#i will make him into a rabbit stew or whatever

[stripesysheaven]

i think about bunnyboy ben and i start shaking

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Famous Last Words

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Summary: She'll never let him believe he isn't loved, even when he doesn't deserve it.

TW: None.

“Be careful. I love you”

She hears the snort of derision he lets out and resists the urge to roll her eyes at him lest she makes things worse. He’s like a cornered animal when he’s upset, all consuming anger to cover the vulnerability he doesn’t want to acknowledge exists. She’s worried the wrong move will make him tell her to ‘fuck off an’ then fuck off som’ more’ like he had the night before.

“Though’ ya were mad at me” He grunts, scuffing the toe of his boot in the pebble-dashed dirt, other leg poised to keep moving further away from her and closer to the run he’s supposed to be going on.

“I am mad at you, you’re mad at me too” She raises an eyebrow before scanning her eyes down, taking note of the way he’s picking at the skin of his thumb; a nervous habit he’s had the whole time she’s known him. He’s nervous, as if one fight will make her leave him, as if she’s going to suddenly realise he isn’t worth the effort. She huffs a small, understanding smile at him “I still love you, and I’m never going to risk that not being the last thing you hear me say”

He pauses at the gate, tilts his head to the side and looks at her properly, sees the way she’s looking at him wide eyed and concerned, the way her shoulders are tense. Whenever they fight he convinces himself he’s being left, talks himself into thinking she doesn’t care and here she is, mad at him, fighting with him and still refusing to let him believe she doesn’t whilst being scared he won’t come back for different reasons.

He strides forward suddenly, twisting his body to close the gap between them and slings an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in to press his lips to the top of her head. He lingers, lips against the hair he loves so much.

“I love ya”

“Be careful. I love you” She repeats, knowing the words have sunk in when he raises one side of a lip fleetingly before opening the clanking metal chain.

-

It was a stupid fight, in hindsight, the kind they probably wouldn’t have if anyone had eaten a full meal for dinner rather than whatever percentage of rabbit there was split between twelve people. Or maybe they would, because they could have twelve rabbits and Daryl would still give his up for someone else, and it would infuriate her just the same that he sacrifices his own wellbeing for them at every opportunity. She suspects it’s only half about taking care of others, and maybe a solid thirty percent just not thinking he deserves care; the other twenty percent she is entirely unwilling to examine.

It was a fight though, one that ought to have been kinder than it was. One that she wishes she could have kept her cool in, but she’ll be fucked if Daryl is the only one who gets to be angry. She stews on it, sitting perched on the solid prison cot, playing it over and over in her mind until she hears heavy footsteps outside the makeshift door. She’d recognise them anywhere, his distinctive gait and well-worn shoes that always scrape on the second step when he’s not trying to sneak. The consideration, even in his unconscious actions, is part of the reason she loves him as fiercely as she does.

She doesn’t get up, doesn’t allow herself to follow the overwhelming urge to rush towards him when he opens the bars and lifts aside the curtain. He bites the inside of his lip.

“’M sorry”

“Me too”

She moves then, coming to a stop in front of him to run her hands over the solid muscles under his shirt, checking him for cuts and scrapes, feels him exhale underneath her palms. He’s always taken by the act, no matter how long they’ve been together or how often he goes out. He remains captured by the tenderness and care she bestows upon him. He is, still, so unused to the kindness, so out of depth when the only gentleness he’s known has been a cover for malice, false sense of security so quickly followed by pain.

“Ain’t sure what I did t’ deserve ya love” He mumbles into the same spot on the crown of her head. The spot he kisses when he fucks her, the place his chin rests when he hugs her after a long day, the spot he’d patted condescendingly when he was too embarrassed to admit he liked her but needed an excuse to make contact.

Finally, after almost twenty four hours of not making contact, at least twenty three too long, she kisses him, presses her lips firmly to his, relishing the way he instantly responds. When she pulls away it’s with a smile, an always fucking present smile he’ll never get enough of, the smile that’s his.

“You don’t have to deserve it, you don’t have to earn it, its just there”

He eats more that night, sitting by the fire running a thumb soothingly on her knee as he takes a well earned swig from a bottle of water. He wants her to see it, wants her to know he's trying; and if he has to trick himself into it by thinking it's for her, caring for himself because she needs him to, then it'll have to do for now.

[celeste-clearwater-06]

heartbeat (thorin oakenshield x female!modern! reader)

gif by me!!

desc. - reader puts her CPR lessons to good use when thorin's on the brink of death. (inspired by an imagine by @imaginexhobbit but make it sad🫶 also i listened to "farewell to dobby" while reading this, it adds so muchhh)

warnings - angst 💔

word count - 2.7k

For most of the time you’d been traveling with Thorin and his merry band of warriors, you could only account a few times you provided yourself useful to the group. Bofur was a whittler and toy maker, Oin a healer, Ori a scribe. Thorin and his sister-sons, the rightful heir to a kingdom. Even Bilbo had squeezed his way into a position of burglary, though he was hardly fit, and was still fighting to prove himself.

You?

A few stories around the campfire. Some questions answered about where you’d appeared from out of nowhere in particular. Mouth watering modern food recipes you babbled on about, over rabbit stew Bombur happily served on the cold nights on the road. And sure, you were getting good with a sword, but not nearly as skillful as the fearless fighter Dwalin.

You could see the malevolence and distaste in Thorin’s eyes when Gandalf decided for himself that you would make a fine addition to the group. After all, some otherworldly stranger happening upon them just as their fateful quest began was no coincidence. To him it meant something. But to the leader of the group? Danger? Deadweight? You couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it settled behind his cold, steel-blue eyes and swelled whenever he watched you fail miserably at every task given.

You simply weren’t built for a world like this.

Thorin didn’t hate you. He wasn’t necessarily fond of you either. And how you longed to fit in, impress him maybe. Break past whatever tough exterior that he used to keep a distance between the two of you. Pushing too much would surely annoy him, so you opted to keep to yourself, sitting back and placing yourself near Gandalf and the witty Bilbo Baggins, who seemed to have walked a few miles in your own shoes. If he could wear them, that is. Hoping maybe one day the King under the mountain would come around. Maybe.

But now, soaring over the horizon of a morning sun and above the towering mountains, on the feathered back of a massive bird, Bilbo had proven himself in his bravery, and you were alone and useless in your skills.

You were seated atop the same eagle as the halfling, right behind another that carried Thorin’s limp body in its talons, wind and the worried cries of his nephews rushing through your hair and past your ears. Azog’s fight was not an easy one. Not that you could do much anyways, dangling uselessly from a blazing pine tree and fingers slipping from its scorching branches. But Thorin, ever the brave, was taken down quickly.

Thank the lord for Gandalf’s endless alliances.

Now, the eagles circled a plateau, oddly sticking out from above high treetops like a sore thumb, and began to descend to its slanted surface where each member of the company jumped off. Some destination this was, hundreds of feet off the ground. You’d think they might find a safer spot to land this band of underground dwelling travelers but beggars can’t be choosers. At least you were out of harm's way for the time being. The eagle you and Bilbo rode flew low enough for you to hop off and land safely on the cliff’s surface, then turn and see Thorin, unconscious and unmoving, set down gently in front of the rest of the group.

They all crowded around him, shouting and shaking his body vigorously, but to no avail. Your stomach dropped when you heard one of them mutter a word that sounded like “dead”.

You rushed over, just getting a few glimpses of his face from behind the heads of thick hair and heavy fur coats circling him like vultures, Bilbo at your heels and following in curiosity.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Thorin! Thorin, wake up!” A hand tapped on the side of his face.

You immediately began shouting to clear some room. The sea of worried dwarves parted for you, just enough room to sling your haversack off your shoulders and lean down on your knees, bringing an ear to his mouth. They were right. Not a breath to be heard. Nor a pulse, you discovered, after placing your fingers to the side of his cold neck.

“No…no no, no.”

The company shared confused mutters and looks, worry lines still etched like canyons in their faces as they watched you clamor to unclasp his thick cloak and pull away as much clothing as you could from his chest.

Now, you were no doctor. Not even a medical student for that matter. Just barely scraping by with an art degree and two, low paying part-time jobs back home. Wherever that was. But, thankfully, those required CPR lessons back in junior high suddenly came rushing back to you, and you were gonna put to the best use you could.

You locked your elbows, flattened your palms, and then hastily pressed against the brute of his firm chest. Mahal, it was stubborn, and the armored shirt between your hands and his heart was no help, but acting quickly spared no time for shedding any more of his clothes. Again and again you pressed, one, two, just how the instructor taught you with her quick tongue and loud voice.

“An even pace! You’re going to lose him!”

The recall made your head spin, especially considering it might have been a bit comedic at the time, trying to revive an armless mannequin on the tile floor of your classroom. But under the steady pressure of your palms was a real person, teetering on the edge of life and death.

Gandalf landed somewhere behind you, being the last to touch ground, but he was forgotten in the sea of deep voices asking what you could possibly be doing.

By the 16th compression, you were beginning to break a sweat. Twenty, twenty one…

“Lass… what are ya’ doing?” Bofur's voice, usually friendly and jovial, was a low and cowering one. His question left the rest of the group quiet. You heard, but you didn’t answer. That would be for later when this was over. Preferably with a happy ending.

Thirty.

You moved to pinch Thorin's nose shut, tilting his head just slightly off the ground with the other hand tangled in his hair and breathed into his open mouth.

Any and all bewildered muttering was lost on the focus you had, to watch for any movement in his relaxed face.

You breathed again, and then bent over to listen. Nothing.

Now things began to get more grave than you’d taken them before.

You moved back to begin compressions again, this time pressing harder and deeper against his heart. You lifted a forearm to wipe the sweat gathering on your brow.

In your class, you were supposed to take turns, and rotate when one got tired so they could properly compress. But this wasn’t class.

Thorin was beneath the weight of your hands and his face was losing color.

“Come on… come on Thorin.”

You lost count after the 19th shove downwards, adrenaline kicking in and tears blurring the corners of your eyes as Thorin convulsed.

A warm hand settled on your shoulder above.

“Lass… he-” you smacked it away, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach like fire that you spat out.

“No! No he’s not, n-not yet.”

Again, you breathed into his airway, heavy and even, like you were supposed to. You were doing everything right. So why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t he breathing?

This was the quietest you had ever heard the company. Only birds and the sound of your exhausted, heaving breaths and choking sobs floating in the cool morning air.

You moved back to compressions, starting again, one, two, three. You were begging him, hysterically pleading his unresponsive body to kick start back up.

“Please Thorin. Come on.”

Now tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, warm and bothersome and blinding, falling over your hands and his clothes. Your arms ached at the now desperate shoving against his heart. You looked pathetic, like a widow begging for scraps of Thorin’s lifeline, something to get him through. The ground dug harshly into your knees, bruising and irritating them through the pants as they dully scraped with each movement.

Twenty two.

You were slowing down, growing weary and tired from the work. But it wasn’t good enough. At this point, with the silent stares, you knew that even the ever stubborn dwarves had lost hope for their leader some time ago. And you had too, but now you were already getting past the twenty-fifth press down. Curse the lot of them, just staring down at you with pity as you sniffed and wiped the snot and tears from your face. And curse the beauty of the morning sun peaking over the mountains, so regal and beautiful, and staring down at the morose show of a sad little human weeping to herself.

“Please… please, God you idiot. Running down there like that.”

A cry frogged its way out of the back of your throat, raspy and gurgling. You lift his head for the third time, sniffed in and then pushed your shaking breath as hard as you could manage, pulled away, then back down to press your quivering lips upon his cold ones and-

A breath. Soft and faint, just barely there, and it slightly cooled the tears on your face.

You froze, staring down at Thorin to see his eyes twitch just slightly underneath their lids. Another exhale fled him, his time much more apparent, and his brows furrowed as he stirred awake. The gasps and shouts from the company, scrambling over and circling him like they did before to help him up as he came to.

“He’s alive!”

“A miracle! Bless the Valor!”

You lifted yourself from the ground, onto your feet, but the shock of your attempts actually working, and exhaustion, just left you to stumble backwards onto your butt, crying harder than before, in relief and joy, nonetheless sobbing like your life depended on it. You gave into the fatigue of your muscles, the tiredness from the adrenaline, and exhaustion from your sobs, and fell onto your back, covering your eyes with a forearm with the other limply laying on the ground next to you. Bilbo kneeled next to you and laid his small hand over yours, watching as the king was pulled to his feet and grimacing at the noises of his jovial party celebrating with shouting and laughing.

“You did it,” The burglar said quietly, just enough for you to hear. It wasn’t just amazement in his voice, but reassurance. Something to ground you, like the warm squeeze of his hand.

You trembled, breaths coming in and out with a shiver.

Thorin’s dazed when you slowly sit up off the ground to look at him, swaying about and being jostled as each excited dwarf embraced and jumped around him, and an arm shouldered over Kìli’s to keep his balance.

“You were dead.” Dwalin’s normally stony, hard-set face, was graced with the most horrified look you’d ever seen in your life, eyes widened and brows twisted upwards in awe. That seemed to settle everyone down enough, and shake Thorin from the rest of his stupor. Once again, the world around you was blessed with silence that you hadn’t gotten a taste of since you arrived. It was short lived.

“Dead?” Thorin asked, incredulous and confused.

“Ye’ weren’t breathing lad!” Gloin chimed in, “we thought you were gone!”

The king’s eyes narrow, and shift between the members of his party, blinking away a head rush.

“How is that possible?” The second set of words he’d spoken since he screamed Azog’s name. Thorin’s voice was low and rasping. He slowly turned, following the astounded, wide-eyed stares from the surrounding dwarves, boring into you like you were some God.

You sniffled, wiping at your reddened, runny nose with the sleeve of your shirt.

He lifted a jeweled hand to graze over his heart, where you were reviving him, just staring at the sad sight of your tearful eyes.

“She saved ya’, Thorin,” Balin’s voice is serious and somber, breaking the silence, “Brough’ ya’ back from near death. Mahal knows how.”

Thorin’s eyes grew sharp, brows furrowing and piercing into you, where you pulled yourself to sit on your knees. His fingers tightened around the cloth where his hand laid, clutching at his chest.

“You,” he gruffed, “You did this?”

“I-I… I didn’t know if it was gonna work.” Your throat tightened and squeezed. Great, even more tears flowed down your face. Thorin’s eyes held the same glint that made your stomach twist with embarrassment and shame. The least he could do is offer a nod of gratitude towards you. Instead, he tore free from the group, ripping his arm away off his nephew’s shoulder and stumbling towards you like a drunken fool, with thudding footsteps.

Dwalin calls after him uselessly, just hanging back and letting the scene play out.

When he stops in front of you, eyes firey and broad chest heaving breaths in and out, standing a few inches over where you’re knelt, all you can do is try not to look away. You’re glad you hadn’t.

A boa-tight grip took hold of your heart and tightened when you saw his features soften, worry lines and crow's feet disappearing in the appearance of a small, incredulous smile. His softened eyes lined themselves with the hint of tears catching like jewels in the morning sun. Thorin dropped down to his knees to meet your height in a hug that you could never have prepared yourself for. You freeze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Thorin, fearless, merciless, King Under the Mountain was hugging, no, embracing you, with the force of a thousand winds and strength of ten thousand men, because he was alive, thanks to you. And you hugged him back, pulling closer than you already were, and grasping at the back of his shirt and cried into his shoulder. The dwarves cheered in excitement behind Thorin. Through the yelling and praise, you can hear Thorin’s low voice next to your ear.

“I cannot repay this deed. Thank you.”

You pull away to see the kindest, warmest smile your eyes had ever been blessed to lay upon. It knocked the breath from your lungs. The corners of his eyes and the arch of his nose wrinkled upwards. It suited his face much more than the cold and stoic stares he was prone to.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” Was all you could huff out.

“Yet I did. I misunderstood you greatly.” Thorin wiped a tear from the side of your face, “You make a member of this group. My life is indebted to you. And you,”

He peered over your shoulder at a wide-eyed Bilbo Baggins, standing just past your shoulder. You helped him stand from the ground, arm linked in his to meet the hobbit.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he slipped free from your arm, and started toward Bilbo, just as he did you. “Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?”

Your face fell, akin to Bilbo’s solemn look. He stood there, taking the string of insults like a punching bag.

“That you had no place amongst us?”

And then he pulled the hobbit in just as he did you.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.”

Your heart reeled, and this time you smiled along with the rest of the company’s rejoices, watching the surprised grin spread across Bilbo’s face. Thorin pulled away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, no. I would have doubted me, too.”

A hand planted itself on your shoulder, and you turned to look at Gandalf and his sagely smile.

“You’ve made yourself quite the home in these dwarves' hearts, young lady,” he said. It was comedic, the way his silvery hair and beard dramatically blew in the wind, “Perhaps once this has settled, you stay with them. I think you’d find yourself more than welcome in Erebor’s Halls.”

You hummed in thought. The band of travelers were gathered on the edge of the plateau, looking out in the distance towards the peak of the Lonely Mountain, calling their name through the mist.

Thorin turned back to look at you over his shoulder with a gentle smile, and nodded his head to you in a silent thanks. The ghost of a blush spread across his face.

“I just might.”

(aaaaaah! what did you guys think??? :3 it feels wonderful to get a full fic out after so long, ive had this idea in my head for dayyys ugh 💔 please send me some requests loves, i'm in desperate need of some comfort fics! don't forget to reblog and like!! love yas! 🩷🌺🌸🌷💝💞)

tag list : @kumqu4t @tolkien-fantasy @blueberryrock @to-be-frank-i-dont-care @luna-xial @legolaslovely @fizzyxcustard @pistachiozombie @imaginexhobbit @beenovel

[cultofdixon]

Matchmaker Grimes

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Carl Grimes’ Older Sister!Reader • Carl saw how close you and the archer were getting and thought he (with a little help from dad) he can get the two of you together • SFW/Smol Angst • TW: Anxiety

Requested by: Anon

“Y/N, mind doing me a favor?”

“If it’s something stupid I won’t do it Carl” Y/N scoffs in a playful manner to show her brother she wasn’t serious about turning down whatever it may be. Even if the silence wasn’t going to get her to do what he wants of her. “Dude. Spit it out”

“Shit, sorry. Mind checking the snares? Dad asked me to ask you”

“Then why did you phrase it in wanting me to do you a favor?”

“I panicked and forgot that dad asked me to ask you. I just remembered that it was him asking—-“

“You’re scrambling. But yeah I’ll go take care of it” Y/N shooed him away so that she could get ready in private, even if the blanket curtain for a cell door wasn’t enough privacy.

As the eldest Grimes sibling made her way outside the gates of the prison to check the snares for her father. She noticed the archer setting up new ones after re-setting up the old ones.

Daryl looked up when he heard a throat clear, finally noticing Y/N as he straightens up. “Uh. Rick asked me—-“

“Oh, funny. My dad asked me to do it…too” Y/N tried not to be so nervous around the archer when talking to him.

“I could use a hand though, so you’re perfect—-“ Daryl himself was nervous around the eldest Grimes sibling. “I-I mean it’s…perfect. You…you can help. Yeah”

While that was happening, Rick was currently on watch as he had a pair of binoculars checking the parameter from his tower and more specifically watching the two take care of the snares. They were getting quite a bit of game and while they were out they took care of a few walkers that threatened the fence.

“Anything?” Carl questions the moment he arrived as Rick handed the binoculars to his son.

“Yea know I can’t hear anything right?”

“No shit dad!”

“Language”

“Whatever. I just wanna know if they are talking to each other. I don’t gotta hear what they’re saying” Carl states looking into the binoculars checking on the two himself.

As Y/N finished setting up the last snare she noticed Daryl staring into the prison but more specifically the watch tower. She brought herself to stand beside him curious to what he was looking at.

“Why does your brother have binoculars?”

“Cuz he’s a weirdo. I don’t know” Y/N watching Carl put away the binoculars by shoving them into his dad’s side.

“It’d be weirder if he had one of those…uhhh…”

“A listening device? Aren’t they called bugs?”

“I was thinkin’ the microphone things cops had in old cop films. For spyin’” Daryl adjusted his crossbow on his back as Y/N crosses her arms watching her family scramble in the watchtower.

“I miss movies”

“Yea had a favorite film?”

“Guess” Y/N smiles at Daryl watching his expression soften while in thought.

“Were yea one of them twilight girls?”

“Ew no” She laughs at the guess as Daryl felt a twitch of a smile Grace his face when hearing her laugh. “Lori was obsessed with the books. But as for my favorite movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”

“Jim Carrey fan?”

“No, I just really enjoyed the film. I could probably recite it by heart I’ve seen it a lot” Y/N started to make her way back to the main gates with Daryl following shortly behind while carrying the catches the traps caught.

“Uhm…think yea could recite it to me like…sometime or whatever”

“Sure, after dinner?” Y/N’s smile he will take to memory. She watches him nod with a hint of his smile peaking out. “Cool”

The night came in and dinner was made with the rabbits they’ve caught in the snares. It was put into a stew with some of the vegetables they grew in the gardens. Some of the people were eating outside and some were inside…Carl found himself sitting outside at the table with his dad and baby sister with the Greenes and Rhees. He was watching Y/N talking to Carol at another table with Daryl sitting with them.

“Carl”

Carl quickly snapped back to the table he was at seeing a few laugh at his attention being elsewhere.

“Sorry what?”

“You gotta eat, son” Rick laughs a bit as he held Judith giving her a bottle. “We’re running out of formula”

“She should be able to start takin’ solids soon but in mush form. We do have carrots coming in” Hershel adds his input as he enjoys the dinner.

“Think we should have a run set up. Just a quick one to see if there’s anymore formula out there before weening her off”

“Glenn and I—-“

“Y/N and Daryl don’t have morning watch tomorrow. They can go on a quick run. I’ll go tell them” Carl quickly got up from his seat making his way over to their table.

Glenn couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him catching everyone’s attention at their picnic table. “Sorry sorry”

“What it’s cute that he’s trying to set them up” Beth was quick to add as that caught Rick’s attention instantly.

“Y’all know what he’s doing?”

“It’s obvious”

“And boy are those two oblivious” Maggie smiles at the two before turning back to her table failing to contain her laughter. “Glenn and I have tried before. But we honestly thought you’d have a problem with it”

“Or it’ll blow up in our faces because it’s the apocalypse and locking the two in an abandoned house can lead to a walker being shoved out a window” Glenn avoided eye contact as that would explain the time Y/N had to get stitches. “Ruined the mood”

“I don’t have a problem with it.“ Rick states setting the bottle down and getting up from his seat to take Judith inside. “I’d only have a problem if he hurts her”

A few hours passed and everyone was inside for the night, Daryl was getting off his watch about to light a cig when he noticed Y/N sitting alone outside. He quickly discarded the cigarette while making his way over to her in the fields.

“Hey”

Y/N looks up from her lap giving Daryl a tired smile before returning her attention onto the book she had in her lap.

“You okay?” He asks bringing himself to sit with her hearing a ‘Mhm’ as a response. “Mind if I sit with yea?”

“Not at all” she smiles watching him the best she could given the barely any light from the solar powered lantern she found from the last run.

Daryl brought himself close bringing his attention to the pictures she was fiddling with hidden in the pages.

“Who’s that?”

“My mom with Lori, then this one” Y/N handed one over to Daryl as he brought it more toward her lantern to get a look. “Carl and I when I was moving out”

“Yea look happy…how’d these manage to survive this long? If yea don’t mind me askin’”

“I know how to take care of my shit” Y/N laughs dryly being handed the photo back as she put it back in a small copy of Flowers for Algernon. No correlation, just know her dad or brother would pick up the book. “My coat has an inside pocket big enough to hold the book I keep them in. Only take it off to sleep so it’s always on me”

“Smart. Kinda like the vest I’ve got. It’ll stay intact as long as it’s with me.”

“The wings suit you by the way. Being a guardian angel of sorts” Y/N smiles listening to him scoff followed by a short lived chuckle. “Ever gonna trust someone to wear them? You do trust Carol to clean it”

“Eh she just showed me how to take care of it. To avoid the wings tearing off…but yeah I’ve got someone in mind, I’d trust to wear’em”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N smiles at the archer not getting an answer of who as the silence grew slightly between them before she took a risk bringing herself beside him resting her head on his shoulder. “They must be pretty special”

She is Daryl tensed at first contact but relaxed after a second watching her curl into his side.

The morning came and Y/N stepped out of the watchtower from taking over Maggie’s morning shift ending just in time to go on the quick run with Daryl. He sat on his bike listening to what they needed to look for from Rick as he brought his attention to Y/N approaching.

“So you know what to—-“

“Get. Now you get” Daryl gestures with his head for Rick to leave as he gave him a confused look before turning to his daughter coming over and left with an amused chuckle escaping him.

Daryl straightens up gripping onto the helmet in his hands as Y/N instantly beams at the archer.

“You look ready”

“Oh I—If you ain’t I can—“

“No I’m good. I’m ready” She continues to smile as Daryl handed her the helmet. “Now why do you have this for me but not yourself?”

“You’re sitting behind me, sunshine. Can’t have yea getting brain damage falling off”

“Hey this isn’t my first time riding yknow”

“Oh?” Daryl smirks bringing himself forward so that Y/N can hop on once she got her helmet secured. “Wouldn’t have pegged yea to be the rebellious type with a dad like that”

“Mm I got away with a lot” Y/N giggles to herself about to wrap her arms around Daryl when she turned back to find Rick looking at the two. “CAN YEA GET THE GATES OLD MAN?”

The archer couldn’t help himself by laughing at her words as his mind drew a blank instantly when she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Old man really?” Rick comments with a bit of a snicker while passing to get the gate.

Soon the two were off and Carl brought himself to the gates once they closed.

“I’ve got a plan if this doesn’t work”

“I bet yea it will given it’s just them”

“Yeah well. I’m still gonna do my plan and it’s about tonight’s night shifts. Daryl is right after Y/N’s.”

“I’m listening” Rick started to walk back to the prison listening to his son’s plan, knowing part of it will probably not matter given these two being alone now?

Gives them enough time to say something

Or

Do something Daryl thought as he follows Y/N through a mini grocery watching her take everything that would benefit their group. Still keeping an eye out for what Rick asked Daryl to find.

“Hey uh Y/N I—-“

“I love you” Y/N blurted to Daryl as she was taking her own chances but when he didn’t respond right away, she decided to scramble and head further into the building. “Sorry!”

“Nah wait” Daryl quickly followed after her through the market as she always managed to get further ahead. “Y/N Damn it! Stop runnin’ from me please” he finally managed to cut her off as it led to her practically running into him.

“Shit sorry—“

“No I’m sorry, Y/N. Shit yea caught me off guard a moment ago—-“

“Yeah I get that and I totally get it if you don’t—-“

“Stop!” Daryl snapped, murmuring a few apologies when it caused her to flinch. He held her shoulders watching her eyes avoid his as he gently held her chin with his right hand making her look at him. “Yea caught me off guard. I-I was gonna say the same…just Uhm. Never thought you’d feel the same way”

“I…” Y/N exhaled a small laugh before bringing her hands to carefully hold his face. “I just wanted a moment alone with you to tell you and felt that something has been pushing me to this.”

“I felt that too” Daryl brought his hands to rest on her hips bringing her close. “I…fuck, you beat me to it earlier” he chuckles lightly smiling, simply enjoying her laugh and feeling her hands move to behind his neck. “But god I love yea. I love you so much”

“Kiss me then, Dixon” Y/N smiles as the archer didn’t hesitate to bring his lips against hers loving every part of her even more keeping her close.

“Yea think they’ve gotten into some trouble?” Rick asks Hershel as it’s been hours. What was supposed to be a quick run, turned into them being gone for hours.

“Are you worried about your daughter? She’s proven to be strong enough to care for herself, Rick. And Daryl’s with her.”

Rick continued to pace the gardens while Hershel kept the upkeep on their veggies being a listening ear to his friend’s concern.

“I should go out there”

“Yea shouldn’t. If they don’t surface tomorrow, then a few of us can go look for them.” Hershel grabbed some mulch from his bucket and started to place it in the soil when he brought his attention to the familiar roar of Daryl’s bike. “Don’t have to send a party out” he states watching Rick sprint over to the gates.

“The fuck happen to a quick ru—-Where’s my daughter, Dixon?” He only ever used Daryl’s last name when he was pissed and the conversation included Y/N.

“Are you blind?” Daryl scoffs bringing his bike to its usual spot as Rick quickly turns to the car coming through having Y/N in the drivers.

As the car pulls in and Y/N stepped out after parking it, Rick instantly grabbed her into a hug out of sudden anxiety for her safety as she awkwardly pats his back wanting him to stop.

“I didn’t die”

“You gotta stop saying that” Rick sighs pulling away and checking her for injuries as she gently pushes him back. “Sorry”

“You worry too much, old man. But look at what we brought back” Y/N gestures for him to check out their findings in the trunk and as she listens to Rick being grateful that they decided to stick outside the walls longer to get more of what they need, she looked over to Daryl seeing him crouched by his bike checking it out after the ride looking over to her.

The archer shot her a smile as she returned it followed by a wink before turning to her dad talking about the blankets they found and giving them to the kids they have at the prison. While all that happens, Carl who stood by the entrance to their cellblock from the outside, noticed their small exchange and quickly went to Daryl knowing his sister wouldn’t hear what he’s about to say.

“You break my sister’s heart and I end you” Carl suddenly stated to the man who gave him a confused look before he could fully take in what he said.

“I’ll never break your sister’s heart”

“You better. Cuz I’m fucking serious” Carl crosses his arms. “I will end you”

Daryl scoffs as he removes one of his knifes from their slot handing it to Carl and with his normal serious tone.

“If I ever, EVER, do wrong by your sister? You know exactly what to do with that”

And on that note Daryl went to help his girl and Rick with unloading the goods from the “new” car they brought. Carl stood there watching and fiddled with the knife in his hand. Knowing he’s never gonna have to use it.

[theonemeathead]

Sniper x Reader, "Lonely"

sniper x reader fluff bc he's my favorite obviously. tws for the implications of the word 'sheila', otherwise gender neutral :3. enjoy!

"Aw, that's game, mate!" Sniper laughed, heartily. You groaned, throwing your head back as your dropped the last steel horseshoe in your hand. That was the 3rd game you'd lost in a row. Today had been declared a ceasefire, so you had suggested taking the day to go camp with Sniper, your best friend. Truth be told, there's not a whole lot of good camping spots in New Mexico, meaning you were stuck in the middle of the dessert with nothing but whatever was packed in his campervan... and Sniper... by yourselves.

Now, you weren't one to crush. You prided yourself on holding your own, being 'independent'. But, base did get lonely, sometimes. Being surrounded by the same people every day for years could drive the sanest person crazy, especially the group you lived with. But, Sniper was different. He was kind and funny and honest with you. You admired his skill from afar, never really got in his way. You provided good company to him. So, when you had offered to go camping with him, alone... He felt his heart skip a beat. Your presence was different than the others; he liked being around you. 

Kicking a rock, you sat down on a log next to the future firepit. The sun was setting, it was gonna be dark soon. Sniper bent down, grunting as his knees popped, to collect the stake and horseshoes from your previous game. He slid them back into the mesh baggie, throwing them to the side before walking over where you had unceremoniously thrown yourself down in a fit of frustration. The Australian crouched, beginning to build the basic structure of what would be your source of warmth for the impending night. 

"No need to be sore, mate. You did good! I just did better."

You furrowed your brow, scowling at him. He snickered at your expression, clearly proud of his quip. Was it weird of him to find your annoyance so cute? You leaned to the side, taking a small rock and tossing it at him, the sediment bouncing off the top of one of his roughed-up cowboy boots. Everything about Sniper was so rugged, it almost hurt how stereotypically outdoorsy he looked. From his scratched aviators, to his sun-damaged skin, he sure wore that Aussie charm well. 

"Oh, c'mon, sheila! I'm just givin' ya a hard time." You continued to stare him down, doing your best to try and look intimidating. You knew you didn't scare him, but everyone has their dreams. Taking the lighter from the pocket of his vest, he took some kindling and held the flame to it. You watched, silently, as the sticks caught fire, crackling into an uproaring orange flame. Satisfied, Sniper stood up, dusting his hands on his trousers before crossing his arms at you. "Not talkin' to me now, are we?"

"Nope." He chuckled, dryly. He reached up, taking his dusty slouch hat off his head, putting it to his chest and bowing slightly. 

"How shall I ever earn your forgiveness?"

"Shut up... I'll forgive you when you start cooking supper."

"On it, sheila." And indeed he was. Half an hour had gone by and Sniper had brought his rusted pot of stew to a boil. It was filled with various game he'd hunted earlier in the day, ranging from coyote to rabbit. He had taken the edge of his kukri and sliced up some wild onions and some leftover carrots he had in the fridge, not letting them go to waste. Although it didn't sound appetizing, any food sounded like good food right about now. You both had been making small talk, conversing as the sun disappeared completely, leaving nothing but the glow of the fire and the occasional wheezey laugh. When came time, Sniper had been courteous enough to sneak a bowl and silverware for you from the dining hall. He only had plates for him, meaning he panicked slightly when you suggested this trip. He handed you the container, slopping a ladle full of dinner onto it. Immediately, you recognized it. 

"Did you steal this from the kitchen?" You asked, slightly amused by the gesture. 

"I mean—yeah. Didn't have another set of dishes, couldn't let ya starve." A small silence fell between you two. It was different than normal, it was almost awkward. You hadn't really thought about it, but you guessed Sniper had really never needed more than one of anything he had. You used your spoon to prod at the concoction, shuffling slightly as neither of you seemed to dare break the silence. Sniper had cleared his throat, grabbing a scoopful himself and sitting across from you. However, he didn't eat, but instead sat it on the ground at his feet as he took a stick, prodding at the open flame, absentmindedly.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" He froze. You stared at him, slightly shocked at how fast the words had left your mouth. They were in the air now and you couldn't take them back. And they stayed, too. Your words came out heavy, soaked in something Sniper hadn't experienced since moving away from his parents; Empathy. 

"...'Lonely'?" He repeated back. He scoffed, shaking his head. Him, lonely? I mean, yeah, sure he wouldn't mind having a companion around, but he's always been by himself. Even as a kid, he was an only child. This was new and unfamiliar; This was uncharted territory. You felt you had touched a sore spot, something sensitive about Sniper. You feared you had caused him to retract back into himself, making him regret ever opening up to you at all. 

"Yeah, well, I mean—" You started, eyes darting around as you conjured a response. "—Surely it gets a little isolating, doesn't it?"

"That's life, mate. I can't keep people around, considerin' my occupation 'n all."

"Well, what about me? You let me tag along." He sighed, swallowing harshly. You could tell you were beginning to fuel a fire, something that could quickly begin to spread and become untamed. Yet, still, you marched, like a moth to a flame. 

"This is my job, you just happen to be apart of it."

"Oh." There was a slight pang in your heart. It hurt, how he was quick to make a statement like that. You stared down, your bowl still full and growing slightly colder by the second. He seemed to know he had said something wrong.

"Listen, uh—"

"I guess I thought we were, I dunno, friends or something." You grinded your teeth together, your jaw clenched tight. You felt naïve, even foolish. Without another word, you dumped your bowl back into the pot, sitting the dirty dishes next to the log you were sat on. You didn't even look at him as you began rolling out your sleeping bag. Sniper was never good with words and now he was stunned, stuck between saying something and saying nothing at all. You folded the top blanket back, as if you were about to crawl in. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Don't be like that, sheila. I didn't mean it the way I said it," he tried to reason with you. He took a deep breath. The one person that he felt comfortable enough to be around and he had forced them back; Pushed them away just like everyone else. God, couldn't he do one thing right? If not for himself, then at least for you. He hesitated to continue, the look in your eyes sending waves of guilt through him. It was now or never. 

"I meant... Look, roo. I've always been like this, by myself. So, when you started stickin' around, it was different. It was change, and Aussies don't like change." You looked at him, quizzically. He sighed, his rough hands grabbing at the bark of the log he sat on.

"You should've just told me you didn't want me around th—"

"That's not what I'm sayin'!" He snapped. Your eyes widened, lips parting to retort, yet you couldn't find anything to say. You were dumbfounded by his outburst. He took his hat off, putting his tinted sunglasses around the brim, and placing it on the ground. He ran both of his hands through his short brunette hair, pulling on it slightly as if to soothe himself. "I don't know how to say it without soundin' pathetic."

"Say what?" You crawled over to him, noticing how his breathing was shallow. You looked up at him, sitting on the ground on all fours. He trembled slightly, his eyes screwed shut as he seemed to be lost in thought. Without a second thought, you reached a hand out, holding his knee and rubbing comforting circles. You had never seen him so distraught before, so wrecked about something. He was Sniper, the one person who was supposed to always have a calm head and a steady hand. Yet, here he was, rattled. You yelped when he whipped his hands to meet your face, both of his calloused palms rested against either side of your skull. With one hand cladded in a fingerless glove, the other one slightly clammy, he gripped you firmly.

"I really like ya, roo. I don't think I could take it if you stopped comin' around. I don't mean to sound like such a drongo when I speak, I just have never... had much to say, or anyone to say it to." His eyes scanned yours. Hardly, did Sniper ever take off his hat and sunglasses. You took the opportunity to flick between his greyed eyes. He was so scruffy for someone who wasn't even thirty. Your slid your hands from his knees, up to his wrists. You took your fingers and wrapped them delicately around his rough skin, careful not to push on the watch on his left wrist. 

"I like you too, Mundy. Even when you're whooping my ass in horseshoes." You smiled, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth across his knuckles. He scoffed, a big smile playing across his lips at your remark.

"You're still sore about that?"

"Maybe," you teased. "So, what's that mean for us, now?"

"Well, love, I reckon it means you're stuck with a wanker like me." He pulled you forward, planting a gentle peck atop your forehead. Sniper released you, ruffling your hair as he stood up, pouring water on the fire to put it out and grabbing his personal belongings. "Roll that sleeping bag up, we're sleeping in the camper."

"But, there's only one bed in there?" You mentioned, scrambling to your feet to do as he said. 

"I'm aware, darl'."

[ach-sss-no]

someone asked why i loudly asserted that the stewing rabbits bit of lotr is the opposite book vs. movie and i think it is time to move off of the giant reblog chain i'm making

The Premise: Sam, Frodo and Gollum are all doing the opposite of what they are doing in the book in some fashion or another

(first off: in the movie they abandon the stew and don't eat it. the book takes a lot longer with all of this, and they do in fact eat the stew, and I definitely understand the movie couldn't be as expansive with the pacing but it's just. funny to me. they don't eat the stew vs. they do eat the stew, there's your first opposite)

now. THE SCENE: Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit

(Small disclaimer/disclosure: I referenced the script instead of a movie clip for this, so there may be some nuance missed in visuals or whatever but I don't think it would be enough of a difference to matter and hopefully you will soon see why not)

Frodo

Starting with him because this is simplest.

In the movie, Frodo is just sitting there minding his own business when Gollum dumps dead rabbits in his lap. (Then he doesn't interact with the ensuing conversation at all)

In the book he's asleep when Gollum brings the rabbits and does not participate in the scene. Okay, so he's awake vs. asleep. Easy.

(Also, book Frodo didn't witness the conflict between the other two characters and had no opportunity to intervene, which creates an interesting 'what could have been', but I am digressing. We are only 10% of the way in. buckle up)

Sam

In the movie, Sam is passive and reacting. Gollum dumps dead rabbits in Mr. Frodo's lap oh no what do I guess we'll cook them

In the book, Sam is active and orchestrating events.

Sam decides of his own accord that he wants to address their dwindling supplies:

Sam had been giving earnest thought to food as they marched. Now that the despair of the impassable Gate was behind him, he did not feel so inclined as his master to take no thought for their livelihood beyond the end of their errand; [in case you forgot. Earlier on Sam was like 'we won't have enough food for the way back' and frodo essentially responds with 'the way back. oh you sweet summer child'] and anyway it seemed wiser to him to save the waybread of the Elves for worse times ahead.

Note: This is all very good reasoning by Mr. Samwise and an excellent example of why he's so necessary to the quest! Yes, staying alive is step one.

But Where to get food? In both movie and book Sam is taking advantage of his resources (dead rabbits acquired via gollum), but in the book he's way more proactive about it:

An idea struck him and he turned to Gollum. Gollum had just begun to sneak off on his own, and he was crawling away on all fours through the fern. 'Hi! Gollum!' said Sam. 'Where are you going? Hunting? Well see here, old noser, you don't like our food, and I'd not be sorry for a change myself. Your new motto's always ready to help. Could you find anything fit for a hungry hobbit? ' 'Yes, perhaps, yes,' said Gollum. 'Sméagol always helps, if they asks-- if they asks nicely.' 'Right!' said Sam. 'I does ask. And if that isn't nice enough, I begs.'

In this point in the book Sam has now:

Decided of his own accord that he has a problem and that he wants to actively solve it

Arrived at a solution to the problem without any outside help or suggestions

Commanded Gollum to go hunt

In the point in the movie Sam has done:

Nothing

I'm not exaggerating. In the movie the scene hasn't started yet.

In both book and movie, rabbits are acquired a little while later. In the book this is a nonevent because Sam requested and expected rabbits. In the movie, the rabbits unexpectedly appear, and Gollum says they are for the hobbits to eat (Sam doesn't even come up with the idea to eat them on his own!)

They are young. They are tender. They are nice. Yes they are! Eat them! Eat them! [He bites and tears into the raw meat.]

GOLLUM SHOWED HIM HOW TO EAT THEM LIKE A MOTHER CAT.

Anyway, in the movie, we just cut to Sam stewing the rabbits after that.

But in the book, Sam isn't done arranging things:

He thought for a bit, while he took out his knife, cleaned and whetted it, and began to dress the rabbits. He was not going to leave Frodo alone asleep even for a few minutes. 'Now, Gollum,' he said, 'I've another job for you. Go and fill these pans with water, and bring 'em back! '

'Sméagol will fetch water, yes,' said Gollum. 'But what does the hobbit want all that water for? He has drunk, he has washed.' 'Never you mind,' said Sam. `If you can't guess, you'll soon find out. And the sooner you fetch the water, the sooner you'll learn. Don't you damage one of my pans, or I'll carve you into mincemeat.'

So now Sam has:

Decided of his own accord that he has a problem and that he wants to actively solve it

Arrived at a solution to the problem without any outside help or suggestions

Commanded Gollum to go hunt

Lovingly watched Frodo sleep

Collected rabbits after they were provided and begun skinning them

Assigned Gollum to fill his cook-pans

Gollum leaves to do this new errand and Sam starts building a cook fire.

He was just stooping over his fire, shielding it and building it up with heavier wood, when Gollum returned, carrying the pans carefully and grumbling to himself. He set the pans down, and then suddenly saw what Sam was doing. He gave a thin hissing shriek, and seemed to be both frightened and angry. 'Ach! Sss -- no!' he cried. 'No! Silly hobbits, foolish, yes foolish! They mustn't do it!' 'Mustn't do what?' asked Sam in surprise. 'Not make the nassty red tongues,' hissed Gollum. `Fire, fire! It's dangerous, yes it is. It burns, it kills. And it will bring enemies, yes it will.'

Sam has just been given a completely sane and rational reason why a fire is a bad idea (they are in a dangerous area and can't risk attention!) (as well as a reason that is less pertinent- it looks like Gollum is afraid of fire, and he may have sensible reasons to be afraid of fire because it is dangerous, but this is not Sam's problem)

Sam addresses the 'it will bring enemies' thing

'I don't think so,' said Sam. `Don't see why it should, if you don't put wet stuff on it and make a smother. But if it does, it does. I'm going to risk it, anyhow. I'm going to stew these coneys.'

And Sam is like, nah.

Now Gollum gets upset that he's 'ruining good meat' by cooking it

Now Sam de-escalates

Now, now! ' said Sam. 'Each to his own fashion. Our bread chokes you, and raw coney chokes me. If you give me a coney, the coney's mine, see, to cook, if I have a mind. And I have. You needn't watch me. Go and catch another and eat it as you fancy -- somewhere private and out o' my sight. Then you won't see the fire, and I shan't see you, and we'll both be the happier. [He still managed to slip in a 'get out of my sight'] I'll see the fire don't smoke, if that's any comfort to you.'

In the movie he just insults the quality of the meat:

SAM What's to ruin? There's hardly any meat on 'em.

...which I suppose is fair in this alternate universe where the rabbits were just dumped in his lap, unwanted.

Then in the movie they skip to the taters conversation, but in the book, there's more!

Back to the book:

Gollum withdrew grumbling, and crawled into the fern. Sam busied himself with his pans. 'What a hobbit needs with coney,' he said to himself, 'is some herbs and roots, especially taters -- not to mention bread. Herbs we can manage, seemingly.' 'Gollum!' he called softly. 'Third time pays for all. I want some herbs.'

Gollum says no.

'Sméagol'll get into real true hot water, when this water boils, if he don't do as he's asked,' growled Sam. 'Sam'll put his head in it, yes precious. And I'd make him look for turnips and carrots, and taters too, if it was the time o' the year. I'll bet there's all sorts of good things running wild in this country. I'd give a lot for half a dozen taters.'

Now Gollum asks what taters are, gets a cryptic answer, and is offered a kind of food he has just expressed he does not want (cooked food) and again ordered to fetch herbs. Gollum declines.

'You couldn't say no to that.' 'Yes, yes we could. Spoiling nice fish, scorching it. Give me fish now, and keep nassty chips!' 'Oh you're hopeless,' said Sam. 'Go to sleep!'

The movie finally has some of the same words in almost the same place:

SAM PO-TAY-TOES! Boil 'em. Mash 'em. Stick 'em in a stew. Lovely big golden chips with a nice piece of fried fish…. SM�AGOL [i'm not fixing it blah] [Sticks out his tongue in disgust] Pbbbttt!! [so now he's just devolved into making fart noises] SAM Even you couldn't say no to that. [He takes a sip of the stew] SM�AGOL Oh yes we could! Spoil nice fish... [scrambles up close to Sam] Give it to usss rrraw... and wrrriggling! [That line is not in the book. every time i see it quoted i age a year] [Makes sickeningly happy face.] You keep nasty chips. [Hops away] SAM You're hopeless.

The scene here ends in the movie.

In the movie, Sam has:

Watched rabbits be thrown at Frodo

Started cooking them after being all but commanded to eat them

Had some banter with Gollum

Left the scene without eating his stew

Sam is a passive character who is not orchestrating events, but rather reacting to them. A character being passive is not in and of itself a bad thing. I am only pointing it out because it is different from the book and a big change to this specific character (wanted to mention that because some people really don't like passive characters in general, I think they have a place. Frodo is rather passive in this scene but he obviously has a purpose.)

...In the book, Sam stews the rabbits for an hour and then eats the stew with Frodo

Frodo yawned and stretched. 'You should have been resting Sam,' he said. 'And lighting a fire was dangerous in these parts.

Wow! Was it? I feel like someone mentioned that earlier.

'Gollum! ' Sam called and whistled softly. 'Come on! Still time to change your mind. There's some left, if you want to try stewed coney.' There was no answer. 'Oh well, I suppose he's gone off to find something for himself. We'll finish it,' said Sam. [...] We don't see eye to eye, and he's not pleased with Sam, O no precious, not pleased at all.'

Whyever not?

To sum, book!Sam has:

Decided of his own accord that he has a problem and that he wants to actively solve it

Decided he's going to assign Gollum to the problem (This also demonstrates Sam's interpersonal intelligence. He notices what Gollum's capable of and understands intuitively how it can be turned to something industrious and useful) (Sam has made some missteps in other areas which are in the next section)

Commanded Gollum to go hunt

Collected rabbits after they were provided (according to his request), and began skinning them

Watched Frodo sleep

Assigned Gollum to fill his cook-pans, specifically because he does not want to leave Gollum and Frodo alone together, which is sensible

Threatened to carve Gollum into mincemeat, while holding a knife

Watched Frodo sleep and reflected on his poor health

Skinned the rabbits and put them in stew

Been told a cook fire is a bad idea and declined to stop what he's doing. A character being told to stop doing something & continuing with it anyway is another way for that character to show agency.

Asked Gollum to fetch herbs and potatoes (was refused)

Foraged a few herbs himself

Eaten lovely stew (while lamenting that there are no onions in it, and no bowls to put it in ;_;)

Offered Gollum stew long after (hours after) Gollum got angry and left

...all because Sam initially decided he wanted to acquire and cook food, and then took every necessary step to make that happen of his own accord.

Sam is an active character with high agency.

He is also showing more care for Frodo here (watching him while asleep and fretting over his health, lamenting that he somehow made rabbit stew from nothing by using his resources (which do here include another character- people are also resources!) but he can't put it in a nice bowl for mr. frodo- there's just a lot more here, which is natural because prose is a more detail-rich medium. Not all of this would have fit in the movie and I'm not saying it should have.

Even allowing for time, however, I do think there would have been a way to collapse this scene to the needed time requirement and still have Sam in charge of it instead of Gollum.

The scene finally ends on:

Then he noticed a thin spiral of blue-grey, smoke, plain to see as it caught the sunlight, rising from a thicket above him. With a shock he realized that this was the smoke from his little cooking-fire, which he had neglected to put out.

Did anyone foresee this?

Gollum

In the movie, Gollum is foisting a gift on Frodo and forcing social interaction that he doesn't want.

In the book, Gollum wants to go away somewhere so he can eat and is pressed into reluctant manual labor instead

Gollum is a little different from the other two characters in that his personality and motivations are also completely different here. (Where as Sam at least still has the same goals of looking after Frodo and making food.)

The scene is in Sam's POV so what Gollum is thinking and feeling has to be inferred from his actions/words/tone, but he's not exactly subtle.

The movie scene starts off with Gollum turning up with rabbits. He dumps them in Frodo's lap. He makes a spectacle of himself. He starts mauling the corpses.

The book scene starts off with Gollum trying to slip away somewhere to eat in private.

That's another thing. Gollum doesn't demonstratively bite into things Gollum always slips away somewhere to eat in private. Earlier:

It was actually not long before Gollum returned; but he came so quietly that they did not hear him till he stood before them. His fingers and face were soiled with black mud. He was still chewing and slavering. [He didn't bring food back on purpose. He's still chewing because he only has six teeth.] What he was chewing, they did not ask or like to think. 'Worms or beetles or something slimy out of holes,' thought Sam. 'Brr! The nasty creature; the poor wretch! ' Gollum said nothing to them, until he had drunk deeply and washed himself in the stream. Then he came up to them, licking his lips. 'Better now,' he said.

(Emphasis added.. Imagine you just recruited a serial killer to your D&D-party-in-real-life and he silently turns up covered in mud and won't talk to you. It looks like he's been eating bugs. He won't speak. he won't tell you what he's eating.)

Back to the scene in question: Gollum's leaving. Sam flags him down and asks him to hunt.

'Hi! Gollum!' said Sam. 'Where are you going? Hunting? Well see here, old noser, you don't like our food, and I'd not be sorry for a change myself. Your new motto's always ready to help. Could you find anything fit for a hungry hobbit? '

He asks in an insulting and confrontational way. ('old noser' + 'Your new motto's always ready to help' reeking of suspicion)

To be clear, I'm not criticizing Sam whatsoever for disliking and being suspicious of the known murderer he's traveling with against his will. but the way he talks to Gollum does have consequences.

'Yes, perhaps, yes,' said Gollum. 'Sméagol always helps, if they asks -- if they asks nicely.'

Gollum is reluctant and asks to be treated politely. I don't find this response disproportionate or unreasonable. Consider what would happen if anyone talked to LOTR-era Bilbo Baggins the way Sam just talked to Gollum. The ash would still be falling from the sky.

Anyway Sam's response is to mimic the way he talks.

'Right!' said Sam. 'I does ask. And if that isn't nice enough, I begs.'

Gollum leaves, and is gone a long time. While he's gone, Sam gazes lovingly at Frodo, and - this is not directly relevant but I wanted to note it:

Gollum returned quietly and peered over Sam's shoulder. Looking at Frodo, he shut his eyes and crawled away without a sound. [Seeing that Sam and Frodo are occupied, Gollum slips away without interrupting, which is also a different vibe from 'assaulting Frodo with rabbits while he's just sitting there.'] Sam came to him a moment later and found him chewing something and muttering to himself

Look! There's a character arc happening in the background [but not in the movies] It will reach fruition at Cirith Ungol [in the books]

Anyway, Gollum is chewing on something so he's clearly taken time out to hunt for himself as well (note for context: He's disastrously underweight and has been complaining of hunger).

On the ground beside him lay two small rabbits, which he was beginning to eye greedily. 'Sméagol always helps,' he said. `He has brought rabbits, nice rabbits. But master has gone to sleep, and perhaps Sam wants to sleep. Doesn't want rabbits now? Sméagol tries to help, but he can't catch things all in a minute.'

Gollum has brought rabbits on command, and he's reluctant to hand them over. This is the direct opposite of bringing rabbits of his own accord out of nowhere and forcing them onto somebody.

'Now, Gollum,' he said, 'I've another job for you. Go and fill these pans with water, and bring 'em back! ' 'Sméagol will fetch water, yes,' said Gollum. 'But what does the hobbit want all that water for? He has drunk, he has washed.' 'Never you mind,' said Sam.

That was a reasonable question, asked politely and prefaced by 'yes I'll do it'. There's no call for a 'never you mind' and there's certainly no call for this:

`If you can't guess, you'll soon find out. And the sooner you fetch the water, the sooner you'll learn. Don't you damage one of my pans, or I'll carve you into mincemeat.'

Gollum does the work and is careful with the pans as requested.

He was just stooping over his fire, shielding it and building it up with heavier wood, when Gollum returned, carrying the pans carefully and grumbling to himself.

He set the pans down, and then suddenly saw what Sam was doing.

Gollum discovers that 'Never you mind' meant 'I am going to do something you find dangerous and terrifying' i'm pretty sure this is what he's seeing in his POV

He gave a thin hissing shriek, and seemed to be both frightened and angry. `Ach! Sss -- no!' he cried.

Gollum gets angry.

At this point in the movie, Gollum has:

Dumped rabbits in Frodo's lap

Told him to eat them

Played with the dead animals in front of Frodo

there's a cut to Sam cooking the rabbits- Gollum makes no comment at all on the safety or feasibility of a fire, but gets right up close to it to peer into the cookpot, so he must not be too scared of it.

In the book, Gollum has:

Tried to slip away, presumably to eat, because he's hungry. Or maybe he just wants alone time! Shelob is not in visiting range. He's not being dastardly. Leave him alone

He's been flagged down to do additional work, and interrupted from whatever he wanted to do

Went off somewhere. Caught two rabbits (with his bare hands, I assume??) Also caught at least one other thing, because he's chewing something when he comes back

Came back with rabbits

Left Sam to his tender moment with Frodo and went off for more alone time

Gently floated the idea that perhaps Sam doesn't want these rabbits anymore, surrendered the rabbits when asked

Agreed to another errand that is probably difficult for him to do, after hunting down at least two rabbits Up to this point Gollum has been called 'old noser', had his speech patterns parroted at him in a mocking way, had a polite question refused, and been told he will be 'carved into mincemeat' if he damages the cooking pans (does Gollum even know what a cooking pan is? When was the last time he's seen one? Was he just handed some foreign object and told 'put water in it and don't break it' 'of course! why?' 'stfu') Gollum has a whole long complicated history that would reasonably make him very prone to difficulties with emotional regulation. Severe trauma and centuries of social isolation are involved.

He only just now gets angry, now that he thinks Sam is going to start a forest fire and summon orcs and the first word out of his mouth is a relatively restrained 'Ach!' a word that doesn't even start with an F!

Gollum says fire is harmful and will draw enemy attention. Sam says essentially 'probably not but if it does that's too bad'.

Another bit of context is that Gollum has been presenting himself as the 'wilderness survival guy' and has obvious pride when he's talking about finding his way through the marsh. Sam isn't just being dismissive of Gollum, he's particularly dismissing something Gollum has real knowledge of and takes pride in that has nothing to do with being a corrupted evildoer.

Then Sam says he's going to cook the food.

'Stew the rabbits!' squealed Gollum in dismay. `Spoil beautiful meat Sméagol saved for you, poor hungry Sméagol! What for? What for, silly hobbit? They are young, they are tender, they are nice. Eat them, eat them!' He clawed at the nearest rabbit, already skinned and lying by the fire.

After all of that, we are at 'They are young, they are tender, they are nice. Eat them, eat them!' In the movie, the scene started with this line, apropros of nothing, and it's just. Yelled at Frodo. It's an invitation.

In the book: The same line is a cry of frustration. This isn't a non sequitur, this is a last straw! Gollum is hungry. He's been chronically hungry for a long time. The rabbits are exactly the kind of thing he likes to eat. They must smell amazing to him because now they're skinned. He had to turn them over to Sam after going to the work of hunting them (he didn't have to do this, he could have just not come back, or pretended he didn't find anything- whether or not his motives are pure, and they probably aren't, he's doing what he promised).

In return: Sam told him to do more work, and then started a fire- which Gollum seems to genuinely think is idiotic and puts his own safety at risk because he's stuck with these hobbits for the time being- Sam won't listen to reason and put it out, and to add insult to injury, that meat he insisted on?

HE'S JUST GOING TO RUIN IT

Imagine you were hungry and you brought someone an oreo (also you had to wander around in the woods and find the oreo and then surprise it from behind and break its neck), and that person just! scraped off the cream filling and replaced it with spray cheese! after that person called you a jerk and set a fire in a trash can! Maybe that person loves spray-cheese oreos! Maybe everyone but you loves them! I think you'd still be frustrated! (If you're the person who loves spray cheese oreos, pretend it's something else.)

On my first reading of the book this is where I got that sinking 'I am feeling a mite sympathetic to the horrible murderer that I know is just going to stay evil and die in the end' feeling. Gollum is being dreadfully annoying, but he's been pushed past his ability to self-regulate. It feels like the dynamic of antagonizing someone until they melt down and then criticizing them for melting down (Sam is not intending to do this, and doesn't even seem to notice that's what's happened, but the result is the same.)

Sam smooths things over and lets Gollum leave! until

Until

'Gollum!' he called softly. 'Third time pays for all. I want some herbs.' Gollum's head peeped out of the fern, but his looks were neither helpful nor friendly.

WHYEVER NOT?

'A few bay-leaves, some thyme and sage, will do -- before the water boils,' said Sam. 'No! ' said Gollum. `Sméagol is not pleased. And Sméagol doesn't like smelly leaves. He doesn't eat grasses or roots, no precious, not till he's starving or very sick, poor Sméagol.'

(Gollum was retching at the scent of flowers earlier. He may be annoyingly dramatic but I have no cause to doubt that they really did make him feel ill)

(also, I'm out in the weeds speculating now, but I just noticed Gollum is starting to spout off talking about himself and how he feels after Sam pooh-poohed his fretting about the fire, and it feels like a bid for recognition, did you notice Sam has not been calling him Sméagol? Sam isn't using his real name.)

The response:

'Sméagol'll get into real true hot water, when this water boils, if he don't do as he's asked,' growled Sam.

Gollum is here under duress and is cooperating with a quest that is in every way opposed to his personal interests and survival.

'Sméagol won't go, O no precious, not this time,' hissed Gollum. 'He's frightened, and he's very tired, and this hobbit's not nice, not nice at all. Sméagol won't grub for roots and carrotses and -- taters. What's taters, precious, eh, what's taters?

He hasn't had any rest because he was immediately sent off to hunt. I'll bet he is tired

Gollum is still willing to stop being angry because he saw a shiny new word, let's see how this goes

`Po-ta-toes,' said Sam. 'The Gaffer's delight, and rare good ballast for an empty belly. But you won't find any, so you needn't look. But be good Sméagol and fetch me the herbs, and I'll think better of you

Sam gives a cryptic answer and demands more work. 'I'll think better of you?' Lies! Gollum just did two errands and received nothing but more verbal abuse. Sam did not even thank him. This was where on my first reading I was saying to myself 'oh no Sam is mishandling this really badly and doesn't even notice'

I'll cook you some taters one of these days. I will: fried fish and chips served by S. Gamgee. You couldn't say no to that.' 'Yes, yes we could. Spoiling nice fish, scorching it. Give me fish now, and keep nassty chips! ' 'Oh you're hopeless,' said Sam. 'Go to sleep!'

Gollum doesn't understand what chips are. He just said he doesn't like plants or cooked food. He's tired and hungry and has been ordered around all day. He did everything asked up to now and in return he gets called hopeless.

Sméagol willingly, nonconfrontationally, successfully did two out of the three tasks, and when he refuses a third task after being demeaned and dismissed, he's called hopeless.

So Gollum leaves. That's the end of his involvement in this scene. he didn't hit anyone, bite anyone, or call Sam anything worse than 'not nice', 'silly' and 'foolish' (He does not call Sam a 'stupid fat hobbit', that appears to be a movie invention as well)

In the movies, he threw dead animals at frodo and some of this dialog was said without any of the context. haha funni.

The takeaways from the book version are that Gollum can understand and follow verbal commands and do errands (this is important because Gollum needs to be somewhat sane and lucid in order to satisfyingly be held accountable for his crimes), will cooperate when asked, communicates poorly, has trouble controlling his temper, and may at any time be in physical distress and not show it. (He doesn't give outward signs of fatigue.)

The takeaways from the movie version seem to be that Gollum is hyperactive, doesn't understand facial expressions, and finds cooking to be an alien custom. No one tried to ask him to do anything, so I have no idea whether he can understand requests and do tasks or not. May or may not be lucid.

Can we at least agree that Sam saying 'You're hopeless' after this:

Give it to usss rrraw… and wrrriggling! [Makes sickeningly happy face.]

is a different vibe from Sam saying 'You're hopeless' after hearing this?

'[Sméagol]'s frightened, and he's very tired, and this hobbit's not nice, not nice at all.'

Summary

Why is this scene the opposite?

Frodo has gone from being asleep but serving as an emotional anchor (both Sam and Gollum look at him and have some kind of emotional revelation, although the latter has his in private and we don't ever know what it is, the cad) to being awake but doing nothing and leaving. (He does go and find Faramir when the scene ends, but at that point, we are moving on to the next scene. so I don't count it.) Frodo has gone from affecting events while asleep to having no effect while awake

Sam has gone from being in charge of what's happening to passively reacting to a chaos gremlin

Gollum has gone from following orders until he can't take it anymore and suffering to being a chaos gremlin who does whatever he wants and seemingly having a good time? he's dancing around

The stew goes from eaten to uneaten

The overall purpose of the original scene appears to have been mainly to establish character and relationship dynamics. The movie scene... is doing the same, I suppose, but it's so brief and stripped of context that it almost feels like an homage more than a real scene, like it's there because they couldn't get away with entirely cutting it. And as every character is behaving contrary to what they used to in one form or another, the overall effect is:

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Ask me about the waterfall scene next

[deftosweet]

Faint Signals.

Where you and Kratos cook something together.

No tw! Enjoy ^_^

Hunting was something you usually enjoyed doing, it wasn't a heavy or boring task... Except when you didn't find anything.

It was quite late, the sun had already set a few minutes ago and you were walking back to your little cabin in the middle of the forest. Your boots crunched the snow under your feet as you walked tiredly, and somewhat frustrated by your useless outing. You were close to your home when you could notice in the distance that there was someone outside your home, with some caution, you continued to approach until you noticed who it was, Kratos.

“What are you doing here?” — You asked as you walked in his direction to enter your cabin, before answering, he simply looked at you and noticed your apparent tiredness. —“You didn't hear me?” —You asked him again, somewhat irritated this time. The useless hunt put you in a bad mood all the time, but you didn’t want to be rude to your friend, much less if he took the trouble to come to your home so late… For whatever reason.

"I wanted to see you."

Kratos answered directly, as usual, but to your surprise, his voice sounded a little softer than usual. — “You look tired. I'll leave if you want.” — Kratos added with an understanding tone, you could feel how he seemed to analyze you with his gaze, and he looked a little worried.

“Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry… I didn’t find anything for today, so I don’t have anything to offer you if you want to have dinner” — You joked a little to lighten the mood, you didn’t want him to worry too much about you, after all you could take care of yourself and be on your own without him accompanying you all the time.

“Dont worry, I brought you something.” — You were a little surprised to see how he had brought a couple of rabbits to have dinner together, handing them to you while avoiding looking you in the eyes, you thought it was a nice gesture on his part for having thought of you.

The two of you used to keep each other company often, since Atreus wasn't around, Kratos usually sought to be with you (even if he wouldn't admit it). Having dinner together was a regular thing for both of you, yet you felt it was something very personal to him, since he wasn't the type of person to share much with others.

“Wow… Thank you, really.” — When you thanked him, he didn’t seem to give it much thought, and simply walked past you to enter your house with you.

As you entered, you left the rabbits on a small table in the area where you were cooking, preparing everything you would need to cook them for dinner.

“Would a stew sound good to you?” — You asked as you glanced at Kratos, only to notice him staring at you. He quickly looked away from you and you simply laughed a little. Kratos nodded and you were ready to start cooking, yet you could feel him occasionally looking at you.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? Food will be ready shortly.” — You pointed to the chair where he usually sat to eat, but he didn’t nod or obey, he just stood there as if he were thinking about what to say. — “I was thinking I’d help you out,” he admitted quietly, just enough for you to hear. — “I thought… It’s kind of unfair that you do everything while I sit and wait for the food.”

You looked at him again with a tender smile, you didn't know he could be empathetic with things like that. — “Well… You could prepare the meat while I take care of the vegetables, is that okay with you?”

Kratos nodded and walked over to where you were, you left the rabbits with him and gave him a knife so he could prepare them. Meanwhile, you started cutting up some vegetables for the meal.

“Could you… cut them smaller?” — You were minding your own business when his voice snapped you out of your little trance. You stopped cutting the vegetables to look at him for a moment with a playful smile. — “What, you don’t like them?” — You chuckled, not maliciously, you just found his request curious. — “It was just a comment." — he replied, but he didn’t sound annoyed, in fact he seemed to play along.

You sighed with a chuckle and continued cutting vegetables, this time agreeing to his request to cut them smaller.

The two of you were silent for a few moments, the sound of knives doing their work, the night breeze, and the crackling of the wood on the fire being the only sounds present. Although Kratos thought it was an awkward silence, the lack of words didn't seem to matter to you. You even thought it was nice to be able to have such close situations with someone like him.

After a while, you had finished preparing your part, leaving the vegetables in a plate, you walked to the fireplace to boil the water for the meal.

You let the water heat up while Kratos finished preparing the meat, you watched him from afar, until you decided to try and chat with him to ease his discomfort.

You approached the counter where he was concentrating on working on the meat and leaned on it, watching him as he was busy. — “Are you always this focused when cooking, or is it because I’m here with you?” — You joked as you approached his side, perhaps too close…

Kratos kept his serious expression, but inside he felt somewhat nervous. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye without taking his hands off the knife, finishing skinning the meat to start cutting it up — “I just like to do it right.” — he murmured, his low and firm voice hiding quite well the tension he felt from your proximity. You laughed softly at this, enjoying how the idea of ​​making him nervous crossed your mind — “You could relax a little, I'm not judging every move you make” —

Kratos stopped for a second, looking directly at you now as he let out a sigh — “You're trying to distract me, aren't you?” — You noticed how he got a little closer to you the same way you did.

The intense but brief way he looked at you made you pause for a moment, feeling your cheeks heat up at his slight change in attitude. Still, instead of backing away you only felt more drawn to him.

— “I don’t know, am I distracting you?” —

The space between you two became a little smaller, at the same time as the sound of his knife against the counter stopped. Kratos looked a little more withdrawn, he gulped, but didn’t back away — “Sometimes.”

You didn't expect him to admit it, after all he was someone quite serious and focused, so knowing that such simple actions could break his concentration made you feel quite special.

“Well, then I should just shut my mouth, right?” — You asked him with a laugh before adding — “I must be really annoying sometimes…” — You pulled away for a moment while sighing as if you were disappointed in yourself.

Before you could get any further away, you felt his hand grab your arm, his grip was gentle and didn't hurt you, but he still held you in place — “I didn't say you were a bother.” — Kratos looked into your eyes as he held your arm, you felt his olive green eyes staring into yours without him hesitating.

You didn't know what to say, you just nodded slightly and he let go of your arm. After he let you go you felt your heart beating faster than usual and your cheeks burning from blushing. Still, the feeling was nice, the butterflies in your stomach kept fluttering as you thought about what was going through his head right now.

“I think… I'll go check on the pot” — You spoke after a brief silence between the two of you, as you walked over to the fireplace you could feel his gaze fixed on you, which made you more aware of your movements. While you waited for the water to be ready, Kratos approached you with the vegetables and meat ready for the meal. He gently touched your shoulder and you nervously began to cook the ingredients. The two of you remained silent until Kratos handed you a ladle so you could check the food and prevent it from burning. As you took it, your fingers briefly touched his, but you quickly pulled your hand away and returned your attention to the food.

“So… you usually cook alone, right?” — You asked to break the ice. Kratos looked at you, his intense gaze now seemed to have something more to it this time

— “Yes.” — He answered simply — “I didn’t expect to do it today though.” —

The answer took you slightly by surprise and the atmosphere felt denser for you.

— “And how do you feel doing it now?” — You added, even if your heart was beating hard now, you appeared confident.

Kratos looked away before answering, looking at the fireplace as he replied, “Not bad.” — His words were soft and sounded sincere, but he still didn’t look at you.

— “…Actually, I like doing things with you. You’re nice.” —

You felt your face heat up even more, the way he admitted how nice he found your company took you by surprise, especially considering that Kratos was usually distant and quiet, even more so with his feelings.

— “It’s not that big of a deal…” — You answered trying to relax, joking a little.

— “It is for me.” — He interrupted you before you could speak further — “You make me feel good. I hope I’m returning the favor.” — He added as your gazes met, and this time, he didn’t take his eyes off yours. You didn’t know what to say, you just stared at him for a moment until the smell of food brought you back to reality, but before you checked on the food, you responded to his words:

— “I like being with you too.” —

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

Author's Note: This is my first time writing fanfiction, hope y'all like it! Sorry for any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language and I'm using a translator! ^_^

[shadowqueenjude]

Protective Lorcan

Lorcan gave a shrug, praying they couldn’t scent his bluff as he bought her more time, bought himself time to work out the puzzle of their power. “I don’t even know her name.” She said quietly to Lorcan as they headed for the dirt road and the distant back of the line, “I don’t know what magic you possess, but if you can make my limp less noticeable—” Before she could finish, a force like a cool night wind pushed against her ankle and calf, then wrapped around it in a solid grip. A brace. She said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.” A shadow flickered in Lorcan’s eyes, along with another question. One she didn’t want to and couldn’t answer. His hand tightened on hers, demanding she look at him. She refused. Boots crunched, and then uniformed men were peering into the back of the wagon. “Out,” one ordered. “Line up.” The man’s eyes snagged on Marion. Lorcan’s arm tightened around her as an ugly, too-familiar light filled the soldier’s eyes. Lorcan bit back his snarl as he said to her, “Come, wife.” The soldier noticed him, then. The man backed away a step, a bit pale, then ordered the supplies be searched. Lorcan jumped out first, bracing his hands on Marion’s waist as he helped her off the wagon. When she made to step away, he tugged her back against him, an arm across her abdomen. He met each soldier’s stare as they passed and wondered who was looking after the dark-haired beauty in the front. Elide frowned as her boot sank deep into a pocket of mud. She yanked on it, ankle barking at bearing her weight, and gritted her teeth until— Lorcan’s magic pushed against her leg, an invisible hand freeing her boot, and she tumbled into him. His arm and side were as hard and unyielding as the magic he’d used, and she rebounded away, tall grass crunching beneath her. “Take your hand off me.” Lorcan, to her surprise, did so immediately. “Can you bring the clothes now?” She chucked her pile out. She’d bundled her underthings in her white shirt, and the leathers … They’d never be dry before morning—and would likely shrink beyond use if washed improperly. Lorcan stooped, picking up the bundle of clothes and trying not to peer into the tent to learn what she’d hidden beneath the bedroll. “What about standing guard?” Her hair was plastered to her head, heightening the sharp lines in her cheekbones, her fine nose. But her eyes were bright again, her full lips once more like a rosebud, as she said, “Please get them washed. Quickly.” Lorcan didn’t bother confirming as he carried her clothes away from the tent, leaving her to sit in partial nakedness inside. Ombriel was in the middle of cooking whatever was in the pot over the fire. Likely rabbit stew. Again. Lorcan examined the clothes in his hands. Thirty minutes later, he returned to the tent, plate of food in hand. Marion was perched on the bedroll, foot stretched out before her, blanket tucked under her shoulders. Her skin was so pale. He’d never seen such white unmarred skin. As if she’d never been let outside. Her dark brows furrowed at the plate—then at the bundle under his arm. “Ombriel was busy—so I washed your clothes myself.” She flushed. “A body is a body,” he repeated simply to her. “So are undergarments.” She frowned, but her attention was again riveted on the plate. He set it down before her. “I got you dinner, since I assumed you didn’t want to sit among everyone in your blanket.” He dumped the pile of clothes on her bedroll. “And I got you clothes from Molly. She’s charging you, of course. But at least you won’t sleep naked.”

Lorcan was about to leave when she said, “My uncle … He is a commander at Morath.” Lorcan froze. And looked right to the bedroll. But Marion continued between bites, “He … locked me in the dungeon once.” The wind in the grasses died; the campfire far beyond their tent flickered, the people around it huddling closer together as the nighttime insects went silent and the small, furred creatures of the plains scampered into their burrows. Marion either didn’t notice the surge of his dark power, the magic kissed by Death himself, or didn’t care. She said, “His name is Vernon, and he is clever and cruel, and he will likely try to keep you alive if you are caught. He wields people to gain power for himself. He has no mercy, no soul. There is no moral code that guides him.” She went back to her food, done for the night. Lorcan said quietly, “Would you like me to kill him for you?” “Why did he lock you in the dungeon?” Marion’s white throat bobbed once. Twice. She seemed to hold his stare through effort of will, through a refusal not to back down from him, but from her own fears. “Because he wished to see if his bloodline could be crossed with the Valg. That was why I was brought to Morath. To be bred like a prize mare.” Every thought emptied out of Lorcan’s head. He had seen and dealt and endured many, many unspeakable things, but this…

“Your foot has been ruined for years, though. He locked you in the dungeon that long?” “No,” she said, not even flinching at his rough description. “I was only in the dungeon for a week. The ankle, the chain … He did that to me long before.” “What chain.” She blinked. And he knew she’d meant to avoid telling him that one particular detail. But now that he looked … he could make out, among the mass of scars, a white band. And there, around her perfect, lovely other ankle, was its twin. A wind laced with the dust and coldness of a tomb gnawed through the field. Marion merely said, “When you kill my uncle, ask him yourself.”

Lorcan stilled. He said too calmly, “When you were in Morath, did someone—”

They stared each other down again. And Lorcan knew that if he wanted, he could wait until she was asleep, take it for himself, and vanish. See what might make her so protective of it. But he knew … some small, stupid part of him knew that if he took from this woman who had already had too much stolen from her … He didn’t know if there was any coming back from that. He’d done such despicable, vicious things over the centuries and hadn’t thought twice. He’d reveled in them, relished them, the cruelty. But this … there was a line. Somehow … somehow there was a godsdamned line here. He used a tendril of his magic to keep her foot stabilized. She never commented on it.

“As far as anyone’s concerned, you’re still my wife.”

“You barely bled the last time.” The last thing she wanted to do was have this conversation. “Perhaps my body finally felt safe enough to be normal.” Because even with him murdering that man, lying, and then spitting the truth about Aelin in her face … Lorcan would go up against any threat without a second thought. Perhaps for his own survival, but he’d promised her protection. She was able to sleep through the night because he lay on the floor between her and the door. “So … there’s nothing wrong, then.” He didn’t bother to look at her as he said it. But she cocked her head, studying the hard muscles of his back. Even while refusing to speak to him, she’d watched him—and made excuses to watch as he went through his exercises each day, usually shirtless. “No, there’s nothing wrong,” she said. At least, she hoped. But Finnula, her nursemaid, had always clicked her tongue and said her cycles were spotty—too light and irregular. For this one to have come precisely a month later … She didn’t feel like wondering about it. Lorcan said, “Good. It’d delay us if it were otherwise.”

Elide was sobbing. In terror and despair. Each sound whetted his rage into something so lethal Lorcan could barely see straight.

For the first time in five centuries, Lorcan knew true fear as Elide turned that knife on herself, the blade angled to plunge up and into her heart.

People inside the inn were stirring, wondering at the noise, wondering if it was safe to come out to see what had happened to the girl they’d so willingly betrayed. For a heartbeat, Lorcan debated ending that innkeeper. But Elide said, “Enough death.” Tears streaked through the splattered black blood on her cheeks—blood that was a mockery of the smattering of freckles. Blood, crimson and pure, ran from her nose down her mouth and chin, already caking. So he sheathed the hatchet and scooped her into his arms. She didn’t object. He carried her through the fog-wrapped town, to where their boat was tied. Already, onlookers had gathered, no doubt to scavenge their supplies when the ilken left. A snarl from Lorcan had them skittering into the mist.

Tears rolled down her face as she stared at the water. He didn’t know how to comfort, how to soothe—not in the way she needed. So he set down the pole and sat beside her on the crate, the wood groaning. “Who is Manon?”

“I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide.” She made to pull away, but he gripped her a little harder, keeping her eyes on him. “I will always find you,” he swore to her. Her throat bobbed. Lorcan whispered, “I promise.” When she awoke, clean strips of linen for her cycle were next to the bed. His own shirt, washed and dried overnight—now cut up for her to use as she would.

Keys aside, he didn’t want to see the look on Elide’s face if the ilken got there first. And they found whatever was left of the fire-breather and her court.

“What is … ,” Elide breathed, but Lorcan lunged for her, hurling them to the ground, covering her body with his. He threw a shield over them, plummeting hard and fast into his magic, the drop nearly uncontrolled. He didn’t have time to do anything but pour every ounce of power into his shield, into the one barrier that would keep them from being melted into nothing.

Ash continued to fall, clumping on Elide’s silky night-dark hair. He gently picked out a bit, then put a shield over her to keep it from landing on her again.

Elide screamed Lorcan’s name. He whirled, but not to the lion. Toward her, that furious face shooting toward her—

Lorcan flipped her over, his breathing ragged, his face bloody and pale as he took in her face, her arm. “ElideElideElide—” She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t see around the sensation that her arm was mere shredded flesh and splintered bone— Lorcan grabbed her face before she could look and snapped, “Why did you do that? Why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He lifted his head, his snarl so vicious it echoed in her bones, made the pain in her arm surge violently enough that she whimpered. He growled to the lion and the wolf, his shield a swirling, obsidian wind around them, “You’re dead. You’re both dead—”

Rowan let the shields drop, and then Lorcan was hurtling to Elide, who struggled to sit up, gaping at her nearly healed arm. Gavriel, wisely, backed away. Lorcan examined her arm, her face, needing to touch her, smell her— She reached to pull Elide up, but Lorcan stepped in and did it himself. He didn’t let go of Elide’s arm, and she tried not to lean into his warmth. Hellas damn him, he’d had to resort to giving his cut-up shirt to Whitethorn and Gavriel to hand to her for her cycle. He’d threatened to skin them alive if they’d said it was his, and Elide, with her human sense of smell, hadn’t scented him on the fabric.

A slight tremor rocked Lorcan’s hands, and he balled them into fists, squeezing hard. Five minutes. He’d go in five minutes, Aelin Galathynius and their plan be damned. Aelin had been trained to endure torture. Elide … He could see those scars on her from the shackles. See her maimed foot and ankle. She had endured too much suffering and terror already. He couldn’t allow her to face another heartbeat of it— “It’s likely a pass-through to a larger cavern, ” Lorcan murmured, as if he could see that fear on her face, too. Or scent it. Elide didn’t bother responding. But she couldn’t help the flicker of gratitude. “How much longer am I supposed to atone?” “Are you growing bored with it?” He snarled. She only glared at him. “I hadn’t realized you were even atoning.” “I came here, didn’t I?” “For whom, exactly? Rowan? Aelin?” “For both of them. And for you.”

And Elide would not survive it, this war, if all of them were dead. He couldn’t accept it, that possibility. Foolish and useless as it was, he couldn’t allow it to pass. To have either Erawan’s beasts or her uncle Vernon come to claim her again. Fool. He was an ancient, stupid fool. Yet the god at his shoulder did not tell him to run, or to fight. His choice, then. He wondered what the goddess who whispered to Elide made of this. Wondered what the woman herself was going to make of this as he said to Aelin, “Fine.” Vow or no, he debated throwing the queen into the ocean for the devastation that clouded Elide’s face.

my king fr🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ not even a second glance at Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn.

[actualalligator]

I think I’ll go with Sterek for this one — and I think @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming should be tagged because she’ll enjoy it :)

When Person A comes home, they're surprised to see Person B cooking for them and they almost tear up.

I can tag @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

Derek had spent the day with Scott and Deaton running down a lead about this week's big bad (witches, of course. Derek's favorite). It had taken all day, and it felt like they were no closer to finding the person currently causing havoc in Beacon Hills.

He should have known there was someone in his loft. He can usually hear Stiles' rabbit heartbeat a mile away. And smell should have tipped him off, but he wasn't paying attention. He was thinking too much about the day he'd had that it was a surprise to walk into his loft and have it smell like food. It was a surprise for Stiles to be standing at the stove stirring something in a big pot.

He stopped. "What are you doing?"

Stiles looked up. He was calm, calmer than Derek had seen him in ages. Not even a hint of anxiety around his edges.

"I'm making stew," Stiles replied.

Derek frowned. He toed out of his shoes and threw his jacket in the direction of the hook. It crumpled to the ground. "You have your own kitchen."

"I do. But that would mean I had to transport it, and that always ends with stew sloshing all over the jeep, so it was just easier to make it here. No travel required," Stiles said.

Derek frowned even more. Maybe it was the long day. Maybe it was the frustration of the mayhem this witch had been causing the past few weeks across Beacon Hills, but something just wasn't clicking. He grunted once and headed for the stairs.

"It'll be ready whenever you're done showering," Stiles called after him.

Derek didn't know what to do with that either. So he ignored it. And he stripped out of his dirty clothes to shower.

His bathroom was one of the few luxuries he'd allowed himself in the remodel of the loft. He'd put in a rainfall shower and a soaking tub. The tub had felt extravagant, but he'd heard Laura's voice in his head telling him that he did deserve nice things. And he'd bought it. The bathroom downstairs was a pretty basic standing shower and toilet. All function. But Derek's bathroom was much more.

He stood under the water for what seemed like an hour, letting the heat soothe his sore muscles and wash away the frustrations of the day.

He was in a much better mood when he went back downstairs, clean and dressed in sweats and a sweater.

Stiles was sitting at the kitchen table on his phone, but he looked up with a smile when Derek walked in. Stiles' smile always went right to Derek's tummy, causing that swirling feeling only Stiles made him feel. They'd been dancing around each other for ages. Stiles was too young. Derek was too damaged.

"I hope you like this," Stiles said, moving back to the stove. He moved a cutting board with sliced crusty bread to the table followed by butter and then started to fill up the soup bowls. "This is my great-great grandma's recipe. She came over to America from Ireland when she was like fourteen. She didn't have a lot of money, but this soup with whatever meat she could afford and root vegetables from her garden became a staple. My mom used to make this on the first really cold day of the year. And then also whenever I had a bad day. Scott said the search for that witch hasn't been going well, and I figured this would feel nice after a disappointing day trudging through the wet and cold."

Derek stared at him, pieces finally clicking into place as he stood there. "You made this for me?"

Stiles immediately flushed pink across the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, Derek," he laughed. "I cooked in your kitchen because it's for you. I thought that was clear. No travel required?"

Derek stood frozen. Stiles cooked for him. Stiles cooked for *him*. Nobody had cooked for him since Laura left NYC all those years ago. She had grilled steaks the night before she left for Beacon Hills. He'd been so grumpy when she woke him at four the next morning to tell him she was leaving. He couldn't have known that that was their last meal together, that his grumbling, huffing hug would be the last time he'd see his sister alive.

"Der?" Stiles said.

Derek widened his eyes, trying desperately not to cry. He forced a few deep breaths and then looked at Stiles. "I love you," he said.

Stiles' pink went a deep red immediately, and his heart started to hammer in his chest. Derek stepped forward and pressed his palm over Stiles' heart.

"It's okay if you don't," he said.

Stiles shook his head immediately. "I do," he managed, voice breathy. "I do, but I'm not... saying it is hard." He held the bowl of stew out to Derek. "Stew is easier."

Derek huffed out a laugh and took the bowl. "I've got time."

Stiles smiled. His shoulders sagged. His heart slowed.

Derek smiled back. They had time.

[heartfeltcierra]

Marco X Reader Angst-Comfort

Warnings- Experimental abuse, mentions of needles and syringes, panic attacks and past trauma. Reader can transform into a rabbit.

Word Count- 3.5 K

Masterlist

 “Good morning Y/N, do you need help carrying that?” Ace gestured to the large box filled to the brim with paperwork and medical charts. 

 “I’ve got this. Thank you for offering.” You smile at him and continue your walk to a certain blonde's office. 

 “Oh I see.” You look back to see Ace smirking wildly. “You taking that to your man?” 

 “He isn’t my man! ” You shoot a scowl at the smirking man. You could feel heat rise to your cheeks. You wish you had never told the freckled faced man anything about your crush. Now all he does is tease you any chance he gets.

 “No not yet at least. You need to go ahead and tell him how you feel.” His tone turned slightly serious. “I speak for the entire crew when I say we are sick of seeing you follow him like a love sick puppy or I guess in your case rabbit.” He chuckled at his own joke. Classic Ace behavior. 

 “I’ll tell him when the time is right. I don’t want to ruin our friendship or our working relationship.” You wonder if there will ever really be a “right time”. 

 “There is no time like the present.” Ace gave you one of his comforting wide smiles. “Besides I have a good hunch he likes you a lot more than you think. You're his precious little Y/N after all.” Ace stuck his tongue out in a taunting way.

 “Shut it fire farce. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get going. Unlike you I actually work instead of flaking out on job duties.” You stick your tongue back out at him, causing a pout to form on his face.

 “Whatever. Anyways I guess I’ll let you “hop” to it.” He chuckled again at his own corny rabbit joke. You watch as Ace walks away. The jolly roger on his back flexed with every step. He was proud of it, and you were just as proud of the symbol. 

  (Flashback)

   Ever since you’ve joined the whitebeards you feel like you have the family you always wanted. Although you didn't exactly walk up and join the bunch, they more or less rescued you. When you were young your parents sold you off to a scientist for money, you spent most of your life being experimented on. The scientist planned on making a bio-engineered weapon to overthrow the world government by turning them into small weak creatures that could be controlled easily. He was almost successful. He was able to turn you into a rabbit after a few years, the only problem was you could change back into a human. Most of the time you could change at will. But sometimes it happened sporadically. He was frustrated at the fact. You’ll never forget the day he came and grabbed you from the small cage, the angry look in his eyes. He dragged you down a hallway until you were outside. The first time you had been outside in years. To your surprise you were on a ship of all things. He called you worthless, his failed experiment. Without a second look he threw you off the boat and into the dark sea below. The cold water had shocked your small body. You were never taught how to swim. 

 After struggling to stay above water, you were lucky enough to find a small piece of driftwood floating. It was your saving grace. At that moment you were glad to be in rabbit form, the wood would not hold up your human body weight. After a few days of floating at sea with no food or clean water along with the heat of the sun , you were so weak you could not move. The thought of dying scared you,  but then again maybe things would be better if you were dead. Maybe death will bring peace. You had accepted your fate, now it was just a waiting game. You could hear the sound of faint wings flapping.  All you remember after that was seeing blue wings of fire, big hands grabbing your frail rabbit body and a voice asking “Can we eat it?” Luckily Marco, the one who pulled you from the sea also protected you from becoming rabbit stew. The doctor took pity on you, he could tell you were on the verge of death and he had a soft spot for small animals. He took you to the infirmary immediately and started healing you. You were up and moving in no time. Marco would smile at your progress, not knowing the small creature in front of him was not just a rabbit. You tried hard to go back into your human form, but could not no matter how hard you tried. It was frustrating, you wanted to thank him for taking such good care of you. You also wanted to tell him your name was not “fuzzball”. 

  After a while you started getting used to being treated like a princess by the man.  He would hold you close to his warm chest as you took a nap.  He even made a small bed that sat on his work desk so could nap when he was busy. Every now and then he would caress your soft fur. His big warm hands had become your source of comfort and protection. It was unlike anything you have felt before. You have craved this feeling of safety for so long. But as they say, all good things must come to an end. One night Marco was finishing some paperwork while you watched. He placed the papers in his desk drawer and got up from the swivel chair. “It’s time for bed fuzzball.” He picked you up and cradled you in his strong arms. And just like that, poof, you were back human again. To make things worse you were as naked as the day you were born. You’ll never forget the look of utter shock Marco had on his face. He held you up for a few seconds before sitting your feet on the floor. He wrapped his purple jacket around you. And gave you a confused look. 

 “Thank you for taking care of me. And my name is not fuzzball, it’s Y/N!” You blurted out and  smiled up at the very confused Marco. He blinked at you a few times, processing what just occurred.

 “Duly noted. You stay here, I’ll go get you some clothes fuzz- I mean Y/N” Marco ran out of the room. He had seen some weird stuff before but you took the cake. He came back with clothes and gave you some privacy so you could change. 

 You gave him his purple jacked back and explained everything to him. The first thing he did was apologize to you for petting your fur saying “It was rude” but you assured him it was okay. He took you to meet pops and the rest of the crew.  After the initial shock and questions from the crew you explained everything to Whitebeard, after he heard you never had family he asked you to join. Without anywhere else to go, you said yes and now you're officially a pirate and a child of Whitebeard.

Pops noticed how comfortable you were around Marco, so he gave you the job as his assistant/ secretary. Marco was a busy man and you know that first hand from watching. You accepted his offer. Now you mainly forged his signature on paperwork and help take vitals when it's time  for the crew's check ups. It was a busy job, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Getting to work next to Marco everyday was the best thing to ever happen.

 (Flashback end)

 As crazy as it sounds, you were glad that twisted scientist had thrown you overboard. You would have never met Marco or the rest of the crew if he didn’t. Fate had a funny way of bringing people together. Your trip down memory lane came to an end as you approached the door to Marco’s office/exam room. You knocked gently.

 “Come in, yoi.” Marco’s voice called out. A smile found its way on your face. 

 “It’s just me, I got all the paperwork signed and organized.” He swiveled his body around to face you. He gave you the lazy smile he always does.  

 “Thank you Y/N, I appreciate your hard work.” He stood up, all 6’8 of him towering over you. He gently grabbed the box from your hands and laid it on his desk. “How are you feeling today?”

 “No problem, I’m always glad to help. And I’m doing okay. I have a little bit of a headache, but nothing too bad.” Marco gave you a concerned look. You know he worries a lot about you and rightfully so considering most of your life was spent being injected with who knows what. All the unknowns made you anxious. His hand came down to ruffle your hair, he must have noticed the unease you were feeling.

 “It's okay, you're okay. Would giving you a check up make you feel better?” You nod your head and sit down on the exam table. You would be lying if you said you're not nervous. You trust him fully, but being in a situation like this makes you remember things you want to forget. Marco went through a drawer and pulled out a thermometer and his stethoscope. He sat on his swivel chair and rolled over to you. “Breathe in and out normally.” You did as you were told as he moved the stethoscope over your back, listening to your lungs. “Your lungs sound normal.” He laid the stethoscope to the side and gave you a reassuring smile. 

 “Let me take your temperature and I’ll be done, yoi. Say ahh.” You open your mouth as he places the thermometer under your tongue. You hear a group of beeps meaning the reading was done. Marco had a concerned look on his face. “Your temp is 102. That is pretty high, I’m going to get you some meds to bring it down.”

 “Okay.”  You wait as Marco goes through cabinets searching for the medicine. Your eyes wander over to the small bed that is still on his desk. You still use it from time to time to take a nap. No one dares to bother you, especially with Marco around. He would beat anyone who tried to wake you up. Just last week he sent Ace flying because he was being too loud while you slept. Your heart swelled thinking about how protective he was. All the more reason you love him.

 “Here we go.” Marco’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He turned to face you and what he held in his hand made you freeze. You could feel your heart rate pick up and heat rise to your face from the panic coursing through your body. He had a needle in his hand. “Are you okay Y/N?” Marco walked closer causing you to scooch back away from him. You could only stare at him in horror.

 “No please, not that.” Your voice cracked as tears spilled down your face. You kept looking at the needle and syringe in his hand. Flashbacks came crashing in, all the time you were tied down and injected with something, all the times you screamed bloody murder for it to stop. All the small scars that littered your arms. It was too much. Your body unwillingly transformed into your rabbit form. Your flight response kicked in and you bounced off  the exam table and straight out of Marcos office. You need to hide, you need to find a safe place. 

 “Y/N?” You passed a concerned voice, but you were going too fast to understand who it was. 

 You ran until you got to your bedroom door. You go through the small hole Ace had carved out for you due to you sometimes getting stuck in rabbit form. At a time like this you were thankful. Your instincts to find safety landed you under your bed. Going to the main back corner, you curled into a ball and as the world collapsed around you.

~~~~~

 “Hey Marco, do you know why Y/N was running?” Ace peaked his head into the door. 

 “Unfortunately it was my fault.” Marco held the syringe up to Ace.

 “What did you do?” Ace’s face went angry as he looked at the needle. 

 “She has a bad temperature and I was going to give her a shot to help bring it down. I should have known better. After what she’s been through I can understand why she is afraid of needles.” Marco stood up from his chair walking towards Ace.

 “I see. Well I’m relieved to know it wasn’t on purpose. If it was, I was going to kick your phoenix ass.” Ace shot Marco an intimidating look.

 “That’s some tough talk for someone who wanted to cook her up, yoi.” Marco retorted.

 “I didn’t know she was a human at that time! What you did was much worse, scaring the poor girl who loves you.” Ace slammed a hand over his mouth a little too late.

 “I know she does.”  He could tell considering you made your feelings painfully obvious. “And it’s a mutual feeling. But that's not important right now. Which way did she go?”  

 “She was going down that way, if I had a guess she went to her room.” Ace pointed down the hall.

 “Thanks, I’m going to go make this right.”

~~~~~~~~

 The same scene kept playing in your head. Your body tied up to monitors, the sound of a iv dripping. You could hear it. It felt so real. The sense of doom was suffocating. Your eyes open, you're surrounded by darkness. You wanted to move but you feel frozen in place. Your ears pick up the sound of footsteps approaching your room. They stepped closer and closer until they were still in front of your door. The doorknob shook as the door creaked open.

 “Y/N are you in here.” Marco’s voice softly called out. “I want to apologize.” You wanted to call out to him, but you can’t. The fear of the past had engulfed you.

 “I am so sorry. I should have taken your past into consideration. I didn't mean to scare you and I swear on my life I won’t ever make this mistake again.” His voice was riddled with guilt.  After a few moments of silence, he started to walk out of the room, he must have thought you weren't in the room. You look at the one of the wooden posts that hold your bed up. You decided to kick your fuzzy leg against it to make a “thud”.  

 “Y/N?” Marco got down on his knees and looked at your body curled up underneath the bed. His heart shatters seeing you all alone, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Hey there sweet girl. Can you come out for me?”  Marco reached his hand out towards you. You hesitate for a moment, but you hop towards him until you sit in the palm of his hand. He pulls you out from underneath the bed and sits you on his lap. 

 “I really am sorry. I hope you can forgive me, yoi.” You look up at him and nod confirming you forgive him. You know he had good intentions. “I’m going to make that medicine in pill form for you. Do you feel comfortable going back to my office with me?” Again you nod your head. Marco stood up from the floor and held you close. The sound of his heartbeat was grounding you. He walks out of your room and shuts the door gently. 

 “It looks like you found the runaway rabbit.” Ace walked up and smacked Marco on the back. He looked down at your small form and gave you a small pat.

 “Yeah, we are heading back to my office, yoi.” Marco stepped back from Ace, as if he did not want him touching you. 

 “Dinner will be ready soon, don’t be late. Oh and Y/N, I have bad news. Thatch said we are out of carrots.” Ace gave you a fake sad face. Without hesitation you jumped from Marco’s arms and kicked Ace in the face with your little leg. He let out a small oww and you nestled back into Marco’s arms. “That was mean.” He came eye level with you.

 “You deserved it.” Marco brought you up on his shoulder so Ace couldn't get to you. “Well be there soon, I’m going to make her medicine first.” Ace nodded as you and Marco walked back towards his office.

 “I’m going to start grinding the meds, you focus on turning back human if you can.” Marco sat you down on his desk. He immediately started  rummaging  through different cabinets and drawers. Your body was calming down with each passing second. Marco had a theory as to why you turn into a rabbit spontaneously. He thinks it's something to do with stress levels. He told you to try to picture yourself in a happy place when you were stuck as a rabbit. It was funny, because being with him was your happy place. 

 “Ace told me something interesting.” Marco’s voice broke your thoughts. “He more or less told me how you felt towards me.” 

 You looked at Marco, who did not turn to face you. He continued rummaging through cabinets. You were going to beat Ace’s ass. 

 “You have definitely softened me up. Ever since you’ve been around the crew says I’m more “Gentle” on them. In all honesty you have me wrapped around your finger whether you realize it or not.” He started to mix together different ingredients while you sat still, listening to  his words. “I’ll never forget the time you wanted to go into town with me. I told you no, but you wasted no time turning into a rabbit and doing the little begging hands thing.” Your little trick ended up working. You and Marco went around the town collecting things for the ship. You didn’t exactly have money, but Marco insisted on getting anything you wanted. 

 “I guess what I’m trying to get at.” Marco turned around to face you. “I love you Y/N. I have for a while now, yoi.” He gave you a soft smile, one that melted your heart. So overcome with emotions, you jump off the desk and head straight towards Marco. Your body turned normal in the process, making you and him fall to the floor. 

 “Do you mean it?” You lift your body off of Marco’s, your eyes locked on his.

 “I do. Here, let me show you.” His arms wrap around your midsection, bringing your face down to his. His lips met yours in a soft kiss. You felt like you could float away if his hands were not holding you to him. “Was that enough, or do I need to convince you a little more?” 

 “I believe you.” You had tears coming from your eyes. Marco’s hand cupped your cheeks wiping them away. “I’m sorry I’m crying, I’m just really happy.”

 “It’s okay, sweetheart.” The sweet moment is destroyed by your stomach growling. Marco let out a laugh. “We better go get food before it’s gone.” He stood up, taking you up with him so your feet stood on the floor. “Take this before we go.” He poured you a glass of water before handing you the medicine. You gulped it down.

 “Thank you, I feel better already.” You smile up at the blond who has a pleased look on his face.

 “Good. Now we better get going before that glutton Ace eats all the good food.” You laugh at his statement. 

 “Maybe we will get lucky and he’ll be passed out before he could gobble it all up.” You wrap your arm around his as you head towards the deck. You could hear the crew's rowdy voices booming. Lucky enough you see plenty of food on the tables, and Ace was indeed passed out on his plate.

 “Well well well. It's about time you two got together.” Thatch looked at you and Marco. You hid your embarrassed face in his bicep. Some of the crew whistled out, while others cheered. 

 “Huh, did I fall asleep?” Ace raised his head up. A piece of corn was stuck up his nose. His eyes settle on you and Marco. A big smile formed on his face. “Good. My work as a wingman is done.” His head slammed back down on the plate. Everyone shrugged his action off and continued eating.

 You and Marco sat down next to whitebeard who gave you an approving smile.  

 “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” Marco whispered in your ear. You nod your head. After dinner you escaped to Marco’s room. He carried your body as if it was weightless all the way there. He laid you gently on his bed and crawled beside you. 

 “I love you.” You say barely above a whisper as he pulls you close to him. The warmth from his body engulfed you. 

 “I love you too, more than you’ll ever know.” 

 End

[ikeromantic]

Hi. I just found your blog and love your writing. Could I request:

Tavern

Gilbert

Red hot (or gingerbread, whatever seems best for you )

I figured he'd like to tease MC in public.

Thanks 😊

This one came out more gingerbread than red hot. Maybe even shading toward eggnog. I hope you enjoy ^_^ Approx. 1000 words of a teasing Gilbert. IkePri New Years Event story!

Gilbert sat down next to the little rabbit and settled back on the padded wood bench. This was a decent tavern she’d selected. Warm, lively but not rough. The floor and tables were clean, and it smelled of stew and beer and fresh bread. 

“So. Umm. This is a place the princes sometimes go to drink.” Emma gestured nervously to their surroundings. 

He set his chin in his hand and fixed her with his scarlet gaze. “Do you come here to drink with princes often?” Though it was foolish, he felt a slight prick of jealousy at the idea. 

She shook her head. “No. I mean, once or maybe twice? Jin and Leon recommended it.”

“Interesting.” 

The barmaid stopped at their table and when her eyes landed on Gilbert, they went wide. “W-what can I g-get for you?”

Gilbert gestured for Emma to order. It would be informative to see what she thought he liked. That, and the barmaid might faint if he addressed her directly. Oh the perils of reputation. 

“Two mugs of mulled wine, please.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as if looking for a reaction. 

He didn’t give her one. His smile didn’t shift in the slightest, but he was curious why she’d ordered the same for both of them. It could signal that she felt they were equals here. Or perhaps the spiced wine was very good here. Or something else entirely. Gilbert felt a little thrill at this new phase of the hunt. 

“They have good food here too, if you’re hungry,” Emma told him. She set her hands primly in her lap, trying to project a calm demeanor. That wouldn’t do at all.

Gilbert let his knee bump hers lightly under the table, and noted the way her eyes widened. Rather than move his leg, he let it rest against hers. Surprisingly she didn’t move away either. But at the warm, gentle pressure of his thigh against hers, Emma’s cheeks went adorably hot. 

“Is that so? What would you recommend? I’m in the mood for a bite of rabbit.” His smile was wide and a little predatory.

She gave a start, and then nodded. “Umm. Ok. Well . . . they have rabbit stew here. I don’t know if it’s any good, but we could -”

Gilbert leaned over and settled his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t want stew.”

“O-oh.” Her pulse was beating fast. He could see it in her throat, a slight flutter beneath her skin. He wondered what it would feel like against his lips, what she might taste of. Emma cleared her throat, and did her best to pretend she couldn’t feel his breath on her cheek. “S-something else then?”

“Sure.” He let his chin inch a little closer to her along the line of her shoulder. 

She looked toward the front of the tavern, where the menu was written in large chalked letters on a slate board. “They - they have, umm, rabbit fr-fricasse?”

“I don’t think so.” His lips nearly brushed her skin. From here he could feel her heartbeat through her skin, and the catch in her breath. He leaned back, releasing her without taking what he really wanted. 

Emma frowned. “Then what? I’m sure you can just tell them what you want and they’ll make it. I can’t just keep guessing.”

The waitress came with their drinks. Pewter mugs full of warm spiced red wine. It smelled of honey and roses, sweet and intoxicating. 

Gilbert let the cup heat his hands, but didn’t drink. Emma, however, had no compunctions. She blew across the steaming surface and took a little sip, her eyes closing with pleasure. 

“It’s so good!” She sighed happily. “Did you taste yours yet?” There was so much joy in her, he thought. 

“I’m letting it cool off.” 

Emma shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s best when you drink it hot. It warms you up all the way.” 

Gilbert cocked his head. “All the way?” He slid one of his wine-warmed hands down to rest on her leg. “You still feel a little chilly to me . . .”

“W-well maybe not my legs.” She wriggled a bit on the bench, but still didn’t move away or try to remove his hand. 

He let his hand stroke gently up her thigh, enjoying the firm softness of her, even through her dress. “Maybe I should help. I wouldn’t want my lovely hostess to be cold.”

Emma made a little choked sound, somewhere between denial and a sigh of pleasure. “Not. Cold.” She took another sip of her wine.

“Your face is certainly warm.” He leaned closer again, as if studying her flushed cheeks and wide eyes. “Maybe that’s from the wine?”

“Yes. I-it’s very good. You should t-taste it?” Emma gestured to the mug.

Gilbert’s smile widened. “Well, if you insist. Of course I will.” And then he let his lips brush hers. A light touch, just enough to taste a hint of sweetness on them and the sharp tang of the wine. 

She melted into his touch, her lips pressed to his, parting. Her hand clutching his coat. 

He meant to pull away, just to tease, but her eager response took him by surprise. And it was not in his nature to retreat from a victory. Gilbert’s tongue flicked between her parted lips, and he let go of the wine to pull her close. 

Her mouth tasted of wine and honey, and the prickling heat of cinnamon and cloves. And beneath that, another sweetness that was all her own. Gilbert’s eye fluttered closed as he let himself indulge. She was more intoxicating than any liquor, and her kiss made him drunk with her. 

It was hard to care about where they were or who might be watching. For a moment, Gilbert let himself forget and just be. A man kissing a woman, a man in . . . love? 

He broke the kiss and let go. 

Emma’s breath was unsteady, her cheeks flushed and her eyes hotter still. There was so much passion there, and surprise. She put a hand to her mouth, fingers resting lightly on her lips as if she wasn’t sure what had just happened.

“You’re right,” Gilbert grinned. “The wine is very good. And so is the rabbit.”

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 7 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 2584

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Act I, Chapter 7 - The Party

The next morning, the companions went to the druid grove, leaving you alone with Scratch and Withers once more. They figured with the goblin leaders dead, the rest would have fled, and camp was safely tucked away. Halsin had left before dawn, probably to get an early start dealing with whatever had happened in the grove while he was gone.

You were surprised when the companions returned mid-afternoon.

“Back so soon? Are we packing up?”

Karlach grinned. “The tieflings are comin’ here to celebrate before they head out!”

You couldn’t hide your surprised reaction quickly enough.

“Don’t worry, that’s why we came back early,” Wyll said. “To help you prepare.”

You weren’t worried; you just liked having a bit more advance notice than, say, a few hours. You could handle a big party, but you preferred smaller, quieter settings.

You immediately went into project manager mode, directing everyone to complete certain chores. By the time your first visitors began to trickle in, you had several game birds and a large boar roasting over a large fire pit. A rabbit stew was bubbling in a pot over the campfire. A second makeshift fire had a berry cobbler, and there was an array of wine and spirits set up on a flat rock nearby. Apparently the goblin camp had plenty of liquor to loot.

Fortunately, the tieflings brought some food as well, and everyone had a merry time. You flitted around, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink. Everyone seemed nice enough, and even the kids were well behaved. You kept your gloves on, which had been the right decision, since a lot of people shook your hand, thanking you for the food.

You spoke with your companions too, just to make sure they were also doing well. And they seemed to be.

All except one.

You couldn’t quite tell what was causing his grumpy countenance, so you asked him how he was doing. You quietly listened as Astarion vented about not wanting to be a hero and having vinegar for wine.

You took his bottle away and took a swig. You immediately grimaced; this particular bottle had a heavy red wine, dry and sharp. “Yeah, this red is not… to my tastes.”

“See? Awful.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant,” he countered.

You gathered two things from this conversation: one, he needed to have the last word, and two, he was probably hungry. “You’re being grumpy. Should I feed you and tuck you in?”

He glared at you for a moment, before his eyes lit up, as if he suddenly had a great idea. 

Oh gods, what now.

“Are you suggesting we steal away together? Privately?”

“I, erm—”

“We could make our own fun. Get a little closer, so to speak.”

Let me finish my damn sentence. “That’s not—”

“—what you meant?” he finished for you.

You glared at him.

He took a step closer to you. “All teasing aside, I am feeling a bit peckish.” He glanced at your scarf, which you had put on just in case of accidental contact. “Does your offer still stand?"

"I suppose," you replied, but you were wary of the suggestive smirk he was giving you now. 

"Excellent. Come to my tent when everyone is gone, so we can have some… privacy."

You nodded, but part of you was already dreading it. 

***

The party went on into the night, but some time before the witching hour, you bid farewell to the last of the guests and shooed the companions into their tents, insisting that clean up could wait until morning. 

You waited thirty minutes before sneaking into Astarion's tent. 

He was lying on his side, his shirt off, casually reading The Quarta Sune, the book open to a very explicit diagram. He closed the book as you stepped inside and knelt down beside his bedroll. 

"I was waiting for you," he murmured as he sat up. 

Then he glanced at your neck. Without him asking, you tipped your head to the side. 

"Can’t get enough of my bite, can you?"

"Just shut up and drink," you said without any real venom.

He got onto his knees and leaned forward. His hands held your shoulders, and through his touch you felt… almost nothing at all. As if he had built a wall around his heart and was hiding desperately behind it.

Something’s wrong.

He breathed in the scent of your neck before biting down. You braced yourself against the physical pain of the bite, but you didn’t need to steel yourself mentally. His usual emotions were barely there. After a few deep draws, he released you, languidly licking the blood from the wound before kissing it lightly. You should have felt something, even a flicker of fondness. But you felt nothing from his touch.

He’s disassociating. 

“There, all better,” he said, giving you a sensuous smile. A light smear of your blood remained on his lips, and his eyes glimmered with new strength. He really did look like something out of a romance novel, and your eyes followed the movements of his tongue as he licked the blood away. If you hadn’t known that his actions were purely performative, you might have fallen for it.

You reached up to your shoulder and touched his hand. “You’re not actually attracted to me, Astarion.”

His eyebrows rose, his mask cracking for a moment before it reformed in the blink of an eye. “Of course I’m attracted, darling.” His free hand cupped your chin. “How could I not be when you feed me such a delicious snack in the middle of the night?”

You took his hand and gently moved it away from your chin. Holding both his hands in yours, you stared into his eyes to make sure he was listening, truly hearing you. “And I’ll always feed you. So you don’t have to put on a show for me. Just be yourself.”

…confusion…

You let go of him. Your hunch was right. It was as if no one had ever done anything for him without a price. Your heart broke for him.

Holding back your own emotions when they threatened to push you to tears, you instead smiled softly at him. “Now, if you’re feeling better, I need to rest.” 

On a whim, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his. “Sweet dreams, Astarion.”

You quickly left his tent, but you glanced back to see him watching you, a puzzled look on his face as the tent flap closed behind you.

***

Just as you were about to crawl back into your bedroll, you heard a rustling in the bushes. Slowly walking towards the sound, you stopped short when you saw the owlbear cub limping towards you, blood on its front paw that it was favoring with each step.

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured. “Wait here a moment,” you told it, hoping it would understand. You went to the party’s traveling chest and pulled out a couple of potions and some cured meat. Returning to the creature, you were relieved to see it had plopped down on its hindquarters, watching as you knelt down in front of it.

You lay down the cured meat, and though the creature looked at it warily at first, it eventually began to eat. Meanwhile, you uncorked the teal colored bottle and smelled it. Yup, this was the one you were looking for; it was hard to mistake the smell of hay, musk, and manure for any other potion. Holding your nose, you chugged the potion as quickly as possible. You resisted gagging as you waited for the potion’s effects to take hold.

Seconds later, you could feel that your hearing had become a bit sharper, as if there was a layer of sound in the world that suddenly became audible. You could feel the path of communication widening in your head, and it gave you a slight headache.

“Can you understand me?” you asked as a test.

The owlbear looked up, wide-eyed in surprise. “You talk?” The voice sounded like a young boy in your ears.

You smiled. “Yes, I can talk.” You held up the red bottle. “Are you hurt?”

He held up his injured leg. Taking his little paw in hand, you uncorked the healing potion and poured a few drops on the wound. The cut closed up a little, so you slowly poured a bit at a time until he was fully healed.

“There, all better,” you murmured, realizing belatedly that Astarion had said the same thing to you earlier. Shaking your head of the memory, you brought yourself back to the present and began a conversation with the cub. Chatting to the little guy was intriguing. You were charmed by his wish to be stronger, to fight bigger opponents and grow strong.

“So, will you stay in my camp?” you asked.

“Yes. Smells nice here. You have food.”

Simple desires. You already loved this cub. You would kill anyone who tried to hurt him.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Scratch slowly approaching.

“If you stay, you will need to be friends with Scratch,” you told the cub.

The cub looked over at the dog. You beckoned him over, and he loped closer.

“Is this a new friend?” Scratch said. He sounded a bit like a young man.

“Yes, a new friend.” You pet both of their heads. “Let’s all get along, shall we?”

Scratch made a soft chuffle in agreement before looking at the cub. “I’ll show you around. The best sleeping spot is…”

Their voices trailed off as they wandered away together. You couldn't help but smile, even as your head continued to pound. The effects of the potion would wear off soon enough, so until then, you’d have to just deal with the headache.

But it was worth it.

***

Morning came far too soon. You were exhausted, but as much as you wanted to sleep in, you had to get up and start breaking down the camp. It was time to head towards the githyanki creche. Lae'zel had been insistent that it would hold the key to solving their tadpole problem, and the rest of the group figured it couldn't hurt to check it out for now, before heading to the Moonrise Towers that Halsin had mentioned. In fact, the large druid was now accompanying your party, as a thanks for helping him escape from the goblin camp.

As you followed the group towards the mountain trail, the base of your spine tingled.

Godsdammit.

You opened your mouth to tell your group that you had a weird feeling about all this, but you thought better of it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were just being paranoid.

While you were debating whether or not you should say something, you could hear everyone exerting themselves. Looking up, you watched everyone jump over the broken stone bridge with ease.

Gods DAMN it.

“I’ve got you,” Gale said as he waved his hands and gestured in your direction. You suddenly felt light as a feather.

Karlach waved you over encouragingly. “C’mon, jump!”

You peered over the side of the bridge and felt your heart leap into your throat. Backing away from the edge, you shook your head. Maybe you could find another way around and catch up to them later.

“Come now, no time like the present,” Astarion said from beside you. He leapt over the chasm gracefully, landing like a cat and spinning around to give you an arrogant sneer.

You snide son of a—

“We’re waiting,” he mocked.

Gritting your teeth, you took a few steps backwards, ran, and leapt right at him out of pure spite. However, the spell had made you much lighter, which threw off your sense of gravity. You floundered in the air as you practically floated over the chasm.

Astarion smoothly stepped out of the way as you landed and stumbled, nearly falling over until Gale gripped your upper arm to keep you steady.

“Right, up you get,” he said. Once you had your feet properly under you, he let you go and brushed your sleeve where he had grabbed you. “Ready to go?”

“Yup,” you said, your voice a pitch higher than normal. He smiled, nodded, and quickly turned back to the path along with the others. 

You carried on behind them, watching their backs. So strong, so able. You felt a little helpless compared to them. Even Scratch and the cub were able to easily leap across the bridge without assistance.

Am I holding them back? Perhaps I should have parted ways with them at the grove.

Shaking your head of your negative thoughts, you traveled north, through rather pretty mountain pathways, with the occasional wraith coming to harass your party. You were quite impressed by how your companions would quickly trounce their enemies, so you felt safe. Gale would always stay behind with you and sling spells from a safe distance while the others charged ahead.

As you carried on along the trail, the base of your spine tingled again. This time, you couldn’t ignore it.

“Hey, I think—”

Shouts interrupted you. As the path crested over a hill, you could see in the distance a group of githyanki facing off against some mercenaries.

Lae’zel dropped her backpack and ran off. The others immediately followed suit.

“Stay back here and hide,” Gale called out to you over his shoulder as he ran with the others.

You quickly grabbed everyone’s packs, dragged them off the road, and hid in a copse of trees. Your spine kept tingling, non-stop.

What in the hells…

A large shadow flew overhead, drawing your attention skyward.

What in the hells, indeed. 

A red dragon, majestic and terrifying, with a rider on its back, glided past. You saw everything from a distance: the bridge burning, bodies flying, the dragon soaring away. The smell of burnt flesh and unintelligible angry voices floated towards you. You trembled as you realized that whatever you had gotten yourself into, it would probably only get more dangerous from here.

I should bail. They don’t need me. They can handle themselves.

As the group came back from the wreckage to get their packs, you had resolved yourself. Clearing your throat, you mentally prepared yourself to speak.

“Lae’zel scouted ahead,” Wyll said before you could say a word. He picked up her pack as well as his own. “We should catch up to her.”

Without giving you a chance to say anything, the others began to walk towards the mountain path. You followed, wondering if they would even notice if you turned around and left now. Then you shook your head of the notion. Of course they would notice, because then they’d have to cook their own food and put up their own tents.

And you hadn’t collected this week’s wages yet.

Though if you were being honest, you weren’t staying just for the job anymore. You were staying for the people. You had grown attached to them, begun to care for them not just as people who were paying you a wage to take care of their camp, but as actual friends. And friends didn’t leave without a damn good reason.

Like my life being in danger.

All of their faces came up in your mind. Small moments, smiles, and words of gratitude. A certain someone’s face tended to show up more than the others in your memories.

You sighed.

Perhaps I should decide later.

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

Chapter End Notes: A little peek behind the scenes - I’ve written through chapter 10, and going back and editing and making sure that continuity remains intact. Please let me know what you think of the story so far! Thank you for continuing to follow our Hearth Witch on her adventure!

[poisonsage808]

♡ Happy Heart Day ♡

Starks Edition

♡ Jon Snow ♡

He hasn’t ever celebrated this holiday. A part of him wants to and the other part is just so defeated, he wouldn’t know where to start anyways. When you surprise him with a handmade card and a chocolate fudge wrapped in pinkish wax paper, he blushes and stutters!

“A-Are you sure?” He asks, looking around like you’ve somehow mistaken him for someone else.

You smile patiently, urging for him to take the gift a second time, “Quite.”

Jon leaves for a bit after that, returning with a rabbit to make you a dinner to share in his chambers. You two sit close on the floor by the fire and with one heavy blanket draped over your laps. Sipping not the best ale (the Night’s Watch may never fix whatever recipe they have) eating rabbit stew and finally he shares the fudge you gifted him.

“I wish I could… make this better somehow.” He admits softly, partially guilty but mostly content.

“Don’t be daft, this is perfect.” You reassure him, nudging his shoulder.

Jon looks down at where your hand found his. He squeezes your hand tighter and his lip quirks up and suddenly its a much more perfect day.

♡ Sansa Stark ♡

This holiday belongs to her. She owns it, dominates it and if anyone thinks otherwise they’ll be proven wrong every year on the dot. It’s her absolute favorite.

From the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep, Sansa is lovingly doting on you. She presents you a new shirt with your house sigil detailedly embroidered onto the sleeves as well as a direwolf over the heart. Such a public claim, the holder of the queen’s heart.

Sansa’s pretty blue eyes go wide when she sees the romantic display you’ve made of her chambers. Candles, rose petals, her favorite meal and, “the sweetest wine for the sweetest lady in the world.” She blushes and giggles, rare to see for anyone other than you.

After dinner you nervously set a tray of lemon cakes in front of her.

“Did you make these?” She asks, delightedly bewildered.

“I attempted. I’ll not—“

Sansa stuffs one into your mouth before taking a bite herself, laughing at the powdered sugar dusting the corner of your lip and cheek. Overnight she clears the tray and her kisses become sickeningly sweet, each one longer and tastier than the last.

♡ Arya Stark ♡

She hates today but she’s silent about it, not dramatic like when she was a child clutching her stomach and faking gags at her parents smooches. Arya’s thoughts on the holiday don’t change with you, why’s only a single day set to appreciate one’s partner when they should do it every day?

Still, she’s sentimental. She marks a map with all the places the two of you have been together and a little note of her favorite memory of that place. Then in a slightly brighter shade of ink she marks places she wants to take you one day.

Arya doesn’t expect anything in return, after all she’s complained about today for so long. So her face is rather priceless when you draw your sword with a smirk. What could be better gift for the adventurer? She hasn’t sparred for fun in… she can’t remember the last time she did!

She beats you, of course, not even her beloved is allowed a single pity-win. You’re both sweaty and panting for air with smiles on your faces when it’s over. Arya pulls you by your cheeks into a breathtaking kiss.

“Thank you,” You whisper when you part, “for being my adventure.”

“That’s awful.” But she laughs, her smile growing wider.

Know that your hers too.

[immajustvibehere]

Spark (2/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Series summary: An impulsive and reckless girl who stands for everything Arthur tries to overcome joins the gang. Even worse, she is related to Micah Bell. What starts off as a relationship of mistrust and hate slowly transforms into a beautiful, deeper connection, as both parties realise that there is more to the other person than what meets the eye at first.

Chapter 2 summary: Back in camp, you prove to be as horrible a gang member as Arthur feared. It's anything but pleasant when Dutch assignes the two of you to rob Chez Porter.

Link to my Masterlist

previous chapter

1900 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

Something about you interested Arthur tremedously. He would try to explain it by telling himself he was watching out for the other gang members, because you were very clearly tormenting many of them. You were rude to the girls, who at first had tried to welcome you into their circle, but you refused with a snicker. You openly complained about Sadie mourning her husband so loudly. Pearson would get your complaints about his food every evening and you didn't hold back to insult anyone who approached you kindly. You obviously hadn’t planned on fitting it. This was even clearer when you set up your tent away from the rest, a few feet behind his own, between two trees in the thicket that was surrounding Horseshoe Overlook.

Arthur observed all of this, even though you barely were at camp. He had to hand it to you, you were a hard worker. While you complained about Pearson, you brought him rabbits or turkeys almost everyday and threatened him to make something good out of them. You always returned with as much firewood as your horse managed to carry and occasionally, when you thought nobody was watching, you handed some berries to Jack. Most importantly, and probably the reason why Dutch was so ready to welcome you, you put money in the shared box every day.

Micah’s good report about your character and your young and eager spirit had impressed Dutch. You found it sickening when Dutch praised you, but always smiled and agreed with whatever he said, something that Micah had implored you to do. It didn’t take long until you were held in high esteem by the leader. Arthur accepted this development as much as he accpeted Micah sucking up to Dutch since he first joined.

Nevertheless, you and Arthur clashed on multiple occasions.

Soon after your bank stage mission, Arthur checked the ledger. He had just put a couple of bucks into the gang’s funds, something he had managed to loot from O’Driscolls that had tried to rob him earlier this morning. The sun had just set, people were returning from their scoutings and jobs and with them came the buzzing of a group of people being ready for a couple of beers and calling it a day. Arthur, too, looked forward to a warm stew and a good night’s rest, when his eyes skimmed the numbers in the ledger. Something didn't add up.

"Y/N", he approached you determined.

"Ugh", you answered. It was late. You were tired from robbing a handful of people today and had retreated to your tent.

"I checked the ledger", Arthur went on, kepping his distance as you crawled out from your tent and stood up, making you feel a little taller when you stood opposite of him. Already by his posture you could see that he was about to complain. You despised this judgemental stance.

"Good for you", you replied, crossing your arms.  

"Could it be that you missed a couple of bucks after the bankstage robbery?", he asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how you reacted.

"What business is it of yours?"

"I have already been reduced to the camp's debt collector by Herr Strauss, I don't mind beating up one more person that owes money", Arthur hissed in a low voice.

"Listen", you started, puffing out your chest, "apparently you can do the maths, so do me a favor and count up what I contributed the four days I've been here and compare it to the money a Swanson or this Uncle guy contributed the last years and you'll find that I have surpassed them by a lot. So I don't know why you keep bothering me."

Then you just crawled back into your tent, closing the flaps and waited for Arthur to go away.

Those and similar conversations started to become an almost daily occurence. You started to like disobeying small rules, only to see Arthur get all riled up. The double standard amused you. He could kick a Uncle out of his sleep, you weren’t allowed to insult his lazy ass. Nobody checked if Arthur shared half the money he made, or any other person for that matter. You knew Micah wasn’t sharing half of his.

Before either of you realized, more than a week had passed since you joined the gang.

Arthur had just finished his morning coffee and was strutting towards his tent. The plan was to shave and then head to Valentine, beating some time, maybe run some errands. But he didn't even get to his tent, because he heard his name yelled by Dutch. You stood next to Dutch, his big hand resting on your shoulder in a friendly and proud manner.

"Come over here for a second!", Dutch waved to Arthur.

Immediately, Arthur's mood worsened. Just yesterday evening he had to listen to one your ramblings about why there shouldn't be so many people in the gang that can't contribute with money. You had Micah's full support, the rest of the listeners were rather hesitant to agree with you. Arthur had left his spot on the log as soon as he had seen you come over, but yours and Micah's conversation was loud enough to haunt him while he tried to sleep. Somewhat apprehensively, Arthur joined Dutch and you.

Dutch was in high spirits, proclaiming: "Micah told me you two work well together.

You sighed a: "Did he?" While Arthur simultaneously grumbled a "Of course he did..."

"Called you a dream team", Dutch raised his eyebrows, looking at Arthur for confirmation. But before Arthur could open his mouth, Dutch went on: "Javier told me about a lead yesterday. However, I sent him on a different business today and I thought, maybe the two of you could work together to rob a little homestead."

Dutch looked so convinced of this, you supressed rolling your eyes.

"Alright", you crossed your arms in front of your chest. You weren't exactly the type of person to refuse a good lead, especially when it gets suggested by the leader you were told to appease and please.

"What exactly are we talking about?", Arthur asked. His hands settled on his gunbelt, and he looked at Dutch, trying to forget that you were there.

"Javier told me about a family of crazies living in the woods. At Chez Porter, apparently. The talk is that they sit on some cash", Dutch finally took his hand from your shoulder to stroke his mustache.

"Fine. We'll do it. Come on, Morgan", you commanded, heading towards your horse before either Dutch nor Arthur could say anything. Arthur sighed while Dutch chuckled: "Oh my, Arthur. Good luck. I'm sure you can handle her."

I'm not so sure about that, Arthur thought to himself as he followed you to the horses. He watched as you confidently swayed your hips and swung yourself onto your horse. You waited patiently with a cheeky smile on your lips until Arthur had mounted his horse with a grunt.

“Know where we’re headed, Morgan?”, you asked.

“Vaguely.”

“Guess I’ll take the lead then”, you stated, riding on ahead. Arthur let it go, it didn’t feel like this was something worth arguing about. There was no talk between the two of you the whole ride. Sometimes, you could feel his gaze drilling holes into your body from behind, but you ignored it, deciding you wouldn’t give him the attention he’d need to start another argument. You were close to Chez Porter when Arthur finally opened his mouth: “Let’s leave the horses here.”

“We could at least ride them up the hi-“

“We’ll leave them here”, Arthur interrupted, dismounted and gave his horse a few gentle pats on the neck before he took a rifle, “We’ll sneak up and check how many armed people we’re dealing with.”

“Come on, Morgan. The two of us could take out a whole army if we wanted to. You don’t need to be afraid when I’m at your side”, you mocked.

“This is the only reason I am afraid”, Arthur grumbled before the two of you started climbing up the hill. You had a nice view on the property. Arthur took out his binoculars, trying to count how many people were on the ground.

“Okay. We got a big barn in the back…and a large house. Must be a lot of people living here. I ain’t so sure about this. Maybe if we draw ‘em out or somethin’…”, Arthur said. When he removed the binoculars from his eyes to decide on a plan with you, he only found an empty patch of grass next to him. Suddenly, he heard the shots. Only a second later he had eyes on you again, strutting onto the property as if it was yours. Curses were falling from his lips as he sprinted down to catch up with you. Three man were already dead on the ground while you stood far from any cover, aiming for a woman at the upper window of the barn. Arthur shot two men who were running towards you. For a moment, it was silent with only an echo of Arthur’s last gunshot ringing in your ears.

Arthur started to call out your name, but you had seen and killed the last man before he could pull the trigger once.

“Easy!”, you exclaimed and holstered your guns, “Money’s probably in the barn. They really tried protecting it.” You turned around to Arthur, only to see him approaching you angrily.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what? I cleared us the way!"

"You would have been shot if I didn't cover for you. Why didn't you stick to the plan?"

"Because the plan was stupid and just because you are a pretty boy who doesn't want to get his clothes dirty, doesn't mean I'm changing my methods."

"What?", Arthur growled. There was this nick name again. He hated it. Why did it keep following him?

"Oh, you heard me", you replied.

"You think I want Micah to make my life hell, because you bite the dust on a job with me?"

"Micah doesn't care shit about me! It's an unlucky coincidence that we share the same father."

"Okay. Doesn't mean that you can run towards the enemy like-"

"Oh, shut up. Just because you're too yellow."

"Well…maybe I want to live!", Arthur yelled with a grand gesture of his arms.

"Oh bullshit. I can shoot like this because I got nothing to live for, and neither do you. So stop whining."

"You don't know nothin' about me, so-"

"I know you ain't such an idolized fool as your old friend Dutch, so you're definitely not living to prove the government a point, nor do you have a family. And if you did, you sure as hell left them behind years ago or you wouldn't be here!"

"The gang's my family", Arthur said after a short pause.

"Ugh. Sure. Most of them would betray eachother for a handful of gold. Nice family you got"

Arthur didn't answer. He just strut towards the barn that had been so eagerly defended. It didn't take him long to figure out the best hiding place. He moved the crate, though it was hard on his own, to reveal a hatch under which a box had been hidden.  

"Take your cut and get out of here", Arthur harshly slapped a couple of bills into your hands.

"Gladly."

taglist: @xclovers @photo1030 @little-honeypie

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Next Chapter here!

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[merinsedai]

Square/Prompt: D1 knight Hob, replacing sexline

Title: A Giant Problem

Rating: G

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: Legends, the legend of the giant of Shrewsbury, Missing Scene, more anachronistic language

Summary: Part way through his quest to find the chapel of the Black Knight, Sir Robert and his bard encounter a very angry giant who is hell bent on destroying the nearby town of Shrewsbury

A 'missing scene' from my fic, Sir Robert and the Black Knight, but can probably be read just fine without reading that first. This is a short retelling of the Legend of the Giant and the Cobbler, but Dreamling.

Link to ao3

for @dreamlingbingo

Chapter 1

Sir Robert Gadling, knight of Camelot, has a date with destiny. 11 months ago, he rather foolishly chopped the head of a mysterious stranger at King Arthur’s Christmas Feast and is currently on a quest to meet said decapitated stranger at the Black Chapel on New Year’s Day and face his retribution.

New Year’s Day is still a month off, though, and for the preceding four weeks, Sir Robert- or Hob, as he prefers- has been led a merry dance around the countryside by another mysterious stranger, a nameless bard, who had latched himself onto Hob as soon as the knight departed Camelot and whose sole purpose in life seems to now be to get Hob to the Black Chapel by the most dangerous and indirect means possible. 

When they arrived in the town of Shrewsbury, Hob was entirely sure there’d be something he’d need to face or fix in the town. Since his peculiar bard had placed himself in charge of their destinations over the last month, he had done his level best to put Hob in some sort of predicament wherever they went. 

Not here though. They’d ridden in early the previous afternoon, found a room at an inn, ate the best meal of Hob’s life (four weeks of unseasoned winter-thin rabbits and whatever other meagre sustenance the land could offer turned any other meal into a feast) and slept undisturbed all night on mattresses that were ostensibly stuffed with straw but could well have been clouds considering how favourably they’d compared to the frost hard ground Hob was used to. All in all, after a morning spent exploring this pleasant, bustling market town and not once having to leap dramatically to anyone’s rescue, Hob was feeling well rested, well fed and well content. 

As they ride out of the town walls after a magnificent lunch of mutton stew and fresh bread slathered in honest to goodness butter , Hob remarks upon this good fortune to his companion, who favours him with one of his mysterious smiles and heels his mule on faster. Hob follows, still chattering away. His bard lets him talk offering very little in the way of response, and they ride for some time like this, putting some little distance between themselves and the town as the afternoon wears on

“I mean, no foul fiends?!” Hob says, flinging out an arm in a dramatic gesture. “Come on, Ben Beirdd, not even any pesky piskies? I expected something , at least.”

“There are no piskies this far North,” his bard replies serenely “And as for foul fiends-”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a more thriving place outside of Camelot,” Hob interrupts, and lets Gringolet follow the bard’s mule as he finally  swings off the main path and down into the forest surrounding the road. “I know they get the trade off of the river, so it makes sense for a settlement to be here, but this area is well known for being giant country… how has the town survived? I didn’t even see any fortifications?”

“An excellent question,” his bard murmurs, turning to fix Hob with his intense stare. His eyes, always slightly otherworldly, Hob thinks, are the only bright thing in this dead winter woodland. They seem to gather all the light and gleam, despite the overcast weather. “The answer being that the citizens of the town made a deal.”

“A deal?” Hob repeats

“Indeed.”

“A deal. With… the giants?”

“With one giant. His name is Gwendol Wrekin ap Shenkin ap Myndmawr. A most unpleasant sort, by all accounts. Even by giant standards.”

“What sort of deal?” Hob asks uneasily.

“Maidens.”

“Maidens?”

“Yes, Sir Robert. Maidens. Must you repeat everything I say?”

“What do you mean, they made a deal with maidens?” Hob says slowly, though he rather suspects the answer. His bard looks at him and purses his lips. 

“I believe the terms of the deal were that the mayor of Shrewsbury would provide a steady supply of maidens for Gwendol and in return he would refrain from ‘smashing up the town.’” These last words were clearly some sort of direct quotation, and Hob inhales sharply, opening his mouth to say something, but his bard puts up a hand to stop him, and continues.

“To forestall your next inane questions, Sir knight, yes the maidens were eaten by the giant and no, the mayor did not know that was happening to them.” He snorted derisively, “Well, that is what he claims. What else he thought was happening to the stream of young women leaving the town to seek the giant and never returning, I do not know.”

Beneath him, Gringolet snorts and dances a few steps, no doubt sensing the tension of his rider. Hob deliberately unclenches his hands on the reins and gives the horse his head. Sending their womenfolk as tribute… how many women have died for this? How have the citizens not revolted? Surely they know? It cannot be a secret. “Wait,” he says suddenly, whipping round to meet his bard’s eyes again. “You kept saying ‘were’. What has happened? Has the deal been broken?”

Ben Beirdd  smiles thinly. “Quite. A young woman recently returned to the town. The very first to do so. A clever woman, and a cunning one. She at least recognised that no woman ever returned and, knowing much of herblore, concealed about her person some plants with which she brewed the giant a potent sleeping draught. How she persuaded him to drink it is unclear; she is clearly a remarkable woman, but drink it he did, and while he was asleep she stole away and returned to Shrewsbury with her tale… now the truth of the deal is out in the open, and the mayor will not risk the ire of his people by sending any more maidens.”

“Christ on the cross,” Hob says fervently, “What will happen to them now? I can’t see the giant taking kindly to a sudden cessation in his food supply.”

They emerge from the trees quite suddenly and the view opens up before them. Hob draws rein with a muttered curse, hand leaping to his sword. Because there, not a quarter mile distant, sits the slumped shape of a truly enormous giant. He is clearly sleeping, head tilted forward against his chest, rumbling snores clearly audible even at this distance; and beside him on the ground rests a humongous spade piled high with a great mound of earth. 

“No,” Ben Beirdd says mildly as he stops his mule beside Hob’s stallion, “I do not believe he is taking kindly to it at all.”

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

The Unlikely Similarities Between Kittens and Vampires, Chapter 2

Warnings: blood drinking, canon typical violence (not graphic), more sexual tension, Astarion being himself, Sable being a ball of anxiety

Summary: Sable does Astarion a good turn. Astarion doesn't know why.

Notes: "It's just going to be a one-shot," she lies like a liar.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! <3 And a special thanks to all those who commented and reblogged the first chapter! <3 <3

Read on Ao3 here!

One of the first things that Astarion noticed about the resident druid (well, the first resident druid, anyway) is that animals positively adore her. If they stop for a quick meal, a red squirrel finds its way to her shoulder, or a rabbit sits on her foot. One day almost an entire herd of deer just…wandered into the campsite and curled up around the sleeping woman. It was disgustingly cute, in his humble opinion. 

“You’re like a fairytale princess cliché,” he said to her one day. 

She’d rolled her eyes as she fed a tiny mouse an almond. “And not a prince charming to be seen.” 

He’d scoffed, of course. “I am the most charming man you’ll meet in a hundred leagues, thank you. Not a prince, of course, but that could change! Who knows what the future holds, once we get these little tadpoles out.”

Her lips twitched, and she looked like she’d been suppressing laughter, something which he’d been smug about the entire day. 

Then, as they traveled to the goblin camp to rescue the aforementioned second druid, they came across a boar that had been Astarion’s meal the previous night. Her eyes found his after seeing the puncture marks, the exsanguination, and he puffs his chest out, ready to defend himself. But, to his shock…nothing came. There were absolutely no visible signs of anger, or even disapproval. She’d simply patted the boar, almost as if in thanks, and continued on. 

And Astarion had watched her go with his jaw visibly slack. 

////////////////////////////////////////

He stewed on it for hours. And when they finally make camp, he resolves to ask her about why she didn’t say anything. All he has to do was wait for her turn on watch–easy enough since she always took first. 

The fire is crackling merrily, and Sable is staring into the flames, absently petting a bunny who’d made a home on her lap. “Never thought I’d be envious of a rodent, but here we are,” he teases, sitting down beside her. 

The bunny, sensing Astarion’s nature, tenses to flee, and Sable looks down and says…something. The vampire’s eyebrows raise as soft huffs and gentle squeaks emit from the elf’s mouth. He’s about to ask if she’s quite all right when he sees tiny blue motes of magic around her lips, and realizes she’s using a speak with animals spell. 

The bunny seems mollified by whatever she says to it and settles back down, though not without a suspicious look up at him. 

It’s quite odd, feeling insulted by a rabbit. 

“Don’t make this one your dinner, please,” she says softly, going back to giving the small thing gentle strokes. “I’ve told her that you’re a friend of mine and wouldn’t hurt her.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice. And he’s surprised to find that he means it. 

It’s quiet for a bit, the sounds of the forest at night and the crackling of the campfire providing background music. Finally, he looks at her. “That boar, earlier today. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“It’s not up to me when you tell the rest of our group what you are,” she replies softly. 

He blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Huh…

“Well…I’m not usually lost for words,” he finally says. A strange feeling pulls at his gut. Gratitude? No, people don’t do nice things for him without an alternative reason. “In return, let’s say I owe you a favor, hm?” 

Her brows furrow, and she looks at him as if he’s grown two heads. “A…favor?” 

“Yes, a favor. Hasn’t anyone ever owed you anything before?” he asks, looking at her the same way. 

“No,” she replies bluntly. “If I want to help someone, I do it because I want to. Not because I want them indebted to me.” She looks down to the rabbit in her lap, gives it another soft pet, then looks back up at him, meeting his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything, Astarion.” Her lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile. “Though, a ‘thank you’ might be nice.” 

He stares at her. Something in his heart, deep, deep down, softens. It almost aches, so foreign is the feeling of a kindness done simply out of…well, kindness. She can see it, simmering in his eyes, confusion and wonder, and her own heart softens a little more towards him as well. 

Then those emotions are gone, replaced with obviously feigned disgust. “Ugh, you are so sweet you make my teeth ache. I bet if I tasted your blood it would be positively saccharine.” 

To her surprise, she feels a laugh bubbling up. She swallows it down, but grins very faintly. “Better than Lae’zel’s I’m sure. Hers would be like an orange peel mixed with hot peppers and vinegar.” 

Astarion’s nose wrinkles, and if she finds it rather adorable no she doesn’t. “Spicy food I tend to like, but that just sounds awful.” She huffs a small laugh, and he can’t help a small, genuine smile. “Sable. Thank you, truly.” 

She gives him the same type of smile back. “You’re welcome.” 

He couldn’t stop himself. He reaches out and tucks a flyaway lock of hair behind her pointed ear. Her skin is warm. It makes the pads of his fingers tingle, and her cheeks bloom in a gentle blush. He has to drag his eyes away from the sight, because his teeth are aching in a much different way now. “But honestly, I was surprised you weren’t angry about the boar. You do seem like animals more than people.” 

“Why would I be?” she asks in confusion. “You’re a predator of sorts, and that boar was your prey. Perfectly natural.”

“Yes, I mean, you’re not wrong, but–fairytale princess, remember?” he replies huffily, waving his hand at her dramatically. “I figured you’d be mad at me about draining a possible…eh, friend, or whatever.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Astarion, loving animals means that I love all sides of them, predator and prey. Some animals have to die for others to live, that’s just…how nature works.” The bunny on her lap makes a noise that says exactly how she feels about that statement. “Besides, it’s not like you have many other options.” 

“Well…you’re not wrong,” he replies slowly, and his sanguine eyes start to gleam. “Unless…”

“...unless?” she asks warily. 

“Would you like to help me with a little experiment?” he purrs. 

The bunny on her lap feels her tense slightly, and takes off, running into the forest. “That depends entirely on the experiment,” she replies, staring at him suspiciously. 

“Nothing dangerous, I promise!” he rushes to assure her. “You see…” He purses his lips for a moment, indecision plain on his face, his eyes darting as if searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked out loud. “...I’m a vampire, yes, but not a true vampire. I’m a vampire spawn, turned by…well, a very bad man.” His eyes darken for a moment, before they clear and look back to her. “Anyway, vampire spawns are compelled to follow the orders of their masters. One of his orders was that I cannot drink the blood of thinking creatures. However…” He flaps a hand up toward the sky. “I should have been ash when I woke up in the sun after the crash. I also shouldn’t be able to cross rivers and streams without pain, or enter all the buildings we’ve gone into without invitation.” 

Sable blinks as understanding washes over her. “So you think this has to do with tadpole?” 

“Precisely! Smart girl,” he praises, and she blushes faintly again. “So, if the tadpole is shielding me from all those pesky side effects of being a vampire, maybe it’s also shielding me from his commands.” 

“...so you want to try drinking my blood,” she says, getting to the heart of it. 

“If you’d be so kind as to oblige me, yes,” he replies, his eyes resting on her throat. 

Her lips purse, and for a long, long moment she just stares at him. “...has this been a command the entire time you’ve been a spawn?” she finally asks. 

“Yes,” he replies simply. 

“So you’ve never drank blood from anything other than animals before, have you?” 

“...no. You’d be my first, so to speak,” he replies with a little, almost bashful, chuckle. 

“Then how about we start with something small. I don’t like the idea of you tasting higher blood for the first time and losing yourself in it when it’s my neck,” she says wryly. 

“Well, I can’t blame you,” he admits reluctantly. “What did you have in mind?” 

She lifts her hand towards him. “Take a drop from a finger.” 

He blinks. “A drop? Only a drop?” 

“I said something small. If you can handle a drop without going into a blood frenzy, then…I’ll let you at my neck. Sound fair?” 

He very much looks like he wants to pout, before he sighs and nods. “If this is what will put you at ease, my dear Sable, then I am fine with it.” His hands come up, cupping gently around the one she holds out to him. He meets her eyes, and for a moment the usual smug glibness, the haughtiness, falls away. He looks…earnest. “But you can trust me. You’ve done right by me so far. I’ll do right by you in turn.” 

She looks at their hands, his slender, clever fingers so gentle on her skin. She’s not sure if the goosebumps running up her arms are from his cold flesh, or the touch itself. 

She decides she doesn’t want to dwell on it. 

Swallowing hard, she has to look away, back towards the fire. “G-Go on then. One drop for now.” 

“As you say.” 

He brings her hand to his mouth, which opens eagerly. His cool breath glides over her skin, and she has to suppress a shiver. Delicately, almost hesitantly, the very tip of one razor sharp fang punctures into the pad of her middle finger, before retreating. A single, shining drop of crimson wells up, and he looks at it as if it were precious. His eyes dart to hers, who had looked back to watch, and he maintains eye contact as his tongue slips from his mouth to lick the ruby bead away. 

They both gasp. Her from feeling his slick muscle on her skin, cheeks bursting into a blush. Him at the fact that he did it, he’s able to go against the command…

…and at how absolutely delicious her blood is. 

His eyes close as he savors the drop on the tip of his tongue, and the moan that leaves his throat is positively sexual. Her heart jumps in her throat as that same feeling from a few days ago comes back, that strange spark of arousal settling again in her lower belly. And when he opens his eyes to look at her, there’s only a thin ring of red, his pupils expanding as he feels something similar. 

“I was right,” he purrs, and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of her finger. “You are the sweetest thing that’s ever been in my mouth…” 

That spark jumps, kindles into a candle. She stares at him, her own eyes blown wide as emotions she doesn’t normally feel start to swamp her. 

So she does what she always does when she’s overwhelmed. 

She turns into a tiny, pure black cat and climbs up the nearest tree. 

He blinks. Then he blinks again. That was…certainly not what he expected out of that encounter. 

He stands and makes his way over to the tree, peering up, trying to see her in the branches. “Sable, darling, I…I apologize if I was too forward, but did you really need to do this?” 

No response.

He sighs, crossing his arms. “Do not make me come up there after you.” 

The smallest little mew drifts down to his ears on the breeze. 

“...you know I can’t understand you like this.” He taps his foot impatiently, glowering up into the tree. “Meow once for yes, and twice for no. Do you want me to leave you alone?” 

It’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that he’s about to turn around and go back to his tent. But then, two small meows reach his ears, and he sighs. “Oh, very well. You’re lucky I like you.” He climbs up into the first branch, swearing under his breath as he pulls himself up to lean against the trunk. “I’m not going any higher, Sable,” he warns. 

After a moment, the tiny form of the druid leaps down and sits next to him. She doesn’t meet his gaze, and if a cat could look embarrassed…

Something tugs behind his eye, and her voice drifts into his head. Sorry, Astarion. I…this is…what I do when things get…too much. 

I suppose I can understand. I am very overwhelming, he thinks back smugly. She rolls her little eyes at him. …but I am sorry, if I went too far.

She’s quiet. The tugging in his head stops, and she steps closer and curls up on the branch, her back pressed against his thigh. 

He couldn’t stop the smile that tugs his lips up if he tried. Gently, he rubs a single finger in a soft scritch over her head, and to his delight she starts to purr. “Oh, you’re never living this down, darling,” he says to her, but the purring doesn’t stop. 

They sit there, vampire and kitten, as the camp sleeps peacefully, and he does his best to ignore the unfamiliar ache in his long-dead heart.