straw. He shouldn't even dare to mention his father, shouldn't even try, king or not! Oath or no oath, he had no right.

Her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword. This time she approached him, with a couple of strides. She looked down at him as words began to pour out of her mouth like a flood.

"Then let Dwalin cut off my head now, this instant, for I assure you, Thorin son of Thrain, that I would rather be buried underground than fulfil the words I spoke to your kin years ago!" she retorted mercilessly. "If I could, I would retreat them one by one!"

"Be quiet, traitor!" he yelled at her, slamming his fist on the wall next to him.

"ENOUGH!" the darkness fell over those present before Geira could reply; they all fell silent at the power unleashed by Gandalf, who now stood menacingly over them, glowering. He glared down at them, a gesture that made them feel almost smaller than usual. Almost. For, as certain as the sun rising in the east, dwarves were not so easily frightened, not even if the subject in question was a wizard.

"You dwarves and your stubbornness! You will bring us to ruin before we even begin our journey! Geira will come with us. If I say her presence is essential, then it is essential! Her reasons do not matter to me as they should not matter to any of you!"

"It does matter," Thorin's deep voice rose from the silence that had enveloped his companions. "You cannot ask us to trust her, Gandalf. What she has done is..." the dwarves' attention shifted from her to Gandalf again.

"I know of it, but I ask you for the sake of this quest to leave old grudges aside; otherwise, we will not get very far if you continue to quarrel. When we reach the Lonely Mountain..."

Gandalf froze for a moment averting his gaze to her for a moment and then back to Thorin again. "Geira will accompany us there and then help us to reclaim it and th-"

"Then I will leave, if that is what you wish for Thorin Oakenshield," she concluded, giving a glance to his hand still on the wall next to her.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and slowly began to back away a few steps returning to his seat. "It is what I wish for as of now, for you to leave us, and that will not change," he stated, casting a glance at her hair, so short that it showed her neck, and her shoulders and part of her hear. The same length she had when he saw her for the last time.

"I don't want it to change..." she answered back as after a long time she felt ashamed again of those short locks.

The cut he gave to her.

And that was what they were for, to make her disgusted with herself, and in the absurdity it had been her choice to cut them so much that she had scratched her scalp the first time she had done it. She had cut every single lock and braid, counting them one by one as well as the short sideburns on the side of her face, shaving as short as she could the side of her head, leaving her right side a bit longer than nothing.

And with a last disgusted glance of Thorins on her head the discussion stopped.

Geira bit her tongue, lowering her gaze, and after that long wait, accepted a chair that the Hobbit gently offered her with a smile on his face all the while the chatter that had taken place before her arrival resumed.

But the grave atmosphere continued to permeate the walls of the room.

Nor did the tense mood change when everyone's attention turned to the Hobbit.

Geira wondered if his stammering was from the bewilderment of the various news stories, or his actual way of speaking: probably the first option. She saw him frown, countless wrinkles forming on his forehead as he tried to figure out what kind of trouble they were getting him into. She felt tremendously close to him at that moment: she would have gladly walked through the round door to get away from there, but she had promised Gandalf that she would stay. She had promised herself and her father; no more running, no more hiding. It was time to show everyone that she was not what they said she was, she had never been.

She paid no particular attention to the various explanations Gandalf and Thorin gave Bilbo, but it was when they handed him the long contract that her attention was caught again. She saw the hobbit intent on reading it, concern palpably making its way into his thoughts and gestures.

"Incineration?" he asked incredulously, unfolding the parchment better; perhaps he was convinced he had read it wrong. "...I'm going to faint.... " he said, his voice uncertain and trembling.

"Think of a furnace with wings: a flash of light, searing pain, and poof! You are nothing more than a pile of ash!" began Bofur, looking out of the doorway where she sat.

Bilbo lost all colour in his face, turning pale, too pale. It sounded like an alert to Geira; she held her breath until the other fainted, falling to the green carpet like a sack of potatoes.

Had his courage in speaking to Thorin been a flash of courage, then?

It was only then that they all sprang to their feet and tried to reach him, but in doing so they created an immense confusion, whereupon Gandalf ordered them all to go outside for some air. Dwalin and Nori helped him to lift Bilbo up and bring him to his senses, while Geira, again on Gandalf's advice, fumbled around in the kitchen to make him a cup of tea, trying to do as little damage as possible. She risked, for example, to spill the water from a nice blue and yellow cup, plus splash the boiling water from the teapot all over the place. Cooking in a real kitchen, that was something she hadn't done in a long time, as well as tinkering with this kind of fine crockery. She adjusted her black armguards and with a sharp movement of her hand and rolled up her sleeves a bit. She completed the laborious mission, delivering the drink to the owner of this house who, in the meantime, had woken up and was sitting in the living room in a comfortable armchair.

As soon as he heard her coming, he followed her every gesture with watchful eyes, until she broke the silence, handing him the cup full of aromatic tea.

"Your gaze has not ceased to follow me since I crossed your threshold, Bilbo Baggins; I have a feeling you have many questions for me," she told him, trying to force a smile and be as friendly as she could be.

It was all so difficult.

"Well, I... " he was stunned, not knowing how to continue, perhaps embarrassed at being caught in the act. He watched her in silence as she found a place by the lit fireplace, resting her back against the side of it. "Well, you... you're like them, aren't you?"

"A dwarf?" she asked him in turn, hinting at a smile at such innocence.

He nodded his head, passing the hot cup through his hands. "But, well, I had heard that dwarf women... they had..." The hobbit froze suddenly and fell silent, passing his gaze quickly to her face just above.

A sigh escaped her and she decided to tell him a half-truth.

"I cut them off a long time ago..." she explained hastily, but without ever trying to offend him in any way. She took a breath, trying to find an excuse in her head that would satisfy his curiosity. "A sign of... mourning..." she murmured.

It was not the whole truth.

Bilbo looked at her carefully, trying to see in those black eyes all the suffering they concealed; and suddenly his mind asked so many questions that it became involved: how long had it been since he had felt so interested in someone? He had kept to himself as much as possible, letting those four walls envelop him like a warm, soft blanket, in a slight torpor that had been shattered by the arrival of the dwarves. And Geira's.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he could not keep his mouth shut, not even putting the cup to his lips and sipping the hot tea.

"M-may I ask you another question?" he asked her, watching her eyes gradually lose themselves in the flames of the fireplace. "Is it true what they told you earlier? Those names they refer to you... are they true?"

"Are you afraid I will stab you in your sleep?" she answered him piquantly, raising an eyebrow.

Bilbo cursed himself, cursed him and his curiosity Tuc.

"N-no... no..." He was about to apologise when the girl shrugged, evasive.

"I'm exiled, it's true, but a traitor... that... no... no, never…” she looked again into the fire, which was crackling quietly before them. "I am here for one purpose only, and to keep a promise I made, long ago, far too long ago..." she murmured, turning back to him: curious but respectful grey eyes in deep, haunted black ones.

"You all have a purpose, a mission in this whole thing... I...I am just a hobbit, I am not what you all think I am..."

Geira watched as the hobbit's fingers held the cup and his gaze suddenly clouded over.

These were good questions he was asking himself, yet Gandalf believed in him, and the dwarves in the other room believed him more than they did with her, one of their own kind.

For a few moments he reminded her of a young dwarf lady in a large luxurious room in a distant mountain years and years ago wondering what she wanted to be in life.

Slowly she approached him, kneeling beside his green armchair and resting her hands on the armrest.

"I think you will only find out if you come with us; there is more to you than meets the eye, Bilbo. I saw it before, and... even if you don't see them, they're there, they're always there," she told him gently, marvelling at her own words.

Why was she talking to him like that, in that tone, as if she knew him? As if another person, as if he was interested in her opinion, perhaps because she hadn't spoken to someone like that in months. Still, it wasn't enough of a justification, but Geira found herself continuing.

"The journey will be fraught with danger, from outside and within the Company. That will take courage, but also a deep fear of the unknown to do what we must do. Because what we will find on the other side of the known world could be anything… or nothing. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to come with us.”

"Danger… within... the Company?"

Geira was about to answer, but their eye contact was interrupted by the arrival of the wizard, who had come to make sure of his friend's health.

"Excuse me," the dwarf-woman took her leave of the two, leaving them alone to talk; she fastened her cloak, but as soon as she placed her hand on the door knob, Bilbo's voice reached her.

"Thank you, miss Geira," he said.

“You can call me Geira” she answered, turning her head to the small hobbit sittin on the armchair.

H just nodded, looking at her with big eyes before shifting his attention to the cup in his hands

She turned, seeing a tense but grateful smile on his lips; she half-smiled as well, opening the door and stepping out into the light night breeze.

She had to calm her nerves, she had to calm down in order to regain her self-control and her coolness, which had been severely tested by the events of the evening: from an inside pocket of her cloak she took out her long white wooden pipe; from another, she took out her pipe-weed. Shortly afterwards she was blissfully smoking, sitting on the bench just outside the door; the long puffs produced small clouds that dispersed in the air: she followed them with her eyes until they disappeared, while her mind was lost in the meanders of her twisted thoughts. Did Bilbo feel out of place? And she, what was she to say? Of course, she had known from the beginning, from the moment Gandalf had introduced himself to her in that village of Men, that this would be anything but a walk in the wood: too many prejudices hovered among the dwarves, including herself, too many things left unsaid.

She felt like a flower in the frost, or perhaps she was the frost.

She shook her head, sucking in another breath that made her think better: she was there for a good reason, she had explained it to Bilbo; she just had to concentrate on that and that was it. It mattered little if they ignored her, if they did not speak to her along the leagues they had to travel, or if they were suspicious and indifferent. She would let them, their gazes should slide over her like water over her skin, she should just... just end those years.

What the wizard had told her had been gnawing at her for weeks. The likelihood of a hope, that if she fulfilled her oath perhaps, if she didn't die in the process, she would restore her name and she could... return home. But the real question was, did she want to go home and why was she still holding on to a broken oath?

"Are we interrupting?"

A young voice shook her from her outcast thoughts, finding one, or rather two young dwarves beside her... They were the two who had tried to convince Thorin to include her in the group - Fili and Kili, if she remembered correctly, the ones who had figured out what she was, who she was... Thorin's nephews. Two princes.

She took the pipe from her mouth and a mixture of emotions stirred in her chest, a desire to drive them out mixed with the urge to ask them to stay.

They were waiting for an answer to the question, she realised only after she found two pairs of puzzled eyes, waiting.

"Depends on what you want," she replied cautiously.

She didn't like the answer much, but the two stood there, undaunted. The black-haired dwarf with a youngster’s stubble sat down beside her, not waiting for an invitation; although he sensed Geira's suspicious glances, he did not pay heed to them. He took out his pipe and, after lighting it, squatted down more on the bench, puffing out small clouds of smoke.

"We just wanted to share some tobacco with you, nothing else," he insisted, sketching a brief smile.

"But maybe I don't want to share," Geira replied stubbornly.

The boy widened his eyes and looked at her almost displeased. Geira scolded herself, perhaps that wasn't the right way to go: they were her companions now, and she should at least try not to pick a fight with them. Yet it was proving so complicated, and the second boy's blue eyes didn't make it easy for him at all.

The nephews... the sons of…

"You should, if you don't want to isolate yourself before we leave..." the blond-haired, bearded dwarf attacked her: even in the moonlight she could see his blue eyes shining; so familiar it hurt.

Her fingers gently touched the inlaid hilt of her long sword, with which she never parted, seeking some form of strength, courage or, why not, peace of mind.

She forced himself not to let the acidity of his words show, "I thought I was already an outcast before I left, Master Dwarf. And forgive me, but I still don't know your names, which doesn't seem fair since you know mine."

The one sitting next to her laughed, throwing back his head, "You are right, forgive us, but the circumstances before did not allow us. I am Kili, this is my brother Fili, we are the sons of Vili and princess Dìs,"

Sons of Dìs.

A bite in her stomach made her pipe clench in her hand and suddenly her chest became incredibly heavy. The sons of Dís, Princess Dís.

How many years had passed? Had it really been that long? Had time around her really begun to move so slowly that she did not know how many years she had lived that life?

They were kids, but they were older than she had been when everything changed.

“Very well, then, Fili and Kili…” she murmured under her breath.

Geira remained silent and tried to calm her heartbeat after the latest information she had received. She sucked in another puff of smoke realising that there was, in fact, no more tobacco; she cursed silently and wiped it off, then put it back in her pocket. She wrapped herself a little more in her cloak as a gust of air penetrated her heavy clothes, fit for travel.

"Not very talkative, are you? Yet with the hobbit you spoke, I heard you!" asked Kili, sitting too close.

"You are talkative for both of us, young prince," she said, his eyes widening for a moment and then narrowing to slits, unexpectedly suspicious.

Geira caught herself explaining before the situation escalated. "You called Thorin ‘uncle’ earlier; I do not possess magical powers, if that is what you fear,"

"I didn't think so. But I am surprised that you called me young: yet, you do not seem as old as Balin, or Dori or Master Oìn..."

This time it was Geira's turn to smile. She barely lifted a corner of her lips, but it was enough for Kili: if only he had known.

"Looks can be deceiving: to me, you are certainly quite young, just boys."

"Then how many..."

His brother Fili interrupted him forcefully, "The sword, where did you t-"

"Lads, please return; the hobbit has made up his mind," Balin interrupted Fili's question, and allowed Geira to avoid answering uncomfortable questions to say the least.

The old dwarf gave her a brief but penetrating glance, but he did not bother to ascertain whether she was following him or not, so Geira opted to stay out there a little longer, alone; she left the door to Bag End half open and, from the confusion that followed, deduced that Bilbo had denied her help. Part of her felt terribly sorry and sad: she had accepted the fact that she would be leaving in the company of dwarves who hated her, but the torture seemed less heavy, knowing that a face less hostile than others would be at her side. She sighed loudly, trying to catch screams, reproaches or furious, stubborn phrases, but her ears met with the silence that reigned in the house; curious, she got up and, without making the slightest noise, looked out of the door to peek inside. She recognised Thorin's broad back covered by a fur cloak, his long, neatly wavy hair falling past his shoulders; he was leaning against the fireplace in the hall, where she had been standing before while everyone else was standing around him.

A melody sung with his mouth closed emerged from the silence; then his voice, deep and warm, filled the room, spreading through the air like perfume.

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day

To find our long-forgotten gold.

Geira held her breath, melody from the very first notes, but.. the words, they were different from what she remembered. She frowned but then stop to worry and started to listen as Thorin's voice passed through her ears and went straight into her heart. She felt a strong grip on her chest, as if some invisible hand had tightened around her heart; those words tasted of something long forgotten, of longing for something lost. They tasted of home, of family. Her mind played the terrible trick of making her see again the places she had walked in Erebor as a child: squares, streets and alleys, palaces full of gold, stables, armouries... and then dwarves walking, working, children running and screaming. All this had died with the city, swallowed up by the terror of the dragon, and she had not had the chance to see it one last time. Soon, Thorin was not the only one singing; the others joined him, singing the last verse that reminded them of the same feelings.

The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night,

The fire was red, it flaming spread,

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The song ended, but the sadness lingered on. Geira drew back quickly, returning to the embrace of darkness, her long-time friend; far from prying eyes, she wiped away the tears that had mockingly escaped her lashes, forming a small furrow on her rosy cheeks. She blinked several times to squeeze out more tears and breathed deeply, trying at the same time to calm down and listen to the king's instructions for the next morning's departure.

"Try to get as much rest as possible; Gandalf will show us to our quarters..."

There followed a great commotion, a sign that everyone was gathering their knick-knacks: as she did not want to show himself in such a pitiful state, she decided to wait outside; perhaps, with the favour of darkness, no one would notice the signs of crying.

As expected, the others came out, dark in face; they glanced at her in passing, then disappeared down a path towards a small inn. As soon as the last of them, Ori, was out of sight, she went into the house, looking for her bow, which she found where she had left it, leaning against the wall of the small kitchen. She took a quick glance around, noticing the cleanliness and order that once again reigned supreme, as if nothing had happened. It was indeed a fine home, fit for someone who loved his life and would not change it for all the gold in the world.

She secured her bow to her back, picked up her quiver, and hoisted it over her shoulder. She reached the hall with great, heavy strides, but froze when her eyes fell upon the long contract written by Thorin and countersigned by Balin on the footstool in front of the chair. With a knot in her throat, she saw that the place for Bilbo's signature was spotless, empty. She sighed again, brushing it with her fingers.

She felt guilty: it was she who had warned him of what lay ahead, who had told him that she would not blame him if he refused, and that she, too, might leave the Company to its fate; so when he had thanked her, had she already decided in her heart not to take part? She ran a hand through her short hair, touching every lock from her forehead to the back of her neck.

"He will come, do not fear," her left hand ran quickly to the scabbard, drawing the sword she carried at her side; it was only when she was in a defensive position that she recognised Gandalf, who had entered without her hearing him. He walked towards her, his hands clasped behind his back and the usual sardonic smile always on his lips; he watched her for long moments, with those blue eyes that could dig into you, until they read your soul. And Geira, in her heart, was afraid of it.

"That contract will be signed very soon," he insisted, now closer to her.

"'Are you so convinced? The young hobbit wasn't convinced, I've seen that kind of look too many times, from young soldiers, recruits, and even head guards," almost without realizing it, she found himself again brushing against that yellowed paper, and those handwritten characters of those who had once been part of her world.

"Oh, I hope so! But, usually, my convictions always turn out to be correct!"

"Like me coming here?" she said directly as she looked up at him.

Gandalf took a deep breath, tilting his head down slightly to keep it from slamming into the ceiling. "That is the uncertainty that, though you will not believe me, has plagued me these many weeks," he explained quietly. "I will not hide from you that I thought you were not coming.”

"I didn't want to," Geira admitted. "I waited in Aldburg for as long as I could," she concluded, smoothing out the traveling bag on her shoulder with a movement of her shoulder.

The wizard nodded his head before speaking. "I see. What made you change your mind?"

At that unexpected question Geira stiffened all of a sudden. She had spent weeks in the room of the inn in the small village in the kingdom of Rohan, mulling over the offer the wizard had made to her, and up until a fortnight ago she had been more than sure that she would not participate in the expedition. Why should she, why should she accept what Gandalf had told her outside that inn as true. He knew nothing of what was to come, and yet the prospect he held out to her was too much even for a hardened soul like hers.

He could revoke the exile, you could go back home, fulfil your oath and be free, Geira. Isn't it what you want? Being free again?

"Because I don't want to die like this, in the dirt of a Men’s village with an invisible chain wrapped around my chest ... I don’t want to be bound to him anymore, I want his nephews to see their home,they are the new hope for Durin’s folk" she explained hastily, speaking like a dirge she had learned by heart.

"And not him?”

She looked up to Gandalf . “Would you ask this to a victim of an executioner? Or to a leftover wife of a soldier?”

“It depends on how much the victim cared for the executioner, and vice versa,” he explained with a soft voice.

For Geira it was like receiving a punch in the middle of her sternum; she felt a sudden urge to shout out her frustration, her anger, to give vent to the rage she had kept jealousy inside her all evening. He knew, Gandalf knew, yet he dared to say that to her, if it was to achieve a goal of his as he had already seen him do, it would not work this time, not with her.That was the point of no return for her; controlling her tears was almost impossible, as was not taking the sword from the hilt and pointing it at the wizard, even though she knew what would happen.

Furious, she began to tremble, looking the wizard straight in the face and finally and, after months, asked him the question that was eating her alive.

“Why did you want me to come?!” she growled “You have warriors, you have clever dwarves and useful ones. Why did you come to me, and do not tell me you did it for me!” she nearly roared.

As he had done for the rest of the evening, Gandalf remained silent for a few seconds, watching her. He did not get angry or upset, but he looked at her in such a way that everything around her seemed to grow cold and sad and for a moment she felt the same way.

“Because you have to fulfill your oath,” he told her again.

“I did not intend to fulfill it! That oath was broken long ago as was the one that he swore to me! Stop lying to me! ” she insisted, pleading with him with her eyes.

He owed that to her, an answer a simple answer, she was not asking more. She just wanted to know why Gandalf wanted her to torture heself, why he wanted her so bad in that Company why he cared that much that forced Thorin to accept her as a member of his Company.

He sighed softly, smiling sadly with the side of his mouth “I didn't, I did it for the executioner, for the warrior, for the king...”

Geira parted her lips, astonished but quivering with anger; unexpectedly she smiled, a sad smile, without a hint of joy painted on her face. “You know Gandalf, now I understand why you lied to me, because if these are the real reasons, you know I'm sure I would have turned down your invitation back then.

And without saying anything more she turned and walked out of the rounded green door.

She left the hobbit’s house behind her, following the same path the others had taken, passing other green mounds - hobbit dwellings - and finally resting at the inn where the whole company was already staying, but still awake. And she would know that that night, like many others, she would not find rest, because a question had begun to arise, a question about a story she had been telling herself for too many years: was she really only doing this for herself? Yes was the answer, because if it were otherwise she would rather die by his hand than go through it all again. To feel again. To be betrayed again.

The flames burned up to the sky. The fumes came out of every window from every balcony from every hole in which they found a passage. The screams rose high in the air and thundered in the valley below her. The yellow and blue fabrics danced a dance of death and destruction as they walked out the shattered marble door. Children clung to their parents' necks in fear. The women and men wept as they watched the bodies scattered on the door under the rubble as they were pulled away by those few who had not yet been gripped by grief.

The once green pines and grass on either side of the mountain had become a heap of ash and coal.

Her tears would not stop flowing, her armor had become heavy as a boulder that prevented her from moving.

Then a desperate scream under the hill where she was about her came to her ears making her almost fall to her knees under the weight of her helplessness and guilt.

His formerly desperate blue eyes turned to pure amazement as they landed on her.

One scream, one last scream before the realization of what would happen as she watched her heart burn in the rubble with her oaths and with the one dwarf who possessed it.

"I told you coming here would be a waste of time!"

"To hire a hobbit, where did you get such an idea?!"

"I did not think such a small body could possess so much..."

"Stubbornness, Oìn?"

"Well, why would he help us if he doesn't even know us?" noted Bofur, returning to light his pipe with a tinderbox and sitting down better on the window sill.

"Gandalf promised us the hobbit would accompany us; and if he said so, we must trust him."

"How about a bet, then? Come on, Nori! What do you say?"

There began a long chatting that involved them all, those who bet for or against Bilbo's arrival by the next morning. The commotion that permeated the small room of the inn, where they were to sleep, allowed two dwarves to move into the corridor, away from prying eyes and ears.

"What do you think, laddie?" asked the older dwarf, smoothing his long white beard.

The other sighed wearily, the ever-present wrinkle in the middle of his forehead more than worth a thousand words; even after he had removed his heavy cloak and remained in his long blue tunic covering his breeches, his figure was imposing and commanded awe and respect.

No matter how hard Balin tried, he still found it hard to believe that this dwarf, a child, who later became a young boy, would become king so soon, faced two major battles that had taken everything from him and with which he had to deal every day, every night; the old dwarf knew this for sure: not even in his dreams was Thorin Oakenshield free, safe from rancour and remorse.

"I think this mission has started under the worst of auspices: I wonder..." he paused, not quite sure what to say next.

"Whether we should proceed?"

The king nodded, but his gaze was far from convinced, lost in thoughts unknown to most, but intuitable to Balin; or, at least, most of the time. But, to be on the safe side, he decided to broach the subject calmly, one step at a time.

"Don't distress yourself about the hobbit: if you hadn't beckoned to me and brought me here, I would have placed a bet in his favour, you know?" he gave a half-smile, but that did not relax his companion’s tense features, quite the contrary. He made a contemptuous sound, halfway between sceptical and desperate.

"Dwalin was right: it was a waste of time coming here. It was folly to believe in his help; but even without him, we must proceed. No, it's not his presence I'm worried about... no... not him."

Here was the raw nerve, the sore point: just as Balin had imagined; it was not the thought of the failed burglar that plagued him.

"Thorin..." he began, laying a hand on his forearm. But as soon as he did, the muscles under his shirt twitched and the old dwarf was stopped with a raised hand and a grim look.

Seeing him in that state did not help Balin either, after all: after all, he was like a son to him. And fathers were always distressed when their children were not calm and happy.

"No, Balin. I don't want to talk about it," was his curt reply; and no matter how much the elder dwarf insisted, he would not be heard. His king's pride was mightier than reason, which struggled to prevail: for if he had even tried to think, Thorin would have understood; but stubbornness and anger blinded him.

Balin sighed loudly and shook his head, but he hoped in his heart that this journey would bring other victories than the lost pride of the dwarves.

Dawn came too soon, and continuous yawns surprised Geira as she rinsed her face with cold water and then strapped the sword to her side, but first she pulled it from its sheath, examining the blade for new scratches. Daylight broke over it, sending blinding glints down the walls: her hand stroked the inlaid and worked hilt, which gave the sword its name, more closely. Forged by her, for her alone, and branded on the hilt by... him.

That sword was her past, her present, her future perhaps. All she still possessed was that sword, all that bound her to what she had been was that sword that had allowed the two princes to know who she was and what she had been. She had managed to avoid their questions but she was sure, having seen the two princes, that they would ask Balin, Dwalin... Thorin for confirmation. And what would they answer? Was her oath really broken and she was just fighting the wind? No. She was to the death and would fulfil it, or die rather than live like this any longer. Without being able to speak a word to any dwarf.

She put the sword back where it belonged, and stopped losing herself in useless thoughts; she took a quick, final look around the room, tracing the outline of the simple wooden bed, the chest against the wall, and the windowsill, on which was a vase of fragrant lilac and yellow flowers: perfect, she had forgotten nothing. She arranged her traveling back better on her shoulder and closed the door, going downstairs; he thanked the innkeeper with a nod and a coin, then went out into the warm morning air. Outside, a riot of colours and scents invaded her, leaving her stunned: everything was so wonderfully green, and as the evening before she wondered what life could be like there.

"Good morning!" Kili's smiling face took her mind off her pesnier again, just like the night before in every way.

He stood in front of her, crunching a stick of beef jerky between his teeth, soon joined by his brother Fili, who had two in his mouth. "Come, we'll show you your pony," he said.

"My Pony?" she asked, incredulous.

With a gesture of his head, Fili invited her to follow them, or rather to follow her younger brother, who had already started walking with his arms behind his head. They took her to the back of the inn, where three animals stood in a large enclosure. Kili opened the wooden gate and pointed out the pony, a female with an entirely white coat, tame and quiet: Geira approached her, stroking her gently; she neighed, appreciating the gesture and making her new mistress smile. From the bag she took out a red apple and handed it to her, watching her devour it voraciously: yes, she liked it, she admitted; and it would be a good companion for the journey.

"Thanks, lads" she said with a smile turning towards the two brothers.

The dwarves bowed their heads in response, finishing lacing up the last of their bags of supplies, then dragged their steeds out of there, where the others were waiting for them; Geira followed, not receiving any greetings from the other members, just a deep silence, making her clearly remember what the others thought of her. Even the smile on her lips vanished in the blink of an eye.

Without a word, she hoisted herself up onto the saddle, settling in better. When they were all still and ready, Thorin cast his gaze over them all, including Gandalf, as if seeking some support, some security... or fear.

He made no speech, there was no need: they all knew what they were getting into, what the risks and dangers were, but they were ready; they were going to regain their homeland, there was nothing nobler than that,

their hearts were for their home. They were for Erebor: and they would hardly be discouraged or lose the purpose of their journey

The king turned his pony, leading it along the streets of Hobbiton, followed by the others.

Geira did not look back, but kept her gaze fixed ahead, her heart a little heavy and a little relieved, she could not quite explain why. She remained silent as they left the city and entered the large clearing lined with huge old trees, thinking with regret of the sort of friendly figure who might have cheered her journey and comforted her when all seemed lost. Who knows, perhaps Gandalf tended to overestimate himself a little too much, if he believed that his convictions always turned out to be right and positive …

"Wait!"

A familiar voice brought her to a halt, and so did the others; she turned swiftly in the saddle, hardly able to believe her eyes: Bilbo Baggins had just stopped beside Balin's pony, exhausted from his long ride; he caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow as he held out the contract to the elderly dwarf with one hand, claiming to have signed it. As soon as Balin verified the authenticity of the signature - a gesture that Geira found amusing anyway - he announced that he was welcome to Thorin Oakenshield's company; applause and whistles of welcome followed, interrupted by the king.

"Give him a pony!"

Bilbo tried to object, as he had never ridden a pony before, but Kili and Fili cleverly hoisted him up; Geira managed to catch the hobbit's eyes and, to his great surprise, he was stunned: she smiled at him, a warm and sincere smile.

And then the hobbit knew he had made the right choice.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin fic #thorin fanfiction #the hobbit fan fiction #king under the mountain #quest of erebor #middle earth #until my last breaht #thorinxreader #the hobbit fanfiction

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chimswae · 4 years

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BTS Caretake CH17

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,473

- Author Note:Late update again hmm i was a little busy these days with work ;( i appreciate your feedback and comment, just drop in my ASK BOX :)

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Chapter 17

The first move made by Jungkook few weeks ago did not end just like that, he would find free time between his hectic schedule to visit Seul and most importantly to live up to the promises that he made with her. Filling up the blank pages in his sketch book with Seul’s drawing. Seul on the other hand was used to Jungkook’s presence, as a matter of fact she still had no idea who’s the real Jungkook behind that black mask. For some reason he gave her a sense of security and tranquillity.

She loves that.

Now and then, both of them would have a little chit-chat over hot jasmine tea which apparently became Jungkook’s new favourite drink during his visit. He would come around 10 or 11 at night every time Seul had her night shift, that appeared to be 5 days in a week. If he did not show up after 12, Seul took the cue that he was too caught up with something.

Wiping the last table at the corner, Seul heaved a heavy sigh, it was a long day in this extremely cold weather. She felt super worn out for no reason, and she had to thank Wongeun for closing the store early today. Plus, it’s a new year eve, everyone deserved an early break and to be with their loved ones. Thirty minutes till clock strikes 12, embark the start of new chapter for everyone.

Seul wished to start her new chapter with a smile.

“Seul-ah are you done?” Sera’s chirpy voice filled the emptiness inside the room. She flashed Sera a warm smile with a simple nod “Are you ready to head back?” cheerful Sera clasped her hand together.

“You seem excited Ser, do you have a date tonight?” she teased.

“Let’s hope it is a date. Don’t you have one?” Sera blinked innocently.

Seul reddened at Sera’s accusation “Hey, I am not dating anyone” she retorted.

“The guy in that black mask visits you every week yet you don’t call that i-am-not-dating-anyone. You are a bad liar Seul!”

“He is just a friend of mine, we are not in that kind of relationship” just at the thought of dating the mysterious Mr JK sent chill down her spine. To be truth, she enjoyed his company because he felt oddly familiar even the smell of his clothes reminded her of the detergent she used for Bangtan’s laundry. It sounded insane, but her nose was sensitive as hell. The smell of his cologne that sipped through her nose smelled like someone from Bangtan, oddly.

Seul swore in the name of food that she consumed daily, the expensive cologne did smell like one of the boys. She spent every day in the dorm cleaning up their mess, sometimes she still could smell their cologne lingered in the thin air.

She shrugged the weird thought off from her tired mind. It couldn’t be one of boys, none of them were informed about her working here though. And, need Seul to remind herself they were not that close to the extent of exchanging personal information. That did not include Jin, her friendship and Jin grew over time even though at first, she was a little reluctant to pursue this new relationship that she was about to have with him.

Seul’s blooming friendship with Jin was nothing new. Jin is an interesting guy though he was terrible in cracking jokes. Nevertheless, a message from Jin gave a tingly feeling inside.

It felt homey.

Groaning in her head out of frustration, she needed to sort her feelings soon. 2017 is approaching, how could she love every presence of the gentlemen that she encountered, Yoongi, Jin and Mr JK. Oh, make it four, she would not forget Park Jimin.

Crossing her arm together, the corner of Sera’s lips was tugged into a playful smile “Oh really? If you are not in that kind of relationship. Turn around and see who is waiting for you outside” Seul brows were flinched together in confusion.

“What are you talking about” she puffed her cheeks and turned around only to be welcomed by a familiar figure waving awkwardly at her way. Seul’s eyes widened at his sudden visitation considering it was a new year night, he was the last person that she expected to see tonight.

Sera made her way to flustered Seul and whispered “He is coming for you, go get ready and leave. It is going to be long night” she gave the stoic girl a soft pat on the back. Clearing her throat to ease the awkwardness, Seul returned Jungkook’s wave shyly and signalled him to wait while she picked her stuffs.

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck while smiling widely under the mask, giving her an ‘okay’ sign. Being here tonight was already hard for him since he had been thinking over this to happen in the past two weeks. After much contemplation, he finally made up his mind. If the truth need to be prevailed, then today was the perfect time for it.

He questioned his decision.

Was it for the better or for the worst?

--------------------

“Where is Jungkook?” Namjoon nibbled his honey chips with a questionable look. They had promised to spend the new year night together now seeing one of the members disappeared worries him.

Jimin took a seat beside Yoongi with a loud yawn “He went out for a while, and he will be back in an hour” he answered casually. That was the only thing Jungkook told him before the younger guy left the house few minutes ago.

“So, he won’t be here during the countdown?” the elder boy grimaced.

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter, we will celebrate the night together eventually” Jin reasoned. They would not let things like this jeopardize their night, though it made more sense if everyone were together until the clock strikes 12. However, the boys believed in giving each other a little personal space, they didn’t want to appear too clingy towards each other anyways.

Namjoon hummed “Fine, as long as he doesn’t get himself into trouble” his eyes travelled back to the screen, joining Yoongi who didn’t show any movement since the movie started. Jhope’s soft howler from the kitchen got Jin’s attention “We are running out banana milk! Jungkook may need one later” he exclaimed.

“Shoot, I forgot to restock the banana milk” Jin frowned.

Taehyung exited his room while fixing his hair “I am going out to buy chips, I will get the drinks” Jimin blinked capturing Taehyung’s readiness, and his eyes landed on the camera in his hand.

“You are bringing camera to buy chips?” he inquired.

“In case, I catch some beautiful scenery that worth the shot” Taehyung’s mind traced back to Seul. It had been a month since his sloppy first meeting with Seul, ever since then he had no guts to meet the girl even though he knew her workplace. She did not want to creep her out at least that’s what he thought.

Yoongi mumbled under his breath lowly “Be back in an hour, don’t wander around mindlessly” he finally spoke up.

“Alright Yoongi-ssi” Taehyung grinned, giving all of them a salute before leaving the warm house. He purposely took the longest route pass Seul’s workplace just to catch a glimpse of Seul from afar. Why was he being so timid? He too was unsure of himself, things could be a little too much for him to comprehend this time.

Strolling along the sidewalk with a gleeful smile, Taehyung would not miss the chance to take a few shots of beautiful scenery that worth the shot to be included in his collection. His heart was beating so fast as the image of the store came into his vicinity. The road was cold and empty, knowing by now everyone should be home or somewhere with their loved ones, deep down inside, he wished to see Seul once again.

He stood across the road staring at the store with so much interest. The corner of his eyes caught an ambiguous figure leaning against the cold wall whom seemed patiently waiting for someone. It was dark, so he couldn’t clearly see who the person was though again he gave him a sense of familiarity.

Taehyung watched the light inside the store were turned off as two females coming out from the store with soft giggle. Again, he was sure one of the girls would be the person that he was dying to see since forever.

One of the girl gave a final wave before moving to another direction whilst the other girl stood straight facing the guy. Judging from her ponytail and her body gesture, Taehyung was sure it was indeed her. Not to sound like a real creep, but he remembered the little gesture and habit that she made along with the way she tied her hair into a cute ponytail.

His eyes never left her as he watched her walk side by side with the guy earlier, and it ached his heart. It was not a big deal to begin with since she had zero idea of his existence, and for pete’s sake they barely knew each other.

So, the fact that she’s dating someone should not be affecting him this much.

“Damn Kim Taehyung, you are fooling yourself” he let out a soft sigh of regret. Thinking about girl would only ruin his brain cell, so he ought to get Jungkook’s banana milk instead and snacks for tonight’s so-called celebration.

-------------------

Along the way, it was dead silence. None of them uttered anything, yet they enjoyed each other company. Seul was the first one who broke the silence that caught him off guard “So, what are you doing here with me instead of spending it with your family…or girlfriend?” she purposely emphasised the last word with a soft cough.

“There is no girlfriend” Seul bit her lower lips trying to surpass her obvious grin. She heard him continue “And my family is in Busan, but I will be celebrating with my friends who just like my brothers today. Don’t worry I have informed them that I will be late, they don’t mind” his soft voice soothed her heart.

“I just wanted to start my new year differently this year. And, I choose to spend it with you” for the umpteenth time, it shook the deepest core of her heart. Why’s he doing this to her?

Seul was touched by his kind words, never in her life she felt so important as now “You are flattering me Mr JK” she chuckled away her nervousness afraid that he might catch her jumbling with her own words.

“I am not flattering you. It is the truth” he shoved his hand inside his pocket, gathering his thought. The part of wanting to start the new year differently was the truth though, he wanted to get out from his comfort zone. Glancing at his watch, Jungkook murmured “So, ten minutes till 12, lets get an ice cream” he suggested.

She flinched “Are you crazy? It is freezing, and you want to eat ice cream at this time, seriously? It will only pain your body” Jungkook chuckled at her cuteness. He watched how her lips was curved upwards into a pout, it never failed to amuse him.

“I am craving for one, and we can share the ice cream. Let’s just get one” before Seul could even protest, Jungkook made his way inside the convenience store purchasing an ice cream just like he mentioned earlier. He ignored the odd look that he received from the cashier as he quickly returned to Seul excitedly.

“I got us one”

“You are weird”

“Do you mind if we share ice cream?” Jungkook eyes sparkled innocently under the moonlight. Was he hinting her about the indirect kiss? But that was only in a drama, the indirect kiss was exaggerated in the dramas anyway. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

A soft giggle escaped from her cold lips “We are not in a freaking drama Mr JK, so don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t mind sharing it with you, plus I don’t think I can finish one in this weather” she shot him a playful glare.

“Agree!” he winked. With that, he unwrapped the ice cream and held it close to Seul’s mouth “You eat first” Seul took a soft bite. Both of them started walking again, following the trail of snow on the street.

“This is my place” Seul made an abrupt stop facing Jungkook. He scanned the old building, tilting his head in disappointment since he still wanted to spend more time with Seul. It ended too quickly.

“That was quick that I expected” his voice showed a hint of sadness and disappointment.

Seul nodded “It is two minutes’ walk from the convenience store, I forgot to mention that. Anyways, you should head back. Your brothers are waiting for your arrival” Jungkook did not budge but instead he fed the girl with the remaining ice cream causing her to shudder due to the coldness.

“YAH!” Seul jabbed his arm as he dodged skilfully accompanied with a playful chuckle that broke the eerie silence of this empty street.

“Four minutes till 12, I will head back after that” Seul gave him an amused look, up until now she wondered to what extent this guy in front of her would surprise her with his randomness.

The time is ticking so did Jungkook fear of wanting to end this little mind game he had, no more turning back. He unzipped his jacket, pulling out his sketch book “I.. did it…” he mumbled. Their eyes met did not know how to react in this situation, was it just her but she felt extremely sad over the fact that he was done with his task. This means, she will no longer be able to see him as frequent as before.

His job was done here.

She must live up with the fact that people will eventually leave when the times come.

Jungkook sensed her expression darken, so it worries him a little just in case she did not like the drawing. Seul took the sketch book, flipping through the pages one by one. Her heart sunk as it reached the last page. The drawings of her and him, talking happily at the corner of the café while enjoying their drinks.

Her eyes were sting with tears, but she refused to let it go. She did not want to overreact in front of him, they became close over a month, so it did not make her any special in his heart. For an odd reason, Seul felt very affected of this as if she got dumped by a guy.

“Seul-ssi…are you alright? You don’t like it? I am sorry, I will do better next time. I also think it looks bad never mind, let me draw it again. Let’s forget about this” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck trying to get a look of Seul who had her head hung low.

Blinking her tears away, Seul shook her head “No, I love it. It takes my breath away. Your drawing. As expected from you Mr JK. That was fast, did not expect you to finish it within a month” she swallowed the heavy lump on her throat, mustering her courage to meet Jungkook’s worried eyes.

“Thank god..you scared me. I..was shocked of myself too. I got carried away, and I guess the result came out earlier than I expected” he studies Seul’s solemn expression. Something was bothering her indeed, but he did not know if it was appropriate to ask.

“I think your job is done, you finally complete your goals. Guess, it would be hard to see you around after this Mr JK” she joked. Even though she tried to sound cheerful, but little did she know her voice sounded broken.

The things that came out from Seul finally answered the questions that he had just now. Jungkook realized his assumption was right all along though he thought it sounded absurd at first. What more to confirm this? He heard it from Seul personally, it would not be a lie.

Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows, taking a step closer to Seul “So.. this is what it is all about?” his sweet usual voice was no longer there instead it was replaced by his unusual deep and alluring voice. Seul was feeling defensive all of sudden, as she took one step back “What..” she muttered confusedly.

He inhaled a deep breath, “You are sad that I might not be visiting the store anymore once I finish my drawing?” Seul grimaced knowing how easy for him to read her. She didn’t intend to appear like a fool in front of him, denying his statement was the best thing for now.

“Ur… No.. I didn’t say that” she argued.

“But your eyes say something else”

“Ha.. you must be mistaken. It is due to the light from this street lamp” Jungkook lurched forward and every step taken by him made Seul to take a step back. The things just went on and on following her heavy breathing.

Jungkook smirked “I may be wearing mask, but my eyes are not blinded from the truth. Why are you feeling that way though?” he probed. Her eyes quivered feeling defeated. She tried to convince herself not to fall for Jungkook’s evil plan to lure answers out from him.

Jungkook was testing her.

“JK-ssi, I think it is time for you to leave and meet your brothers. I will see you around, I guess. Thank you for the ice cream and walking me back home. And uh… happy new year” clutching onto the sketch book tightly, Seul turned her heels getting ready to escape from Jungkook.

Bemused, Jungkook wouldn’t let her go to that easily as he needed to execute his plan first.

To her surprise, she felt a soft tug around her wrist. She was pulled back facing him, crashing against his warm body, Jungkook tugged his mask uncovering the rest of his face. He did not want to waste any minute. He used one of his free hand to cup Seul’s cheeks, encircling another one around her waist holding her body close.

Jungkook dipped his head, connecting their cold lips together. Warmth sipping through her body making her froze. Seul was surprised to find her own lips parted not long after giving into the kisses. Their breaths mingled.

He smiled between the kisses, stroking her cheeks lovingly.

The feel of her lips against his rendered him breathless.

The sights and sounds of a spectacular firework matched the sparks in their heart. She really wanted to have a good look of his face, but the kisses made her mind went numb. The only things that matter now was the kisses. Unlike the kisses that she had with Yoongi, this one was more careful and gentle. She did not want to compare these two guys. Seul had to admit it was different.

Jungkook pulled away slowly, turning Seul body with her back facing him. He did not plan on telling her who is him just yet, because that was the only leverage that he had to be able to meet Seul again in the future. Enveloping his arm around Seul from back, he ran his lips to her ears and whispered almost a little too romantically “Happy New Year Seul-ssi” Seul was trembling under his soft touch.

“I will see you around” Jungkook left a soft peck on the top of her head, pulling his mask to cover his face again and left with a wide grin plastered across his face.

Seul on the other hand was trying to register the whole thing, everything happened so fast. Clenching onto her chest, she gasped regaining her soul back into her body “What the hell just happened?” she bit her lower lips.

She turned back in hope Jungkook would still be around but to her dismay, he was nowhere to be seen. How could he flee without words and left her hanging? This was totally unacceptable.

“Nuna! Why are you standing here?” Hoon’s voice brought her out of her trance. She was feeling a little feverish, was it because the kiss with Jungkook? Her brother scrutinized her expression with a wary look “Why are you so red? Are you sick?” he touched her forehead with the back of his hand.

“Urm..I think so.. come on lets get inside” she tugged his arm, making their way inside before he could inquire him further. Seul was not in the right state of mind to answer any Hoon’s question, not when she still needed an answer from her mysterious Mr JK.

#bts series #bts fanfic #jungkook x oc #yoongi x oc #bts fic #bts fluff #jungkook romance #yoongi fluff #bts idolau #bts x oc #jin x oc #taehyung x oc #jimin x oc #namjoon x oc #jhope x oc #btscaretaker

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 5 years

Text

I have a very specific idea for an Andriel au but I'm too lazy to write it. Instead I'mma just dump it on here and come back to it later.

So.... Fem!Andreil

Neil 'Nathaniel' Josten -> Ania 'Nathania' Josten

Andrew Minyard -> Erin Minyard bc it sounds like Aaron

It's rare for Mary to leave Nathania on her on for long but once when she's about fifteen/sixteen she lets her walk home from school.

Some dudes manage to grab her on the way home. She's held down by three while the other one starts touching her. She's screaming and kicking and fighting but it's useless. She's built small and doesn't actually know how to fight.

Mary is concerned when Nathania doesn't come home so she sets out to find her and finds her baby in the middle of it all.

Needless to say she castrated all four of them and now the only ones they're sleeping with is the fishes

Anyways, her mom refuses to leave her side unless Nathania is at school

The last thing her mom says to her is "-ania" so she takes it as her name.

She moves out to Millport and she's just so dead. Depression hits my bby hard. Exy is the only thing that gives her life meaning.

The captain is a little *ssh*l*

He sees her and he sees how weak she is off the court and how broken she is.

He follows her one day and makes unsuccessful advances on her.

When she rejects him, he takes what he wants.

Ania's flashbacks hit hard and she lets it happen bc dissociation

Hernadez walks in on it one time and is about to get mad for not getting a room but he sees Ania's eyes and knows exactly what's happening.

The captain is kicked off the team and expelled. They can't prosecute bc Ania wont testify.

All of this plus seeing the scars on her when he caught the captain in the act is the reason Hernandez calles Wymack.

Most of the rest of the story is the same but sub in Erin.

Oh, Erin. I'm in love with her

Erin is equally as bad as Andrew but she gets a lot more shit about it bc she's a girl and somehow stereotypes for female sociopaths are worse by a lot. This one isnt even me playing up the drama. It's bad irl

So u know Erin smacks Ania with the racquet. Ania has massive panic attacks bc Wymack and Kevin are very big men and she's on her knees with no escape. Erin picks up on it and makes sure she keeps the men away. She doesn't know Ania but she's heard about the incident with the captain. She'll be damned if she lets anything happen to this girl.

She kicks the men out and faces Ania on her own. She forces herself to think as clearly as she can through the drugged haze and essentially tells Ania that she'll always be no one and nothing, but at least she can be a nothing that plays exy. Erin hates exy but she can tell exy is the only thing this girl wants and this girl is insanely pretty. Erin wants her. She knows she probably can't have her, but she'll make a good toy for the summer. She makes herself promise not to break her too early bc then she wouldn't have anything for the rest of the year. The truth is she's just so smitten by the new girl who just mouthed off to Wymack and, deep down, Erin knows that no amount of drugs is going to stop her from missing that pretty face and dirty mouth.

So she lets Ania sign the contract. They don't get to pull the twin thing because Erin and Aaron are fraternal twins you can't be different genders and be identical but they look exactly the same. Instead, both twins go to pick her up and Erin fakes her high. Ania sees through it because she notices Ania's obvious annoyance at her brother and anger at Nicky for doing something dumb.

Summer goes on the way it does in the book, but drying with Wymack is really hard for Ania. She minimizes her time in his house bc he's big and muscly and covered in tattoos and it just doesn't sit well with her. Wymack tries to make himself small around her and he's never raised a hand at her. He just keeps out of her way.

Ania meets the Foxes and nearly dies when she meets Matt. He'd just so tall. She realizes that he's just a puppy soon enough but her guard is always up around Seth. He's mean and she doesn't like the way he looks at her. Erin only ever intervenes in matters when it's Seth coming at her. She assumed that after a few failed attempts Seth would back off. He doesn't tho so Erin ends up being to teach him a lesson.

Also Erin doesn't drug her. Drugging is something Erin has experienced. Unlike with Matt, she's not going to force Ania to potentially relive this particular trauma. She gets her drunk tho with similar effects

So yeah. Story goes on. Drake happens but he's still a guy.

It causes a lot of problems for Erin in a different way. I feel like Andrew has trouble with his sexuality bc he wonders if his upbringing 'turned' him gay, but Erin wonders the same. Is she gay bc of how men have treated her? She tired to shove those thoughts down but they keep coming back.

She gets sent to therapy. Proust happens.

And then Fem!Riko happens Riko is a female name so I'm keeping it

When Riko threatens Erin, Ania throws hands. She agrees to go to evermore the way Neil does only a much worse fate awaits her

Riko keeps her in the same bedroom as her and will handcuff her to the bed. She uses Ania to get off + cuts her up

Jean knew about the knives but not the rape.

When he finds out, he actually grows a spine and intervenes.

He's punished severely for it, but Riko lets up on Ania.

She comes home only to find out about Proust and she's mad. Ania took all of Riko' s treatment bc she assumed it meant that Erin would be spared the same thing. Instead they were both forced to relive their old trauma and got a new one too.

The "Doesnt mean I wouldn't blow you" scene is a thing but it's 'Doesn't mean I wouldn't eat you out".

They're on the roof during Ania's panic attack.

Erin grabs her face and pulls her close til their foreheads are touching and they sit there staring into each other's eyes. It settles something deep inside Ania and she finally calms down enough to stop crying.

When she does, she asks Erin how she can still have sex after everything

Erin just stares off into the distance bc honestly? She asks herself the same question all the time. She asks Ania if she ever touches herself and Ania says that there are times shes wanted to but she never tried bc she's afraid

Erin explains that if Ania wants to get better, she has to first let herself want. Only then could she ever start to heal.

Ania looks at her like she's crazy but the next time Ania is in the mood she accepts it. She tried for the first time and she focuses incredibly hard on the sound of Erin' s voice bc it keeps all her monsters at bay.

In the short time leading up to Baltimore, Erin teaches Ania to let go of the past and to want things for herself.

Erin preaches a lot of self love to Ania in that time. It always comes off kind of harsh bc it's Erin' s nature, but Ania knows what she means. She understands. Despite how much Erin preaches, she still has a hard time loving/caring about herself. She does all the exercises like standing in front of the mirror and telling herself she's good and taking time off to rest and just self care things, but she's been playing up the monster act for a long time. She doesn't have the outside validation she needs to get herself together. Ania sees this and she starts telling Erin how proud she is of her and how great she is. They aren't just throw away remarks either. Like, she knows not to overdo it, but she starts giving Erin the positive influence she needs.

The rooftop scenes after midnight practice with Kev are still a thing, however, Ania and Erin have also been sharing a room since their return from Easthaven and Evermore. They just do it I'm the roof so no one hears them. Ania always gets sent down first while Erin takes care of herself. She showers before Erin returns, but when she hears the locks click open she always gives Erin a bright smile. Erin just looks at her with empty eyes.

Erin herself is not empty. Ania's been getting to her. Everytime Ania thanks her for something or compliments her it sends a jolt through her body. She always feels a little high for a few hours after Ania's words. She wants to show Ania how much she's worth. She wants to give her everything in the world. Ania doesn't deserve all the things she's faced and it hurts Erin so much to know that she's faced them anyways. Erin is in love with Ania and she knows it. She's not even denying it to herself anymore. But Erin believes that once Ania gets better, she'll move on. She believes that she's just a phase and once Ania's better, she'll finally get to be court and get what she deserves. Erin is absolutely convinced that Ania will marry Kevin and ask her to be the maid of honor. Erin has made up her mind that she'll do it even if it kills her. Of course all of this is just the musings of Erin when she's alone in her car. None of this happens.

Erin really doesn't want Ania to leave her and she's starting to have trouble keeping all the emotion down. The only bits of open affection she shows are when Ania is coming down from her climax. Erin will trace patterns over Ania's ruined skin and press soft kisses to her scars. She's imagined herself telling Ania that she loves her a thousand times, but she can never bring herself to do it. Instead she tries to press every ounce of her love into those kisses and hopes Ania will one day understand.

The other little piece of affection she shows is when she comes back to the dorms at night. Ania is usually sitting on her bed drying her hair. Erin always takes the towel and scrubs Ania's hair for her. She blowdries it and then she carefully does them into a pair of boxer braids. She makes Ania sit in a stool in front of the mirror in their bathroom while she does it because she likes to watch Ania's expression she really likes having her hair played with so braiding works out well for her

Then Baltimore is a thing aamd it goes down exactly as it does in the books

She comes home from it all and sees her Foxes

And then there's Erin. Erin was in pieces after she found out the truth from Kevin. She didn't cry in front of the Foxes but as soon as she'd punched a few walls and kicked a few things, she collapses away from them. Wymack is there for this and for once in her life, Erin lets a man touch her. He pulls her into his arms and she sits there and she sobs hysterically. Wymack had always known what was up. Erin had spent the last year showing up drunk at his house and ranting and raving about Ania to no end. He'd pieced it all together far too quickly for Erin' s comfort but he's always seem through her facade before. Of course he did then too. It takes her a long time to calm down and when she does she shows out of his arms n is pacing the room angrily bc there's nothing else to do now other than wait.

Then there's spring break and it happens the same as the books

The rest of the book is the same honestly, but you see Erin learn to love herself and Ania learn to accept wanting things like sex and cuddles and physical contact in general. They both learn to believe that they deserve love from their new families and that they deserve each other.

#just a pipe dream #andreil #fem!andreil #the foxes #the foxhole court #the foxhole court au #tfc hc #tfc #tfc au #aftg au #aftg hc #aftg #all for the gay #all for the game #rape #rape mention #trigger warning

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fawndlymade · 7 years

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The Higher You Go

It's five minutes past midnight and Chat's flying high, a little more than a black shadow hurtling above the streets of Paris. A joyous laugh escapes her mouth. She's free for the night, the shackles of civilian life no longer chaining her to the ground. The irony that slipping on a mask helps rather than hinder her freedom is noted in the back of her mind, but not something that she wants to acknowledge. Not just yet.

Beside her, her Lady shoots her an amused smile. “What's so funny, chaton?”

“Nothing, my Lady!” she shouts back. Her grin is wild, eyes bright like emeralds as she soaks in the atmosphere of Paris at night. It's beautiful, the way the city seems to glow under her gaze. She loves being the one to protect it and its citizens from harm, like a comic book hero. Ladybug and Chat Noire, Paris' own superhero duo.

Still, even heroes need to rest their feet, and this hero is no exception. Especially after jumping from roof to roof for the past two hours. “This cat's ready for a quick nap, how about a small break!”

Ladybug doesn't say anything, but at the next leap they take, she leads them over to a rooftop and comes to a stop. Pleased, Chat angles her body just so, landing on the thin railing that surrounds the area with an ease that Olympic gymnasts would envy.

A polka dotted hand runs through blonde hair, making her purr in delight. “You're going to fall off one of these days if you're not careful, you know.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Cats have expert reflexes, don't you know?” Chat's tempted to sprawl out on her side and ask Ladybug to draw her like one of her French girls, but the last time she did that, Ladybug had actually pushed her off of the rooftop.

“Cats do, but I've seen a pigeon startle you off a ledge.” Ladybug's laughter tinkles in her ear like bells, a lovely sound that makes her heart flutter in her chest. “Fifteen minutes, okay? We still have one more section to patrol tonight.”

“I love it when you get all strict on me, Ladybug. Me-yow.” She claws at the air playfully, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Hush, silly kitty.” The hand leaves her head to flick her on the nose and Chat claims a victory at the way Ladybug's smile lights up the rooftop, because she was the one that put it there. Sometimes she even entertains the thought that her Lady feels the same way that she does. Her flights of fancy never last long, but they're enough to make her feel warm and stave off the chilly bite of autumn.

Grasping at her chest, Chat gasps in mock pain. “You wound me, my Lady!”

“Do I?” Ladybug's voice is dry. “Do you want me to kiss it better, chaton?”

“Is that an offer I hear?” Puckering her lips, Chat's not surprised when she feels a finger brush against her mouth. “Rejected again, how my heart aches. Nevertheless, let me be the first to say how lovely you look today, Ladybug.”

A very unladylike snort escapes her partner. “Chat Noire, I wear the same thing every time you see me.” Her tone is fond though, and it earns her a wink from Chat as she shifts to a sitting position, hands clenched around cold steel to keep herself upright.

“True, therefore you must look lovely every day.” That garners startled laughter, and Chat's cheeks hurt from how wide she's grinning.

“You're incorrigible!”

“I'm dashing.”

Their banter flows as easily as breathing, and every syllable takes Chat higher and higher until she's practically drunk on happiness. These nights, sitting on a cold rooftop with Ladybug are the best nights of her life. Winning fencing competitions, being Paris' next up and coming model, those have nothing on being with her Lady.

Speaking of her Lady... There's something about the way Ladybug looks in the moonlight that sends Chat Noire's heart into a tailspin. Not that Ladybug doesn't look good in the morning, or afternoon, or well, whenever really, but the way the soft glow of the moon halos Ladybug's spotted frame is almost ethereal. It's enchanting. Captivating. Chat feels like she should be on her knees in front of Ladybug sometimes. Worshiping her Lady and giving offerings of prayers and sacrifices to her like the goddess she is.

“You're doing it again, chaton.”

“Hmm..?”

The slightest bit of pink dusts Ladybug's cheeks underneath her mask. “You'd think I hung the stars in the sky, judging from your look.”

“My apologies, my Lady. I can't help it though, you're breathtaking. If you said that you had hung the stars, I'd believe you whole heartedly.” Chat's voice is matter-of-fact, and that only seems to fluster Ladybug more. She watches, amused, as Ladybug's face cycles through a range of emotions. Irritation, embarrassment, fondness, before finally settling on exasperation, complete with an eyeroll long enough that Chat hopes those gorgeous blue eyes aren't stuck like that forever.

She's waiting for it. “Then you need glasses, chaton” or “it's a shame you don't have an oxygen mask with you, Chat Noir.” Something witty, as her Lady is wont to do. It's part of their game, after all.

“Regardless, you know I have feelings for someone else, Chat,” Ladybug says finally, and Chat blinks in surprise. Real talk was never an option, only light jests and gentle teasing. Something is off, and suddenly the moon seems far too bright behind Ladybug, hiding her face completely in shadows. Slipping from her perch on the railing, Chat's feet touch solid concrete and she tilts her head away to look out at the city lights. If they blur together, only she can tell.

“I know.”

“And yet you flirt with me anyways.”

“It's part of my charming personality, don't you know?” She's proud when her voice doesn't crack, throwing up an air of forced casualness. There's tension running down her spine, and she's amazed it hasn't broken yet. “Does it bother you?”

Silence reigns. Below them, the occasional car drives by, sounding as loud as a freight train each time. Chat's heartbeat is even louder in her ears.

“... My Lady?” It comes out hesitant. She's not sure why now of all times, their banter has faded into something else entirely. It's off script, and she's thrown off balance. Flirty comment, witty remark, equally witty comeback, gentle shut down. That's how it always is. Why Ladybug has changed their game, she's not sure, but now she's walking on a tightrope instead of a sidewalk without any sort of warning.

“It doesn't, not really anyways.” There's an edge to her voice that isn't really an edge. A softness? A waver? Chat isn't sure what it really sounds like, but it has her stomach clenching. She knows that Ladybug knows about her feelings. She knows that Ladybug knows that she knows. They were always there, out in the open but never acknowledged as anything serious. Both her and Ladybug preferred it that way.

“What does that mean, not really?”

“It means exactly that, chaton. I don't dislike it, but...” Ladybug trails off, a frown on glossy lips that Chat wishes she could kiss away. She hates herself for putting the frown there in the first place. Wishes she had been able to gaze at her Lady without awe, putting her on the spot.

Hehe, spot. It's not funny, but it's something that she can cling to at that moment. Something to ground her so she doesn't go running off into the night like a wounded animal.

“But what?” she presses. “You don't dislike it, but what?”

“I have feelings for someone else,” Ladybug repeats, that not-an-edge tone back. It sounds like pity, sounds like when Chat has to play civilian and has to tell one of her fans that gosh, she's extremely flattered but she's so sorry and she can't reciprocate-

Oh.

Well, she already knew that.

Chat just doesn't get why now. Why now instead of months ago? Instead of when they had first met? Her feelings weren't new, they had been there from the first time they had met and Ladybug had introduced herself, right before they had defeated Coeur de Pierre and had only grown stronger since then. Her words were nothing new either. Not a day went by when she wasn't jokingly asking Ladybug on a date or wax poetic on her Lady's beauty.

Had she... had she finally crossed some invisible line? Stumbling across it without realizing? Did she make Ladybug uncomfortable somehow? What had she done that was different?

Her mind is both static and frenzied, a maelstrom of buzzing white noise that's making it hard to hear or think or speak or breathe even. Each exhale of air feels shaky, and her chest also feels shaky, and her legs feel shaky, and her eyes feel shaky-

“Chat?”

Except that's silly, because eyes can't be shaky, so obviously they're not shaky-

“Chat Noire?”

Nothing is shaking, she's not trembling but maybe her world is because it certainly feels like her world is crumbling out from below her-

There's weight on her shoulder, and Chat's not shaking eyes dart up to meet Ladybug's. They're beautiful and blue and filled to the brim with concern.“You're my friend, Chat,” Ladybug says slowly. Deliberately. “I would do anything for you, you know that.”

“I know.” Chat certainly does know. They've both risked their lives for each other more than once. Ladybug's hand leaves her shoulder, and the lingering warmth has Chat realizing just how cold she is.

“But I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair to you.”

So, so cold.

She can read the apologies in her Lady's eyes. A thousand of them swirling like waves in a storm, intent on drowning Chat. Capsizing her and pulling her under until the air leaves her lungs for good in an ocean of 'I'm sorry's'. She'd gladly suffer those tides if it meant just one moment with Ladybug.

“I know,” she chokes out. “But what if I don't care about fair?”

“Oh Chat...”

A hand cups her cheek, and a spandex clad thumb rubs underneath her mask. When it pulls away, Chat can see it glisten. There's a heartbroken look on Ladybug's face, and for a split second Chat wishes a butterfly would land on her and akumatize her because what right does she have to look so hurt when Chat is right here and hurting and it's her heart breaking, not Ladybug's so maybe Chat should break her instead-

“Don't cry, chaton. Please...”

Arms slip around her and Chat's head is resting in the crook of Ladybug's neck, one cat ear brushing against a pale cheek. Above her, she can hear Ladybug's whispers. She's sorry, so sorry. She wishes that she could return Chat's feelings but she can't and she doesn't want things to change because she does love Chat, truly, but only as a friend.

“I love you too, my Lady,” she whispers back, voice choked.

Chat can feel her hair grow damp. She never wanted to be the reason for her Lady's tears. Never wanted to make her Lady hurt. She'd rather kill herself than bring Ladybug pain. Paris needs their hero safe and whole and happy, and so does Chat.

She's not sure how long they stay there like that, Ladybug holding her like a lover would and Chat clinging, afraid to let go lest her Lady disappear forever, but it's not long enough. The world keeps moving, in the form of a siren's wail off in the distance. Chat can hear the roar of an akuma and the sound of glass breaking.

Idly, she wonders if that roar will belong to her soon.

It hurts to let go of Ladybug, especially when Chat knows that that was the closest she's ever going to be to her Lady, but she does it with a smile. “Duty calls.”

“But-”

Her lips don't falter, smile widening. Ladybug's form is blurry.

“Ladies first.”

Chat won't blink.

“Chat-”

“Ladybug, please,” she pleads, tone too cheerful to be anything but forced, and all too soon she hears the sound of her Lady's yoyo being thrown, wire unwinding from its core like Chat herself is unwinding.

When she flings herself off of the ledge after Ladybug, a part of her doesn't want to unclip her baton from her belt.

But she does.

Paris needs its heroes, after all.

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #chat noire #ladybug #one sided feelings #angst

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viralhottopics · 7 years

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Can I forgive the man who raped me?

Thordis Elva was raped aged 16. Years later, she emailed Tom Stranger, the man who raped her, beginning a raw, painful healing process documented in their book South of Forgiveness. In this extract, they meet to find a way forward

Thordis Elvais from Iceland and known to Icelandersas a writer, playwright, journalist and public speaker. She was voted Woman of the Year 2015 by the Federation of Icelandic Womens Societies in Reykjavik for her work on gender equality, and has written a celebrated book on gender-based violence, 2009s mannamli (The Plain Truth). She currently resides in Stockholm, Sweden with her partner Vidir and their son.

Tom Stranger is Australian. He met Elva when he was 18 and on a student exchange programme in Iceland, and the pair had a relationship. Since then, he has worked in various sectors (community services, youth, outdoor recreation, charity, construction, and hospitality). For now, he is working as a landscape gardener and lives in Sydney with his wife, Cat.

From: [email protected] Sent: Saturday 21 May 2005, 5.38am To: [email protected] Subject: Words for you Thordis, I dont know where to start. When I saw your name in my inbox, my spine went cold. My memories are still as clear as day. Please believe me when I say I have not forgotten what I did, and how wary I have to be of myself. I dont know how to reply. I want to call myself sick (but I know I am not), I want to say that you are so strong, so strong to be able to write to me and recall the events and my actions. I want to thank you for not hating me, although Id like you to. It would make it easier for me. Without looking for a scratch of sympathy, I want to tell you that the events and emotions I was party to in Iceland have replayed in my head many times, usually when I am by myself for any length of time. They flash past me, vividly accurate, and then, shortly after the denial and positive character reinforcement, comes the question: Who am I? It is a dark part of my memory. Ive tried to suppress it. But this is not about me. Whatever I can do or offer you, I am more than willing. The question is where to go from here. You tell me. Tom.

*****

After eight years of analysing the violent past and its consequences in a written correspondence, Thordis and Tom decide to meet up in the middle, between their home countries of Iceland and Australia, looking to face their past once and for all.

Day one, 27 March 2013

The taxi picks me up at a quarter to five and takes me to the bus station, where Im booked on the fly-bus. The grizzled taxi driver, hoisting my suitcase into the trunk with a smooth manoeuvre, asks me where Im going.

To South Africa.

Oh, really? To Johannesburg?

No, to Cape Town, I reply, still in disbelief at my own words despite the time Ive had to adjust to the idea. It would be an understatement to say that the proposed meeting has been on my mind. Its reverberated in every step when Ive gone out for a run; its been in every breath of cold winter air that scraped the insides of my lungs; its soaked the wet washcloth I used to clean my sons sticky fingers. And Ive tried my best to push it out of my mind when making love to my fiance, enjoying his warm skin against mine.

After all, that would be a highly inappropriate time to be thinking about it.

From the moment the destination was set, I adapted to a new calendar before or after Cape Town. The last time I bought deodorant I automatically deduced that I wouldnt have to buy another one until after Cape Town. Yesterday, when snuggling down with my three-year-old son to do some painting together, spending quality time with him BC momentarily appeased my guilt for leaving him for 10 days to travel halfway across the globe to face a man from the past without any guarantee of the outcome.

Something tells me that parents of young children are not meant to take such foolhardy decisions. Thats the reason I gave up my dreams of parachuting when I fell pregnant with my son. Then again, throwing myself out of an aeroplane at 7,000 feet carries less emotional risk than taking a trip down memory lane with the man who turned my existence upside down. Because it wasnt an unknown lunatic who tore my life apart all those years ago. Who turned down the offer of medical help for me, even though I was barely conscious and vomiting convulsively. Who decided instead to rape me for two endless hours.

It was my first love.

My mothers eyes flew wide open when I told her that I was travelling alone to South Africa to meet up with the man who raped me when I was 16. She strung together a series of hair-raising worst-case scenarios before letting out a sigh, looking at me with loving reluctance, and adding: But I know its pointless to try to talk you out of things youve set your mind to, dear. Shortly thereafter, my dad interrupted my packing when he dropped by for a coffee. Despite my attempt to break the news to him in the gentlest manner possible, it didnt prevent him from freaking out. He lectured me in a thundering voice about how I was jeopardising my life for an utterly ridiculous idea.

But I have to finish this chapter of my life, I said softly. My cheeks were on fire.

Finish this chapter? he repeated, appalled, and jumped out of his chair. You dont need to travel across the globe to finish anything! This whole idea is a big pretentious drama, thats what it is!

His words hit me right where it hurts.

Youll have no control over anything. Nothing but your thoughts! Nothing else!

What do you mean? I asked, confused. Ill obviously control my actions and whereabouts.

No you wont, dear, he hissed. You cant always. If you could, then that wouldnt have happened.

We both knew what he meant by that, even though weve never talked about the incident that changed everything. In recent years, Ive spoken widely and publicly about my status as a rape survivor (though, until now, never identified the man who raped me) yet my father and I have never discussed that fateful night. He has never asked and Ive always assumed he doesnt want to know.

I sat up straight, aware of my glowing cheeks. If you reduce me to victim and him to perpetrator, I can see how this seems incomprehensible to you. But were much more than that, Dad.

He scoffed loudly before storming out of the kitchen.

I leant against the wall and let the air out of my lungs slowly. Goddamn it. I knew this would be hard, but bloody hell.

My father appeared again in the doorway, pacing up and down with frustration I knew was fuelled by fatherly love. How can you be sure youll finish anything with this nonsense? This may just as easily be the start of something else entirely! The distress in his voice made it sound like a threat.

I sat alone in the silence my father left behind and watched the dust settle. In a way, I think were both right. This trip will surely mark an end to a certain chapter of my life. What sets me apart from my father is my belief that in the next chapter, I wont be the victim any more.

Day two, 28 March 2013

The screen in the seatback in front of me shows a blinking plane over a map. According to the timer, Cape Town is just 29 minutes away. The butterflies in my stomach nose-dive, as the time seems way too limited considering how many questions are left unanswered.

Goddamn it, what if I cant forgive him? Am I ready to let go?

Frustrated, I scroll through the folder on my laptop, searching for something to calm my nerves. I was level-headed enough when I suggested this trip, wasnt I? In an attempt to recover my faith in this risky undertaking, I read through my own proposal:

You may need a lifetime to forgive yourself for what you did to me. That is up to you and you take however long you need, independent of anyone else. I, however, am climbing a different mountain. And I am getting very close to the top. I propose that in six months time, we meet up with the intention of reaching forgiveness, once and for all. In person. It is the only proper way for me to do it, I feel. No letter can ever compare with face-to-face communication. And after all weve been through, I think it is the most dignified and honest way to finish this chapter of our story.

I sound so calm, so fucking reasonable. How is it possible that this was written by the same person now hyperventilating in a plane 30,000ft over South Africa, full of nerve-racking doubt?

Reading through his reply, Im somewhat comforted that he, too, felt conflicted:

Ill admit that I was floored by your request to meet up. Fearful, anxious, cautious, paranoid. You name it, it all came swarming in. But youve asked, and you sound like you are making vital ground towards something very special for yourself. So of course Ill agree to see you. After much thought I do think it will be beneficial, and an opportunity for myself to air face-to-face some long held words and for us both to look to close some doors. I want it for you, Thordis, as you seem strong, open and ready to see me and move forward. I want it for me because Im so very sick of being sick and seeing myself as unlovable, and believe I can move on if I could just look you in the face, own up to it and say Im sorry.

Forgiveness is the only way, I tell myself, because whether or not he deserves my forgiveness, I deserve peace. Because Im doing this for me. My forgiveness is white-hot from the whetstone, and its purpose is to sever the ties, because if I can let this go, once and for all, Im certain that my overall wellbeing will benefit greatly. Self-preservation at its best.

Day four, 30 March 2013

Its seven oclock when we buy ourselves a drink at the hotel bar and sit down by a table facing the garden, readying ourselves for the hard talk. The windowpane clatters loudly, and an endless stream of staff crossing the room distracts me to the point where I give up. What do you say about us finishing this conversation in my room?

He looks at me, shocked. Are you sure? Youre comfortable with that?

Im sure that itll be easier to have this talk if we get proper privacy. Its tough enough as it is.

Tom radiates ever-increasing anxiety as the elevator climbs closer to the 12th floor. Unlike him, my emotions have calmed down.

Almost serene, I step out of the elevator. Theres no turning back now.

He buries his hands in his pockets as I fish my key out of my bag in front of my hotel room. Putting my hand on the doorknob, it morphs into the white plastic door-handle with the keyhole that haunts my dreams. Within me, everything falls silent. Ready? I ask myself.

Without hesitation, I turn the key.

Tom follows me inside my room, takes a look around and smiles nervously. Not bad.

Sit wherever you like. Im going to make some tea.

Thordiss student ID from around the time she met Tom. Photograph: Courtesy of Thordis Elva

He sits down on the edge of the bed while I busy myself with the kettle. From the corner of my eye, I notice him closing his eyes and straightening his back, as if hes steeling himself. When the boiling water hits the teabag at the bottom of the cup, Tom begins the story in a hoarse voice. I wore my golden shirt that evening. I didnt know it was customary to get dressed up for a dance in Iceland, and I didnt have anything fancy. The son of my host family took me to an exclusive store and helped me choose the shirt. I thought it was the peak of cool, at the time. The striped trousers were a present from my host sister.

He accepts the steaming teacup from my hand and stares into it for a moment before continuing. I remember how excited I was when I bought the ticket. I remember that I was with my friends Carlos and Ben when we met you outside the dance. You were pretty drunk when you arrived.

It was the first time Id ever tasted rum, I tell him. I didnt know how to drink alcohol. Nor did I know how to smoke, even though I took a drag from the rolled cigarette you handed me. I just wanted to impress you. And after the ensuing wild cough, I wondered if perhaps that wasnt a cigarette, I remind myself.

I lost you the minute we stepped inside, Tom continues. Carlos and I went straight to the dancefloor. I remember feeling happy and carefree in that sweaty pile of people. Then someone told me you werent well, you were in the ladies.

My mind replays the awful scene from the bathroom stall. The stains on my new dress. My hair wet from hugging the toilet. My fear and wonder as one spasm after the other wrung my body out like a dishrag. The repeated promises that Id neither drink nor smoke again if I were only allowed to survive this night. And finally, the desperate wish for my mom to come save me. I fucked up, Mom. Im sorry.

Tom frowns. I felt it was my duty to go and check on you. So I went in and climbed over the partition, into your cubicle. I held your hair back while you vomited, and I thought I was going to be sick as well. Then you flopped to the ground and lay there, motionless. I remember carrying you out.

He pauses and looks away. Before I have a chance to tell him how grateful I was when he appeared like my mother incarnate to save me from an untimely death on the bathroom floor, he grimaces bitterly. Then I couldnt be bothered to look after you, Thordis. I dumped you on Ben and left you with him. You were slumped on the chairs outside the bathrooms and he stood there, stooped over you, as I went back to the dancefloor.

I look at him in surprise. I thought youd taken me straight home.

He clenches his jaw. My only thought was that this was the only Christmas dance I was going to experience in Iceland. I was selfish and didnt have any concern for you. In the end, I felt guilty that some other guy was looking after my girlfriend. So I scooped you up in my arms and carried you up the stairs, in a foul mood because I had to leave the party.

And the security guards stopped you on the way out because they wanted to call an ambulance for me as I was dangling from your arms, foaming at the mouth. They thought I had alcohol poisoning.

Id forgotten that moment but I dont doubt it, he says in a low voice.

Tom Stranger in 1996, the year he went to Iceland. Photograph: Courtesy of Tom Stranger

I remember that part vividly because for a second there, I thought youd take their advice, I respond, looking down into my cup. That Mom and Dad would get a call from the hospital saying that their 16-year-old daughter was lying there with alcohol poisoning. I imagined being grounded for life.

Id known for three years by then what it is to drink to excess, and Id seen many of my friends at various stages of drunkenness. I just thought you were wasted. I didnt think you were in real danger, he says.

Whatever it was, it had me paralysed and unable to speak. But I heard you loud and clear as you refused the offer of an ambulance, telling the security guards that you knew me and would see me safely home.

He nods, his complexion strangely pale. The taxi was white, I recall. I told the driver your address I remember letting us into your house. But what I dont remember is what I did with you while I struggled to unlock the door.

You draped me across your shoulder while you rummaged round in my bag for the keys.

He raises his eyebrows. Really? Like a sack of potatoes?

I nod.

He swears at himself quietly. And I remember your entrance hall, the shoes on the floor. From memory, past the coat hooks there were some stairs on the left, leading up to the kitchen and your parents area. Your room was through on the right. He stops and swallows.

I remember taking your clothes off.

I remember it too. My gratitude when he removed my vomit-stained dress. My relief at having my feet freed from the high heels. My frustration for not being able to utter a word of thanks. My lack of understanding when he continued to remove my underwear. Why my panties? Why?

My stomach muscles reflexively tighten as I prepare for the blow.

He stands up, moving restlessly, and walks over to the wall opposite the bed. I undressed you completely… He falls silent and hangs his head. The wind howls pitifully outside the window.

Tom begins to cry.

I wish I could tell you why I did it, Thordis.

Did what?

Raped you, he says, quietly.

This is an edited extract from South of Forgiveness by Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger (Scribe Publications, 12.99). To order a copy for 11.04 go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Thordis Elva and Tom Stranger will be speaking at the Royal Festival Hall as part of the Women of the World festival on 11 March, and at the Bristol Festival of Ideas on 13 March

People were quick to judge I wasnt angry enough: what came next for Thordis and Tom

Standing in stark stage lights, with five cameras directed at me, I recently found myself on a stage, telling an audience of 1,200 how Id been raped when I was 16 years old. Next to me on stage was Tom, who raped me after a dance at our high school. Together, we gave a TED talk that summarised a 20-year long process, whereby Tom shouldered responsibility for his actions and the way they impacted our lives. It was viewed nearly 2m times in the first week and the overwhelming reaction was positive and supportive.

In the talk, I described the violence Tom subjected me to, how I spent years wanting nothing more than to hurt him back, how I found a way to part with the anger that nearly cost me my life, as well as rid myself of blame that I like so many other survivors wrongfully shouldered.

Tom described how he felt deserving of my body that night, without any concern for me, and consequently convinced himself that what he did was sex and not rape. The following nine years were marked by denial, in which he did his best to outrun the past, until I confronted him in a pivotal email that changed our lives for ever.

Ive been asked why I didnt press charges immediately, and the simple answer to that question is that I was a 16-year-old girl with naive notions about rape. Rapes were committed by armed lunatics, the kind of sensationalised monsters you saw on TV and read about in the papers. The fact that Tom wasnt a monster, but a person who made an awful decision, made it harder for me to see his crime for what it was. That way, the demonisation of perpetrators in mainstream media got in the way of my recovery. By the time I was able to identify what had happened to me as rape, Tom had moved to the other side of the planet, far from the jurisdiction of the Icelandic police. At the time, 70% of rape cases in Iceland were dismissed, even when the perpetrator could be interrogated and the survivor had documented injuries, neither of which were the case for me. Therefore, pressing charges would not have been a fruitful process, and the only option I felt I had left was to bottle up my pain and anger. Studies show that very few survivors have a clean-cut story in which they went straight to the authorities after being assaulted, put the blame squarely on the perpetrators shoulders, healed their wounds and moved on. For most of us, life after violence is a messy ordeal. We dont go to the police because were too confused, scared or doubtful that well get help. We blame ourselves and obsess about things we couldve done differently. We numb ourselves with alcohol/drugs/sex/food/work, or we turn to self-harm to relieve the emotional pain. We continue to see our abusers and pretend that nothing happened, because facing the truth is overwhelming. We develop PTSD and mental illness. We stay silent about what happened out of fear that well not be believed, or worse, blamed for it because we did something wrong. No wonder, really. In reality, the only people capable of preventing rapes are those who commit them, and yet were told from an early age that we can avoid being raped by dressing and behaving in a certain way. This culture of victim-blaming also fosters the idea that there is a right way to react to violence. Had the survivor only worn something else, not smiled so widely, not gotten drunk, fought back (more), screamed (louder), gone straight to the police, not feared their attackers retaliation if theyd only done that, everything wouldve worked out differently. Victim-blaming deepens the shame that many survivors feel and lessens the likelihood that they speak up about their experiences.

youtube

Watch Thordis Elva and Tom Strangers TED talk.

The reality is that there is no right reaction to having your life ripped apart by violence. I knew that my collaboration with Tom would be controversial, and the reactions of internet trolls didnt surprise me. But I am concerned with how quick some people were to judge the wrong way in which I worked through my experience. I wasnt angry enough, I shouldve pressed charges, I was setting a dangerous precedent, I should be ashamed. Although I made it clear that my forgiveness wasnt for my perpetrator but for myself and that without it, I wouldnt be alive, I was still told that I should not have forgiven.

This worries me. I worry about my fellow survivors who are at risk of internalising the misconception that there is a standard reaction to sexual violence, with the conclusion that they didnt react in the right way. To you, I want to say that you did nothing wrong. The way in which you carried on with your life may not have been clean-cut, it may have been messy and incomprehensible to those who dont share your experience, but it was your way to survive a trauma. Nobody has the right to tell you how to handle your deepest pain.

And as the title of our story South of Forgiveness suggests, forgiveness played a pivotal role in allowing me to let go of the self-blame I shouldered, largely due to the victim-blaming culture I grew up in. And yet, forgiveness is not the core of our story, in my mind. The core issue is responsibility.

I understand those who feel discomfort and even outrage when hearing and seeing Tom on stage, knowing that hes perpetrated sexual violence. At the same time, given how prevalent this type of abuse is and how under-reported a crime it is, were in all likelihood seeing and hearing from perpetrators on a daily basis the main difference being that we dont know theyre perpetrators. They could be the people we went to school with, who greet us at the grocery store, who direct the films we watch, get elected to public office, run entire countries and live right next door. Given the low reporting and conviction rate, most of them will never have to take responsibility for their actions in an institutional sense. This does not lessen the gravity of their deeds.

By the time Tom had confessed to his crime, he couldnt have done time for it even if he wanted to, as the statute of limitations had passed. As a result, our case fell through the cracks of the legal system, like so many others, but it didnt lessen our need to analyse our past and place the responsibility with the person to whom it belonged: Tom. We also did our best to answer questions that are rarely posed in the public discourse about rape, where more focus seems to be on the survivors attire, behaviour, whereabouts and sexual history than the perpetrators culpability. And as frustrating as it is, I understand it to a certain extent. Because in the public discourse, the only people speaking about the violence theyve been party to are the survivors, usually. Which is why we only have their stories to dissect, their details to scrutinise. Did she say shed been drinking that night? This tradition of one-sided scrutiny blindsides us from looking at the behaviour of the person responsible, the perpetrator, to whom the focus needs to shift.

I am not sharing the story of how I processed the abuse I endured as a set of recommendations for others.

My story is a unique account shared in the hope that it can aid a public discussion about sexual violence.

As a society, it is our duty to fight against violence. And as individuals, we have a right to heal from it.