dirty linen

A Little Lost Thing

So here is my waaaaaaay overdue/late CSSV gift for @themmaswan. I’m sorry it took me so long to get your gift posted, and that I wasn’t the most diligent Valentine. And I’m sorry this gift isn’t anything super spectacular (as much as I tried, the idea I wanted to write just didn’t want to come together), but I really hope you enjoy it. It’s a little flangsty thing because apparently the only thing that wanted to come to me for this fic was sadness with a bit fluff.


She caught the first glimpses of it the night he moved in - starting with their bed, of all things.

Emma bounded up the stairs. “Okay, dad’s on sheriff duty for the rest of the night.” She kept her attention focused on her phone, typing out a text to Henry as made her way towards the bedroom. “And I ordered us some pizza. Should make for a good ‘move in’ night, finally…”

She stopped short just inside the doorway as she pocketed her phone. Killian was standing, staring at the bed, a well worn book clasped tightly in his hand. His lone chest of trinkets sat open on the dresser behind him.

“Everything okay?”

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At Your Service ~Two~

Part One

You watched Netti as she pulled down the last corner of the blanket across the mattress, proudly turning to you with a flourish. She tilted her head with a smug smirk and neared you with an air of expertise. You withheld an irritated growl and returned a sickly smile and waited for her to speak. You were far more impatient to reach the royal chambers and rectify the situation.

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anonymous asked:

not phantom related but I was wondering what do you think about the costumes of the 2005 pride & prejudice film

Despite some initial scepticism, I rather liked it. I liked that they managed to portray the grittier, rural side of early Regency fashion. It wasn’t all lace and fluffy curls. They added dirty hems, wrinkly linen, untamed hair and other details most other Jane Austen films/series has omitted. And it’s a part of history it’s easy to forget - the dirt, the smells and the chaos.

At times it had a too modern “Top Shop” look, especially Kiera Knightley’s ball gown and some outerwear. But nothing I thought was absolutely jarring.

That said, the 1995 movie “sits” better with me aesthetically. :)

A Day in the Life of a Nurse (through the eyes of a student)

It’s a holiday, and I’m floated,


I feel anxiety, as I take the elevator to the third floor, Stepdown unit, I feel the anxiety of going to another unit that I’m unfamiliar with, a charge nurse who will likely give me the worst assignment, the expectation that an ICU nurse can “handle anything thrown at them.” But mostly, I am wishing for the end of the day, and it’s only just begun.

I take my assignment, four patients; two intubated, one  awake and wiley, and one sleeping quietly..  and I reluctantly take the small slip of paper with pre-printed directions of med room, supply room, pantry, and dirty linen area codes. I sigh in frustration as I attempt to access the Omnicell, as I realize I only have access to my unit, and it will be forever until the supervisor arrives to grant access, leaving me to rely on other nurses I do not know, for help.

I sit quietly at my rolling work station scrolling through the charts on autopilot, outside my rooms, watching as the stepdown crew toast the holiday, and I feel a stab of annoyance again that I was floated, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I recall my last shift on my home unit, and I am reminded that the dullness of routine was there too, not just here on stepdown.

“You have a student today,” I look up, confused - isn’t it a holiday? Why are there students? And I’m annoyed all over again. It’s an almost graduate student, on the last leg of their college learning, completing their senior experience shadowing an RN” Her regular preceptor is out sick, we thought she would get a great experience with an ICU nurse.”I looked up, into the student’s hopeful eyes, as I stared back with the supposed wisdom of years on the job, eyes worn from monotony.

And for a moment, I saw my life through her eyes.

I saw the beginning of my career, the expectation of a brand new career, the relief of passing the state boards, the relief of late night study frustrations behind me,

the relief of having secured a job when there were so many graduates and other nurses without a job, the blessing of going to work each day with a team of rock solid coworkers who care for each other as well as their patients, the blessing of doing one little thing that may bring joy to a patient, the blessing of taking care of friends when they lose a patient, or have a really crappy day, the ability to learn, explore and see what this whole world of nursing has to offer, beyond the confines of a lecture book and stifled clinical day,

I paused.

And I wondered if what she saw was what her life would be in 10 years.

I paused, as I stood back and watched her assess the four patients; I stood back with the supposed wisdom of years of  experience, yet, I watched as she took the time to close the curtain, a simple gesture that we sometimes forget in our practice as years go on, forgetting that patients are so exposed, and grateful for the consideration.

I paused, with the yeas behind me of raw instinct, yet looked on as she hesitantly debated with a resident that something just wasn’t right about the awake and wiley patient, despite the eye rolling that this patient “always acted this way.” I looked on, as she learned the art of advocacy, and how such a subtle argument and perseverance could change the course of a septic patient’s life.

I paused, as she carefully cleaned the intubated patient, taking the time to talk to him, despite his unresponsive state, and I was reminded that we sometimes talk over sedated, intubated patients as we complete our work, without seeing the person in front of us who may be frightened deep down inside their nonverbal state.

I paused, with the complacency of doing this job day in day out, and quietly observed the little joys this student took in things I’d long ago begun rolling my eyes at.

I paused at the end of the day, and thought about the difference this student had made in the life of these four patients,

in just one day,

four patients who may never remember her name, four patients who wouldn’t know the strength of her advocacy, the touch of her kindness,  four patients of whom she may never meet again,

..and I paused only a moment before I dropped in my transfer request to a different department I’d never worked in, or had the courage to explore; a chance to begin over to see the life of a nurse again through new eyes.

If you don’t think you’re making a difference in the lives of others…you are.
A Royal Mess

Imagine being Erebor’s Royal Maid and walking in on Thorin naked.

Another day of chores as monotonous as the one before and the one to come after. When you had thought of returning to the Mountain, you had never expected to do so as a maid. Though what could you expect. Before you had been nothing but a servant and Erebor had enough smiths as it were, so you were not of much use to the Forge.

The only grace was the dwarf you served: the king. Thorin was an admirable king and his character was much the same behind closed doors. He was kind to you, kinder than any you had worked for before. He had his days when his mood was darkened and you bore them quietly and patiently. It was not so bad being a royal maid, even if it was quite dull.

You knocked at the door of the king’s chambers and received no answer. Likely he was still in council which meant you could do your work swiftly and be on your way. You pushed inside, fresh linens stacked in your arms and crossed to the grand bed which stood against the far wall. You stripped it, though not easily, as the blankets were nearly heavier than you, and then pulled on the clean sheets.

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MIKE: I saw the Lennon play [written and directed by Bob Eaton] before I came over here and Our Kid comes out of it a wet and rather weedy character, which is absolute bullshit, you know.

KING: Not long after John died, I heard that at a showing of Let It Be, the audience booed Paul…

MIKE: Tragic. That really is tragic because you’ll never know what sort of love they had for each other. You didn’t need to put it into words. So it’s sad. And I found the Lennon thing, the Lennon play in Liverpool, it’s equally sad in the fact that it wasn’t like that for one. They had a healthy regard for each other. John, in his own inimitable style, was like a brother in many respects… trying to tell Our Kid things and communicate with all his things, but you know, Johnny chose, ’cause that’s the way he was, to put it in public. He chose to wash his dirty linen in public. But you’ll notice Our Kid never answered back, never replied because just as John has his right to do it his way, Our Kid also has his right to do it his way. But it doesn’t mean just ’cause you don’t get in a ring that you’re not – it doesn’t mean that you’re a coward.

KING: It’s always struck me that Paul, despite the image and all, was actually one of the more private ones…

MIKE: And far more powerful than people think for one. And far more powerful than is shown in Lennon. I mean, it is John’s play and OK, fine. But you gotta realize that Lennon without McCartney is rather like Rogers without Hammerstein. It’s like saying, ‘Oh yeah, it’s Rogers’ new play’, Rogers who? Hey, Hammerstein’s play? What’s that? You know, new musical. It was the two of them.

KING: It was a symbiotic relationship.

MIKE: Well, the secret behind their success was the two of them. It wasn’t one.

KING: They seemed to feed off each other.

MIKE: They complemented each other. Where one was weak, the other one gave strength, and vice versa.

—  Mike McCartney, interview w/ Bill King for Beatlefan: The Family Way : the Mike McCartney Interview. (February, 1982; orig. conducted in December, 1981)
Hard to Find

Summary: True love is hard to find, but Jensen Ackles may have stumbled upon it at a bed & breakfast in a small, Kansas town.

Part Two: Whispers in Town
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader
Word Count: 2475
Warnings: Half-naked, just out of the shower Jensen. 


Your name: submit What is this?

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robb stark: the lion & the wolf

ANON REQUEST: Imagine where reader is joffreys twin but he wants to have sex wit her (like jamie and cersei). But she stops him and runs away to robb’s warcamp, where they fall in love and marry

◇◇◇ yes it’ll be a lil longer!!!! this was v interesting to write ok!! ◇◇◇ shoutout to @gotxreader for helping u tha best

A hand on your shoulder awaken you from your sleep, and you saw your handmaiden standing with a Kingsguard at the corner of your bed. You looked at the window, “What is it?”

“My Lady,” your servant started. “King Joffrey asks for you.”

You stood up and faced the guard. “Why does my brother need me?”

The Kingsguard stood still, and you knocked on his helmet. “Can’t you hear me? I asked you a question.”

“The King waits for you.” said the Kingsguard who waited outside your door, once he closed it.

Your servant washed and brushed your hair as you put on a dress your twin brother asked you to. You made no remark about his choice of your dress but it did surprise you. Your servant went outside as you did, and the guard led the way to your brother’s.

“Joffrey,” you asked, as you approach him by the window. He was holding a clear goblet, and sweet wine left a mark on his mouth. “What do you need me for?”

Joffrey stood up, and circled around you while drinking his wine. He stopped in front of you and placed his drink on the table. “Sweet sister, you look beautiful as ever.”

“What do you need me for?” You asked, looking up at Joffrey. You both shared the same hair and eyes. It was like staring at yourself.

“You need patience,” Joffrey moved closer to you and you move back. He forwarded to you and stopped once he got you against the wall. “Sweet as ever.”

He moved swiftly as he put his arm on your neck, effectively blocking your airway and you felt his other hand move inside your dress, clutching your chest and it moved from there to down as he felt your sex. “I hope you’re as sweet as I think you are.”

Your hands reached for whatever was near, and you grabbed the glass with the wine in it, and banged it against Joffrey’s face. The glass pierced his face and the pieces were stuck on his face. You saw his ear bleeding and his lips sliced in the middle. He fell down with a bang and his face bloody.

“You,” you breathe out holding the cracked glass at his face. “You ever touch me again, and I will kill you.”

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When you’re feeling sad- Drabbles/Headcanons KBTBB

A/N: So I’ve been feeling down lately and stressed out so I have decided to make this shitty writing piece and I hope albeit being shitty, that you like it or something I don’t really know, I’ve never written in this fandom before, AND posted it. XD

Also I didn’t do anything for Soryu because I already felt unsure about writing this in the first place, and also he’s a character I find difficult to write; more difficult than the others, (I am trash) 

(long post is long so yeah keep reading ;p)


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anonymous asked:

Cullen loves Rose unconditionally. But how does he fell about her... "unique" taste in fashion?

You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot since you first sent the question (quite a few days ago, I’m sorry!). I almost said, “Oh, he doesn’t care.” But then… in my head? He kind of started to care. 

Not about Rose’s taste in fashion, but his own. And then it started to make a kind of sense to me. I mean, I laugh every time I see a comic or a story that has the Ladies of the Inquisition performing a Cullen makeover, but… but then I think about Cullen, and I wonder if he didn’t take that into his own hands. (Imagine instead Leliana and Josephine showing up with arms full of fabric swatches and designs, only to find the Lion of the Inquisition already waiting for them, mantle perfectly draped, not a hair out of place. Imagine their disappointment, and then imagine the way they grudgingly admit that, while the fur is perhaps a bit much, and Maker where did he get that helmet, no one could deny he cuts quite the figure.)

Consider: he’s been devoted to the Order his whole life. From 13 to 30 he wore uniforms. He took pride in that uniform. He believed in what that uniform stood for. I imagine him a model templar, gear always pristine, skirts always pressed, boots always shined, sash tied perfectly. This is a man who loves order, who loves precision, who plans. I don’t think he haphazardly rolls into whatever’s lying on the end of his bed. He plans his clothing; he knows the importance of making impressions. Armor isn’t just the clothes or the plate. A templar who showed up scruffy and wrinkled would not be taken as seriously as one who was impeccable. Cullen strives for the impeccable. I keep thinking about the chagrin in that little bit of throwaway dialogue about his hair. He tames his curls. Now that he has the time, and means, and is no longer wearing someone else’s uniform or following someone’s else’s rules.

I think once he leaves the Order, he remakes himself, and that means a uniform. He builds himself a new uniform, one he can be proud of. He takes bits from his past–the fur of home, borrows some of the red and gold warmth of the templar uniform he wore for so many years–and adds the some of the future: the lion’s strength, fine fabric, tidy hair. Someone to be taken seriously. A different kind of armor than the set he wore for all those years, but armor nonetheless. I think he cares very much about the impression he gives off, for the sake of the Inquisition, and in the best interests of not having his authority undermined by dirty linens and soup-stained tunics.

In some ways, Rose is the opposite. Rose is disorderly. She leaves books lying around instead of replacing them carefully on the shelves. The less said about what the state of her room without servants to tidy it the better. She is spontaneity, and joy, and no one doubts her authority because she’s the Herald of Andraste and has the glowing hand to match. She wears what she wants even if it doesn’t match because she likes all the things. They’re all pretty. And they’re all fine. She just doesn’t think about how they all go together to present an image. She’s walking fireworks, basically, with the confidence to match.

I think it becomes a teasing kind of game–she makes him a little more spontaneous (”Oh, don’t be such a bore, Cullen, any more brown and I’ll put my eyes out.”); he teaches her the value of a little restraint (”Speaking of putting eyes out, I believe you may blind the diplomats, love. Not that I mind, as such, but it will make Josephine tetchy.”) . She sneaks color and pattern into his wardrobe; he gives her beautiful accessories that match everything. (Her penchant for frilly, ruffly, silken, decadent lingerie is, frankly, a gift to them both.) 

"Imagine Legolas Realizing He's Falling In Love With You After Brushing Up Against You Accidentally One Day"

supercoolkitty || imagine

Goodness, these linens weigh a ton! “Where is that sister of mine?!” you wonder aloud, quickly figuring out that she shirked her delivery duties to be with her new boyfriend. This batch of sheets requires the strength of two, maybe three people. King Thranduil will surely know if you’ve dropped one. You feel beads of sweat forming, thinking of that scenario playing out.

But you cannot fail. Your father’s linen business with the Mirkwood Elves is tough enough, with Thranduil making demands for higher thread counts and more and more unusual colors. The King paid handsomely but only if the job was done to his liking.

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Hysterectomy - Surgery and overnight hospital stay

On September 2nd, 2015 I had a robotic-assisted total laparoscoptic hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy. In other words I had my uterus, cervix, ovaries, and fallopian tubes removed from 5 small incisions in my abdomen. This post will discuss my surgical experience and overnight hospital stay. While I didn’t have the energy to write detailed posts while in the hospital, I did write sporadic notes in my phone to help remember everything that happened. I’m now 3 days post-op and feel up to writing about the entire experience.

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anonymous asked:

can you make KBTBB headcanons? the bidders know mc well since high school and now they want to propose her, not confess? sorry if hard question, thank you :)

I will assume that they know each other so well that it become nature for them to part of each other life.

Eisuke and you are close friends since high school. Both of you help one another with homework and always hang up together. Even after graduation, you end up being a secretary of his. You know him so well that you can basically know what he is thinking most of the time. Whenever there is any company function, Eisuke will invite you as his dance partner.

The relationship has become so close that people already mistook you guys as couple or even newlyweds. One dinner function, both of you end up so drunk and eventually have raw sex with one another. That sex was so passionate and satisfying that both of you agree to continue to have more raw sex to satisfy each other sexual desire. With that you start to keep track of your menstrual cycles.

One day in his penthouse suite, Eisuke suddenly propose to you with a diamond rings. You are shock as both of you never really starts dating with one another, although you can’t deny that you do have some feeling for him. However, you do not want to feel it like an obligation because you two start having sex with one another.

“I know we did not even go for a date, but we basically know each other so well that I don’t see any reason that we need to follow the usual process. I just know that when I feel stress up, you are all I can think of and needed by my side.” He proclaimed seriously.

You are touch by his words by still can’t decide on your decision. Seeing that, Eisuke sweep you up from the floor and carry you to his bedroom.

“I know today is your ovulation day. I will impregnate and there will be no way you can reject my proposal.” He smirks.

“You are a jerk. You plan on this day on purpose right?” You protest.

He laughs and ignore you. He strips off your dress immediately, remove his shirts and pull down his pant together with his boxer. He climb on top of you and make love passionately with you that night. You have lost count how many rounds of sex that you have done with him on that night. You have lost count how many times he has cum inside you. The hot liquid is overflowing that it dirty the bed linen, but both of you do not care about it and continue to make love until morning. You only know that you need him and he need you as well.

Soryu and you are close friends since high school. Your parents passed away in an accident during that time and Soryu invited you to stay with him since you are left all alone. Therefore, you are so use to see him in his Ice Dragons activities, even seeing him hurt himself.

You never ask him to stop because you know he got his reason. So you just help tend to his injuries whenever he got himself hurt. You also tend to his daily needs to repay his kindness. Both of you are so close that everyone think of you as his woman. Soryu never bother to correct them and neither do you.

When both of you graduate, you even help him with his administrative works which make thing a lot easier and paperwork is something he hate most. So he is glads that you are helping him with that. He trusted you with all his secrets.

Tonight, the Ice Dragons is having a party and they invited you as well. Everyone was having so much fun and drinking a lot. After the party end, you help a drunken Soryu back to his room. As you help him to untie his tie, he suddenly grabs you and pushes you down on the bed. He kisses you passionately and making you feel dizzy with his kisses. He slips off your dress easily and quickly strips himself naked. You did not stop him and give your body to him. That nights both of you make loves until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

When you wake up the next morning, he is gone. You are disappointed but you have no regret. However, when you open door to leave his room, you saw him standing in front of the door. He presents you a diamond ring and tell you to marry him. You though he just feel responsible for sleeping with you and thus you did not agree.

“They always say you are my woman and I never deny. There is no other woman can understand me except you. Last night I was not drunk. I have sex with you is so that you will not reject my proposal. I need you by my side. Anyway I am not taking a no for an answer. In other words, I telling you that you must marry me and not asking your permission.” He declares and pull you in for a kiss. You return his kiss as you do know yourself that you need him too.

Your relationship with Ota is complicated. Both of you know each other since high school and both of you never seem to stop argue. However, when either of you needs helps, you will definitely help one another. Ota always go round telling people that he is the only one that can tease you.

You love his artwork and it never fail to surprise you each time he complete one. You even pose as a model for him sometime. You just love it when he pain out your internal beauty that only Ota can see.

After both of you graduate and Ota become famous artist. He even invites you as his partner to attend any of his reward ceremony. He claims that you are inspiration of his art and thus it makes sense for you to be around. With that, you soon become his manager and assist him.

One day after party, you are at his art gallery. He suddenly asks you if you are ok to let him draw a nude picture of you. Without any hesitation, you agree since you trusted his skills. Once you strip yourself naked, you are not sure how to pose your position since this is the first time you pose for him as naked.

He walks over to you and help you, but the moment he touch your naked skin, he can’t stop himself. He starts caress your naked body and move his hands to your inner thighs, before slowly moving upwards to your clitoris. The sensation from stimulation of his fingers on your body, make you feel dizzy. You move your hands to unzip his pants and pull out his member and move it to your clitoris. He pushes it in as if he can’t control anymore. That night, you have your first sex with him and it was so passionate that both of you wanted more.

Subsequently you have more sex with him even though he never asks you to be his girlfriend. One day he just pop up the marriage certificate in front of you and say that both of you just make it official since there is no way he can have sex with other. You laugh at his honesty and you agree to his proposal. You don’t think anyone can satisfy your sexual desire except him.

Enslaved by a Dragon - [Flashback #6- Loss of Innocence] - CumberSmaug Fanfiction

Cumber’s fingernails dug into her flesh as he pounded into her with the madness of a thousand sleepless nights.

Cumber… From her slick, swollen lips his name was a fervent command he could not disobey, a breath of sweet oxygen stoking the embers of his desire to feverish new heights. She moved with him, her heart-shaped ass slapping viciously against his thighs as she welcomed him deeper with every thrust, every grind.

Love me, Cumber…

Love. She was his love, his glimmer of light in the dark, the one that kept him tethered to his humanity. He would tear his heart out for her, if it was what she desired.

Give it to me, she breathed. I want all of you…

She was the the gentle to his rough, the quenching cool to his crackling drought. He needed to make love to her, watch how his pleasure rippled through her as they found each other. He withdrew from her, and she grumbled in annoyance. Chuckling, he turned her so that she was facing him. Impatiently, she lowered herself onto him, wrapping her lovely legs tight about his waist. She was tight, fiery pleasure swallowing him whole, clenching him in perfect completion. She looked up at him with adoration, her eyes bright and feverish. She was perfect: Beauty, innocence, and eros made into delicate, fragile flesh. And she was his and his alone. Together they moved in delirious ecstasy, revealing all the secrets of the universe with every thrust, every stroke. He could feel himself unravel, blue flame dancing about his flesh as he became undone. Exposed. He was pure fire, a soul forged in the depths of Mount Doom, his earthly form falling away as one would shed a cloak.

Dimly, he was aware he had gone too far.

“…We have to stop.” His voice was not his own, but that of the beast. His fingers were streaked with fire. “…You’ll get burned.”

She took his hands and slid them over her perfect breasts.

Don’t stop, Cumber. Don’t you want to watch me burn? Her eyes had gone dark with wine. Like you watched my family burn?

The flame curled up her smooth flesh, leaving a trail of puckered blisters in its path.

“No, please!” He gasped, trying to push her away from him before he could hurt her even more. He grappled with her in vain, leaving handprints of charred, twisted flesh that smoldered and blackened where his skin grazed her. “You must release me!”

But she clung onto him, fire in her wide, wide eyes. Why did you keep me alive? Was it so you could fuck me the moment I became a woman?

“NO!” He was crying now. He was killing her. Consuming her in dragonfire. Her hair was aflame, beautiful tresses blazing red then singed to shrivelled black. But she would not let go, not even when all that was left of her was burnt leather stretched over a blackened skeleton. He wept, clutching her tiny frame against his chest in soul-wrenching regret.

Love, she whispered, her grinning skull falling into ashes in his arms. It’s all I ever wanted.

“NO!” Cumber gasped. He bolted upright, his face smeared with tears.

It was all just a dream. Nothing but a dream.

“Are you alright?” She was sitting by his bed clutching the edge of his covers anxiously.

He shot out of bed. “Y-You!” He choked out, his voice cracking. Guilt tore at his insides like a feral pack of wolves. He felt like retching. “What are you doing here?”

“You were crying out in your sleep, so I thought I’d come in and-”

“-NEVER come into my room!” He yanked his cover roughly from under her and wrapped it around his waist.

“…Someone’s in a lousy mood.”

“Get out.”



She crossed her arms. “Or you’ll what?”

He dared not touch her. Not with the dream so vivid and real in his mind. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“…Go bring in the goats. The dragon will be hungry soon.”

He pushed past her towards the hall.

“You were calling my name. In your sleep.”

He stopped in his tracks. “…You heard wrong.”

She reached out and touched his arm. It was the lightest of caresses, innocent and loving, yet he could feel himself harden beneath the cover. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“You can deny it all you want. Even if it takes a lifetime, I will be here waiting for you to finally admit how you really feel. I will always love you, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

His heart wept at her words. There was too much blood on his hands, too many secrets that would break her. He could not betray her further than he already had.

He had to cool her ardor once and for all, if he was to keep her safe from him.

“I’m heading out to Laketown for personal business,” Cumber said quietly as he threw a cloak over his shoulders. “Don’t try to follow me.”

“Of course not.” You gave him your most innocent smile and waved at him cheerily as he strode down the mountain. You gave him about a 10 minute head start before you grabbed your own cloak and snuck after him. He always headed out to Laketown alone when he was off to buy dark artifacts or something excitingly dangerous and fascinating that he didn’t want you knowing about.

You hopped onto your rowboat and made your way to the northeast dock as Cumber’s boat disappeared towards the southeast. When you reached Laketown, you tied off your boat beneath a broken bridge, away from the watchful eyes of the patrol. With your dusty cloak wrapped about you, you blended in easily with the locals.

You darted through the narrow wooden walkways, past the fishermen and the net-menders until you were in the marketplace. Just as you timed it, Cumber was already making his way through the bustling crowd of street vendors. You followed after him with the stealth of a cat, carefully weaving past hollering housewives and screeching kids without being noticed. Down a dingy, crooked alleyway, the hunchbacked dealer from Mordor with his knapsack full of dark wonders stood waiting. His eyes gleamed greedily as he saw Cumber approaching. Cumber strode straight past him, without even a slight nod of greeting, and disappeared around the corner. You frowned as you hurried after him. No dark artifacts today. So what was he in Laketown for?

He stopped at the edge of town, where the washerwomen were busy boiling soiled laundry in giant, steaming vats by the murky water. The air smelled of ash and soap. As the washerwomen noticed his presence. He leaned casually against a faded wooden post and smoothly removed his hood. A half-smile played on his lips as he surveyed the women with a gaze that would make any woman weak in the knees. An old lady dropped her laundry basket, her face flushed and her mouth gaping. Several of the younger women giggled among themselves, pointing at him and waving shyly. He winked deliberately. Your hands were balled at your sides, anger rising like a firestorm. You’ve never seen him glance at another woman, let alone pretend to be charming to send the local women in a tittering frenzy. What had gotten into him?

A voluptuous beauty with fiery red hair stood up from tending the fire. She leaned forward and blew him a kiss, her ample chest spilling from the low neckline of her blouse. He grinned, white teeth flashing. He curled a black-gloved finger, bading her to come hither. And come she did, dropping the firewood and hitching her dress over her knees, scrambling over the piles of dirty linens and trousers to get to him. A dull silver band gleamed on her finger. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, gazing upon her as if she were a princess, and not a washerwoman stinking of smoke. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. As he spoke, the woman began to blush, until she was as red as her hair. The woman gasped, and he smiled. Then they were off, arm in arm across a rickety bridge and down a corridor.

You were trembling, your fingernails digging into your palms. This couldn’t be happening. This was Cumber. Your grumpy, moody Cumber. The man who only had eyes for you. You crouched behind a pile of old planks and watched them disappear into a wind-ravaged shack. You paced helplessly outside the door, wishing you had the courage and barge in and demand what was going on. There was a loud thump from the inside, and the whole shack shuddered. You quickly ducked to the side and peered through a shoddily boarded window.

The woman was half undressed, her red hair splayed like fire across milky white shoulders. Cumber’s gloved hand was clasped around her throat, pressing her firmly against the wall. Her mouth was half-open, her breath ragged with delight as he made a patchwork of red and purple of her flesh with his teeth. She pawed at his clothes, and he shoved her hands away. With a sweep of his hand, he tore off the remnants of her dress and cast them aside. Her undergarments fell to her ankles and she kicked them away.

Your hands were clamped over your mouth, stifling the heartbreak that escaped from you in harsh, breathless sobs. He was yours. He belonged to you. Every part of his stupid self, his messy hair, his silly laugh, the funny lizard-looking bithnark under his right arm. You knew every crease on his face when he smiled, every fleck of color in his eyes. He was yours, yet he was giving himself to someone else.

Cumber stood in silence, watching the flustered redhead with an expression you could not read. For a second you dared to hope that he had a change of heart. Then he loosened his belt. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them behind her back and grabbed a fistful of her hair in the other hand. He growled something low in her ear, and she answered with a throaty moan. With a hefty thrust, he sank into her like a hunter with a spear.

It was as if he had sank a dagger into your heart. The air abandoned your lungs. Despair wrapped its icy fingers around your soul and wrenched your insides apart. You wanted to race in there and drag him off her, wanted to claw and kick at him, screaming until you tasted blood. But all you could do was crouch paralyzed with your face pressed against the rough wooden boards, tears streaming down your face. All this time you were saving yourself for him, playing out scenario after scenario in your mind of how he would finally confess his love for you. How he would lay you gently in a meadow of flowers, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and teach you what it meant to be his.

Those dreams tasted like ash as you watched him betray you.

With every heave, the woman grunted and shoved back against him like a dog in heat. Cumber quickened his pace, his grip leaving prints on her wrists despite the gloves. You could watch no more. You slid down, your face buried in your hands. You wished the lake would rise up and wash you away, drown you in its icy embrace. At least then you would be numb to his betrayal.

You do not know when it fell silent, when it was finally over. You huddled in the shadows, unable to breathe, unable to move. He emerged from the shack, his hair and clothes in disarray.

“…Come,” he said softly, not looking at you. “We must return to Erebor.”

He knew. He had known all along that you had followed him here.

And he had made you watch.

A sickening chill shivered through you, and for the first time in your life you realized the hatred you were capable of. You drew your dagger in blind rage. The dagger had been his birthday gift to you so many years ago. He had been the one who taught you how to use it: How to defend, how to kill. With shaky hands you raised it, blood pounding in your skull. You were certain you would drive it into the heart of him. Maybe then he would truly feel what it was he had done to you.

The blade stopped inches from his chest. Even after what he had done, you could not bring yourself to hurt him. You loved him too much.

He clasped his hands over yours, and pressed the point of the dagger against his flesh.

“Is that what you want? My heart in exchange for breaking yours?” He stared unflinching with dead eyes. He pressed it harder until the point bit into his skin. A scarlet drop of blood blossomed around the silver blade. You flung the dagger away and threw a punch at him, your knuckle cracking harmlessly against his jaw. Tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. He grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you, hard.

“…Save your tears, you stupid girl! How could you be so foolish?” He spat, his voice cracking slightly. “As if I would ever lose my heart to one such as you! A woman-child who cannot tell the difference between a lover and her surrogate!”

Then he shoved you away. He walked to his boat alone, his head bowed low and his shoulders trembling.

[posted 3.13.14]


Depression can go fuck itself. Four or five months of crippling depression, anxiety, and self loathing have left me with a bedroom and bathroom that make me feel like crying with how disgusting they are. I’m living in an environment that is exacerbating my issues like woah, and today I have the energy, time, and play lists to try and do something about it. First 20/10

Rear Window is a film about indiscretion, about intimacy violated and taken by surprise at its most wretched moments; a film about the impossibility of happiness, about dirty linen that gets washed in the courtyard; a film about moral solitude, an extraordinary symphony of daily life and ruined dreams.”

–Francois Truffant