#drawing hobbits must be so hard if you can’t draw feet

[frodo-with-glasses]

I guess it’s time I gave you guys an official Merry and Pippin! Bucklanders are river-faring people, so Merry is a Huckleberry Finn-looking son of a Brandybuck, and Pippin is just here to be pure and stupid and purely stupid.

#meriadoc brandybuck #merry #peregrin took #pippin #lord of the rings #lotr #my art #original design #pippin out here singlehandedly raising the average number of freckles in the shire by like ten percent #drawing hobbits must be so hard if you can’t draw feet

[fruitcoops]

Hello!! I’d also love to read the hobbit fic. I love everything you write!

Hello! I’m so so SO happy people are interested in my other work, even if it’s terribly tragic and angsty! Please read the tw for this work, since it does get pretty intense even with a happy ending. 

For context: this is a snippet of an Tolkien AU I never wrote where the marauders and co are on an adventure and James has healing powers.

TW: temporary major character death, heavy angst, blood/ mild gore, fighting, grief, “enemies to lovers but I’m dying” trope, happy ending

The cold stone digging into Sirius’ cheek did little to shock him from his daze and trembled beneath him as heavy footsteps approached. The screech of metal on metal had been the harbinger of death for too many already. What was one more?

An iron-clad foot landed on his shoulder and rolled him onto his back—he groaned as the edges dug into muscle, leaving him breathless with pain. He was battered, bruised, soon to be broken. Make it quick, he prayed as the axe rose high. Remus, I’m sorry.

There was a flash of movement overhead and the beast stumbled; the swing went wide and slammed against the cliff’s edge as its head was wrenched backward. Long legs locked around its thick neck and an angular face, twisted in a snarl, swam into focus through Sirius’ hazy vision.

“Remus,” he managed, little more than a whisper. “Remus, no.”

Midnight blood trickled from the troll’s neck where a bowstring cut into it. “Go!” Remus shouted as he pulled back with all his might. “Run, you idiot!”

He heaved in a breath and tried to get to his feet, but pain radiated through his torso and he barely made it to his knees before the beast roared and snatched at Remus, who leaned sideways just a touch too far and rolled onto the hard ground. The troll ripped his bow off its neck and threw it to the ground, then lunged for him; Remus dodged, turned, and shoved its arm into the corner of the rock with a harsh crack. The axe tumbled over the side and vanished into the mist.

Sirius must have made some sort of noise as he struggled to get up—get up, broken ribs be damned—because Remus’ gaze snapped toward him.

It happened too fast for Sirius to even gasp. One moment, Remus was reaching to deflect the troll’s trunklike arm from coming down on his head; the next, his eyes flared wide with shock and he sucked in a shuddering breath. The beast twisted the jagged knife in his stomach and yanked it out.

Remus dropped like a broken marionette.

Sirius’ vision blurred again, and not from pain. Distantly, he registered drawing his sword, but the next thing he knew the troll was dead and his hands were covered in blood and Remus was going cold in his arms.

Remus’ mouth twisted with frantic pain. “Sirius.”

“I’ve got you, you’re alright.” His tongue was thick between his teeth and he could feel his whole body shaking while he pressed a hand down on the dark stain spreading across Remus’ torso. “Just hold on, you’re going to be fine.”

“Hurts,” Remus whimpered, grabbing the front of his shirt with clumsy fingers. “Hurts. I’m so sorry.”

“You saved my life.” Sirius’ voice wavered as tears filled his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Remus shook his head; his bloodstained lips were growing paler by the second. “I didn’t say it sooner. I’m sorry.”

A sob ripped from Sirius’ chest as he gathered him tighter, feeling his weak heartbeat under his palm as his fingers turned red. “Don’t you dare, not now. Not here. Say it when you’re healed, alright? Say when I can hold you properly.”

“Has to be now.” Remus took a few staccato breaths, then exhaled slowly. He reached up and cradled Sirius’ cheek with surprising gentleness. Sirius braced himself. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. Sirius, I wanted forever with you, I’m so sorry.”

It was so, so much worse than Sirius had imagined. Tears traced down Remus’ forearm as he leaned into the touch and let the words spill over his lips. “I love you too, you beautiful, reckless archer.”

“Knight in—” Remus coughed again and jolted in his arms, sending a thin trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. “Knight in shining armor, huh?”

“That’s right,” Sirius sniffled. He brushed stray curls off Remus’ forehead and his tawny eyes slipped shut for a moment. Cold fear flooded Sirius’ veins. “Remus, love, keep your eyes open. Keep them on me.”

A small smile spread over his face despite his small shudders of pain. “How could I ever look away?”

“You’re not allowed to.” Sirius tightened his grip. “Listen. You are not allowed to stop looking at me.”

Remus’ eyes turned sad as his hand dipped down to play at the collar of Sirius’ shirt, too weak to go higher. “I think I have to.”

“No.”

“Sirius—”

“We still have so much to do.” Something heavy stuck in his throat. “I need—I need to show you the stars back home, the ones you’ve never seen.”

The smile returned, molasses-slow and twitching up at one side. Crooked and beautiful, just like him. “The archer.”

“That’s right.” His gaze unfocused and Sirius quickly rubbed his shoulder. “That’s you, your constellation. Just keep looking at me, alright? James will be here soon, and—and Lily, and Dorcas, and Marlene, and Pete, and we’ll all be just fine. I love you.”

Every breath rattled in Remus’ chest, but he kept smiling up at Sirius. “Hey. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good,” Sirius gasped out. “Good, that’s good. Come on, love, tell me what I can do to help.”

“Hold me.” His abdomen spasmed under Sirius’ damp hand. “Tell me what we’ll do together.”

“We’ll climb the tallest tree we can find and lay down on the top branches while the moon rises.” Tears coursed in stinging rivers down his face, dripping onto stone and pallid skin. “I’ll teach you every constellation I know, and then we can make up new ones. You’re so bloody clever, so you’ll think up the best ones. That’s why I love you.”

“I never hated you, you know.”

Sirius’ chest hurt from holding in a sob. “I know.”

“I’ve loved you since the day we met. I just didn’t know it.”

“Me, too.”

“Wasn’t all that clever of me to fight a troll with a bow, was it?” Remus’ tone was teasing, but his face was sad as a few tears slid down his cheekbone. Sirius wiped them away with a careful hand, forcing back a wince at the chill. “Though I guess you could call that creati—”

He cut off with a coughing fit, grabbing for Sirius’ cuff and sleeve. His mouth opened and closed a few times, soundless, before his head lolled to the side. “No, no, eyes on me. Please don’t do this, Remus.”

With a harsh inhale, he looked up once again, brows furrowing in concern. "You're too beautiful to cry like that. Why are you sad?" 

Because you're dying and I can't do a damn thing but hold you. Because I'd fight a hundred armies and die a thousand times just so you could live. Because we were supposed to have time. "Because I don't want you to leave me."

Remus' fingers, light as a butterfly's wings on his loved ones and deadlier than anything on a bow, were limp on Sirius' arm. A sudden spark of understanding crossed over his pale face and he softened. "You have to let me go." 

"No." 

"You have to." 

"I won't." He shook his head adamantly and tried to coax blood back into those cold hands. "This is not supposed to happen, not like this." 

"Sirius." A barely-there squeeze. "I love you so much, but you have to let me go." 

A high, horrible sound ripped from his clogged throat. "I'm sorry." 

"You saved my life. You have nothing to be sorry for." There was a look in Remus' eyes, then, a look that Sirius knew the name for and didn't dare say aloud. Then it faded, and he blinked slowly. "I'm so tired, Sirius." 

Who would have guessed that nodding once was the hardest thing Sirius would ever have to do? "Sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up."

Remus leaned his face into the crook of Sirius’ elbow, keeping steady eye contact until lilac lids shuttered liquid gold. “I lo…”

His hand fell from Sirius’ and hit the cold ground. His chest went still with a soft sigh.

Sirius could barely breathe. There was a ringing in his ears that grew louder and louder until he heard nothing else, even though his throat began to sting from screaming. He pulled Remus closer to his chest and held him, desperately searching the mist for anyone who could help. His eyes landed on the sturdy bow with a snapped string lying mere feet away, and he broke. 

He didn't know how long he wept. Minutes. Hours. Years. He begged and pleaded and cursed until he was hollow inside, save for the agony that devoured everything. It must be possible to die of a broken heart, he thought. It must be, because I can't imagine anything else hurting this much. It felt as though someone was ripping him apart seam by seam and all he could do was apologize before going silent.

Hold me. Hold me. Hold me and tell me. I love you.

Soon—or maybe later, time was a fickle thing—long shadows stretched ahead of him and he raised his head. He didn't care if they were trolls or soldiers or more beasts; there was nothing left for them to take. "Sirius?"

He knew that voice. That voice was safety. It was home. "James." 

"We heard shouting, what—” James stopped. Someone behind him screamed, long and loud. "Sirius, what's in your arms?" There was a beat of silence as Sirius tried to balance his hearing again. "Sirius, what are you holding?" 

The last remaining tears in his body flooded out as he uncurled just enough to show them. Remus' face was peaceful, but the mess of blood on his stomach that had transferred to Sirius' shirt was not. "He was protecting me," he said. "The knife—I couldn't do anything—” 

"No." James' voice cracked; the screaming had turned into uncontrollable sobbing. "No, that's—that's Remus. That's Remus."

"He said he loved me." The words tripped over one another as they left his mouth. James didn't need to know this, but he couldn't stop. "He said he loved me and asked me to hold him, so I did. He told me I had to let him go, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to, James, I didn't want to." 

“I know.” Warm, shaking hands fell on him, one on his neck and the other around Remus’ back. “I know you didn’t.”

Sirius' shoulders crumpled as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. "Make it stop." 

"Make what stop?" 

"This." He released Remus' lower back and grappled for James' wrist with a sticky hand, pressing it against his chest. "It hurts so much. Please, Jamie, you have no idea what this feels like." 

“I don’t—Sirius—” James bit his lip and closed his eyes, then opened them a second later with a shocked look on his face. “I have an idea.”

“Please—”

The shock gave way to diamond-hard determination and he squeezed Sirius’ hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you have to let him go one more time.”

Something lurched in Sirius’ gut. “I can’t. I promised to hold him.”

“Sirius, I can fix this.”

"He's gone. I felt it. It's too late."

“Maybe not.” Gently, he pried Sirius’ arms away and helped him lay Remus on the stone.

He looked frail there. False. “You’re a healer, James, not a necromancer. Healers can’t—”

“I don’t give a shit. Rules are for cowards.” James unbuckled his arm guards and stretched his hands over Remus’ chest, taking a slow breath. “Alright, Remus, heal for me.”

Faint light pulsed from his palms, then dissolved. Sirius felt his last bit of hope wither. “It’s too late.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” James muttered through gritted teeth. The light returned, stronger this time, before sinking into Remus’ chest. “Remus John Lupin, you have unfinished business here and you know it. I will personally drag you back here if I have to. A ghost isn’t good enough.”

A high-pitched whining noise filled the air and Sirius tasted metal at the back of his mouth. “James,” Lily warned from the huddled group behind him.

“You’ve never given up easy, have you? Come on, you stubborn fucker, heal!” James slammed his hands down and white light blazed around them; Sirius shielded his eyes on instinct and felt a strong wind whip up as shouts of alarm echoed off the sides of the cliff.

Something knocked against his knees with a sharp gasp. The light dimmed, and he carefully peeked around the side of his arm.

The first thing he saw was amber. Clear, warm, alive amber. “You’re here,” Remus croaked.

Sirius felt a slightly hysterical smile tug at the sides of his mouth. “Told you I’d be here when you woke up.”

“I…died.”

“Yeah.” James seemed torn between ecstatic and utterly exhausted.

“You brought me back?”

“Uh-huh.” He listed to the side and Remus caught him easily before he hit the ground.

“And you…?” Remus blinked at Sirius in surprise, hesitantly touching his hand. “You stayed?”

“Cried a lot. It’s a good thing you’re a fighter. One of the things I love about you, actually.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck, before his whole face split into the most radiant smile Sirius had ever seen and he began to laugh, dragging him in for a tight hug. Sirius clutched the back of his shirt and nestled his face in the bend of his shoulder until he was pulled away rather suddenly and reeled back in for a fervent kiss. "I love you. I love you. I'm sorry," Remus said against his lips. It seemed as if he was breathing Sirius in. 

It was difficult, but Sirius pulled away and folded his hands over Remus' where they rested on his face. "I love you so much. Now that you're alive, I can tell you you're an idiot for trying to take on a damn troll with just your bow." 

Remus just laughed and kissed him again, deep and slow. They broke apart again as the others fell on them in a tangle of tears and laughter; Sirius closed his eyes and held tight to whoever was in reach as the agony in his chest subsided. The pain was still there—he had definitely broken a few ribs—but he no longer felt hollow. Buzzing warmth filled every crack that had splintered through him. Love, he thought giddily. That's love.

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] love is a choice (bridgerton au)

Bilbo can’t sleep that night. 

He’d only wanted to apologise to Thorin, not completely bare his heart and confess. But it had been so hard to resist, especially when Thorin had looked like that and had danced with him like they were the only two creatures on Eru’s green Arda. He had thrown down the handkerchief, so to speak, and it was up to Thorin to decide whether or not he’d catch it. 

Still, doing it under Lobelia’s nose was terrifying. If things go pear-shaped even from this point onwards, even when it was as clear as the hair on his feet that Thorin cared for him as well, then. Well. Maybe at least there won’t be a wedding and Lobelia won’t get her claws into Bag End. 

With a groan, he gets up from his bed. A glance at the fob watch on his nightstand tells him it’s almost dawn. Losing an entire night of sleep is ridiculous, but at least there aren’t any other social engagements to dread except his own wedding on Lithe-day. Lobelia probably picked that date so that he won’t forget in the future.

Pernicious indeed.

Bilbo throws on his dressing-gown and leaves his room, padding out into the parlour where he’d put his mother’s painting. With a sigh, he takes a seat in his armchair opposite the painting and stares at it, watches the colours and details slowly starting to burst into life with the lightening sky outside the window. 

“Mum,” he says after a moment, “if you know anything, please tell me I didn’t just make the biggest prat out of myself last night.”

Confessing his love to a Dwarf-king. His mother would love that. 

“I mean, even though Gandalf tried to be reassuring — in that meddling and cryptic way of his, of course — I still can’t help but worry. Was it too much? Did I overstep? He is a King, after all, and I’m just me.”

The painting doesn’t respond, but the sound of birdsong begins to fill the morning air. Bilbo sighs, rising out of his armchair and heading to his front door. He opens it, looking out at the first light creeping over the Water down at the base of the Hill. 

There’s a figure coming up the Hill in the soft pre-dawn light. 

Bilbo exhales, his heart jumping into his throat as he does so. The figure is clad in just his shirt and breeches, as if he, too, had slept nary a wink the night before. There’s no mistaking who he is, as the Bigger Folk really do make such a racket with their boots and breathing, but in this moment all Bilbo can think is how wonderful the morning light looks as it highlights little veins of silver in Thorin’s hair and beard. 

Thorin, Thorin, Thorin. Bilbo runs his name over and over on his tongue, lets the sounds fill his mind in the sweetest of ways. Hurriedly, he runs out his front door, vaulting over the gate at the bottom of his garden. His neighbours have yet to rise, and he doesn’t particularly fancy waiting for them to do so. He rushes down the Road, meeting Thorin halfway up the Hill. 

“I must speak,” says Thorin quickly, stopping him dead in the middle of the Road. His hands twitch a little, as if wanting to pull Bilbo closer. Bilbo nods frantically, twisting his fingers behind his back. “I have not slept all night, thinking of your words to me at the ball. I had thought, even up until then, that asking you to be mine would be like picking a flower from the ground — that it would be a death sentence to your happiness if I were to take you from here to be my consort.”

Bilbo swallows, not knowing what to say to that, or if indeed he could say anything. 

“When I first met you, I had thought you to be like all the others — coddled, sheltered, unwilling to look beyond their own. But as we continued in our false courtship — as we grew closer, I realised you were more than that, and that I genuinely enjoyed being in your company. Your laughter, your wit, your kindness — they were what kept me coming back to you again, and again, and again.”

Slowly, Thorin steps in even closer, and Bilbo looks up at him, heart hammering so loud he swears everyone in Hobbiton can hear it. Thorin holds out a hand, and Bilbo takes it, feeling the coolness in his fingertips and the calluses of kingship etched into his skin. 

“And when you said you would walk through the fire for me,” continues Thorin, his voice now little more than a whisper, “when you said you burned for me, I knew. Of all of Sulladad’s creations, you are the one I burn for, too.”

Bilbo huffs in amusement at that. “Are you truly burning, Thorin? Your hands are so cold.” 

Thorin laughs at that, and Bilbo takes that as a sign to kiss his knuckles, his own heart warmed by the early morning sun. 

“I had thought I would never marry,” Thorin admits, smiling as Bilbo pulls back to look at him again. He presses their foreheads together, continuing, “I had thought love to be a madness, like the grief that took my father, and the fear that took my grandfather.”

One of his hands comes up, cupping Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo leans into it, unable to tear his gaze away from how soft and loving Thorin’s eyes are, especially when gilded in the light. 

Thorin’s smile only grows wider at that. “I have never been so wrong in all of my life,” he murmurs, before capturing Bilbo’s lips in a kiss so thoroughly and utterly perfect that even when they break for air, Bilbo can still feel the ghost of the kiss against his skin. He surges in, his arms wrapping around Thorin’s shoulders, drawing him even closer. 

“Are you done confessing, you silly Dwarf?” he asks against Thorin’s ear. “Because the answer to the question you didn’t exactly ask is yes. I would.”

“Run away with me,” replies Thorin.

Bilbo grins as he pulls back. “It is Hobbit tradition,” he concedes. “But neither of us are dressed just yet.”

“You are about to run out on your own engagement.” Thorin’s answering grin is wide, mischievous. “Surely the pony has long since bolted from the stable.”

Bilbo laughs at that, tugging him by the hand back up the Hill to Bag End. “At least let me pack a bag,” he says. “And get a handkerchief. Can’t go on an adventure without a handkerchief.”

Thorin chuckles, stopping just short of the threshold of Bag End. “Promise you will not vanish on me?” he asks. 

Bilbo grins. “I will be there and back again before you even miss me,” he replies.

“But I already miss you,” protests Thorin.

“Silly Dwarf.” Bilbo raises himself up onto his tiptoes, pecking him softly. With that, he rushes back into Bag End, grabbing his knapsack as he does. 

Holman is already waiting for him with his clothes for the day. “Was that the Dwarf-king at the door?” he asks. 

Bilbo can’t help but laugh at that, as he shrugs out of his night-clothes and into the outfit laid out for him. “Sharp as ever, Holman,” he says. “Now, I’m going to be going away for a while, and I shan’t be back for some time.”

“Oh, congratulations,” says Holman happily. He takes Bilbo’s knapsack and starts packing stuff for him, grinning all the while. “I suppose this means Lobelia won’t be bossing me around any time soon.” 

“Absolutely not,” agrees Bilbo, buttoning up his own breeches and shrugging into his coat. He follows his valet out to the pantry, where some basic provisions are being wrapped in cheese-cloths and placed into the knapsack as well. “You must promise to look after Bag End for me, alright? Make sure Lobelia doesn’t steal anything. Change the lock on it, if you must.” 

“Of course, Mr Baggins.” Holman helps him shoulder the now-packed knapsack, before pressing a walking-stick into his hand. “Good luck with the Dwarf-king.”

Bilbo chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. He takes one more look around at Bag End, smiling as he sees his mother’s painting in the parlour.

And then he heads back out his front door, to where Thorin and an awfully big adventure are waiting for him. 

#tolkien #the hobbit #bridgerton au #bagginshield #lily's dabbles #i keep pushing off using this song title but i hope this is it i hope this Is The Moment

[ma-sulevin]

12. the one where soulmates can heal each other’s injuries.

The prompt is from @softmillers​ and Dakota belongs to the light of our life @tommymillers​

This is a long prompt (8199 words oops) and it has some TLOU canon-typical violence and some moderately spicy scenes. If this were AO3, I’d tag it as M.

Life inside the QZ was shit, but life outside the fallen QZ is shittier. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was alone, but with Lucy at his side, depending on him, looking up to him, crying every time she has to fall asleep in a place that isn’t the shitty city apartment she grew up in... It’s hard. It’s so hard, and it feels like he’s failing her every day they wake up and walk farther away from the mess in Seattle.

He knows it’s for the best, but he still feels like he’s failing her.

They walk south, out of Washington, away from the rain and the city with all the memories, good and bad, of his life before. Lucy holds his hand as they walk and starts sucking her thumb again at night, but she’s brave, the bravest kid he knows, and he tells her that every morning as he braids her hair again to keep it out of her face.

She deserves a home, and he’s going to find it for them.

Portland is worse than Seattle was, and his hometown doesn’t exist anymore, but they hear a rumor about a town in Wyoming that’s self-sufficient, not run by Hunters or WLF or Fireflies or FEDRA, and even though it’s so many miles away he’s not sure they’ll both be able to walk there... Lucy looks up at him with her big blue eyes and he knows he’d walk clear across to Atlanta if it would keep her safe.

She’s already seen more than she should ever have seen. 

If he can just find them a home...

They’re still in Oregon when they find a house to camp in for a couple of days, just to rest. Their walking blisters have long since hardened into calluses, but Lucy can barely stay awake all day and he’s afraid she’s going to get sick if he keeps pushing her. It’s not safe, but this house is the safest they’ve found. There’s no spores or infected or Hunters that he can find on his sweep, and there are still some canned goods that haven’t spoiled.

They eat dinner and clean up with the supplies the house’s old owners left behind, and Lucy falls asleep against his chest as he tells her the story of The Hobbit from memory. 

She finds some books in one of the house’s bedrooms the next morning and curls up with her breakfast to read on the couch. It makes tears well up in his eyes, watching her sit on a dusty couch under a moth-eaten blanket, reading a faded book like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

He goes outside and breathes in the fresh air, still crisp this early in spring, and lets himself imagine them staying there forever, being safe without having to walk halfway across the continent. She could grow up in a real house with miles of land around her -- she wouldn’t have had that even if the outbreak hadn’t happened. Morgan never wanted to live outside the city, and they’d been making it work before, well.

Before.

The distinctive rack of a shotgun pulls him from his spiraling thoughts, an intimate reminder of why they’re trying to find a town. He raises his hands and turns slowly, cold sweat breaking out along his hairline.

“You alone?” The Hunter is standing a few feet away from him, too far for him to be able to grab the shotgun away from her, dirt and dried blood smeared across her face and a deadly look in her eyes. 

“No.” She raises her eyebrows at him so he adds, “I don’t have any supplies on me, but there’s canned food in the house. If you let me--”

“Daddy?” Lucy’s voice cuts across his and he flinches, but the Hunter does too. She takes a step back and lowers the shotgun, though she doesn’t take her finger off the trigger. “Who’s that?”

“Sweetie, can you go get some of the cans we found and bring them out here for me?” He looks over his shoulder, trying to keep the Hunter in his line of sight at the same time, and sees Lucy hesitate. “It’s okay, just go grab what you can carry.”

She does what she’s told, leaving the front door open as she disappears back into the house. 

He turns back to the Hunter. “Take what you need and leave us alone. We’re just passing through.”

“That’s your daughter?” He nods, and she chews on her bottom lip as she stares past him at the door. “How old is she?”

“Eight.”

The Hunter draws in a deep breath, then she flicks the safety on her shotgun. 

He lowers his hands.

“I didn’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything even though it looks like there’s real regret on her face. She keeps her shotgun in one hand but doesn’t move otherwise, waiting with him as Lucy crashes through the house.

Lucy comes back out with her arms full of cans and drops one on the stairs. It rolls into the overgrown grass without her noticing, and she marches right up to the Hunter before Tyler has the chance to tell her to put the cans on the porch and go back inside.

“Here you go,” she says, voice strong. She’s always liked to help, and even the shotgun isn’t enough now to make her feel like the Hunter can’t be trusted, not if her dad wants to share their food. Tyler waits to see what the Hunter will do, and he raises his eyebrows when she puts the shotgun in its holster on her back so she can take the cans with both hands. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m okay,” the Hunter says, shoving the cans into a bag that’s suspiciously empty. “I’m just gonna--”

“If you don’t clean it, you’ll get an infection and die.” Lucy’s very matter-of-fact, parroting words Tyler’s explained to her more than once over the years, though not quite in that order. That she remembers, not the lecture about not trusting strangers. “Right?” She turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips. 

Tyler meets the Hunter’s eyes, then looks back down at Lucy. “Yes, but she can clean it later. You need to go back inside.” 

Lucy looks back up at the Hunter, who smiles gently, then back up at him. “But we have soap here.”

“Lucy. Go inside.” He thinks she’s going to pitch a fit, just for a second, because she screws her face up at him in a moment of pure irritation. He stares back at her and she deflates. The fight goes out of her and she goes back into the house by herself.

She slams the door this time, so maybe the fight isn’t all the way out of her.

“She’s cute.” The Hunter is still smiling a little, like she wasn’t just trying to rob him blind and probably leave him for dead. “She seems like a handful. Is it… just the two of you?”

“Are you going to bring your group back here?” His voice is hard, anger at Lucy being in danger pushing his words. “I told you we’re just passing through. You got your food, now you need to leave.”

She holds her hands up in surrender, the smile dropping from her lips. “Okay. Okay.”

She walks away and he watches her until he can’t see her anymore, then he turns and picks the dropped can back up. It isn’t dented, isn’t opened at all, so he brings it with him back into the house.

Lucy’s sitting on the couch, fat tears rolling down her face. She runs over when he shuts the front door and wraps her little arms around his waist. He hauls her up into his arms and she clings to him as he carries her back to the couch and sits down with her.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, voice low, his hand rubbing over her back. “You just have to listen to me, especially out here. Not everyone is a friend.”

“She was hurt.” Lucy’s voice is wet and small, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

“I know, sweetie. She’s okay, though. We gave her some food and she’ll go back to her group and they’ll be fine.”

He waits until Lucy calms down to tell her they have to leave. He doesn’t know where the rest of the Hunters are, but he’s not going to be here when they get back. He wanted them to rest longer, but now it isn’t safe.

They take as much food as they can carry, and he pretends he doesn’t notice Lucy sneaking a few more paperbacks into her little dirty backpack. He’ll probably have to carry them for her later, but right now… if they make her happy, it’s worth it.

They don’t see another human for two more days. This time it’s a man, outside a gas station, and Tyler can smell the trap a mile away. Lucy must be able to too, or she learned her lesson from the house, because she tightens her grip on his hand and lets him keep her on the far side of the street.

The man follows them.

Tyler’s just shifting Lucy so she’ll be behind him when he turns when he hears the sound of another fucking shotgun racking. He flips around, pistol out, Lucy tucked so close behind him she won’t be able to see anything, and he sees the Hunter from before with her shotgun leveled at the new man.

She’s not looking at Tyler. All her focus is on this new guy, anger curling her lips until her teeth are bared in a snarl. “You wanna rethink that?”

The man puts his hands up, keeping his fingers away from his pistol’s trigger. 

The woman glances at Tyler. “Grab that.”

He does, tucking it back where he keeps his.

The woman gestures at the man with her shotgun. “Don’t let me see your face again.”

The man spits at her, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lower the shotgun until he disappears back behind the gas station.

“You two good?”

Lucy pops her head out from behind him. “Hi!”

“Hey, sweetie. You okay?”

Lucy nods, but she puts her thumb in her mouth anyway. Tyler pulls it out and wraps his hand around hers instead. 

“You following us?”

The woman shrugs and grins a little. “Seems like a happy coincidence. Got here just in time, at least. You two heading east?”

Tyler hesitates, but nods. “We heard about a settlement that’s supposed to be safe. We figured it was worth the risk.”

“A safe settlement east of us? The one in Wyoming?”

“You been?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, but I’ve heard about it. I was thinking about going that way too, maybe… Three of us traveling together might be safer?”

She asks the question confidently, but there’s real hesitation in her eyes. She’s uncertain about his answer, worried that he’ll say no after what happened at the house.

Lucy tugs on his hand. When he looks down at her, he can tell she wants the woman to come with them.

He looks back at her and presses his lips together before he nods.

Her face breaks into a wide smile, and even under the grime and blood, she’s beautiful.

“I’m Tyler,” he says, and he lifts Lucy’s hand a little, “and this is Lucy.”

“Dakota,” she says, looking from him to Lucy and back. “Let’s get going.”

She still has most of the food she took from them, which makes him feel better about a future ambush. She doesn’t apologize for holding him up, but she does pool her food in with theirs when it’s time to stop for the night, and she says she’ll take whichever watch he wants her to so they can all get enough sleep to keep walking the next day.

Lucy loves her, asks her a million questions until she gets tired and wants Tyler to hold her, and then Dakota takes some of his supplies so he can. 

He finds himself trusting her faster than he should. He knows better than this. He knows better than to be fooled by a pretty smile and dark eyes, and even though it’s been seven years since Morgan died… it still feels like a betrayal of him, somehow, to look at Dakota and find her beautiful.

He tries to focus on Lucy, on keeping his eyes and ears on the world around them, on getting them safe to Jackson when it’s hard to follow maps that are a decade out of date. He tries to focus on listening for any infected, to make sure Lucy doesn’t have to see them, to make sure none get close enough to threaten either of them.

Well. Any of them, really.

Dakota’s part of the group now whether he likes it or not.

(And he does like it. He just tries not to think about it.)

They find another house a few weeks later, similar to the first one they stopped in, and they set up for the night once it’s cleared. Lucy takes a bath while Dakota goes out to see if she can catch anything to eat, and he brushes out and braids her hair while Dakota cooks up the rabbit she managed to find.

It’s very domestic, very relaxed, and Tyler finds himself drifting closer and closer to Dakota the longer the night goes on, but… she seems like she’s drifting closer to him too, a little smile on her face whenever she catches him looking at her.

Lucy demands a story for bedtime, snuggled up in one of the house’s empty beds, and he tells her part of Star Wars: A New Hope, talking to her in a low voice until she falls asleep.

Dakota is pouring over the maps when he comes back into the living room, sitting on the couch with the coffee table pulled up close, a towel still in her hands to wring water out of her hair. He sits next to her when she smiles at him, and watches as she points at where they are and where they need to be going to get to Jackson.

“This is the best time to be traveling,” she says, voice pitched low so she won’t wake up Lucy. “You don’t want to be out here when it starts to snow.”

“Have you been caught out here in the winter?”

He knows almost nothing about her, not really, but he’s not wholly surprised when she nods and then looks up at him to explain.

He is surprised when her lips part but she doesn’t speak, because she’s too busy looking at his mouth. She shifts toward him, just a bit, and their knees touch.

Had he sat down so close to her?

He’s not sure which of them moves first, but their lips meet and she moans into his mouth. She pushes closer, climbing into his lap, fingers tangling in his hair that’s too long and still damp from his bath, and he pulls her closer, leaning back so she has more room to settle with her knees on either side of his hips.

It’s overwhelming already, her body warm and solid against his, her teeth catching his lower lip as his hands run up the warm skin of her back under her ratty shirt. 

It’s a bad idea but it doesn’t even occur to him to push her away, to tell her they shouldn’t do this while they still have months of travel ahead of them, but she’s squirming against him and tugging at his shirt too and it feels too good to do anything but yank her shirt off over her head so he can kiss her breasts while she pulls at his belt.

He leans back when she wraps her fingers around him, biting his tongue to keep from being too loud. She pumps him a few times before slipping off his lap so she can push her jeans down, and she’s climbing back in his lap to sink down onto him before he has a chance to lean in and kiss the tattoo on her ribs.

“Fuck.” He swears against her mouth and holds tight into her hips as she starts to move over him. She’s already so wet and he’s barely touched her, and it’s been so long that he’s even had time by himself that he feels like he’s on the edge after just her first few thrusts.

She moans and bites at his lip again, and she holds onto the back of the couch as she starts to really move. “Wait for me,” she says, cheek against his, lips against his ear. “You feel fucking amazing.”

He can’t talk now, can’t do anything but hold on as she fucks him, barely has the presence of mind to reach between them for her clit, but she bats his hand away anyway. She takes care of that too and she comes around him as she touches herself.

“I’m gonna come,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, hands sliding up her sides and then scratching back down. “Dakota, I--”

She kisses him, pulling on his hair, and he comes still deep inside her. She swallows his groan and then kisses him again, soft, lingering as he catches his breath.

“That was great,” she says, conversationally, like she’s complimenting his cooking. “We should do that again next time we find a house. I feel amazing.”

She climbs off of him and pulls her pants back on like nothing happened, and he stands, still trying to catch his breath, and tucks himself away.

Lucy’s still asleep when he checks on her, flat on her back with her arms and legs starfished, and he watches her in silence until guilt creeps in on him. He goes to sleep in the room across the hall, tension creeping back into his limbs.

Dakota grins at him like they have a secret the next morning, but she doesn’t say anything else as they pack up to move along after breakfast. Lucy chatters like she always does, asks a bunch of questions -- this time about outer space since he was telling her about Star Wars -- and they answer what they can. Dakota is delighted to hear they’ve been talking about Luke Skywalker, and she and Tyler compare notes until Lucy gets bored.

It’s easier to walk that day, lingering soreness in his feet and hips all but disappeared. Endorphines are a hell of a thing, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

A glance at Dakota catches her looking back at him already.

She blushes and looks away, so he knows he’s not the only one still thinking about it.

They don’t find a good enough house to give them safety and privacy again that night, or the next, and then they’re not even in a town anymore so it’s hard to find places to sleep at all. It feels like they’re never going to get to Jackson, and Tyler’s still not convinced they’re going to find anything at all when they get there, but he doesn’t know what else to do, so he keeps walking.

He just keeps walking.

They celebrate Lucy’s birthday after they cross over the border into Idaho. Tyler’s not totally sure he has the date right, but it’s close enough, and they find a little bookstore without any Infected in it for her to raid. She wants to sleep there, and they agree, setting up their sleeping bags all in a row in the musty children’s section.

Tyler and Dakota take turns reading from Inkheart until Lucy falls asleep, and then Tyler follows Dakota to the other side of the store where she pushes him into the shadows against the front counter. 

She kisses him the same way she did at the last house, deep and desperate, nipping him when she wants him to do something different, and he starts feeling the same sort of energy washing over him as last time, just from wrapping his arms around her, with her lips against his neck and her hands pulling his belt free of its loops.

He has more control this time, spinning them around and then turning her so he can bend her over the counter. She braces herself against the dusty surface and arches her hips toward him, making the quietest moan when he pushes deep inside. She’s tighter this way than she was last time, with her jeans keeping her knees trapped together, but she’s even wetter, and he gives her all he has until she has to bite her arm to muffle her cry as she comes. 

He finishes inside her again, pushing in as deep as he can and bending over her to press his face against her back. He shudders through it, then relaxes, pleasure still coursing through his veins in a way that makes a thought tickle at the back of his mind.

He ignores it and kisses her again instead, pushing for that last little bit of connection before she slips away to clean up.

He’s nearly asleep when she makes it back to her sleeping bag on Lucy’s other side. He watches her settle in until he can’t keep his eyes open for one more second.

It takes them a long time to get through Idaho, passing through it at its widest point. They have to travel around infections and cities, avoiding anywhere they might find more trouble than two adults can take on with a child to protect.

Lucy bonds hard with Dakota, enough that Tyler worries about what will happen when they reach Jackson. What if they have to keep traveling? What if Dakota wants to stay but he doesn’t, or what if he and Lucy find a home and Dakota wants to leave?

He needs to ask her, to find out what she’s thinking, but whenever they have enough time and privacy to talk about it…

Maybe they’ve bonded hard too, enough that Tyler worries about what will happen if Dakota wants to leave him behind. Having her in his arms, in his lap, bent over furniture or pressed against a wall is one of the best things he’s ever felt, and he can’t get enough of it. 

It seems like she can’t either, because she looks for opportunities for them to be alone. He and Lucy had never found as many safe places to sleep as they do when Dakota’s in charge of navigating across the countryside. It’s like she knows, from being alone all that time, exactly where to find a safe place to bunker down for the night.

Tyler could cry when they pass over the border into Wyoming, and he almost does when he feels Dakota slip her hand into his. Lucy’s on his other side, and it almost feels like…

No.

They’re not a family, and until he talks to Dakota about whatever this is between them, somewhere Lucy won’t hear but somewhere they also won’t get distracted trying to fuck each other’s brains out, he can’t think like that.

They’ve already spent so much time together that no matter what, it’s going to hurt him and Lucy when they have to go their separate ways, but… with her hand in his, it’s easy to pretend that won’t happen. It’s easy to lean into the soft warmth, into the way it makes him forget the aching of his feet, and pretend they’ll keep living like they have been once they reach Jackson.

The same thought that keeps stirring in his head rises up again, the thought that she doesn’t just make him forget the pain, that touching her makes it disappear entirely, but he shakes his head and pushes it back down, deep down where it belongs, and starts walking again.

Morgan was his soulmate. They found out when Tyler cut his thumb trying to cook, and Morgan’s worried fingers on his wrist made the cut fully heal before their eyes. Morgan died, back before the real outbreak started, caught the infection trying to treat the earliest outbreak up at Lakehill, and you don’t get that twice.

Dakota helps, but they’re not soulmates.

There’s not a chance.

They’re actually not that far from where they think Jackson is when they run into trouble.

They’ve seen infected before, mostly around the cities they’ve skirted, usually runners that they’re able to sneak past without trouble. None have gotten close enough to their camping spots to be a threat, and they’ve really only had to worry about packs of Hunters as they’ve walked from Washington. 

It’s not easy to forget that the infected exist, but it’s easy to pretend they’re too far away to really hurt them until it’s too late.

Lucy sees them first, because Tyler’s let himself get too comfortable on this leg of the trip. He’s too used to the three of them being together, to letting Lucy walk just a little ahead of them, to letting his eyes drift over Dakota’s body like he has any right to it. He’s gotten too comfortable, and he doesn’t even realize it until Lucy screams.

The sound pierces him, shrill and loud enough to scare birds away from the nearby trees, and he’s pushing past Dakota to run for Lucy before he has time to process what’s happening.

They’ve made it so far.

Lucy’s running back to him before he finds her, appearing from around a car someone abandoned on the side of the road, and she rams full-speed into his legs before he has a chance to grab her. He’s snatching her up so he can press her face against his shoulder before she has time to say anything, but Dakota is already right there with him.

She pushes forward, around the car, shotgun in her hands and a snarl on her face that spells trouble for whatever’s on the other side.

“Are you hurt or are you scared?” It’s a question he’s asked her before, over and over, and she knows she needs to answer. When she squeaks out a tiny scared, he shifts her weight so he can support her with one arm, leaving his other hand free for his pistol.

He can see the top of Dakota’s head as she moves, looking for what scared Lucy, and he moves slower to join her.

There’s a pile of dead infected, clickers, crumpled up behind the car. Dakota meets his eyes and he knows they need to stay quiet now, and he whispers as much in Lucy’s ear as they start following the road again without speaking.

Their guns stay out, and they stay close. Dakota stays on Tyler’s left, covering Lucy for him. 

He’s glad she’s with them, has been for weeks, and he needs to tell her when they find somewhere to camp. He wouldn’t have let her travel with him at all if it hadn’t been for his daughter, and now he can’t imagine making this trip without her.

As careful as they’re being, as quiet as they’re being, Tyler can hear it when the forest starts to move on the far side of the road. He hisses a word of warning to Dakota and tightens his arm around Lucy, clenching his jaw when he feels her little hands tightening in the collar of his shirt.

“People,” she says, and the little whisper raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

He squeezes her tighter and whispers, “Do you see the blue car?” She turns her head toward the car just on his other side and nods. “When I put you down, I need you to go right to it and crawl under it, okay? Like we did in Seattle. Remember?”

She nods, and he looks over to see Dakota watching from the corner of her eye. She gives a little nod too, arms tensing on her shotgun, her jaw clenching in preparation of whatever’s about to happen. 

“Ready?” 

Lucy’s arms tighten around him and he wants to scream. “Ready.”

He presses a kiss into her hair and says, “Now.”

She runs as soon as her feet hit the broken asphalt, right to the blue car, just like they practiced in Seattle, just like she had to do outside of Portland, dropping her little backpack as she goes.

Tyler spins so that his back is to Dakota’s, gun up, facing the two men that were behind them as Dakota faces the men that were waiting in front of them.

Ambush.

Hunters.

“Y’might as well lower them guns,” one of the men says, one of the ones behind Tyler. “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.” Neither one of them moves, and the man laughs. “It ain’t the time to be brave, not with your little girl hiding like a rabbit.”

The men move closer, and Dakota does too. Her hip presses against his as she draws their defensive stance tighter, and just the reminder that she’s with him makes him feel a little calmer, even as outnumbered as they are.

“Just toss the bags and we’ll get out of your hair.”

Dakota moves first, drawing in a deep, irritated breath before she shifts enough to let her backpack slip off her shoulders. She tosses it to the side, well away from the car where Lucy is hiding, and Tyler watches from the corner of his eye as one of the Hunters snatches it up.

Tyler bits the inside of his lip as he does the same, tossing his bag to the same Hunter going through Dakota’s. It hits the man in the leg and he snarls at Tyler.

Tyler ignores him.

“Your weapons too.” The leader sounds so fucking smug, and Tyler twists to look at him over his shoulder. “Ammo’s hard to come by these days.”

“Ammo’s in the bags,” Dakota says, voice rougher than Tyler’s ever heard it.

She’s scared.

The Hunter grins at them both. He’s grimy, just like them, but there’s a feral glint to his eyes that makes Tyler absolutely certain they’re in it worse than he thought. 

“You ain’t gonna fight us for a few extra bullets,” he says, moving closer. His fingers twirl a knife around as he walks, and Tyler stares at the motion. “Not with a kid. Not with this many of us. Hand it over.”

He’s close enough to just take the shotgun from her hand, and even though Tyler can feel her tensing behind him… she lets it go.

The Hunter tosses the gun to the side and one of his men catches it, then he turns to Tyler with the same twisted grin on his face. “Your turn now, unless you’re gonna be a man all of a sudden.”

Dakota tenses again, but Tyler hands over the pistol. He still has another tucked under his shirt, the one they took from that other Hunter back in Oregon, but with only a few bullets in it, he’s not sure what he’ll be able to do.

His pistol gets tucked into the Hunter’s belt, then the Hunter turns his attention back to Dakota.

“Maybe you oughta come with us too,” he says. “He obviously can’t keep a pretty thing like you safe out here.” He brushes his knuckles over Dakota’s cheek, and Tyler’s just drawing in a sharp breath when Dakota punches the Hunter in the throat.

Chaos erupts around them as Tyler lunges forward for the leader, tackling him to the ground before he can grab for his weapon. Dakota’s colorful swearing is drowned out by the yells of the other Hunters, the far-off pops of gunfire, and the wheezes of the man under Tyler’s hands.

The Hunter tries to fight back but Tyler has the advantage, and he slams his fists into the man’s face, over and over, until blood starts to splatter and the man goes still.

The pops of gunfire grow closer, and Dakota screams, and Tyler clambors to his feet and turns back to see one of the Hunters shoving her into the dirt with her arm twisted up behind her and the barrel of his gun against the back of her head. 

Just as Tyler gets his handgun leveled at the Hunter’s head, there’s another pop and the Hunter falls to the side in a spray of blood. Dakota pushes herself up to her knees but her right arm is at an odd angle that makes Tyler’s stomach twist.

“Stay right there.” The new voice makes them both freeze, and Tyler forgets how to breathe. There’s no way they can fight off another group of Hunters, not with Dakota’s arm broken and Lucy still waiting for them. “Where’d you come from?”

Tyler turns toward him, ready to do whatever he needs to get them out of there alive, but his words fail him when he sees an older man on a horse. There’s a rifle over his shoulder and a serious look on his face, but he doesn’t look angry.

And the horse is unexpected.

“Seattle,” Tyler tells him, holding his hands up, finger away from the trigger. “These Hunters jumped us.”

The man nods and climbs off his horse. “We’ve been having trouble with them lately. Where you two heading?”

“Jackson.”

The man stands still for a second, staring at him, and Tyler stares right back.

Finally, the man nods and whistles, sharp and loud, and Tyler flinches at the noise. Another person on a horse appears, a younger woman this time, and the resemblance is strong enough that Tyler knows they’re related.

He lowers his hands.

“I’m Michael,” he says. “This is my daughter Maria. We’ll take you to Jackson.” 

Tyler turns and looks at Dakota. She’s climbed to her feet and she looks pale, cradling her injured arm, but her chin is high and she nods when he catches her eye.

“Thank you,” Tyler says, putting the safety back on and tucking the gun away. He moves to the blue car while Maria starts digging through one of her bags and kneels down to look under it. Lucy is flat on her stomach, her eyes wide, dirty cheeks streaked with tears, and she starts to cry again the second she sees him.

“It’s okay, sweetie, c’mere.” He holds his hand out and she starts crawling forward, and he pulls her out from under the car as soon as he can to pull her into his arms. She clings to him, shaking, and he pushes himself to his feet. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re safe now. We found some good people who are going to show us where Jackson is.”

He rubs her back as she calms down, standing off to the side as Maria bandages Dakota’s arm as best she can, creating a sling for her. Michael collects the guns the Hunters dropped, looks through their pockets for supplies, and then picks up the bags Dakota points out. The horses, unbothered, nibble at the weeds growing high on either side of the road.

“Look, baby, real horses.” Lucy’s sniff is wet and gross, but she sits up and wipes at her nose to look at the horses. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t correct her when she puts her thumb in her mouth, not this time. She’ll stop when she’s not scared, and she’ll stop being scared when they’re somewhere safe. She talks around her hand to ask, “Can I ride one?”

He starts to tell her to ask Michael, but Maria answers first.

“Why don’t you ride up here with your mom?”

Tyler freezes, eyes darting up to meet Dakota’s, but she doesn’t do anything more than give a little smile as she settles onto one of the horses with Michael’s help, her arm supported with bandages wrapped around her torso.

“I got room,” she says, and then holds her hand out for them, “and one good arm.”

Lucy leans forward in Tyler’s arms, and he takes her over to Dakota. Dakota hisses as Lucy bumps into her broken arm, but wraps her good arm around her and kisses the top of her head without saying a word about it.

Once they’re both settled on the horse, Tyler runs his hand over its neck. “Are you okay?” He meets Dakota’s eyes, voice low, and she smiles at him.

“I will be once we get to Jackson,” she says. “Bones heal.”

“Y’all ready?” Michael appears on Tyler’s other side, holding the horse’s reins, and Tyler nods.

The walk back to Jackson is slow, but Tyler’s never felt safer during their whole journey. Michael and Maria know what they’re doing, and they fill them in about Jackson as they all walk together. The town was Michael’s idea, they say, and they’ve been working hard over the last couple of years to see it become a reality. They want it to grow, to be a safe haven, to have clean water and electricity and fresh food, and they ask questions about how Tyler and Dakota can help once they’re settled in.

It’s like they took one look at their little group and decided to keep them forever, and Tyler could cry with relief.

There’s a wall around Jackson, tall and strong, and a guard lets them all in the gate. They stop just inside to leave the horses at the stables, and Tyler gathers Lucy back up in his arms as they walk deeper into the town. She lets him carry her, tucks her head against his shoulder and holds on tight, but he knows her eyes are wide open to take everything in.

“We have a doctor’s office set up,” Maria explains, “so they can take a look at your arm, Dakota, and they can make sure none of you were bit. If you have anything else you need them to look at, now’s the time. I’m going to see if I can find you a house to stay in -- we’ve been fixing them up as we have time and supplies -- and I’ll come back to take you in a bit. Okay?”

They nod, because of course it’s okay, and Maria takes them to the little wooden building that’s serving as Jackson’s clinic, and the silence that’s left behind as she leaves is heavy.

Dakota breaks it first. “Tyler, I--”

He doesn’t let her finish, moving before he can think about it, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders to pull her against his chest. She leans against him, her good arm going around him and Lucy both, and she hiccups a sob when he kisses the top of her head.

She pulls away with the door to the clinic opens, wiping at her face with her sleeve, but Tyler grabs for her hand. He entwines their fingers as he turns to look at the doctor, who smiles when she sees the three of them standing together.

“Hi! We have one broken arm and three new Jackson residents, huh?”

Tyler nods and pulls Dakota’s hand up to his mouth so he can kiss her knuckles before she goes with the doctor. As soon as he sits, he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, exhaustion pressing him down until he feels like he can’t move.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetie?” He turns his head to look down at Lucy next to him.

She’s looking at the door to the exam room, but she turns back to him as she says, “Is Dakota going to live with us?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he answers. “I don’t know. Would that be okay with you?”

Lucy nods. “I know she’s not my mom like, um, like that lady said. But I don’t want her to go somewhere else without us.”

Tyler’s worry about Dakota leaving them rears its ugly head again. Lucy would be heartbroken, but… so would he. He didn’t think this would happen, not when she stole his food, not even when she climbed in his lap that first night in Oregon, but… he loves her.

“I don’t want her to leave either,” he says. “I’ll talk to her for us, okay?”

Lucy nods and then falls silent. They sit together until the exam door opens and Dakota comes back out with the doctor. Her arm is bandaged again, in a loose sling, but she has a smile on her face that grows when she sees Tyler. He raises his eyebrows at her, but she just shakes her head.

“Your turn,” she says. “I’ll wait out here.”

Tyler stands and takes Lucy’s hand, pulling her along with him into the exam room. They let the doctor check them both for bites, then for wounds, and Tyler lets her clean his knuckles that split during his fight with the Hunters. Lucy’s not hurt at all, and the doctor praises her for being brave, and then they go back out to where Dakota’s sitting with the smile still on her face.

“Maria’s outside,” she says, standing up to meet them. “She says there’s a house we can use down the street.”

The three of them follow Maria down the street to the house, listening quietly as she gives them a tour. They have a supply store and a blacksmith, a town hall, a building where there will be a school soon since they have a few kids now, a little library, and a playground. Lucy perks up when she sees the playground, but Tyler’s more excited about the library than anything else.

He takes Dakota’s hand again as they walk, and she squeezes his fingers when he does.

“And here we are!” Maria walks up the steps onto the porch of a two-storey house and pushes the door open. The three of them trail along inside to find it already full of furniture, a woodpile stacked up next to the fireplace, and several cloth bags in the kitchen. “I tried to find clothes that would fit all of you, but there’s also soap and some food and things in here too. If you need anything else, anything at all, you can usually find me in the town hall or at my house. I’m the one who coordinates most of this, so just ask anyone and they’ll point the way.” She looks at her watch, then back up at Tyler. “I’m going to bring you dinner in a bit, once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

They thank her, and she leaves them alone in their new house.

Lucy breaks the silence. “Do we have to share this house?”

“I don’t think so.” Tyler finds it hard to speak, dizzy with relief as he is. “It’s all for us.”

Lucy’s eyes are wide as she looks around. “Wow!”

He glances at Dakota, then looks back down at Lucy. “Why don’t you go see what’s upstairs? Maybe you can pick out a room to sleep in tonight.”

Lucy chews on her lip for a second, then she starts to grin as she runs off. Her little feet are heavy as she runs up the stairs, and they can hear her exclaiming over the rooms as she runs from one to the other.

Tyler speaks first. “Will you stay?”

Dakota takes a step closer, a little grin lifting the corners of her mouth. “In Jackson?”

He brushes her hair behind her ear and cups her jaw. “With me.”

Her smile grows, like she knows something he doesn’t. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?”

She pushes up onto her toes and kisses him instead of answering. He tangles his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck, his other arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close as he kisses her back. It’s deep and it’s heady, and he doesn’t notice when she cups his jaw with both her hands until she nips at his lower lip and pulls away to look up at him.

“Tyler.”

He blinks down at her, then he blinks again, then he takes a step back so he can really look at her. Her sling sits empty against her chest, and she holds both arms out to the side and wiggles her fingers.

“I’m all better.”

“You… we…” His thoughts swirl around him and everything he’s ignored or pushed away as a coincidence over the last months hits him at once. 

The sheer coincidence of them meeting, how natural it felt whenever she reached out to touch him, how aches and pains always seemed to disappear whenver they slept together… the way she feels as right in his arms as Morgan felt, even before they knew they were soulmates.

And now, the last fact he needs to accept what he’s known since Oregon… her broken arm isn’t broken anymore. It’s healed, just from the short time they’ve spent in each other’s arms since the attack.

“We’re soulmates?” It comes out more of a question than he meant it too, but he can’t help it. It feels too surreal, too big and out of his control, but she just smiles, wide and open and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t think it would ever happen again,” she says, and her smile grows brighter when he starts drifting closer. “I thought I had my chance before and that was it, but then…” She loops her arms around his neck and pulls him close. “I found you.”

“I love you,” he says, the confession spilling out of him. “I already knew I loved you. I was going to ask you to stay with us.” He wraps his arms around her too, holding her body against his.

“Is Lucy okay with me staying here?”

“She wants you to,” he says, leaning down to brush his nose against hers. “She asked at the clinic.”

Dakota tilts her chin up and kisses him, and he parts his lips for her. It feels good and right, and when he breaks the kiss to pull her in for a hug, tucking her head under his chin, he notices that the split knuckles on his right hand have completely healed.

“Daddy! I picked out my room!” Lucy’s voice echoes down the stairs, and Dakota starts to pull away… but he tightens his arms around her so she can’t move. When Lucy skids to a stop in the kitchen again, she puts her hands on her hips and stares at them. “Did you ask her to stay with us?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You still okay with that?”

Lucy’s smile is the biggest she’s had since before they had to leave Seattle, and she nods fast, but she’s not distracted from her goal of showing off her new room. She just changes the way she’s going to do it, grabbing both of their hands and tugging until they disentangle themselves and start to follow her up the stairs.

Having a whole house to themselves in Jackson feels like a dream. It feels too good to be true, like Tyler’s going to wake up and find out that this is a fever dream and he’s still back in Seattle, listening to the WLF fighting against FEDRA and hoping his apartment block isn’t going to be the one that has a bomb in it next. 

Maria brings them food, and they eat together as a family at a table in the kitchen, just like he did when he was a kid growing up. Lucy takes a bath with hot water in her very own bathroom, and then he tells her the beginning of Harry Potter before she falls asleep.

He and Dakota go to bed together, truly clean for the first time in a while, their breath minty and their skin smelling of lavender soap. She pulls him against her, and he goes willingly, covering her body with his as he presses kisses against her skin. He tangles their fingers together as he presses inside her, holding her close as he finally gets to hold her the way he’s been wanting to for weeks.

She moans into his mouth, tugging at his hair and scratching at his back as he moves over her, his thrusts deep and sure after so long together. It’s so much more intimate than their first times together, and he revels in it, soaks it up until he can’t do anything but press his face into the crook of her neck until she calls out her release and shudders around him.

After, they lay still tangled together, her head tucked under his chin and her hair tickling his bare skin. Her fingers trace over the lines of his muscles as he runs his fingers through her hair.

She tilts her chin up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Tyler?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, just keeps playing with her hair. “Mmm?”

“I didn’t say it, but. I love you too.”

#follow me for more soft dad content #oc: tyler moore #oc: lucy tullis moore #foc: dakota olsen #x: love in the time of zombies #my writing

[the-marvel-ous-hobbit]

To Slay A Dragon: Ch. 5

Summary: A short stay in Rivendell.

Word count: ~6800

A/N: Happy holidays! Thank you for all the support so far :)

part four ||

The staircase takes us on a long, winding path down into the valley. At the bottom, a stone bridge spans the gorge. It’s barely wide enough for two human-sized people to walk side by side, and a quick glance over the edge sends my stomach into panicked flips. If anyone were to ever choose to attack Rivendell, they would have an extremely difficult time.

Gandalf leads the way across the bridge with long, confident strides. The Dwarves follow more cautiously, and I take a couple of deep breaths before forcing my feet onwards. Bilbo walks close to my side, though his head whips back and forth so rapidly my heart trips over itself.

Through the intricate archways bracketing the bridge, I glimpse the elegant white buildings I saw from above nestled amongst a vast array of trees, shrubs and flowers I can’t even begin to name. It’s unlike anything I have seen before in my life—such ancient, serene beauty could never be found between the surly mountains and weary cities of Skyrim. 

With each careful step, a stillness seeps into my body through my boots, easing the vertigo-induced nausea. The warmth in my chest floods to my fingers and toes, chasing away the residual tension left from the encounter with the Orcs.

For the first time since beginning this journey, I feel almost at peace.

The bridge leads us into a large, circular courtyard. A waterfall gushes over the cliff behind it, a soothing background roar in the stillness of the evening. The Dwarves drift about the space, their heads tipped back and eyes open wide. Thorin remains still, his brow furrowed and arms crossed as his company swirls about him like a current around an anchor. Bilbo hasn’t stopped smiling since we emerged from the passage, his green eyes alight with unrestrained joy.

“Mithrandir.”

A figure dressed in dark purple robes descends a staircase across the courtyard. Gandalf turns, as though they had called him by name.

“Ah!” He beams. “Lindir.”

Lindir echoes Gandalf’s smile, extending a hand in greeting. His skin is pale and ageless, his features a contrast of sharp angles and smooth planes. A silver circlet glitters across his brow, and the tips of his pointed ears peek out beneath a sleek curtain of dark hair cascading down his back.

I pat my own short hair, wincing at how matted and filthy it feels beneath my fingers, and how ragged the ends are from being sheared with a knife. Though we may be distantly related, I could never hope to look so refined and effortlessly beautiful as this Elf. I can’t recall ever feeling self-conscious about my looks—I’ve never had the time or energy—but now the scar on my face seems to mock me. 

The Dwarves’ irritation is tangible enough to raise the hairs on my arms as Lindir speaks to Gandalf in a language I assume is Elvish. The Wizard casts a look in our direction before replying in the common tongue. 

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.” 

Lindir’s placid expression doesn’t change. “My Lord Elrond is not here.”

The air shifts again as the Dwarves shuffle and mutter. Thorin glares at Gandalf hard enough to set his robes on fire.

“Not here?” Gandalf repeats. “Where is he?”

The jarring blast of a hunting horn echoes somewhere behind us. A dozen horses thunder towards us, barely slowing as they cross the bridge.

“Close ranks!” 

Solid bodies crush close, knocking the breath from my lungs. I barely have time to draw the Blade before the horses enclose us in a rotating wall of steaming bodies. The usually comforting smell of sweat and sweet hay fills my nose.  Clattering hooves and rattling armour drown out the Dwarves’ agitated shouts.

The Elves whose faces are uncovered by helmets gaze down their perfect noses at us, unfazed by the weapons pointed in their direction. They draw to a halt as one and silence descends, broken only by the Dwarves’ heavy breathing. I lift my chin to stare at the nearest Elf. He regards me with a faintly quirked brow. I scowl harder.

“Gandalf!”

I’d almost forgotten the Wizard was there—I can barely see him past the wall of horse and metal penning us in like farm animals. Gandalf greets the rider of a beautiful black stallion with a smile that I suspect is partly amusement at our expense.

“Lord Elrond!”

The Dwarves grumble again as Gandalf steps forward to speak to Lord Elrond in Elvish. Even in Gandalf’s gruff voice, the words seem to dance in the air between them like music. Bilbo stands on his toes in a vain attempt to see over Dwalin’s head.

Lord Elrond dismounts and embraces Gandalf. He moves with a purposeful, fluid grace that holds my attention captive. He shares Lindir’s pale skin, ageless face and flowing dark hair, but his features are strong and broad where Lindir’s are fine and delicate. The circle of silver across his brow sparkles in the dying light. 

“Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders,” Lord Elrond says in the common tongue, passing a sheathed sword to Lindir. His voice is deep and smooth, each word precisely formed. “Something or someone has drawn them near.”

“Ah, that may have been us.”

At Gandalf’s gesture, the Elf-lord turns to survey us. His gaze snags briefly on me, sending a jolt down my spine, before coming to rest on Thorin. Thorin takes a few steps forward, followed closely by Dwalin. The others surge to fill the gaps, flanking them on every side. 

Elrond inclines his head slightly. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.”

Thorin lifts his chin. “I do not believe we have met.”

“You have your Grandfather’s bearing,” Lord Elrond says, and it almost sounds like a compliment. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.”

I gaze up at the pale pink sky, inhaling deeply through my nose. If Thorin ruins my hopes of a bath, I’m going to murder him. Treasure be damned.

Elrond keeps his dark, steady gaze on Thorin’s face as he says something in Elvish. The words are like the whisper of a breeze through the boughs of an ancient oak, and though I don’t understand them, something within me responds. The dragon lays its head down and listens.

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?”

A ruckus breaks out, shattering my brief moment of calm. Gandalf cuts in quickly before the Dwarves can actually start a brawl right there in the courtyard.

“No Master Gloin, he’s offering you food.”

Whilst the Dwarves huddle together to discuss the implications of accepting the offer, Bilbo glances at me with an expression that perfectly mirrors my earlier thoughts of homicide. I don’t see what possible need there is to talk about it—if I don’t eat something soon I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Luckily, the Dwarves don’t take long to reach a decision.

“In that case, lead on.”

*

To my immense gratitude, we are escorted to a large, open-air pavilion with a perfect view of the sunset. Three tables occupy the centre of the mosaic-tiled floor—a circular one at Elf height, and two at a more comfortable level for Dwarves and Hobbits, separated by a small walkway with an empty pedestal in the middle. Elves dressed in flowing white float around the space like dandelion seeds carrying trays and covered platters. Along the open edge overlooking a vertical drop into the valley, a string orchestra plays a gentle, soothing tune.

The company—minus Thorin, who has disappeared somewhere with Gandalf and Lord Elrond—crowd around the two low tables. I fold myself onto the cushions beside Bilbo and inspect the spread, which consists of bowls brimming with salad, platters of colourful vegetables and mountains of fruit arranged like works of art. Crystal jugs brim with rich plum wine—the smell alone is enough to make me giddy.

I resist the temptation to fill my glass only when Fili flops down beside me, close enough to jostle my elbow. He grins and winks at me, but barely breaks the animated conversation he’s having with Dori, who sits down beside his youngest brother.

Ori’s picks up a lettuce leaf, wrinkling his nose at it, and Dori instantly turns into a mother hen.

“Try it,” he urges. “Just a mouthful.”

Ori looks at the lettuce as though it has personally insulted him. “I don’t like green food.”

The air fills with grumbling as I reach for the nearest plate of vegetables. I’m in no position to deny a free meal. I catch Fili’s raised eyebrow and shove the platter at him a bit too quickly. He grins again, his rough fingers brushing mine as he takes it. 

What is it about this fair-haired Dwarf prince that gets me so rattled?

Movement beyond the tables and circling Elves distracts me from the unbearable proximity of Fili’s knee to my thigh: Gandalf and Lord Elrond weave through the orchestra towards the high table, their profiles outlined in gold and pink from the west. Our host has changed out of his armour into a flowing robe of gold satin that shimmers in the soft light. Beside him, Gandalf looks every bit the vagabond he was mistaken for on the night we first met.

“Kind of you to invite us,” Gandalf says as they pass between our tables. “I’m not really dressed for dinner.”

“You never are,” our host replies with a smile.

Thorin follows several paces behind wearing his usual scowl—I think I would be alarmed if he smiled. His passage doesn’t go unnoticed—the Dwarves all but stop what they’re doing to watch him pass. His eyes flit between them all, quite obviously skipping over me and Bilbo, and he gives a slight nod before trudging after Gandalf and Elrond to the high table. I squash down the prickle of annoyance at the blatant shun and concentrate on my food, keeping my eyes on my plate in case my expression gives anything away.

After several weeks of travelling with them, the Dwarves’ attitude towards me seems to be shifting. I wasn’t sure of it before, since I always made an effort to keep my distance whilst we were on the road, but now that we’re all in close proximity it’s clear that some of their suspicion has been replaced by obvious curiosity. Some of them still take great pains to ignore me—namely Dwalin and the older ones—but the itch of probing eyes on my skin is incredibly distracting.

I look up once during the meal to find Ori openly staring at me. Dori’s elbow shatters the beat of discomfort before I can decide whether to try for a smile. He gives me a look that douses my insides with cold water, and I drop my gaze back to my plate.

Suspicion has been my shadow ever since I can remember, but its constant company is no easier to bear. Even if I have no intention of forming relationships with these Dwarves, it might be nice to actually have a conversation with one of them.

How soft I’m getting in my old age.

A flash of light draws my attention to the high table. Lord Elrond has a sword balanced across his palms and is inspecting the blade with great interest. With some effort, I tune out the music and the Dwarves’ noise—apparently Kili has just said something uproariously funny—and focus on his voice.

“This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver,” he says with a note of fascination as he holds the sword up towards the sun. “A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin.” He passes the sword to Thorin with a slight nod. “May it serve you well.”

Thorin sits ramrod straight in his chair, feet dangling absurdly above the ground and shoulders like granite beneath his mane of dark hair. He’s poised for a fight, as though he expects Elrond to launch across the table and throttle him at any second. It must be hard for him to be surrounded by the people who abandoned him in his hour of need—that’s the sort of betrayal you don’t just get over.

Elrond turns his attention to Gandalf, and I stomp down on that sympathetic thought process before it can go any further.

“And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer,” Elrond says as Gandalf offers up his blade for evaluation. “Sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the First Age.”

Bilbo shifts beside me, pulling my attention away from Elrond’s explanation of the Goblin wars. He draws his dagger partially from its sheath, inspecting it beneath the table. Something tightens in my abdomen—I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable seeing a blade in Bilbo’s hand.

“I wouldn’t bother, laddie,” Balin says from Bilbo’s other side, “Swords are named for their great deeds they do in war.”

“What are you saying?” Bilbo asks. “My sword hasn’t seen battle?”

Bushy white brows draw together over a red nose. “I’m not actually sure it is a sword,” Balin tells him. “More of a letter-opener, really.”

Bilbo hurriedly sheathes the dagger. Despite myself, I frown at Balin over Bilbo’s head. Though  it’s a little concerning that Bilbo seems to be growing more interested in the dagger, I still hate the disappointment he’s trying so hard to keep off his face. I think about patting his arm, nudging his shoulder, anything to bridge the distance and bring him some semblance of comfort. But my hands remain in my lap, and the moment passes.

“How did you come by these?” Elrond asks, passing Glamdring back to Gandalf.

“We found them in a Troll-hoard on the Great East road,” Gandalf tells him with a mouth full of bread, waving the goblet held precariously in his right hand. “Shortly before we were ambushed by Orcs.”

“And what were you doing on the Great East road?”

Thorin’s chair scrapes back as Gandalf snaps his fat mouth shut. All eyes follow him as he strides past us. A few of the Dwarves exchange glances, but Thorin’s unpredictable moods aren’t enough to distract them from their food.

Elrond watches us across the courtyard. “Thirteen Dwarves, an Elf and a Halfling.” He catches my eye and I freeze under the weight of his gaze. He regards me with faint curiosity, his head tipped slightly to one side as though I’m another artefact to inspect. “Strange travelling companions, Gandalf.”

“These are descendants of the house of Durin.” Gandalf gestures at the Dwarves, defending them more readily than I would have guessed given the events of the past few days alone. “They’re noble, decent folk—“

Nori stashes something inside his jacket that looks suspiciously like a salt cellar.

“And they’re surprisingly cultured—“

Bombur shoves a handful of lettuce into his mouth and chews with his mouth open.

“They’ve got a deep love of the arts—”

“Change the tune, why don’t you?” Nori complains at the nearest harpist. “I feel like I’m at a funeral!”

“Did somebody die?” Oin squints at his ear trumpet.

Bofur slams his hands on the table, upsetting the nearby crockery. “Alright, lads!” He turns to me and tips his hat. “And lass, of course. There’s only one thing for it!”

Bilbo flinches beside me as Bofur climbs onto the pedestal between the tables and launches  into a rousing tune. The Dwarves immediately join in, prompting a bewildered stare from our host and a resigned eye-roll from Gandalf. I snatch my plate and goblet from the line of fire and settle back to watch the carnage.

Food flies around the courtyard, splattering against spotless white pillars and statues like paint. The expression on Lindir’s face makes me choke on a mouthful of apple—clearly this is his first experience of Dwarven table manners. I settle back on the cushions, cheered by the song and Lindir’s wrinkled nose. Gandalf takes another swig of wine.

*

After dinner, the Dwarves settle in for the night in a modest but cosy set of rooms with an open balcony that overlooks the lower portion of the valley. I choose a corner and tuck myself into it, aching and exhausted. The Dwarves still seem full of energy, laughing and throwing things at one another in their usual boisterous way. I take out the Blade and a cloth, tucking my legs close and bending over my work, trying in vain to block out their noise.

Over the laughter and shouts, a murmured conversation pulls my attention away from the Blade. Gandalf, Balin and Bilbo stand in a small cluster away from the group. After a brief discussion, the three of them set off into the still night. I wait a few seconds, then tuck the Blade back into my belt and follow.

Along the path, which winds gently uphill from the guest house, a figure awaits the trio in the semi-darkness. Thorin’s eyes glitter in the silver light of the lanterns illuminating the walkways. He glances briefly at Bilbo, but the darkness and distance disguise his expression. Ultimately he says nothing, and joins the others as they continue along the path.

None of them speak as they walk, impeding my progress as I struggle to keep my footsteps silent. Sneaking around has never been my forte, despite Brynjolf’s efforts to teach me the skills coveted by the Thieves Guild. Eventually he was forced to admit that stealth just isn’t something I’m capable of, and I’m much better suited to charging at things head-on.

By some miracle, Gandalf and the others remain unaware of my pursuit until they reach their destination: a large, dome-shaped building atop the hill which, upon entering, reveals itself to be some kind of museum. Elrond’s extensive knowledge of those swords suddenly makes sense—there are artefacts of all kinds on display, from paintings to full suits of armour. Though many of them bear signs of age, every single one is polished and free from any dust. The room is open and airy, free of the must and damp synonymous with old things.

Intrigued as I am by the collection, I almost don’t notice when Gandalf and the others come to a halt in the centre of a room with a large, circular hole in the ceiling. Shafts of moonlight spill into the room, providing ample light to see by and illuminating the regal figure of Lord Elrond. His dark eyes examine each of them in his quiet, probing way. I quickly duck behind a wall and a conveniently-placed and probably ancient vase, only daring to peek my head out once Elrond clears his throat to speak.

“I am pleased you have come,” he says. “How may I be of assistance?”    

Thorin doesn’t miss a beat. “Our business is no concern of Elves.”

Gandalf’s robes rustle, his staff scraping the floor as though sharing his annoyance. “For goodness sake, Thorin. Show him the map!”

Thorin folds his hands before him, shoulder’s straight and eyes fixed on Lord Elrond whilst Balin paces back and forth at his side. “It is the legacy of my people. It’s mine to protect. As are its secrets.”

Elrond watches Thorin with the endless patience granted by immortality. I’m reminded suddenly of the Greybeards—Lord Elrond exudes the same quiet power, the same level and faintly unnerving stare and soft, resonant speech. Though he has done nothing to even hint at a desire to harm us, I can’t help the uneasy feeling in my stomach that insists he would be more than capable.

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves,” Gandalf mutters. He gestures at Thorin with his staff. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

Thorin’s eyes glow piercing blue in the moonlight. For a moment he seems about to refuse again, but instead he reaches slowly into his doublet and pulls out the map.

“Thorin, no!” Balin grips his arm, but Thorin doesn’t take his gaze off Elrond as he steps forward to hand over his precious map.

Elrond unfolds it, handling the parchment with careful precision. “Erebor.” His brows meet at a sharp angle over his nose as he looks at Thorin. “What is your interest in this map?”

Before Thorin can open his mouth, Gandalf steps in. “It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artefact sometimes contains hidden text.”

I’m not sure who he thinks he’s fooling, but Elrond is already moving away towards the back of the room and a large stained glass window. Thorin shoots Gandalf a grateful look.

“You still read ancient Dwarvish, do you not?” Gandalf asks as Elrond angles the map inside the cascade of moonlight.

“Cirth ithil,” he murmurs.

“Moon runes? Of course.” Gandalf glances at Bilbo. “An easy thing to miss.”

“Well in this case, that is true,” Elrond says. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

That sounds unnecessarily complicated.

“Can you read them?” Thorin’s voice is unusually soft, a deep rumble that sends vibrations through the stone under my feet. 

Gesturing for them to follow, Elrond leads the way through the back of the hall to a narrow, rough-hewn passage in the rock. Water thunders in the distance, covering the sound of my boots on the tile as I creep after them.

Bilbo lags behind the others, pausing occasionally to take in some of the items in Elrond’s collection. He’s so close I could reach out and touch him. 

My toe catches on something solid, sending a stab of pain through my foot. I yelp, and Bilbo whirls, catching me before I can dive around a corner. His eyes and mouth open wide, and he glances over his shoulder towards the passage.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

I shake my head, clutching my throbbing foot. “Nothing. I was just curious, that’s all.”

Gandalf’s voice echoes off the walls. “Bilbo?”

“Coming!” He offers me a hand and hoists me back into a crouch. A small smile eases the tension in my jaw as he releases my hand. “I won’t tell,” he says.

He turns to head through the hall. I steal after him, ducking behind a rocky protrusion as we emerge onto a wide ledge beneath a roaring waterfall. Bilbo angles himself in a way that conceals me from the others, but still allows me to see Elrond peering at the map.

“These runes were written on a mid-summer’s eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell.” Elrond lays the map gently on a stone slab near the water. “Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight.”

As if on cue, the crescent moon emerges from behind a cloud, its light spilling onto the ledge and across the map. Thorin sidles closer to the map, still keeping a healthy distance between himself and Elrond. Bilbo tries to lean around Gandalf, and I shift position as much as I dare. A faint blue glow emanates from the parchment that definitely wasn’t there before.

“‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” Elrond reads, following the words with a finger, “and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.’”

Bilbo looks at Balin. “Durin’s Day?”

“It is the start of the Dwarves’ new year,” Gandalf says. “When the last moon of Autumn and the first sun of Winter appear in the sky together.”

“This is ill news.” Thorin looks up at Balin, his troubled expression etched in silver. “Summer is passing, Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

Balin holds up a pacifying hand. “We still have time.”

“Time? For what?” Bilbo asks.

“To find the entrance,” Balin says. “We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”

I grimace as Elrond looks between Thorin and Balin. “So this is your purpose, to enter the mountain?” 

“What of it?” Thorin growls.

“There are some who would not deem it wise.” He holds out the map. Thorin snatches it from him, tucking it safely away.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf asks.

“You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth.” Elrond gives Gandalf a long look before departing, leaving the four of us to stare at Gandalf in bewilderment.

*

The next day, after waking early to the gentle sounds of birdsong, trickling water and thirteen snoring Dwarves, Bilbo and I break away from the others to wander through Rivendell’s halls and gardens. Bilbo seems determined to absorb as much of the Hidden Valley as possible before we move on, and I’m content to accompany him because it means spending less time around Thorin. We don’t talk much, both content to walk in amiable silence and occasionally point something out—an interesting painting or a flower Bilbo has never encountered before. I don’t know much about flowers and even less about paintings, but it cheers me a little to listen to Bilbo talk about his garden and modest art collection at Bag End. 

After returning from last night’s meeting under the pretence of a nighttime stroll, I overheard Thorin explaining our new time constraints to the others. He said very little beyond that, and spent the rest of the night in a moody silence, puffing away at a pipe. I expected him to declare we were to leave Rivendell immediately and continue on, but so far he has said nothing of the sort. It’s unclear how the Dwarves will spend their time here, but I’m willing to bet they’ll find a way to disrupt the peace.

Time passes oddly in the Last Homely House—days feel like weeks, and a few hours is no time at all. I lose track of how long we’ve been in the valley by the second or third day, when Bilbo and I take our exploration to the cluster of grand halls higher up the cliff that house Lord Elrond’s extensive collection of relics.

Upon entering the first building, something immediately catches my eye. Golden light—the light is always golden here, no matter the time of day—streams through an intricate window that resembles the roots of a tree and spills across a sword. The sharp edges glitter so bright I’m tempted to shield my eyes. Something about the way the light catches the blade doesn’t seem right. I step closer to the sword, and my breath catches.

The blade is splintered into six fragments, each a jagged shard of broken metal. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and doesn’t seem like it should be possible. My hand hovers above the shard still attached to the sword’s hilt, pulled by some invisible force that seems beyond my control. 

A jolt shoots up my arm and I snatch my hand back. This broken blade has been touched by evil. The chill in my veins is one I have experienced too many times before in the presence of Daedric princes, and there’s no mistaking it. A cold lump settles in my stomach at the thought that the same evil could exist here.

I look around for Bilbo and find him examining a painting across the room. It depicts a soldier—human, from the looks of him—brandishing a glowing sword against a huge, faceless figure shrouded in darkness. The sword is broken, with just the hilt and a jagged portion of the blade remaining.

Shuddering, I turn away from the sword and the painting. Bilbo remains transfixed, staring at the painting.

“Bilbo?”

He doesn’t move, and I follow his gaze to a band of gold around the shadow figure’s forefinger. It’s such a small detail that I didn’t notice it. I touch his shoulder and he jumps as though he had forgotten I was there at all.

“Are you alright?” I ask. His eyes are wide and he’s blinking rapidly, as though breaking free of a nightmare.

“I—yes. Yes, fine.” He offers me a smile that’s almost convincing, and we continue on our way, following the hallway out onto a balcony bathed in the golden afternoon.

The whole valley spreads out below us, serene and perfect. Bilbo sighs happily as a light breeze ruffles my hair and sends up a fresh burst of perfume from the flowers. I lean my elbows on the railing and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet air.

Aside from the brief moment of unease just now, my mind has never been so still. I didn’t even think I was capable of being so completely at peace with myself and my surroundings—the magic that blankets this valley is powerful indeed. Even with the distant, looming threat of the Durin’s Day deadline and whatever awaits us inside the mountain, it’s difficult to feel anything but calm.

Perhaps that’s why Thorin has been unusually subdued of late, and it’s been days since I daydreamed about his demise. 

In the midst of my contemplation, Lord Elrond steps out onto the balcony through the doorway behind us. His approach was so silent that it completely escaped my notice, or else I was too consumed by my own musings. For once, though, my initial instinct isn’t to reach for the Blade. Aside from its nightly cleaning, I haven’t even thought about it since we arrived.

Elrond stops on Bilbo’s other side, looking between us with his usual air of light curiosity. “Not with your companions?”

Bilbo looks up at me, then smiles ruefully at our host. “I shan’t be missed.”

“They’re probably glad to be rid of me.” The bitterness in my own voice makes me cringe. Bilbo sends me a pitying glance, and I clamp my back teeth together.

“The truth is that most of them don’t think I should even be on this journey,” Bilbo tells Elrond.

Doubly so for me. I don’t say the words, but somehow I sense the Elf-lord hears them anyway. I won’t be at all surprised if he can read minds. The urge to cower from him and his ancient, fathomless eyes seizes me by the shoulders, practically yelling in my face to hide. 

Bilbo’s shoulder presses against to my arm as Elrond looks down at him. “Indeed? I’ve heard that Hobbits are very resilient.”

A chuckle, but Elrond’s expression is perfectly serious. “Really?”

Elrond nods. The sun catches in the silver band across his forehead, and the delicate engravings etched into its surface. “I have also heard they are fond of the comforts of home.”

“I’ve heard that it is unwise to seek the counsel of Elves, for they will answer both ‘yes’ and ’no’.”

A second after speaking, Bilbo’s body goes very still against my arm. Elrond says nothing for a long moment, and Bilbo trembles ever so slightly under his gaze. Then, the Elf-lord smiles.

“You are more than welcome to stay here, if that is your wish.” He lays a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo manages to nod, and Elrond’s gaze finds mine. “You are unlike any Elf I have encountered in all my years. I sense the immense power in you. It is ancient, and beyond my understanding, but all magic can be used to accomplish great things.” 

The dragon within me stirs, raising its head to regard the Elf. The air between us shifts as something akin to an understanding forms between two eternal beings. Elrond’s head tilts, as though he also felt it.

“Seek to understand yourself, and your path will become clear. Though your homeland lies far from Middle-earth, we are still kin. You have a place here, should you choose it.” A strange light enters his eyes. “Though I sense your heart lies elsewhere.”    

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. I feel as exposed as if I were standing atop the Throat of the World, my body and soul laid bare to the fierce wind.

Before I can drag up any kind of reply, Elrond walks away, leaving Bilbo and I to contemplate our futures.

*

Though we spend the rest of the day together, actively avoiding the Dwarves save for mealtimes, Bilbo and I exchange very few words. Around sunset, we stop to rest beside a still pond. Pink water lilies drift across the surface, and beneath them countless fish dart in and out of the shadows, iridescent scales flashing like tiny gemstones in the sun. I sit on a stone bench near the water’s edge to watch them. Bilbo wanders to a flowerbed along the border of the small garden and bends to examine the riot of coloured petals. The dreamy expression on his face hasn’t budged since Elrond extended the invitation for him to live in Rivendell.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise he’ll be happy staying here—certainly much happier than he could ever be in Thorin’s company. I almost wish he would accept the offer, even if that means continuing on without his steady companionship for the remainder of the journey to Erebor. At least here he’ll be safe, and he’ll feel like he belongs. I couldn’t wish for anything more for him.

As I watch the fish, Elrond’s words swirl around my head like a dog chasing its tail. What had he meant by saying my magic could accomplish great things? Aside from the inevitable encounter with the dragon waiting for us at the end of this journey, I plan never to use my magic again. That part of my life ended with Alduin. The only reason I agreed to go on this quest is the huge reward waiting in the vaults of Erebor.

It’s also the only reason Thorin Oakenshield still lives.

A shiver skitters across my shoulders. That moment of weakness in the Prancing Pony, when I decided not to end Thorin’s life as my contract demanded… Had Elrond somehow sensed all of that? Did he also notice the brewing regret and the thoughts of betrayal I’ve tried so hard to keep buried? If so, did he mean what he said as a warning?

I press my palms against my eyes, pushing out the brewing headache. The questions are never-ending, and the time I spend fretting over the answers is time wasted when I could be enjoying the evening’s peace.

Though no one has expressed the thought aloud, I could sense the restless energy amongst the Dwarves at dinner. They seem fully rested and ready to move on—perhaps as early as tomorrow. To spend these last few hours in Rivendell caught in my own turmoil would be a tremendous waste.

So I rise from the bench and cross over to Bilbo, crouching beside him on the springy grass. The perfume of the flowers is strong enough to make me dizzy, but I do my best to listen as Bilbo points out various clusters of plants with vibrant blue, orange and purple petals. When he’s finished, I straighten and offer him my elbow. It feels strange and silly, but my self-consciousness vanishes as Bilbo smiles and takes my arm.

 We continue our walk well into the night. Golden sunlight fades and gives way to brilliant silver moonlight. The air turns pleasantly cool, and the birds hand over the evening chorus to cicadas and crickets.

Soft glowing lanterns light our path, and we meander along the walkways and up and down staircases that I have come to know by heart. We pass the balcony where the Dwarves are gathered, and the air fills with their discordant laughter. Though it clashes horribly with the serenity of the night, I can’t help but feel a certain fondness for their noise beneath the urge to cringe.   

As we crest a staircase, Bilbo pauses to admire the moon. I lean against the wall beside him, tracing the convex outline with my eyes. The moon never fails to bring me peace—she is one of the few constants in my life, and has stuck by me through every ordeal. Part of me insists it’s silly to feel such a connection with something like the moon, but lonely nights spent camping out in the wilderness with unknown dangers lurking just out of sight are always made slightly more bearable by her comforting presence.

“Bryn always loved the moon.”

I sense Bilbo shift to look at me. “Bryn?” he asks.

“Someone I knew. A long time ago.” The words spill out of me from some deep recess inside me, and I can’t look at Bilbo as I say them. I keep my eyes on the moon, and breathe through the bittersweet ache in my chest. “We used to sit for hours and just watch her together. Being with him like that…it was like a rare moment of stillness when the rest of the world was in chaos.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet night air. “Being here in Rivendell reminds me of that feeling.”

Bilbo doesn’t move closer or attempt to comfort me, but stands quietly beside me, his head tipped back as moonlight spills over us. 

 “Of course I was going to tell you. I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Bilbo shifts, turning to follow the direction of the familiar voice. A long stone bridge spans a large pond to the left of us, far enough away that the shadows obscure us from view. Gandalf and Elrond stride side by side across the bridge, deep in conversation.

“Do you?” Elrond’s tone is almost scolding. “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast?”

“What if we succeed?” Gandalf asks. “If the Dwarves take back the mountain our defences in the east will be strengthened.”

Defences? Against what? I glance at Bilbo, and the shadowy figure from the painting flashes in my mind. 

“It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.”

“It is also dangerous to do nothing! The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright.”

During this exchange, another presence enters my awareness. The commanding aura it gives off is unmistakeable, and immediately sets my teeth on edge.

The culprit lurks behind us in the shadows, the moonlight catching the silver in his hair. Thorin doesn’t look at me or Bilbo, but keeps his gaze fixed on Gandalf and Elrond as they continue across the bridge. 

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond turns to face Gandalf, lowering his voice. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

I peer at Thorin over my shoulder. Though nothing in his expression betrays his feelings, he raises his chin just a fraction, and cold fingers crawl across the back of my neck. 

“Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone,” Elrond continues as they begin walking again, heading towards a set of spiralling stairs that will take them out of our eyeline. “It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth.”

“With or without our help, these Dwarves will march on the mountain,” Gandalf says. “They’re determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels that he is answerable to anyone.”

Their voices fade into silence as they vanish around a corner. Thorin remains still for a heartbeat, then turns and marches down the steps without acknowledging my or Bilbo’s presence. Without a word, he draws us after him like ripples in the wake of a ship.

We arrive to find the others already packed. They move quietly around the space, rolling up blankets and rechecking their bags. Balin gestures for us to do the same, urging us to hurry without uttering a word.

“What about Gandalf?” Bilbo asks in a hushed whisper as he knots the strings on his pack. “Isn’t he coming with us?”

Thorin speaks from the doorway. “He will meet us in the mountains when his business is done.” He looks around at his company, now on their feet and awaiting his orders. His eyes find me for a brief moment, and Elrond’s words replay in my mind: A strain of madness runs deep in that family.

Thorin’s gaze flits away, but the chill in my blood remains.

*

@bluelinkmp ; @moloko-tyan ; @inumorph ; @psychomanias

#the hobbit fic #dragonborn au #tes:skyrim #crossover fic #to slay a dragon

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Hobbit Soulmate Pt 32

“I can’t wait!” Viggo had said that plenty of times and among the guests at this premier he hurried to go claim their seats while you and the cast finished up the press in the front warm hall before heading in to join them. You had seen it, and now all was left was for your friends to finally get a taste of what you had slaved over and was so proud for the world to see. All having paused to inspect right outside the inner theater doors was the one on the poster with the Inspector scowling your way opposite the shadowed figure of your father as the Bard, up front slightly sideways en point you stood with ankles crossed and Richard behind you in caped tux and top hat. His gloved hands easing your Selkie coat over your shoulders eyes fixed on your mournfully distant staring self with palms full of silver coins. The glimmer only egging them on more to have the film start.

Up at a second screen you watched the lights go down for the same opening sequence awing you all over again just like the first time. Soft and slow your Russian lullaby began swelling through the camera being escorted through the lamppost lit cobbled town with violin growing stronger. Names and titles etched into buildings and street and building signs with posters of the shadowy villain wafting on the breeze fallen free from those pasted to walls and fences.

‘There you are, I see you there.’ Low and guttural the Bard growled out a letter scrawled to the police the yet to be seen Inspector is reading. ‘Lost and misused this town has grown weary from Beasts like you. Keep scratching and clawing at the meek and weary, then you will hear me. Keep about your days and savor the moments yet only for so long, once in my clutches your breath ends with my song.’

Another corner turned and following a wisp of silk cloth from within a mist and shadows of milling crowds your body appeared on one foot with violin in hand playing through an en point dance. Enchanting the crowd closer to you and the trio of male dancers taking turns in aiding your flips and lifts, including a split across two dancer’s shoulders while playing. That ended in a drop backwards caught by another dancer hunched forward to support you before his swivel away leaving you in a string of pirouettes stepping back for an exaggerated arch and smirk filled dance. In that once the crowd had grown fled up the steps into the theater with an eager race following your group to the sound of the Inspector growling about the missing citizens and bodies located that had something to do with the traveling troupe now in town. Mid spin a hand off of the violin and bow your skirt tore free rippling out a longer flowing dress for the opening number of the packed show including the freshly arrived Richard who stepped off the freshly arrived carriage who lingered against the back wall at the lack of chairs.

Haunting and alluring through the background the music swelled between the dazzling musical show numbers to glimpses of murders in black and white pictures tacked on a board in the police station and missing person flyers. Steadily while the story of how you were captured by the Ringmaster came with Richard lurking more even in the less crowded theater days scouring for this hiding of your coat. Assuming his own explanation for the murders succubus was misdiagnosed by the avid monster hunting inspector growing angrier by the day as more and more men shown to attack or prey on others were literally torn out of the screen by a large hand and arm.

Gasps came from your friends amazed by the intro sucking them in quick to the gruesome times this film was set in. Each flinching at each snatching and splatter of blood while the lingering plotting gazes only built up tension to what would inevitably come.

Rich did more and more to subtly manage you out of the line of the Inspector who was up to inciting panic and unrest in the already fragile town while sharing more about his own past and painful injury sidelining his dance aspirations. Including the dance scene you had shared about for a slow and trust building show he wasn’t broken like he had been told. Those few sentimental moments shared between the pair of you gave glimmers of hope in the city drenched with nearing frenzy to the rising death count. The music lifted to crescendo through a fight causing a fire in the pub causing just enough reason to send you on a different path avoiding it.

Though nothing prepared them for your attack scene in passing through an alley. From behind a handful of your hair spun you around through a heart clenching gasp to the crescendo of the panic. Breathless the crowd help their breath as the hand clenched around your throat slamming you carelessly into the wall behind you sending a trio of buttons flying and loosening the hair comb once managing your curls seeping out to freedom. Wide eyes full of tears clenched shut at the hard blow sending blood splattering across your cheek and now bared neck causing the Inspector to go flying.

Around your waist to the lull of the Bard’s song hands folded lowering your trembling self to your feet, “Breathe,” he growled out to a hand freeing his own spare clasp on his cloak used to secure the tear in your blouse over your neck with calloused fingers to brush the droplets away. Open eyes again saw clearly the face the camera had yet to see with nearly half of you in his shadow for just a moment in the camera panning back to view his turn away saying, “Go child, walk and leave this beast to me.” Inhaling shakily you turned wetting your lips to the Inspector’s knee top shout to stop ending at the hand gripping his hair and back of his neck dragging him away with great ease while your stroll gained confidence in the rise of your hands to fix your curls back into the comb. In the Bard’s walk away the faintest flicker of purple eyes and raven curls under the brim of his hat seen passing reflected stream from a lantern gave a nod to why he might have been trailing your traveling troupe.

Silence in the crowd seemed to set in at Richard’s frantic discovery of you while the Ringmaster screamed for his fleeing creatures to return. All your things were packed and with him and refusing to stay having heard his heart wrenching plea side by side you sped to catch the final train. Upon which the duet with you and him ‘Down Below, My Bedfellow’ began to play again tightening Richard’s hand in yours through the sea of muted misty eyed viewers at the night view of the lit city the train was speeding from to his hummed answer to your whisper of where you would go from here. “To the sea,” around your shoulders the formerly unnoticed coat that was stolen from you tears prior was smoothed over by his hands.

A quiver of your lips came with evident instant grateful tears in your eyes, hands lifted to clench the ends of that coat shimmering in its melt around your torso drawing it to a close in a sliding shot shifting to follow him. One of the cars containing a bathed and properly dressed Bard given away by the braided back curls and purple eyes reading a book following his path to your car. Past the main hall to your shared car he went finding a pitcher of water making him hastily close the door and tug at his cravat. Loosening that and his collar to his lustful gaze at the pitcher gills easing open on his neck left him groaning fighting his same urge he felt each time near liquids through the film he always refused or avoided. A couple outside the door had his hand easing his collar tighter and free hand tugging one of your scarves down to coat the pitcher that wafted to fold over it in his plop onto his bench seat. There he retied his cravat in time for you to be seen outside the car door you eased open to slip inside and shut behind you again. Across from him you sat with eyes locked on his to the swell of the song in the pitch black of a tunnel flickering to an image of a secluded shack by the sea on a small island your eyes scoured over blind to his adoring gaze fixed on you.

From inside a cottage the pile of bags were seen along with the pair of you walking to the shore through the window with the well dressed Bard following at a distance. Once barely at the water fear crept into your eyes looking between him and the sea until his silent tug on the cravat he let float away on the breeze to fold back his collar exposing the gills open at his feet covered in the lapping waves. Up you sprung with arms fixed around his neck spreading his smile in the moment of foreheads touching, his arms fixed around your back to a silent chuckle in his turn lifting your legs to his side walking you deeper into the water down to his chest where the sunrise caught the silhouette of a chaste kiss. Broken by the cut to bubbly navy blue background of the credits an animated seal and fish monster swimming through the seas and surfacing as they pleased to share that cottage and possibly raise a family was the makeshift epilogue to the couple’s future with glimmers of a second larger seal seen to mingle on the edges.

.

A shriek was a warning from Miranda and you were engulfed in a tight hug. “I love it I want to see it fifty times,” she stated making you giggle into her shoulder to the medley of compliments given by the others that in her release to hug Richard and your father they took their chance, wrapping you in proud hugs as well sharing their favored moments all the way to the after party. The lot of them keeping as much time as they could with you through that evening and the next two between your explorations and assigned interviews in this gorgeous city with your group. Almost always tangled in Richard’s arms or having hold of his hand treasuring this first time here together as a couple. Pictures were a must and already surely a box of disposable cameras had been filled from all the pictures taken that once filled had been mailed to England to yourselves to be developed there upon arrival, all which Chris had been collecting from Richard’s place there.

Tight hugs for your grandparents weren’t the norm but the formerly standoffish pair had been melting into their newer roles a bit closer to openly affectionate spontaneously, still needing some practice no doubt but enjoying the stolen hugs from you all the same. “You are an unrivaled masterpiece,” your grandmother said in her second parting hug.

While your grandfather said, “Go knock them dead, my Little Bubble.”

Both smiling teary eyed on their steps back to head to the airport to fly back to Russia on their private jet while you joined your friends in a van to head to the airport for the plane you were packing to head to England. At least in all this the Armitage brood was glad to have you back in time for New Years and the party Margaret was holding amongst their family members in town.

.

Once seated across from Karl, Bernard and Miranda on the plane with the window blind shut you stole a glance at your dad ready to break into his nap and softly said, “You don’t have to come to the New York premier too I’d you want a break.”

His head turned with spreading sleepy grin to rumble, “Me and my Pumpkin are in a film together you couldn’t pry me away from that premier. Gonna see it as many times as I can for free before it comes out on tape. Get all the details soaked in before the brood back home get to watch it and the tsunami of questions come.” Making you giggle and loop your hand around his arm letting him settle in through the take off to get some sleep to greet Rich’s family when you got to town post taxi ride.

On the aisle you sat letting the guys nap as Karl closest to you chatted with you until he inevitable droop of his head and you shifted to curl up against your father’s arm. The sound of a can being opened stirred you however even underneath Bernard’s scarf alerting you to the stewardess there with the snack trolley who smiled as your dad said, “Got your snacks already pumpkin,” accepting his selection after having passed Richard’s his.

Miranda asked, “Do you want stromboli when we land? I have the biggest craving for some good Italian food right now.”

Richard said, “I know a good place of you still want when we’ve landed. Priced well too.”

“I think I want pasta fagioli.”

Karl, “What is that?”

“It’s a soup. Pretty good and you get these breadsticks and dunk it in there and it’s so good and the salt and butter from the bread adds to it. I could use a few bowls of that.”

Bernard, “I haven’t had a good rattatouli in a while.”

Martin scoffed, “Lasagna. None of that crumbled cheese though, just meat sauce and noodles, I’ll take five pounds of that.”

Hugo, “Don’t tempt me I go broke on lasagna when I go out.”

Viggo however said, “I might just have five helpings of cake. Anything with chocolate really. Got to get my fix in before my boy flies out.”

“He didn’t come last time for school?”

“Oh no, his mom’s mom had a party. Wanted a special picture with him. Plus this way we can run through Sherwood and it’s not such a long flight for him he tends to get bored on a full day flight.”

Martin, “I think everyone but Gimli gets bored on full day flights.”

“I like to nap and no one interrupts your reading up at night.”

Hugo, “Dickens again?” He asked eyeing the book you’d tucked at your side. “Looks like a thinner copy.”

“Wives and Daughters actually. Working my way through Gaskell to get to North and South.”

Miranda, “Don’t think I’ve read those yet.”

“Ohh you really should. So much mutual pining and clashing egos and romances thwarted by social standing. Just lovely.”

Viggo on his way to the bathroom asked, “Richard like to cuddle up with you when you read those or do you hide them for when he sleeps?”

That made you giggle, “They’re making a mini series of North and South actually in the first few months, and you are speaking the Margaret herself.” Making him smirk, “And my teddy bear is my brooding rejected suitor slash rival turned fiancé. I think you’d like it.”

He said, “Let ya know when it’s on. It’s for tv right?”

You nodded, “BBC. Shouldn’t take too long, and if it succeeds then I can use that as a buffer if Fox drops the show they signed me to.”

Bernard, “Why would you sign on to a show they might drop?”

“Lee asked me. Puppy dog eyed me for weeks to audition and damnit if I wasn’t talented I got the damn thing.” Making the group chuckle, “It’s got a cute back story really it’s just sort of, niche, it most likely won’t be an across the board rager like Friends or Looney Tunes. Fox isn’t known for fully backing their odd projects though. But it’ll be fun while it lasts.”

Richard muttered after chewing his mouthful of pretzels, “You’ll be magnificent. We all have odd pieces for the screen. Helps to build your portfolio.”

Hugo, “Yes, that, listen to him. You keep the faith in your little engine of a show they’re putting shows in box sets now no telling even if they cut it off air you’ll have fans who will demand it.”

Craig said after finishing off his coffee, “Plus it’s time with your friend. Who we get to see on film since he’s been hiding for so long.”

That made you giggle again saying, “He’s not hiding, just busy. Got some work for funds from now till we start to film out in Canada. He underestimated the budget to keep two apartments afloat.”

That made your dad chortle, “Been there.”

Richard said, “Just glad I own my place or keeping the flat up in Canada would be a bit thin.”

“I could help,” you said looking his way making him shake his head.

“Nope, I’ve got the rent, but you can feed us and help to find deals on furniture.” Making you smirk at the fair deal.

Craig, “You still have that little place up in New York?”

“I got bumped up to a slightly bigger little place, but ya, one and a half bed.”

Viggo, “Half bed?” He asked on his way past you to his seat.

“Ya, it’s a small room not big enough for a bed frame so we just laid some mattresses out. I think it’s meant to be a walk in closet or something.”

Viggo chuckled at that, “Ah, that’s what Karl meant.”

Karl, “It’s adorable I said nothing but nice things.” He said turning to give Viggo a pointed stare only making the actor laugh again.

Bernard, “Are houses expensive there?”

“Not if you don’t mind living on the floor to not spend money on anything but paying it off. Brooklyn and Queens are cheaper, but Dad likes me in lower Manhattan in his friend’s building.”

Your father, “He keeps an eye on her. Though with these new roles he’s got a Brownstone we could look at. Needs some fixing and maybe you can rent the basement apartment to Lee, plus I wouldn’t be just down the hall I could have my own floor, with a big tv.”

That made you smile, “You said my tv was fine I suggested getting a new one.”

Your father, “One that I am not lugging up and down those damn stairs when you move it in and then move us out. Plus then I can spring for cable.”

Martin, “You don’t have cable?”

“I got some rabbit ears.” Making him and a few of the guys chuckle. “Get most of the same stuff for free. Bit blurry no telling what the host of Wheel of Fortune looks like with his face all smudged all the time but highly doubt I’d find him in person anyways.”

Craig, “I have rabbit ears at my place in California no judgment here.”

Viggo, “I just couldn’t imagine sports on that.”

Your father said, “It’s bad. I go down to watch in the office. Plus then she can watch what she likes while we hang out.”

Random conversations ebbed and flowed through the rest of the flight until at the baggage claim. Richard called ahead to his cousin who worked at the Italian place who shut off the back room and got the tables all prepped with a corner for your bags leaving just a crowd of people and cameras watching your grouping off to fit into taxis to head that way. Well fed the plan was clear to meet up the next day before the premier opening lunch as usual with the rest of the cast where they would brag endlessly on the film amping up expectations of the others to see it finally and then you split.

On foot you found your way to Richard’s to plop onto the couch and let your dad choose a show to watch before heading to the Family home for their gathering. Answering emails and voicemail messages you caught up post flight in that break cuddled to your dad’s side as long as you could relaxing until your hand ploped on your lap in a sigh.

Lowly your dad asked, “What’s that for?”

“I forgot to squeeze Red Dragon in before I left New York.”

Richard said, “We can go day after tomorrow. Chris said he wanted to watch it again. His lady kept jumping and they had to go when she tried to go hide in the bath halfway through.”

“And, he wants to go-,”

Richard chuckled out, “Without her.”

Earning nods from you and your dad, with the latter saying, “No problem, you guys can go and have a cuddle date with him. Prefer my Hannibal films on tape. Plus then I can shop. Someone is not avoiding their 23rd.” Making you cuddle more to his side for the rest of the time you had left.

.

Comments and praise did explode through the cast with those having to wait until the US premier on the verge of pouting at having to wait longer than the others. While Christopher and Ian both treasured they had the big day just another night away. From another stunning dress to the final emerald velvet long sleeved dress with lace filled cutouts down the ribs away from the microphones to the forefront with the more notable faces smiling to your beaming anxious self stealing glances of you in interviews on their way in. Again you and Richard both were sent to promote the film here at the crack of dawn with just the magazine shoot scheduled the following day as you ignored the phone buzzing on silent in your pocket from friends in England and your grandparents back in Russia sharing how the film had been exploding in France and Europe after you had left at its opening to theaters sure to be matched here.

Already it was pushing a profit of double what had cost to film it after passing the initial aspired to 17 million covering all those costs and it didn’t show signs of stopping yet. Beside the Director you smiled alongside the cast while Peter smirked rehearsing his plot again in his mind of what he was set to do when the news finally broke on King Kong. Leaving all that until hopefully when your film was out in England and the producers could just see what you could do and have more to go off of past your age and tiny speaking roles yet to date outside of being Gimli. They just had to wait and see and then they would understand why he had kept bringing up your name.

.

“I have no words,” Howard managed to stammer out with hands at his sides in the hall just outside he theater once the crowds had filed out to the cars to head to the after dinner. That score was perfection, and I wept at that final song. I am so proud of you. Don’t ever doubt what you created was less than a masterpiece. So proud, I am to have helped you get to that astonishing work of art.”

Christopher said, “And you did not let the role own you. You shone through it masterfully. It would have been so easy to cower back into the typical damsel in distress. It was electric, the hair on my arms is still on end from that snatch of your hair.”

“Genius, Darling girl, pure genius.” Ian smirked saying, “And Richard, that little grimace at the pitcher, very subtle and very poignant all the same. A masterful role from you as well.” His eyes shifted to you as you eyed Peter and Fran whispering on their way out of the theater where hey had lingered a few minutes and he asked, “Everything alright? I don’t believe I could handle another of our crew out of sorts. Peter has been acting strange already.”

“He has?” You asked looking to Ian again not seeing the couple smiling widely in their path over to your group. “Something is afoot,” he added in a whisper tapping the side of his nose in a sign to keep it amongst yourselves.

He didn’t know how right he was, as several hours prior at daybreak Peter had gotten the call he had been waiting for, a formal notice from Naomi’s team that she would be pulling out and Peter was the second to know. The first being the producers who were gathered up in a meeting to call him and instruct him as he already knew to audition again. “Perhaps we could call Kate Winslet’s people again see if we can shuffle some things around to fit her into our filming schedule. Peter-,” his huff said it all and eyes rolled not needing another ego in this arena of bulls requiring a simple solution.

“Or you could simply promote Jaqi Pear from stunt double to lead actress and give her Naomi’s previous package.”

“Listen, about the girl-,”

Peter cut him off, “No, months ago you refused to even let me audition her based on her being barely 22 well I have a few numbers for you. Beast of Bards cost roughly 16 million to film and in one night it earned that back, just in Eastern Europe and Asia. Now that it’s out in Paris and Europe as well it’s made double what it cost to make since then and it still hasn’t opened in England, Canada or the States.”

Mouths had dropped open and one managed to ask, “You’re sure in those numbers?”

“Yes, and they are still climbing. The Ring that has Naomi in the lead has barely scraped 15 million in profits. Numbers alone she deserved to get to audition months ago. The film will be out in England at midnight, you go and buy tickets and watch the film. Listen to the crowd and make your decision off her performance in that to see her in action as a lead. Then you have a meeting and go over it thoroughly and tell me your decision. She has the physical stamina for this role and the vocal training to give me a hell of a blood curdling scream I need.”

“And if we don’t go to see this film just to give this girl a chance? What then hmm?”

That had Peter seeing red and before he knew it Fran’s mouth dropped open at hearing him say, “Then you can find a new director to go with whatever lead actress you pick.” Hastily he snapped his phone shut and threw it at his couch covering his mouth letting the couple sit in stunned silence at his monumental foot stomp on the hill he was going to die on that you were perfect for this role. Though what he didn’t know was all the other producers but the one who questioned Peter were already curious to what you could do. And completely ignoring anything he might say they decided to go see the film the country was whispering about and itching to see out with the public to get the full impact of a lead film of yours just killing in sales already without hitting the western half of the globe yet.

They knew the film would be incredible deep down and how talented you are so there was no regret on forcing this issue even if facing a lawsuit in the millions at his dropping out like this. But it had to be done and the film could only increase in value for having you in it. Especially now, after seeing just what you could do in this physically and mentally taxing film you obliterated any chance anyone could ever forget it. Just one of those iconic roles and he had a hunch people would remember you from this over all the other roles you have had so far no matter their size, this one was special and he wanted King Kong to be a second chance of sorts. You loved working as Gimli everyone knew that and cherished each grueling moment while no one who saw the film could tell exactly where you played into it to have earned a spot at each premier under all that weight they coated on top of you daily. This was his second chance to bring to life another beloved tale with you at the helm front and center once again, though this time for none to be able to imagine it could be anyone else but you.

Peter shook his head on his way to fold around you in a hug making you giggle and hug him back, “Brilliant, I can’t think of anything else to say. I could read off every synonym of perfection and it wouldn’t come close.”

Fran, “Edge of my seat the whole time.”

Peter nodded, “Yes, thrilling and you were just, a magnet, couldn’t look away. Brilliant truly.”

Your eyes looked over his face and you asked, “You okay? You seemed a bit tense.”

Peter waved his hand in your step back, “Oh, nothing can’t be handled in the morning. Let’s go feed you, hmm?”

You nodded and joined the group to the waiting van for the after dinner where yet again you mingled with the press and friends alike while Peter counted down the hours to midnight when the tickets would be available for the producers to see it themselves. They would have to see this would explode, even here he had heard several guests to the premier saying they would come back to see it again with friends and relatives. Each additional extra bit shared and explained by the Director fueled that even more with promised extras to be added when the film hit the shelves on extras for the dvd.

Sleep was required and under the covers you tangled up in Richard’s arms falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart and echoes of your father’s deep breaths from across the house. Tomorrow would be interesting as you’d ride the train to London again to find the flat where the team would be waiting to photograph you and Richard for yet another interview. At least for your sake the questions mostly differed and wasn’t terribly repetitive with all these press stops that you had underestimated a bit.

Soon to be added by another as you were going to be appearing on a morning show in New York as the animals they had hoped to get on couldn’t be managed after all. A reluctant addition on both parts. As for when it was booked you would be less than cheerful at having to dart over after having landed to make the interview time for this bothersome appointment they refused to hear that possibly a slot the following day might be better as they had first mentioned instead of bumping it up a day for their own nonsense plans. Though you supposed an earlier flight could always bother the people at the airport to squeeze into an earlier flight time if possible, though this time of the year you doubted it could be managed. All the same these few days here would be a welcome break from all the travel and time to catch up with the Armitage brood and your friends here.

.

On the way back from the interview however a message from Lee had you looking up to Richard in the seat beside you on the bench on the train, “Lee changing his mind on his suit again?”

“No, Naomi dropped out. Hit the press yesterday in the States.”

“Ah,” he said looking you over, “Well maybe you’ll get a chance to audition. Ours is doing well they can’t ignore that forever.”

“Maybe. Hope so, if not it’ll be a bit strange having to get used to another person to double for them. At least with John and Naomi I had some time to get to know them. Looks like I’d have to meet this new one at the table read.”

“For now let’s at least focus on the time we have, New Years will have the family around and after we land in New York I only have a couple days before catching my flight back to Canada.”

“Yes, we will have to buy you some furniture at least. Dishes too, guess we could make a list of what we’d need to fill a place.”

Richard’s arm eased more around your middle to sneak a kiss on your cheek, “As long as you put yourself on the list. Can’t forget you.” Making you giggle softly in his next stolen peck and cuddle closer in the anticipation to head back out into the nippy breeze waiting for you outside the tunnels.

.

Time seemed to jump with the year and back in New York you sat atop a high stool smiling for the hosts of the morning show. Chatting about the film which inevitably delved into a mention of the next ‘big story’ of the day about a pie recipe that would blow people away they were set to bake in their cooking segment to follow. Once off camera your hands rose to rub your sore jaw from holding the smile painted on your face no matter what they said. At least they kept it pleasant and this was overall harmless a stop and after a fumble of hands to return the microphone you picked up your bags and joined Richard and your father for the ride back to your apartment.

You had another two days to get ready for the premier and cross of another magazine stop and catch up with your friends. Out on the stoop however Lee was waiting with a smile and a crashing hug for you, “I can’t wait! Tell me everything, not on the film but everything around it I want to be surprised on the film. I ordered pizzas and I just got some of that fizzy fruit drink you like and they still had some chocolate covered cherries at the store I bought them all. Will thought I was crazy for it but they keep, and, one last chocolate orange, saved it for you.” He said with a smile helping to take a bag from you after letting you all in the front entrance guiding you up to your place where he set down your bag and hurried to fetch the drinks leaving just a wait for the pizzas he would guide up here.

In the sitting room you spread out around the stacks of pizzas on the coffee table basking in the warmth as your heater flooded the long empty apartment with warm air. Nice and cozy you relaxed catching up and getting ready for your own evening in catching up on some more sleep and planning the day for you to get your hair lightened and length touched up once blow dried and straightened again.

.

Flooded with more famous faces your final premier went over fantastically with the numbers racing upwards as soon as the film was out in theaters. Numbers that had some more shows, one in particular asking to fit you in as well the following night. Interviews completed and premiers through you relaxed at least there was only another flight for you to face to get to work on the show Lee was flying out for that night to get his place freshened and stocked up for his stay. A call from Peter however coincided with one from your lawyer, who had flown in asking to talk to you regarding one of your contracts.  

“Hey,” you said greeting your lawyer who you let into your apartment for a stop blending with Peter’s, who called saying he was on his way a bit earlier. “Make it alright with the stairs? They should have de-iced earlier.”

“Oh yes, I am surprised I got here so fast, thank you for sharing on the parking garage, not too far of a walk and I can get my pens in order before Peter gets here.”

That had your brows up at your stop into the kitchen, where on the counter he settled his briefcase, Richard making tea asked, “You and Peter planned to come together?”

“Oh yes,” he said opening the case to get everything lined up, “Do you have a table?”

“Um, coffee table, in there,” you said pointing to the sitting room where he grinned carrying his case.

“Tea?” Richard asked.

“Yes please, bit of cream no sugar.”

Richard nodded and lifted the whistling kettle as your dad came from your bedroom after having switched off the race he was watching. Lowly asking as he neared you, “So there’s something wrong with the Kong contract? Thought that was settled months back.”

“Was, who knows.” It didn’t take long for another knock to sound and to the door you went to let Peter in, though once opened his huff from the chilly hall faded to a wide smile. “Hey Peter,” you said stepping back to let him in and take his coat to hang up once you closed the door sealing in the heat from escaping from the apartment. “Something’s wrong with the contracts?”

“Oh not exactly,” he said coming in to find Richard with tea in hand to offer him, “thank you, Richard. Very kind.”

Your dad asked, “Walk went well?”

“Yes, nice and ice free, but, first, you my dear, come have a seat near me.” You nodded following him into the sitting room you took up the love seat across from the one he was sharing with your lawyer who now had all his things arranged on the coffee table. “Now,” he said finishing his sip to set the mug down to pat his palms together above his lap. “This is me formally offering you the role of Ann Darrow.”

“What?” you asked in a frail squeak. “But, I didn’t even audition.” You said after a glance at your dad seated against the wall on a stool he brought in from the kitchen as Richard shifted a bit closer to your side at your hand shifting to his knee unconsciously for support.

“Well I wanted you to, I know by now you heard about Naomi dropping out as you have warned me, thank you for that again made things much easier in this transition. I got the call from the producers and they said they wanted me to get started on auditions again after bringing up the moot issue of possibly talking Kate Winslet into talking about shifting filming to fit her schedule. And when I had offered you the role to double for Naomi I had hoped to offer you the lead role, however the producers were reluctant to offer the role as you were so young. When they called me to inform me to find a new Ann I pressed your name again and told the producers to watch your film as proof that you were the right choice for the role. One of them tried to say he didn’t want to give you a chance and I told the lot of them if they didn’t they could find a new Director as well.”

That had your jaw drop in a crack of your voice, “Have you gone mad?!”

“I did,” he chuckled, “For a few minutes, even Fran had that same face, but I put my foot down and they saw the film and agree with me. And there’s numbers to back how profitable you could be compared to Naomi’s last film.”

“That’s not putting your foot down, that’s,”

“You are my only choice for Ann, you can handle the physicality the screams with all your vocal training and you helped to build the damn city after all giving us references on Vaudeville era shows and culture. You put that work in and you deserve the role a hell of a lot more than anyone else they could muster up.”

“They could have ruined you.”

“Yes,” he replied and said, “All from their idiocy at not giving you the chance in the first place. And with that weight I guaranteed they gave you the same weighty contract they gave to Naomi. Down to numbers, where your lawyer and I have been talking and wrangled down a square deal. $5.5 million paycheck, with $75 k up front, plus 2% box office gross, and an offered .02% of dvd sales.” The numbers muffled in your ears at the sudden urge of your body feeling to wish to pass out while your heart began to race.

“You-,” you squeaked out and shifted wetting your lips to Richard’s hand smoothing across your back having felt your heart rate spike.

“I know it sounds like a lot, you were stunned with a 400k payday on your last film but this one we’re going to be spending over a hundred million, paydays are in the millions and the guys got more than fair shakes and you needed someone at bat for you to get the same. Jack, Adrian and even Colin all pushed for box office and dvd sales cuts to we made certain to get you the biggest percentage. They got 1.5% box office gross and .01% of dvd sales, while you got double dvd sales and .5% higher on box office gross because I’ll be damned if Ann Darrow doesn’t get the biggest chunk on a King Kong film.”

“I,” you said smoothing your fingers across your lips.

Your lawyer said, “I was certain to get you the same 2% box office gross as for Beast of Bards just like I did for Richard. You more than deserve it, saw the film myself.” He said at the tears beginning to pool into your eyes.

Peter wet his lips to say, “This film is going to be very big, another Lord of the Rings smash we hope, and the leads in the trilogy got handsome paychecks. I need you on this, you’re the only one I know who can help me with this. Will you accept?”

“How could I not?” you squeaked out at a tear rolling down your cheek that you hastily wiped away causing him to lean forward taking hold of your free hand.

“You don’t find many actors like you these days. You’d do it for free if you could I know it. You would have been Gimli for free. You don’t want the fame you want the adventure and stories to be born. So, let me go to bat for you, because we need you. Andy will cry if we don’t get you.”

That had you laugh and wipe your other cheek then sniffle through a nod. Up onto your feet you stood and gave him a hug in squeezing between him and the lawyer to get to initialing and signing the papers. Peter stayed for lunch while your lawyer was off eager to put in the papers and pass on the news to your grandparents. In his absence Peter said, “I do like your place.” That had you giggle again on the way to the kitchen with the group for a refill on tea.

“Used to be in a smaller one. Dad’s talked to the landlord though about one of his brownstones possibly for us all and maybe Lee if he’s up for it. Have a tiny yard in the back.”

“Right down the block from another firehouse. Nice and safe.” Making Peter grin, “Plus, five floors, all ours, nice upgrade.”

Peter asked your dad, “Sounds nice, are you planning on staying here full time then?”

“No,” he said then glanced at you, “Pumpkin’s up to Canada next and I’m heading back to Texas for a while give the lovebirds some time alone. And I could use a break on flying. Get my hands back in the dirt and help with the sheep. Sheering season before long.”

“I have to learn to juggle,” you said making Peter smirk at you, “I know one of the Queens knows how to juggle. Don’t remember which one, Dolly will know.”

Pt 33

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione​​, @deepestfirefun​, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

X all Rich. A - @abiwim​, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf​

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC #Lee Pace x Reader OC #Premiers #New Contracts #Change of Plans

[d3-iseefire]

Alright I'm jumping on the prompt idea!! Maybe a shapeshifter Bilba au?

Here you go! You didn’t specify what she shifted into and I’ve actually always wanted to do a Modern AU Werewolf Bilba so that’s where I went! I hope you like it! :D

(I even did a mood board cause I provide full service! Granted, it’s not a GREAT mood board cause I’m not very good at them, but still!). :D

Hobbit Modern AU / Werewolf Snippet

Bilba tried to make it to the end of class, she really did. It was her last class of the day. All she had to do was get through, meet everyone in the parking lot and go home.

She tried.

Even as the professor’s words lost their meaning and faded to a dull drone, even as the nausea got so bad she was afraid to move lest she embarrass herself in front of the entire class.

Her seat was on the bottom row of the amphitheater, a fact that had never bothered her before today. Now, suddenly, she was painfully aware of an entire classroom full of people behind her, surrounding her on all sides, able to see her when she couldn’t see them in return. 

Her breathing was rapid, and shallow, and her heart was racing in her chest. Black spots danced in her vision and her fingers beat a rapid, staccato beat on the desktop.

It’s okay, she told herself firmly. You’re okay. Just relax. Just relax, it’s fine.

Her vision blurred and she resisted the urge to pull at the collar of her shirt as sudden heat washed over her.

Bilba? The voice in her head caused her to jump in her desk, gaining her a look of disapproval from the professor. Are you all right?

Kili. He was all the way in the back of the class, on the top tier. For him to have noticed something wrong...

I need to leave, she said tightly. I need to go.

All right, he sent back. Give me a second and --

Bilba shook her head and, suddenly, just like that, she needed to go.

She was out of her seat before she’d even registered it, standing up so fast she sent her chair clattering to the floor behind her.

Dimly, she was aware of the professor speaking to her, of Kili in her head, but it was all just nonsense, barely audible through the screaming in her mind.

RUN.

She ran.

Her hands hit the bar of the door and she shoved it open hard enough to send it crashing against the opposite wall.

Then she was outside where the sky was just beginning to dim and a light fog had moved in over the grounds. There was a noticeable chill to the air that brought with it the scent of the trees and earth and outside.

The barest, barest hint of rationality tried to thread its way in, but Bilba was too far gone for it to reach. She lengthened her stride from fast to nearly unnatural. It would draw attention, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Just past the library, she could see the line of trees that marked the beginning of the forest the university had been built next to. It was why they’d chosen this place to begin with, the ability to have the woods right there, practically at their beck and call.

As much as the wild could be at anyone’s beck and call.

She passed the first row of trees and the change came on almost without her noticing. One minute she was running, mentally chafing as her spirit literally tried to outrun her body, and the next she was changing. Fur, the same dark auburn as her hair sprang out along her arms and legs. Her limbs lengthened, and the gloom of the forest vanished as her human vision gave way to eyes that could see in the dark.

A nearly hysterical laugh turned into a howl as four legs took the place of two, the cold vanished under thick fur, and then she was running.

She gave no thought to where she was going, only to how fast she could get there. The landscape rushed past her in a blur as she darted between trees and boulders and leapt  over streams.

It felt like ages before her energy began to wind down, and her senses started to return. She didn’t slow, however, because it was only then that she realized she had a shadow.

She could see him, flickering in and out among the trees, duplicating her movements.

Go away, she ordered. Her nerves were still on edge. She could still feel panic bubbling just under the surface of her skin. She wanted to be left alone.

Better idea, he returned. How about you stop running?

Bilba’s only response was to run faster.

She hit the base of a rocky slope and scrambled up it. At the top she finally paused at the sight of a large, open clearing, filled with thick grass and dotted with flowers. Insects buzzed merrily about and birdsong rang from where the treeline started up again on the far side.

For the first time since all of this had started a feeling of peace swept over her. Her muscles began to relax and Bilba sagged in relief as her heart began to slow. Her legs were trembling from exertion and her sides heaved as she panted for air. It took a lot to tire out a werewolf, just how far had she run?

She spotted an outcropping of rock forming a natural, shallow cave, and headed toward it. She could curl up in a ball there and no one and nothing could touch her. She could rest.

The fur on her neck rose and she tensed at the feeling of a presence behind her. She spun, growl at the ready, and paused at the sight of a massive, coal black wolf cresting the slope behind her.

Go away, she ordered. She spun back around, but had barely taken two steps when she found her way blocked by the black wolf towering over her.

Get out of my way, she demanded, baring her teeth.

Enough, he retorted. You’ve been running all night.

She had not. It -- she looked around and, for the first time noticed it was getting lighter rather than darker as it had been the last time she’d been aware.

Had she really run all night?

She shook her head and tried to move past him again, only to jump back in surprise as he jumped forward and snapped his teeth at her. Damn it, Bilba. I said stop.

He must have somehow read the hurt on her face because she heard him sigh in her mind. He stepped away and then his body was shifting, and elongating. Fur vanished, four feet became two arms and two legs and then the wolf was gone and it was Fili standing in front of her, looking down.

The wolf in her reacted and Bilba lunged at him. He hit the ground on his back and she straddled him, baring her teeth near the hollow of his throat. He tilted his chin back, exposing his neck, and reached up a hand to lightly stroke along the side of her head and ear. “Hey, it’s all right.”

Bilba flinched and pulled back.

What was she doing?

She shifted, forcibly pushing the wolf away, and then she was straddling her husband in the middle of the forest wearing nothing but her bra and underwear.

Bilba gaped down at her body.

They were taught as children, children, how to retain their clothing during shifts. She hadn’t lost so much as a shoe in years and now she’d lost almost her entire outfit?

Damn it, that had been her favorite shirt.

“Come on.” Fili moved, and she didn’t resist as he nudged her back and repositioned them so he was sitting up and she was straddling his legs. “Hey, are you all right?”

When she didn’t answer, he shrugged out of the button down plaid he was wearing and draped it across her shoulders. The second he did Bilba grabbed it, threaded her arms through the sleeves and started buttoning it up. The entire time she kept her head down and her gaze focused somewhere around her husband’s waistline.

Once she had the shirt done up, she grabbed his hand and pressed it to the slight bulge in her stomach, feeling her body relax as she did. “You remember how your mother said it was tradition for female wolves to carry out confine themselves to the den for the duration of their pregnancies?”

“Hmmm,” he said. He leaned back one one hand, keeping his other in place on her stomach. “And you said something about it being an archaic, sexist tradition?”

Bilba flinched and her shoulders sagged. She had been that harsh, hadn’t she? She reached up to wipe at an errant tear, only for him to catch her hand and press his lips to her knuckles. The contact brought an even greater sense of peace and she sighed. “Maybe it wasn’t so archaic after all.”

He chuckled. “Panicked did you?” When she didn’t respond he sat up and wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close. “Bilba, listen to me. You’re a predator who also happens to be pregnant. That makes you vulnerable, and it makes perfect sense that the wolf inside you would want to be as safe as possible.”

“Which means staying near my pack,” Bilba mumbled, “and my mate.”

Fili bounced his legs, and she lifted her head to glare at him only to have him lean forward and kiss her. She dug her hands into her forearms and leaned.

“I’m sorry,” he said a few moments later, pulling away and resting his forehead against her. “I shouldn’t have gone to that study group.”

“Yes, you should have,” Bilba said. It wasn’t like he’d abandoned her. Kili had been there after all. “I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” She scowled. “Your mother is never going to let me live it down.”

Fili laughed. “My Mom loves you, she’ll only hold it over your head at holidays and birthdays.”

Bilba gave a weak smile and settled more onto his lap. “What am I going to do? I can’t even go to class without panicking.”

She didn’t even want to think how to try and explain how she’d acted in class and outside. They’d probably label her a freak.

“We’ll make sure more pack members are around you,” Fili said, moving his hands to rest on her hips. “They can audit your classes. I’ll be there as much as I can too.

“This seems to help too,” Bilba said absently, tugging at his flannel. “I may just have to start wearing your clothes.”

Fili grinned brilliantly. “You cannot begin to imagine how little problem I have with that.”

“We should get back.” Her last words were cut off with a yawn and Bilba shook her head in a futile attempt to wake herself up. Running all night was really catching up with her. “Everyone will be worried.”

“We aren’t getting back anytime soon.” Fili gently slid her off his legs and onto the ground before laying down next to her on his side. Bilba immediately scooted up as close to him as she could and looped an arm around his waist. “We might as well take a nap first.”

BIlba nodded, already half asleep. She felt him slide his arm under his head and took the opportunity to snuggle in even closer.

Her last thought was that, as soon as winter break arrived, she was dragging her husband’s clothes, and her husband, to bed and keeping them there until the next term started.

It’d allow her to rest, and avoid having to hear Dis say, “I told you so” at the same time.

Perfect.

#Writing Wednesday #Hobbit #The Hobbit #Fili #Female Bilbo Baggins #LOTR #Tolkien

[high5nerd]

The Misadventures of Fanty and Pitch Black---Chap. Four

The room he appeared in happened to be a living room of a different person's, and in the distance he could hear the furious typing on a computer keyboard. The living room was simple, yet Pitch had an immediate drawing to it. Must be the black painted bookshelves. They held many thick books as well as encyclopedias that looked ancient, but more than just decoration. The floor was of dark wood, and a nice TV sat below a big window, shining light into the airy room. Pitch walked a bit towards the room with the typing sound, noticing many pictures hung up on walls as well as certificates and photos of movie characters. The walls in the entire flat were a rich purple, and he passed a small room used as a kitchen with a mini fridge and a small elegant table in the middle, with three, mahogany chairs. They looked quite comfortable.

"I like this person's taste in a home. Nice and cozy." Pitch mumbled to himself, ducking into another room with the same purple walls and wooden flooring. This room was obviously a bedroom, judging by the quilted bed in the corner of the room near the curtained window. There were multiple rugs of eggplant purple and dark brown, fuzzy beneath his feet. He looked up at the light fixture, feeling the fan turn slowly. He was surprised to see a poster up there of a man that looked almost like him, but in tight jeans and a white t-shirt, and looked soaked in water. Pitch made a face, feeling really strange at that familiar face, before turning to the person that sat in a black swivel chair at the wooden desk.

He nearly jumped back noticing the girl was staring right at him, unafraid.

This strange girl wore light blue jeans, a fitted t-shirt, and glasses. Her purple hair framed her face and almost reached her hips. The girl did not smile, just stared at him with mild interest. Pitch moved to the right, then slowly to the left, and once he noticed her eyes were following his movements, he felt both relieved and shocked.

"So another freak can see me." Pitch breathed, not looking away from her. Let's see if she'll react like Fanty does.

The girl merely scoffed, looked him up and down, and said with a smirk on her face, "Please, go look in a mirror."

Pitch felt his non-existent eyebrows rise upwards. Now that was bold, even against a Boogeyman.

"Do you know who I am?" Pitch demanded, taking a step towards this new girl.

"Do you know who I am, Boogeyman?" the girl raised a brow teasingly, "I'm Queen of the Universe, and everyone-including you-are my loyal subjects. Now bow before me."

Pitch couldn't help but crack a toothy grin, and his smile was contagious, for it caused this girl to silently laugh as she got up from her sleek desk. She brushed some hair back before turning towards Pitch with a curious smile on her face. Pitch eyed her, smirking.

"I like you." He said lowly, causing the girl to have a quick blush before shaking it off. She was a tough-nugget like that.

"That's a relief." She said, craning her neck to look at her ceiling poster of her favorite singer, Koz. Pitch felt his upper lip curl. He didn't want to look at that doppelganger poster up there.

"May I ask your name?" Pitch asked, folding his hands behind his back.

The girl stuck out a hand, and Pitch slowly shook it. "I'm Mystic Hawk. I'm one of Fanty's friends," she noticed the look on Pitch's face, "Yes, we heard the ruckus down there. It was hard to ignore it. Did Emma really shoot you with a Nerf gun?"

"She did indeed."

That sent Mystic into cahoots. She clutched at her stomach while holding up a finger to make him wait. She finally sighed, took off her glasses, wiped them, and then put them back on, still giggling. "Wait, so she really shot you in the butt? We all heard a high pitched scream, but we knew even Emma can't make a noise like that! You sounded like a cat in heat when you scream."

"I do not!" Pitch protested, but Mystic was already laughing once more, having the need to sit down in order not to pee her pants. The last time she peed her pants laughing was when she and Drago caught Fanty in the middle of dancing to Boogey Wonderland in nothing but her underwear, a button up, and no, not socks, but swim flippers while holding a pink hairbrush. Just the memory of that hilarious moment made her laugh harder.

Pitch frowned, not finding anything amusing at all. So without another word, he disappeared and reappeared into another apartment. This one, literally screamed pink. It slightly scared him. There was graffiti all over the walls, and surprisingly, none of them had written profanity like he's seen in the cities. His favorite one was a long tag that had the word 'fuck' stretched around the base of this brick building, so it looked like a good long 'fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck'. He laughed for days.

Heh…good long fuck. That sounds kinky. His mind snickered, and Pitch growled for that annoying voice to stop.

A giant flat screen TV hung on the wall with the most colorful and large graffiti, and comfortable looking black leather couches surrounded the living room with stylish pillows. The kitchen was enormous, with a fully prepared table with the whole shebang, including fire truck red candles and glassware. He had to admit it, this person was extremely brave to decorate their home like this funky. If he lived here, his eyes would hurt after three hours from the pink walls.

"Hey, you mind? I'm about to leave." A friendly voice came.

Pitch looked at the direction of where he assumed an office was, and there before him stood Star with her shining brown hair tucked into a high ponytail, and thick black sunglasses that hid her big, emerald eyes. She donned light green leggings and a white tutu with green glitter on it, had at least four wooden bracelets on her left arm and had lavender colored nails. Her lime green t-shirt had big, bubbly yellow letters that simply said 'Hey' and she donned a brown leather jacket for the afternoon, windy chill.

"Good God, you're like a grown Sophie Bennett." Pitch blurted, not guilty of it at all.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. I really shouldn't be surprised Fanty has strange friends now, but I still am." Pitch shrugged nonchalantly, "You go out like that every day?"

"Yep. And no judging, because you can't talk. Take a look in the mirror before you walk down the street," Star winked as she passed him with her stylish gait, "such a shame a good-looking bod is hidden under a black tarp."

"-!? It's a robe!" Pitch protested, folding his V-neck closed a bit more and pulling his leg forward to hide his crotch. He felt naked, and it wasn't a good feeling.

"Don't kill anyone, or I'll feed you cupcakes until you explode all over the walls." Star casually said, picking up her car keys and pocketbook.

"I'll end up like your graffiti. Hopefully I'm not going to end up as written profanity." Pitch muttered, but sneered as Star grinned, showing her pearly whites.

Once Star left with Drago and Pitch was on his own again, he wandered and meandered to his heart's content. He had to admit, he was starting to grow a fondness for this building. He found Drago's apartment, and it was mostly cluttered and decorated with beautiful antiques and rustic décor. There was a cherry wood desk in the corner of her room with a well-working computer, and piles of papers and archives filled up all the nooks and crannies of that desk. The bookshelves were organized as can be, though. Pitch had to say, he liked the kitchen the best. He didn't know how a Hobbit themed kitchen would be pulled off so well! The apartment, besides clutter, gave off a feeling of homey comfort, and it made Pitch linger a little longer than the others. Well, he would have stuck around if it wasn't for this mangy puppy that was black with gold cheeks and paws that kept yapping up a storm at him and tugging on his robe with his teeth. The last thing Pitch needed was worn-and-torn clothing. So after frightening the puppy by making a growling noise and baring his teeth, he slunked into a shadow and reappeared in yet another room.

Now, you would expect the whole 'let's describe the décor and what the place looks like because the writer is stalling', but no, the first thing Pitch noticed immediately was that, yes, the occupant of this newly found apartment was waiting for him. She lurked right at the darkest spot in her home, which was right behind a painted rocking chair with dark floral pillows. Just as Pitch emerged, the girl shrieked and gave him a good whack with a rolled up People magazine. Pitch yelped and clutched his ear, his hearing thudding a bit before he shook his head.

"What in devil's name-?!" he started, glaring at the girl.

"Fanty warned me you're sneaking around here! Really? Breaking and entering people's apartments? Shouldn't you just knock!? You scared the living daylights out of me!" Xion scolded, shaking her rolled up magazine at him.

"Good, I prefer the dark rather than daylight. Who the hell are you?" Pitch muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm Xion Five. Now can you please leave? I've got business to do." Xion dropped her magazine as she crossed over to the purple and black striped couches and sitting down.

Before Pitch could ask what she was so busy with that she must ignore a guest, she un-paused an anime movie called Howls' Moving Castle. Pitch gave her a look. "Ah yes, movie watching is serious business. Don't mind me, I'll just be leaving."

"Before you go, you could have some of those strawberry and vanilla cupcakes Star left for me. They have gummy bears on them, they're really good." Xion said, not tearing her eyes away from the screen.

Pitch made a face, but then felt his face fall into shock as he saw the open room used as a display room and an office space. There was a polished desk with a super thin, black laptop and silver mouse, dark bookcases much like the ones in Mystic's apartment, but other than that, he was amazed at the homemade costumes and weaponry that hung on walls and were on mannequins. Some looked like dark Lolita dresses, others looked Elven-like, and some looked like royal mages or even frilly princess stuff. He guessed the clothing was inspired by the anime Xion watched. He especially liked the steampunk jumpsuit with the dark red goggles. Apparently she painted those goggles herself, from what it looked like up close. On the walls hung homemade weapons from anime shows as well, like throwing knives, hammers, magic wands, even giant things like shepherd's crooks, staffs and a scythe that he absolutely wanted to steal, except it was light purple with stars on it.

Wow, she really has a talent in making this sort of stuff, Pitch thought, peering at a neon blue wig that almost reached the floor, so that's why she called it 'business.'

After content goodbyes, Pitch finally met Lil Angel, who was Fanty's neighbor that took care of the Bennett children. Pitch couldn't help but keep her at bay since she was affiliated with those children, but he had to admit she was a very eccentric and friendly person much like Fanty and her friends as well. He only had a peek of her apartment, which was very modern and had many things that were light purple but also light blue, yellow and red. The fuzzy floor was white, and the walls were a cream color that complimented the comfortably sized kitchen that looked as if a batter explosion occurred with fireworks of icing. He also met Angel's pet kitten, Oreo, that seemed instantly attracted to his face so it leaped out of Angel's arms and hugged Pitch's face like a starfish, it's claws digging into his ears.

Pitch gruffly removed the kitten from his face as if it were a leech. It had quite a grip on his face! He held it out to stare at it, holding it by the back of the neck. Maybe if he scared it, the kitten would pee all over Angel's carpet. That'd be funny.

"Boo." Pitch growled.

Angel waited with baited breath, knowing Pitch was trying to make the kitten have a potty mess. But instead of what they thought would happen, the kitten merely mewled and somehow detached itself from Pitch's hand and star-fished his face again, purring into his cheek and nuzzling his nose.

"This is by far the strangest kitten I've ever met." Pitch said seriously, looking at Angel who was trying not to burst out laughing.

"Oreo can be a little lovable. The last dog that tried to chase her ended up getting snuggled so much it ran away from Oreo itself. You should've been there. It was both cute and funny to watch." Angel said, plucking Oreo off his face finally and giving his head a gentle scratch.

"…Was the dog black?" Pitch asked, feeling a smirk threaten at his lips.

Angel thought for a minute, before nodding. "It had a red collar on and bright blue eyes."

"Yeah, I remember giving a nightmare to that dog. Apparently Oreo instilled a fear of kittens in him."

That made Angel burst out laughing, and Pitch truly felt accomplished for making someone laugh once more.

By the time Pitch got back to Fanty's apartment, the strange girl was already lying upside-down on the couch, boredly watching the shadows for Pitch's arrival. It was kind of hard to swallow a turkey and tomato sandwich upside-down.

Pitch raised a brow at Fanty, unamused. "What?"

"Well? Were they cool, or were they cool?"

"…You teens creep me out worse than Tooth's feelings for Jack." Pitch hissed under his breath, folding his arms in a pout.

"OOOOOOH DO I DETECT A CRUSH?! JEALOUSY?!" Fanty beamed, flipping upright and tossing her sandwich on the coffee table, "Wait…Tooth? Jack? Who're they?"

Pitch gagged, feeling a baby barf almost float up his esophagus. "Ew, on Tooth? You're sick."

"Who the hell is Tooth?!"

"You sure you're not the jealous one?" Pitch grinned, and Fanty blushed a bright red. "OW!"

Note to self: Fanty's got quite the fist.

"Tell me who Tooth and Jack are or I'll instill fear into you!" Fanty threatened, making her fingers dance in the air as if she were to summon dark magic.

Pitch laughed rather loudly, still keeling over from when she punched him in the gut. "That only works for me, Fanty. Like this,"

He grabbed her neck and shoved her to the couch, causing her to gasp and clutch at his wrist, her eyes widening in shock at his sudden movement. He kneeled right in front of her, his face just mere inches from hers with an acidic snarl on his mouth. His eyes burned a bright gold, that literally flashed danger. Fanty started to breathe heavily, scared out of her shorts that he was going to hurt her.

"Tell me your fears or you'll see them brought to life." He growled, almost like an angry wolf.

Fanty panicked, forgetting that he was just setting an example of how to really threaten someone. He didn't mean to scare her like that, he was only trying to teach her how to really threaten someone. But he was over the top, and he realized that only seconds before Fanty spilled.

"I'm afraid of heights! I'm afraid of spiders and big fish and I'm afraid of bugs with stingers, and I'm afraid of-!" she cried out.

Pitch slammed a hand against her mouth to stop her, and Fanty saw the worry flash across his eyes. It scared her even more. It scared her so much she nearly wet herself. He looked so startled, so honestly worried that it actually worked and that she was so close to confessing…

But before Pitch could apologize, the door was burst open with a strong kick, and they both heard two voices scream, "HY-YAHH!"

Pitch bolted up, and Fanty turned around to see Mystic and Xion standing with tightened fists, giving death glares at Pitch. Fanty furrowed her eyebrows and shouted, "IDIOT! Look at the door! You busted a crack in it! Mr. Joyce will kill me!"

"DIS BASTARD HERE!" Xion pointed at Pitch, who cursed under his breath as he took three baby steps back.

"Was he hurting you, Fanty?! We received a distress call that sounded like you confessing your fears and we're here to kick BUTT!" Mystic said strongly, cracking her knuckles to prove her strength.

"I wasn't meaning-!" Pitch started, but Fanty stood up on the couch and waved her arms.

"He didn't mean to! He was showing me an example of how to properly threat someone. It's okay, guys. Thanks for the concern, though." Fanty finished with a promising smile.

Xion and Mystic were suspicious, and gave Pitch a doubtful look before closing the door tightly. Fanty and Pitch could still hear them walk down the hall and discuss about fixing the dent they kicked into the door. She smiled to herself before looking at Pitch with an apologetic smile. He breathed a sigh of relief before plopping himself onto a cushioned chair, and put one foot up onto the footrest to really let himself relax.

"That was way too close." Pitch sighed, rubbing his tired face.

"Is it just me or were you just scared of my friends?" Fanty folded her arms with a smug little face on her lips.

Pitch gave her a knowing look before chuckling. "Everyone is afraid of something…I learned the hard way…"

Fanty noticed his eyes turn silver, misty with memories that made his smile fall and for a second, look…remorseful. Her dark brown eyebrows crinkled in worry as she sat on the floor in front of him, watching with pure rapture. How do his eyes do that? She wondered, resting her head in her hand, I wish I could change mine from brown to blue.

"You're lucky you have protective friends like that. I don't have any." Pitch said quite truthfully.

Fanty shrugged, knowing very well why he doesn't have many. She has heard of some sort of war he lost, and she knew from the start that he was apparently a bad egg, but no details whatsoever.

"I'm sure you do. You just haven't found them, yet. You could be my friend if you want." Fanty offered, smiling at the idea.

Pitch scoffed, "With a human? Hun, I am an immortal being that instills fear into every living thing, and I do this as a duty here on earth. It isn't an occupation where I get paid."

"Racist." Fanty pouted, folding her arms like a child, "Then why do you try to drill fear in others?"

Pitch didn't miss a beat. His eyes returned to the fiery gold Fanty was starting to get used to, and he hissed his answer, an answer full of history and angst, "To be believed in. That's what all the spirits do on this planet. They are cursed with the life of immortality and with a purpose, and if that purpose isn't fulfilled properly, they die."

"Wait, whoa, back up!" Fanty held up her hands, "There are other people like you out there?"

"Hardly people," Pitch said, leaning closer to her, "just call them what they are. Beings. Spirits. Guardians." He snarled at the word in spite.

"You monologued about them once, but then I shut you up with a pillow. All I know is that it's Jamie Bennett's fault as well as Jack Frost. Isn't he just an expression?"

Pitch thought for a second, looking away from her earnest eyes. And after some time…he grinned evilly.

"Yes…yes, Fanty. He's just an expression. He doesn't exist at all. But Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and-"

"The Easter Bunny and Sandman do?!" Fanty exclaimed, excitement ringing in her voice.

Pitch curtly nodded, "But they brought me pain. I ruled the very era of the Dark Ages, and they brought me to the shadows at the Earth's core. I tried regaining what once was mine, but I lost the battle yet again. I was so close to gaining a victory, but that stupid child Jamie-"

"Jamie's not stupid," Fanty said, shaking her head vigorously, "He's a smart kid with a big heart. And I know Jack Frost exists because a, he talks about him 24/7, and b, you are a terrible liar."

Pitch stuck out his lower lip, angry at being so carefully read. Fanty continued that she did believe his story, just that maybe there was a better way to be believed in without parents and children hating him. He couldn't help it, he was the Boogeyman for crying out loud!

But there was something Pitch left out in his story. He didn't tell her how his belief was very thin, like the width of a string. But when Fanty spilled some of her fears to him, he felt that string grow stronger, become more durable and thicker. He learned that though kids were the easiest targets for fear, the teenagers have the strongest and most powerful fears. They're trickier to harbor and snag onto, but they're long lasting and can be a better resource than just petty children.

And Pitch liked a good challenge.

Leave a review, follow, favorite, I dunno, bookmark this on yo favorites bar on the internet or something. :D Have a great day/night!

#rotg #rise of the guardians #pitch black #rotg fanfics #rotg fanfiction #fanfics #fanfictions

[x-kytanna-x]

Cheeky business

Happy Valentines Day everyone! In particular to @mizimeluh, @marimba-mallets and @loveherpizzapalace who had patienly listened to me blabber about this fic, real angels, the three of them. 

You can also read the fic on ao3.

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

Thorin didn't have an obsession, no matter what the others said. He didn't. So what if he sometimes lost track of time watching Bilbo walk from behind; it definitely wasn't because he was too focused on that plumb, pert, bouncy-

Fine.

He might have a slightly fixation with certain parts of Bilbo. It was hardly his fault thought, his husband was irresistible and Thorin was a weak, weak dwarf. Besides, Bilbo didn't seem to mind the attention, he certainly enjoyed when Thorin was rough with him and the next day he woke up with bites and fingerprint marks on his backside.

After they had brought Erebor to it's back glory and Bilbo and him had been crowned they had been so busy…

Thorin just wanted some alone time with his ghivashel.

Like in that very moment, Bilbo and him were in a meeting with Thranduil, may his soul be cursed to end of the days, but the two of them had started talking in Sindarin a while ago.

Thorin was so bored, he would rather be somewhere else, luckily they were almost finished and the elf lord would go back to his ugly creepy forest.

Thorin took a step back to admire better at his consort, Bilbo was dressed in his formal clothes that were so becoming on him, sadly they also covered his bum too well for Thorin tastes. He got called a lecherous old dwarf for making his concerns known to Bilbo, but then again, Bilbo gave him a thorough kiss after that so Thorin guessed he really didn't mind.

A sharp pain on the back of his hand brought him back from his musings, he quickly looked around to see what had caused it and saw Bilbo glaring at him with his own hand curled in a tight fist.

Thorin raised his brown questioning, he then directed his eyes to Thranduil when he heard an amused sound coming from him.

“I should take my leave, it seems you are rather...occupied.” Said the tree shagger, tilting his head slightly and then turning towards the door.

Thorin saw Bilbo blush as he stammered and walked towards the elf. “L-let me accompany you.”

“That won’t be necessary, I know my way out, you have better things to do, like deal with your husband.” Replied Thranduil tauntingly before disappearing behind the door.

As soon as it closed Bilbo turned to him and started slapping him on the arm repeatedly.

“Bilbo, what are- Stop!” Thorin managed to hold his hands and stop him from hitting him.

“You lewd handsy old sod!”

That made Thorin stop for moment enough for Bilbo get free from his grip. “What?!”

“You heard me! Honestly, groping me in front of Thranduil.” He paced around the room while Thorin looked at him in complete shock.

What was his husband even talking about?

Bilbo turned to face him at last and asked. “What were you thinking? You know I don’t mind this when is just the two of us but-”

“Groping? What groping?” Thorin interrupted him

Bilbo looked at him open mouthed for a second before uttering an incredulous sound. “Oh for Eru’s sake! You didn’t realize?!”

“What?! Realize what?!”

“YOU GROPED MY ASS IN FRONT OF THRANDUIL, YOU CLUELESS SOD!!”

“No I didn't.” Thorin was plenty sure he would have noticed if he had done something like that.

Right?

“Yes you did!”

Or maybe not.

“I-”

“We will talk about this later, you have a meeting with the blacksmiths guild in ten minutes.” Said Bilbo, giving him a warning glare and taking his leave from the room without another word.

Thorin sighed in the empty room.

******

Thorin was fuming; the rest of his day had been atrocious. He had been roped into meeting after meeting and had barely made any advance in any of them, which meant he will keep having meetings in the foreseeable future.

It was when things like this happened that he could commiserate with Bilbo. Dwarves were indeed stubborn beyond measure.

He strutted through the hall towards the library were he had been told his husband was, Thorin had another meeting in five minutes so he had to be quick.

Thorin barreled inside the library, not caring about the startled dwarves he left on his way, he only had one target and said target was currently sitting in the far end of the room, discussing some papers with more dwarves.

Thorin quickened his pace once he knew where his hobbit was and walked purposefully until he was standing in front of him; Bilbo had noticed him when he had entered the library but hadn't said anything so far; and before he could say anything at all Thorin put his hands on his soft round face and proceeded squeeze and squeeze, as if that face was the cause of all his misfortunes.

Thorin squeezed and pressed his palms against his husband's cheeks, pushing them together and making Bilbo look like a fish. He was so cute. He kept playing with Bilbo's cheeks for a while, until he could feel the stress and annoyance leave his body.

Bilbo just looked at him patiently until Thorin was done, while behind his back the other dwarves were trying to hold their laughter, and took his hands in his smaller ones.

“The meeting was bad I presume?”

“They finally broke the table.” He encircled Bilbo with his arms.

“Oh.” Replied Bilbo, hugging Thorin's waist.

Thorin hummed and pressed his cheek against his husband's head. “Are you still mad at me?” Answered, changing the topic.

“Hm, a bit, but I can hardly be cross with you. The mountain is still talking about that time I caressed your whiskers in front of the whole kingdom.”

Thorin clucked lowly into Bilbo's hair; it was true, the whole mountain still talked about it.

It had been a couple of years ago when they finally got married, after a long courtship, but to Bilbo's later dismay he completely forgot about the rules dwarves had about their beards, in particular about how you only stroke your partners beard in private. Bilbo had, to the absolute scandal of the whole mountain and the glee of their nephews, stroked his whiskers with his thumbs at the same as he kissed him. In Thorin's defence he had forgotten for a moment they were in front of the whole population of Erebor so it wasn't his fault either that he had encouraged Bilbo further.

“Come on love, you must go back, if I remember correctly you still have a few meetings left”

Thorin groaned.“Don't remind me.”

“The sooner you go the faster you will come back to me.”

“Won't you give me something to look forward until we meet again?”

“Ha! I have already let you knead my face as if it was bread dough, besides it won't me more than a few hours until supper and surely you will be finished by then.” He gave Thorin a pointed look as if daring him to say otherwise.

“I will be there. So you won't even give me a kiss? I have to deal with Lord Faek later, I'm sure he will ask about today's groping incident.”

Bilbo gave him a considering look to then give him an innocent smile that Thorin wouldn't trust for all the riches of Erebor. “Well, in that case I suppose I can make sure Lord Faek has something else to talk about.”

Before Thorin could ask what he meant by that, Bilbo captured his lips between his own and Thorin wrapped his arms around him without thinking; licking his way inside and tasting honey with a tinge of raspberry, that Thorin guessed came from Bilbo’s frequent snacks. Before Thorin knew it he had lifted his hobbit off his feet and Bilbo had not wasted any time in wrapping his legs around his waist. Thorin took a hold of Bilbo’s ass to draw him near and couldn’t stop the loud groan that left his mouth when Bilbo tugged into his beard to tilt his head to the side so he could deepen the kiss further and slid their tongues together.

Bilbo kissed like a hurricane, taking everything Thorin was on his path and making him all anew. Saying that he lost track of time when Bilbo kissed him would be an understatement.

When they finally separated, Thorin buried his face in his beloved neck, taking a deep breath and smelling that heady scent Bilbo naturally posseed.

“You naughty wanton thing.” Said Thorin, making both of them chuckle. “You can’t truly expect me to go after that.”

“I surely can and you will. As I told you, the sooner you finish the faster you will be by my side again.” Said Bilbo, pressing their foreheads together and rubbing their noses the way he always did when he was happy with Thorin.

“Will you be waiting for me?” Asked Thorin, giving a meaningful squeeze to Bilbo's rear.

Bilbo slapped him on the back, he then slipped a strand of hair behind his rounded ear and brushed his plush lips against it, making Thorin shudder at the same time as his breath faltered.

“We will have a nice and pleasant meal with the boys, then we will retire to our chambers and then...” Bilbo pulled slightly his ear with his teeth, making Thorin tighten his hold on Bilbo ass, which in exchange made the hobbit stifle a moan on his shoulder. “Then I will let my tongue tell you how much I crave you.” Said at last breathlessly.

That last phrase almost made Thorin lose control, but the gasps he could distantly hear stopped him.

He wanted thought, by Mahal he wanted!

Him and Bilbo had been extremely busy in the past week and had being too tired to do anything about their thirst for each other. So the last thing he needed was to be reminded how well his husband could take his cock; either with his mouth or with his ass. Thorin wasn't very picky in that aspect, he loved every part of him.

Laying with Bilbo was always an earth shattering experience, one that Thorin was completely addicted to, and by what he had seen, Bilbo was no different.

Thorin, as much as it pained him, placed Bilbo back on the ground; feeling thankful for the many layers he wore that were able to hide, with ease, the hardness of his cock.

“Tomorrow were are having the day off and when I get back from my meetings I'm going to have you in so many ways you will forget your own name.” Said Thorin, giving Bilbo a soft and chaste kiss on the forehead, completely at odds with what had been previously said.

“Is that a threat?” questioned Bilbo, giving him a playful smile.

“Is a promise.” Thorin gave him a last kiss on the lips before turning and walking towards the door, listening to Bilbo's laughter at his back.

The whole mountain would probably be talking about their display by the time Thorin was actually done with that day's work.

It was absolutely worthy thought, just to be able to listen to Bilbo's happy laugh and to feel the same happiness in his heart.

And honestly, could anyone really fault him? His husband was delicious.

#bagginshield #bagginshield fic #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thranduil #fluff and humor #thorin and bilbo are naughty #the hobbit #my writing

[everly-kindred]

Everly’s Diary - Entry #26

Synopsis: Eve details her first two days at Hogwarts, including the Sorting Ceremony! (Finally!)

Words: 2,670

Date: 1st of September, 2026

Dear Diary, 

So… yesterday was the Sorting Ceremony, and the first day of Hogwarts. My wrist is about to hurt from how much I have to write!

Firstly, there was the train ride. Admittedly, I cried a lot, and it all started with having to say goodbye to my family. Once I was on the train, Bonnie gave me a crate and asked me to watch it on the train ride for her. I took it and found myself a window seat in an empty compartment, and then I got to meet a lot of students.

I finally met Evan, who Aures had mentioned to me. He seemed very nice, if not quiet, though he got a lot brighter when she entered the room. I met a boy named Levi, who also seemed very nice. He and Evan both like to draw, like me! Evan was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Levi went to Gryffindor. Oh, also, Aures was sorted into Gryffindor, which… Made me sad, to be completely honest, though not as sad as Evan. I could tell he looked crushed. But, she looked very happy about it, and I think it suits her. Anyways, it’s not like we can’t be friends just because we’re in different houses! 

I also met a set of twins, two girls named Celeste and Soleil. They seemed nice, too, and got sorted into Hufflepuff as well! So that’s exciting. Finally, there was a boy named Felix, who got sorted into Ravenclaw. He was also very sweet, so I guess I got lucky with my train compartment friends! He actually helped identify what creature was in the crate Bonnie had me watch over, because he had a copy of Fantastic Beasts with him. 

It turned out, they were something called a “Jarvey.” There were two of them. They looked like ferrets, and they were wearing cones on their heads. That wasn’t the weirdest thing, though. The weirdest thing was that they could talk! And they didn’t have anything nice to say, either.

Once we got off the train, all of the first years were guided by a Professor named uh… Well, I don’t know how to spell it yet, but it sounded like Pre-Oh. She wore a really pretty gold robe, and is actually the Hufflepuff Head of House! She guided us to the boats, and me, Aures, Felix, and another first year all shared one. Aures said it was our first adventure together, and I said it would be the first of many. 

We got off the boats, and walked up to the castle. It’s honestly much, much bigger than I imagined it to be. I mean, I knew it would be big, but I guess I just wasn’t prepared for how big, you know? And I’d bet galleons that I’ll be getting lost in it very, very easily. I hope I can figure out how to make my classes in time.

Anyways, we stood outside of the Great Hall, and met the Deputy Headmistress. Her name is Professor Blightly. I won’t lie, I was a little scared of her at first. She’s a very pale, thin woman and one eye is… Well, not missing, but… I mean it doesn’t look okay. And she has very white hair although there’s a streak of black. Actually, she’s very pretty, but I was expecting her to be a lot more… Cold? Than she ended up being. She was quite nice! And gave a very comforting welcome speech to all of us. 

We all went into the Great Hall after that, and it was… Well, magnificent! It’s not called the Great Hall for nothing! The ceiling was full of stars and clouds and the moon, and there were candles floating over all of our heads. It was everything I had read about in Hogwarts: A History, and more!

While we were waiting to be sorted, a ghost flew through me, and honestly even laying in your undies in the snow couldn’t compare to how cold that felt. It was both gross, and really cool at the same time. It came over me like a sort of sadness, and made me feel incredibly lonely in that moment, but then it was over. I must say, Hogwarts has a lot of ghosts, and I’ve honestly never seen one like that aside from the one I saw at Christmas. But these ghosts were socializing, and weren’t trying to hide at all! It was bizarre but very, very interesting, and they were all quite beautiful. 

The sorting hat sang a song about all the houses, and this really weird, colourful… I mean, I guess he was a ghost, but he didn’t look like the other ones? I don’t know how to explain it. He looked like a puppet without strings, the way he flew around the Great Hall. Anyways, he kept interrupting the song, and saying mean things, which was a little irritating. 

Once that was done, it was time to be sorted. Get this - Ruby was a Ravenclaw! He was so sure he was going to be Slytherin, and he honestly looked so upset that he wasn’t. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but… Maybe it would be best to give him time. I’ve never seen him look as unhappy as he did, like that. 

As for me? Well, Grandpa won the bet, because I’m a Hufflepuff! So I’ll be with Evan, the twins, and Bobby! Plus Talula and another girl I met named Marigold. It seems like my house is full of a lot of good people, so I’m not unhappy about it at all.

After I was sorted, that was when things started to go downhill for me. The Headmistress spoke, and even sang a song for the Headmaster. I think they’re meant to do this every year, because most of the people in the hall knew the words already. I didn’t know the words, but I still hummed and swayed to the music. It was haunting. The Headmistress was a woman dressed in black, with a very sharp eye. She seemed a bit more stern than the Deputy Headmistress, but she wasn’t without a smile for the new students, at least. She was dressed in all black, so I think she’s still mourning Headmaster Fox.

After her speech and song, the feast began. That was also when the trouble began. A clown entered the room, though, it wasn’t really a clown. It changed into something else that I honestly don’t remember, as it walked between the tables, and then… it locked eyes with me, and turned into a skeleton. I honestly froze with fear! I couldn’t move, or breathe, and I think I screamed, before I ducked under the table.

Apparently, it was a boggart, and the Headmistress shooed it away from the hall, but now it’s running loose in the school. I was really shaken up after that, but I was able to eat some food. They had mashed potatoes, of course, which is one of my favourite foods. They had a bunch of other stuff, too, but I was honestly too frightened to really pay attention or want to eat anything more solid than that. 

After dinner, the prefects guided us to the common room, and the dorms. I went ahead of everyone else, so I got there first, and then a boy named Anton showed up. He had a very large hat that hid most of his face! He was very nice, and gave me a few tips about the common room and the dorms. The prefects came, and showed everyone how to get in. You see, the entrance to the Hufflepuff commons is a bunch of barrels, and you have to tap them the right way, or else they’ll douse you in vinegar. The smell was very, very unpleasant. Anyways, we got in, the prefects gave us a speech about being good students and how we were all family now. I honestly really like our dorms, they remind me of the Hobbit Holes in this muggle book my dad likes. After the prefects talked to us, we all got shown to our dorms. 

I took a bed in the very back, against the wall. Puck was already there, along with all of my things. I took a shower and got changed into my pajamas, and then stayed in the commons with the others for a little longer before going to bed.

You know how I was saying I cried a lot? Well… yeah. It was a good thing that I went to bed before anyone else. I’ve honestly never felt so homesick and lonely in my life. All I wanted was a hug from my mum, and I was so sad and scared that I ended up crying until I fell asleep. I feel better now, for the most part, because I think I’m making friends, but… It’s hard. I miss home.

I ended up having a nightmare about the skeleton, too. I dreamed I was in the Great Hall again, and the hall was full but everyone had their backs to me, and I was standing in the middle of the aisle with the sorting hat on my head. The skeleton was coming towards me, slowly, crawling on all fours. It started off human, but it was slowly morphing into the skeleton of a frog, which was honestly less scary. But it was a big frog! Well, frog skeleton. 

Anyways, I was still terrified, because I was in a nightmare, and everyone was facing away, not looking at me, not helping me. I couldn’t move my feet at all, because it felt like I was stuck in something sticky, like trying to walk in honey or something. The frog was getting bigger and bigger, and was about to swallow me and trap me in its bones like a big cage. Finally, I managed to say ‘stop’ and I ended up saying it out loud, which woke me up, but I experienced a little sleep paralysis first. It was the first time I’d ever had that happen to me, but I knew what it was when it did, which made it less scary. It was just like, my brain was awake but my body wasn’t yet, so I still couldn’t move, and the dream was fading before my eyes. 

I managed to go back to sleep, but I didn’t have another dream after that. Then, I woke up kinda early, and went down to breakfast. I met two more Hufflepuffs, one named Willow who told me that if you laugh at the boggart, it’ll go away, and that I should travel with someone in case I run into it. The other one was named Ronan. Him and Willow were doing sign language, I think, but I don’t know sign language, so I couldn’t really keep up. They were talking a little while they were doing it, though, so I wasn’t left out or anything. 

After that, we had to leave the Great Hall so they could prepare it for the memorial. They filled it with benches and bubbles, and there was a portrait of Fox at the front - life size. I ended up sitting next to my potions professor, Professor Green. She actually loaned me her hat, because I complimented her on it! It’s a pretty black hat with a blue ribbon and a big, glass yellow star hanging off the tip. 

Then, the memorial started. And a lot of witches and wizards showed up for it.

Headmaster Fox was a man of many talents and accomplishments. He sounds as though he might’ve been one of the greatest and strongest wizards alive, when he was. And certainly one of the most beloved, as there were so many people around me, crying as the Headmistress spoke of him. It was very hard to be in that room, honestly. It broke me a little, to see the hurt everyone was feeling. 

I wish I had known him. 

Mum, Dad, my Step Dad, and Grandpa all showed up, and it was nice because I really needed a hug. Some people shared words with us about the Headmaster, including the Minister of Magic, Wilfred Bloom, who said the statue in the Ministry would be taken out and replaced with one of Fox. Talula sang a song I didn’t recognize, but it was very pretty anyways. 

I’m really grateful that Bonnie is here, and that she’s Head Girl. I feel so lost in this big school, and so alone… I’m friendly with some people but it’s not the same as being at home, with family. I hope the castle becomes home soon, and that my classmates become family. I’m really homesick, and I don’t know what I’ll do without Bonnie next year.

Hufflepuff had their first house meeting, after the memorial. Anton suggested to Professor Pre-Oh that we grow fruits and vegetables, and then someone else suggested a scavenger hunt to help the first years (like me!) learn the castle. Kites and dances were also suggested, but I was most excited about the gardening and the scavenger hunt. Especially because Pre-Oh said she could ask our herbology professors about helping grow the pumpkins! I love pumpkins so much! Eating them, using them for decoration… they’re amazing!

Eventually it was decided that Hufflepuff would organize a castle-wide scavenger hunt and that all houses were invited to participate, especially the first years so that we could get to know the castle. I’m very excited to see how it turns out, and try my hand at it! 

We also decided to have a night where we all sleep under the stars in the Astronomy tower, so that’s exciting too! Anton wanted us to transfigure our legs into tails and swim in the lake like mermaids, but the Professor said no to that idea. It got me wondering, though, if a person could be shrunk with magic and given transfigured wings? What if magic could make me into a faerie?

I also talked to Evan a little. He seems nervous about being a Hufflepuff, but hopefully we’ll both be fine. I told him we could be scared together. Also, I got to talk to Bobby, when I was writing in the courtyard. It was good to see him again, and it reminded me that I’m glad to be a Hufflepuff. I’m glad to be in a house with many good friends. 

Before dinner, I decided I wanted to explore the dungeons a little. Maybe a little stupid, especially because I was alone and there’s a boggart on the loose, but I was curious and ended up getting lucky. I was truthfully hoping I’d run into Ruby maybe. Even though he’s a Ravenclaw instead of a Slytherin, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was hanging out down there. But, I didn’t see him. 

It’s very dark down there, but I saw something white in the shadows. It turned out to be a very scared little rat! She seemed hungry, so I gave her some of the chocolate I had with me. After that, she crawled into my pocket, and didn’t want to leave, so I guess she’s mine now? I brought her with me to dinner, and she seemed very fond of the peas, cheese, and strawberries, like me! I didn’t hear anyone say anything about losing a pure-white rat, so I suppose she was wild? Or at the very least, not missed. 

Then I took her back to my dorm, and decided her name would be Venus. She seems scared of Puck, but Puck doesn’t really pay her any mind. For now, her and Cornelius share a cage. Hopefully no one notices that I’ve now got three pets…

Anyways, that’s been the past two days. Absolutely crazy, and my wrist hurts from writing it all out, just as I thought it would. Classes start tomorrow, so I’m going to go to bed. I’ll write soon!

Much love, Everly

About the Character: Everlina Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Katherine! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

#harry potter #hufflepuff #magic #diary #witch #hogwarts #journal #secondlife #mischief managed

[berjhawn]

Elastic Heart - Part 17 - Agreements

Warnings: Fighting, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, ETC

Pairings: Hobbit X OFC; Thranduil X OFC; Fili X OFC; LOTR X OFC

A/N: Since Tumblr is Broke you’ll have to go to my master-list to find all the other parts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait! Please wait!” Bard yells as the two of us run toward where Thranduil had gone. When we arrive I scowl at Thranduil while Bard says, “You would go to war over a handful of gems?”

Thranduil stares forward not meeting our eyes as he says, “The heirlooms of my people are not likely forsaken.”

“We are allies in this; my people also have a claim upon the riches of that mountain. Let me speak with Thorin.” It isn’t until Bard says Thorin’s name does Thranduil turn toward us.

“You would try to reason with the dwarf?” He asks and I nod as Bard says, “To avoid war, yes.”

“Then I am coming with you.” I say as I interject into their conversation causing them both to stare at me. “If anyone can get Thorin to understand it’s me.”

Bard slowly turns toward me as he whispers, “I do not think this wise.”

“Who knows him better than I? I have been with them for months; I can get him to understand.” I could sense that Bard was not a hundred percent happy with my coming along but I was right. I could help.

“You will remain here Lady Melethril.” Thranduil says and I narrow my eyes at him as I say, “My name is Randír, and I do not take orders from you.” Turning back to Bard I could sense he was curious to our relationship but he just shakes his head as he says, “Come with me.” I follow him over to a horse and after he climbs into the saddle I take his arm and pull myself up behind him. I glance over to see Thranduil looking at me with worry and sadness in this eyes but I just ignore him.

We ride through the city and the plain below until we come upon doors of Erebor. I look around Bard’s shoulder and smile as I see Fili standing a few feet away from his uncle. “Hail Thorin son of Thrain, we are glad to find you alive beyond hope.”

“Why do you come to the gates of the King under the mountain armed for war?” I hear Thorin call out and my heart clenches. There is something wrong; I can sense it in his voice.

“Why does the king under the mountain fence himself in? Like a robber in his hold.” Bard calls out and I instantly have the urge to step in.

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed.”

“My Lord we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?” Bard asks and I watch as Thorin nods. I smile as I climb down off the back of Bards horse and a familiar voice makes my heart flutter. 

“Randír?” I hear him say and I smile as I turn toward Fili who is staring at me in shock.

“Randír,” I hear Bard say and I reluctantly pull my eyes away from Fili and back to him and nod.

As we walk up to the barred gates I see a lone raven fly out of the mountain and head toward the east. When we reach the wall I see a hole in the center and follow closely behind Bard as he nears it. 

“I am listening.” I hear Thorin say and I follow Bard’s gaze through the hole to see Thorin standing on the other side not looking at us.

“On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honor your pledge. A share of the treasure so that they might rebuild their lives.”

“I will not treat with any man, while an armed host lies before my door.”

“That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms.”

“Your threats do not sway me.”

“What of your conscious? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help and in return you offered them only death and ruin.”

“When did the men of Laketown come to our aid in promised of wealth and gold?”

“A bargain was struck!”

“A bargain? What choice did we have but to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom. You call that a fair trade? Tell me Bard the Dragon-Slayer why should I offer such?”

“Because you gave us your word? Does that mean nothing?” Bard says and I watch as Thorin leaves the sight of the whole before he yells out, “Be gone! Let our arrows fly!” My heart drops and Bard smacks his hand against the cold stone before he turns away.

“Wait!” I call as I look back through the opening.  “Thorin please listen to me. We do not need to go to war.”

“But we do Randir,” He replies still not showing his face.

“Thorin please, remember how I told you that my father was done in by his pride, you are doing the same, please stop this madness. I cannot lose you like I lost him.”

“I offer you a chance Randír, rejoin us or return with Bard and become our enemy.”

“You cannot ask that of me.” I say as I feel my heart being torn in two.

“I can and I am, what say you?”

My heart clenches as I slowly look back toward Dale; all those people who had just lost their homes and were on the borderline of starvation. I let out a heavy sigh as I realize that my choice would take me away from my family. “I am sorry, but the people of Dale need my help.”

“Then you are my friend no more.” He says and I feel tears threaten to fall from my eyes. “Be gone!” he yells out again and I feel a sudden anger fill my body.

“Can you not see that this is not you? You have the dragon sickness and it is tearing you down making you a shell of your former self.”

“I said ‘Be gone’ Elf wretch!”

“Fine I’m leaving!” I yell out as I slowly start to walk away from them mountain. I fight the urge to cry as I look back toward the mountain to see Fili staring off after me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I once again climb onto Bard’s horse. I clutch to his sides as we ride of at a full run back to Dale. As we reach the city Thranduil is sitting right outside its gates upon his elk.

“He will give us nothing.” Bard says when we reach him.

“Pity, although you tried.”

“I do not understand, why? Why would he pick war?”

“It is fruitless to reason with them. They understand one thing,” Thranduil says as he draws his sword and stares at it for a moment before exclaiming, “We attack at dawn!”  As he starts to ride away I hear him ask, “Are you with us?”

I follow Bard’s gaze back to the mountain and I can once again feel my heart longing for a certain dwarf inside. “Come we must prepare.” Bard says and my heart clenches at the thought of fighting my friends. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment alone.” I say as I slowly slide off the back of his horse. He gives me a knowing glance before he rides off into the city. I slowly turn back toward the mountain and I contemplate whether or not I had made a mistake.

The wind blows around me causing my hair to thrash around my face. I feel a single tear stream down my face as I turn and slowly make my way back to Dale. I watch halfheartedly as the men of Laketown ready for war. I glance over at the Elves and see them raise their noses at me. My hear clenches as I realize I am once again alone. I chose wrong.

“Make way!” I hear a familiar voice and I turn to see Gandalf riding into the square. My heart lifts a little in my chest and I smile as I start to walk toward him when Alfrid yells out, “No, No, no! Oy! You! Pointy hat!” I roll my eyes as I quickly start to walk over to him. “Yes you!” he yells out and I grab his arm silencing him.

“That is enough Alfrid!” He slowly turns toward me and I jerk my hand away from his arm as I walk to my old friend. “Gandalf my friend I have missed you.” I say as I wrap my arms around him.

“Where is the rest of your company?” He asks and my smile fades.

“They are in the mountain, I fear Thorin has lost his mind to the Dragon-sickness.”

“Who’s in charge here!” Gandalf cries out as he stares Alfrid down.

“Who’s asking?” Bard says from behind me and I slowly turn to him as I say, “Bard this is Gandalf they Grey, Gandalf this is Bard.” The two of them quickly get acquainted before Bard leads us to where Thranduil is camped.  When we enter his tent I keep my eyes from his as Gandalf speaks.

“You must set aside your petty grievances with the dwarves, war is coming. The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You are all in mortal danger.” Gandalf says and my heart clenches.

“What are you talking about?” Bard asks but is instantly interrupted by Thranduil as he stands and walking over to a small table pours a glass of wine as he says, “I can see you know nothing of wizards. They are like winter thunder on a cold wind rolling in from a distance. Looking hard an alarmed, but sometimes the storm is just a storm.”

“Not this time!” Gandalf interjects and I feel my heart clench as the suddenly memory of my father fills my mind. “Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are fighters; they have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength.”

“Why show his hand now?”

“Because we forced him! We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland.” I clench my fist closed as I follow Gandalf out of the tent followed closely by Thranduil and Bard. “The dwarves were never meant to reach the mountain. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them; his master seeks control over the mountain. Not just for the treasure within but for where it lies. Its strategic position, this is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that failed kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lorien, the shire, even Gondor itself will fall.”

“These Orc armies you speak of Mithrandir, where are they?” Thranduil asks and I feel something come over me as I turn and slowly look toward the hills my eyes glossing over with a silver film. “They are coming,” I feel myself say as I can clear as say see them before me. I look around to see thousands of them all around me and say fear filling my voice, “So many,”

“Where do you see them my lady?” I hear Gandalf’s voice ask and I look around but I can’t tell because we are underground.

“It is dark, the stench of Orc is strong for there is nowhere for the scent to escape. They are underground.” I turn to see Azog riding his white Warg toward me and I feel my body burn with anger. Then as soon as I saw them the vision was gone. I shake my head as I slowly turn toward my companions to see them staring at me. I feel a familiar feeling that I had felt in centuries wash over me causing me to smile. I knew this feeling. I look around me as I sense a familiar presence. 

“Ada?” I say barely above a whisper as the feeling once again washes over me it was as if he was there hugging me.

“Melethril, my child; too long have you lived in fear. It is time to rise above your fears and claim your birthright.  This war will be won not through brute strength but through perseverance and compassion. Go now and lead our people, be the strong courageous leader they deserve; and remember, Amin mela lle.” 

As soon as his voice was there it was gone again. He was right; it was time for me to move on with my life. I had a lot to be grateful for. I was alive and well and as a bonus I was in love with a wonderful dwarf.

I smile before I turn back to Gandalf as he says, “Something has changed about you my lady.”

“I feel like I haven’t in many centuries,” My heart warms in my chest and I slowly turn toward the Mountain and say, “I have a feeling before this is all over with Thorin will beat his sickness and the battle against the Orcs will be won.”

“How do you know?” Bard asks and I smile softly as I turn to him and say, “Because I have hope.” Bard nods before he returns to help his people. I slowly turn to Thranduil and Gandalf and follow after them as they walk back inside Thranduil’s tent. I watch as Thranduil pulls something from behind his chair and my face lights up as I see the familiar sight of my father’s blade, Ithildin.

“If you are to join in the fight you will need a proper sword.” Thranduil says as he hands Ithildin to me. I smile brightly as I pull him from his sheathe to see that he had in fact been clean. I turn toward Thranduil and say, “Diola lle mellonamin.” (Thank you my friend.) I slowly turn and walking away tie Ithildin’s sheath to my belt. I walk back over to look at the mountain and I silently say to the wind, “I will save you from yourselves.”

Will Continue - 

#berjhawn writes #berjhawn #hobbit fanfiction #hobbit x oc #hobbit x reader #the hobbit #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x ofc #thranduil x oc #Thranduil #fili x ofc #fili x oc #Fili #fili fanfiction #fanfiction

[laisselfreemaiden]

Grandma’s Ring pt. 4

Warning: Cursing, you curse. I don’t remember how much. Some fun with dwarves, who sing. Snow White would’ve been cooler with these dwarves lol

A/n: So this is almost 3000 words. I have a pdf of the scripts for this, but some of the descriptions of how they appear or act is my own because they don’t have that in it. That’s my excuse if anything is inaccurate. Also, it’s long cuz I wanted to just cut it off when Bilbo faints cuz ya know. Why not, seems like a good place. Anyway, enjoy!

    You watch as the dwarves, brought by Gandalf this time, raid Bilbo’s cupboards and seem to completely disregard the poor hobbit who’s anxiously tries to get them to listen to him. It’s oddly funny, seeing them run around. And, oddly, they’re slightly taller than you thought and broader, their hair looks more tangled but also looks like it could be soft. If you are stuck in this world, you might as well pay really close attention to your favorite characters, right?

    “Those are my plates! Excuse me! Not my wine. Put that back. Put that back! Not the jam, please! ...Excuse me.”

    Bilbo gets distracted by the dwarf Bombur walking out with an entire stack of cheese wheels in his arms.

    “Excuse me, a tad excessive, isn’t it? Have you got a cheese knife?”

    You just grin to yourself as the dwarf’s brother replies with, “Cheese knife? He eats it by the block.”

    Bilbo looks nearly ready to kill the dwarves.

    Oin and Gloin are bringing chairs down into the hall for all of them to have seats, one of them carrying a very old, very nice looking chair that Bilbo ends up nearly flipping his shit over.

    “No, no, that’s Grandpa Mungo’s chair! No, I’m sorry, you’ll have to take it back please. Take it back...it’s antique, not for sitting on! Thank you! That’s a book, not a coaster. Put that map down, thank you.”

    “I cannot hear what you’re saying,” Oin replies, and you have to stifle a laugh.

    Gandalf motions you over to him as Dori appears with a tray of tea. “Excuse me, Mr. Gandalf, young miss, can I tempt you with a nice cup of chamomile tea?”

    You never actually had tea, so you accept the small cup with a smile, but Gandalf declines for red wine instead. You’ve seen the hobbit’s wine glasses and knew it really would be barely a shot of wine. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing before taking a small sip of your tea. It’s actually pretty good. Then, you watch Gandalf count the dwarves on his fingers.

    “Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori...Ori.”

    Bilbo wrestles a bowl of tomatoes away from Nori, which makes you chuckle behind your cup, as Bifur comes up to Gandalf and says something in his native tongue.

    “Yes, you’re quite right, Bifur. We appear to be one dwarf short.”

    “He is late, is all,” Dwalin says. “He travelled North to a meeting of our kin. He will come.”

    You carefully watch the dwarves as Dori brings Gandalf his shot of wine. The wizard almost seems disappointed there isn’t more. Neither Bilbo nor you are seated at the table, mostly because there isn’t room. You just watch in amusement as Bofur tosses food into Bombur’s mouth. Your laugh is hidden within the cheering of the company. You do feel bad for Bilbo, though. After all, he didn’t even know they would come.

    After they eat, they all begin to wander around, so you help Bilbo try to keep them from eating the rest of the house, though you’d be more helpful if you weren’t so giddy. It’s not every day you find yourself in a book or movie you love!

    “Excuse me, that is a doily, not a dishcloth!”

    Bofur, the dwarf with a furry ear flap hat, looks back at Bilbo as he takes it away. “But it’s full of holes!”

    “It’s supposed to look like that, it’s crochet.” You smile at how exasperated he is.

    The dwarf seems to want to poke fun at your poor friend. “Oh, and a wonderful game it is, if you got the balls for it.”

    As Bilbo walks up to you, you stifle a snort of amusement. “Bebother and confusticate these dwarves!”

    “Don’t be too hard on them, Bilbo. It’s a new place for them, it’s like children.”

    “I don’t believe any of the hobbit children would be this rude,” he mutters.

    Gandalf comes to talk to Bilbo and you find yourself looking over the dwarves again, but you find someone else watching you. Two someones, actually. The young princes of Erebor are looking at you just as curiously as you are them, almost like they’re trying to figure out what and who you are. You give them a small wave and Kili grins, waving back. Fili just keeps his stare on you.

    “-I don’t understand what they’re doing in my house!”

    “Excuse me,” Ori cuts in and you remember he’s the youngest in the group, so you smile sweetly at him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?”

    “Here you go, Ori, give it to me.”

    Here we go, time for the song. You can’t help but grin widely and move out of their way.

    Fili takes the plate and throws it to Kili, who throws it behind his back to Bifur. He puts each dish he catches in the sink to clean it without turning around to see. As all of Bilbo’s dishes fly through the air, Gandalf ducks even more to avoid getting hit. You must look insane as you watch the controlled chaos around you with a huge smile.

    “Excuse me, that’s my mother’s West Farthing crockery, it’s over a hundred years old!”

    The dwarves not throwing stuff and are sitting back at the table start a rhythm with their silverware and feet, which seems to make him even more upset.

    “Ooh, d’hear that, lads? He says we’ll blunt the knives.”

    Kili grins and starts the song you can’t help but laugh to. “Blunt the knives, bend the forks!”

    Fili elbows the plates and other dishes. “Smash the bottles and burn the corks!”

    “Chip the glasses and crack the plates, that’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

    You laugh softly, watching everything flying through the air and the different expressions of anger and frustration fall across Bilbo’s face.

     The song ends not long after, with the dwarves and Gandalf laughing and Bilbo fuming to himself. Everything, however, falls silent when there are three knocks at the door. For the first time since the Durin brothers arrived, you say something.

    “It’s starting,” you whisper to yourself, but Bilbo is close enough to hear you.

    “What is?”

    You blink out of your little world and look at him. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just...thinking out loud.”

    Gandalf opens the front door and you try to keep yourself from leaning over to see him. You didn’t want to draw that much attention to yourself. You hear him before you see him.          “Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. Wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.”

    You remember reading something about dwarves maybe being shortsighted, at least Thorin could be. It would make sense when you think about the rest of the movies.

    “Mark?” Bilbo looks confused and very miffed. “There’s no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!”

    “There is a mark; I put it there myself.” Gandalf seems almost proud of that. “Bilbo Baggins, Miss Y/n, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

    At least he still remembers that you’re here, too.

    Thorin barely spares you a glance before staring down your poor friend. “So, this is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

    “Pardon me?”

    “Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?”

    Bilbo still looks a bit confused and scared of the king dwarf. You, however, have your arms crossed over your chest and look barely fazed by anything happening. No wonder you keep getting curious looks.

    “Well, I have some skill at Conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that’s relevant.”

    “Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

    As the dwarves laugh and leave to go back to the table, Bilbo looks at you confused. “A burglar? What nonsense did Gandalf tell them?”

    You shrug your shoulders. “He’s a wizard, he could’ve told them any number of things. And god knows probably only a third of them are true.”

    Even though it’s a poor attempt at humor, it makes a small smile appear on his face. The poor hobbit has no idea how long or hard this journey will be and, if you’re honest, neither do you. Watching it, reading it, is so incredibly different that going through it. Thinking about it now, it almost makes your feet sore. Their mountain is so far away.

    “They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.”

    You and Bilbo both look up at the dwarves.

    “You’re going on a quest?” your little friend asks.

    Gandalf nods ever so slightly. “Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light.”

    He goes to bring a lit candle to the table as Gandalf spreads out a map dramatically. You lean over to try and get a look at it when you see Kili motioning you towards him. He moves slightly to allow you a spot to see everything. You smile and fit yourself in, looking over the map. It’s amazing to actually see in front of you.

    “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

    Bilbo reads the map over, but you say it first. “The Lonely Mountain.”

    Gandalf smiles at you and nods as Gloin says, “Aye. Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time.”

    “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

    Bilbo looks concerned at that. “Uh, what beast?”

    “Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals-”

    Your friend interrupts the dwarf. “Yes, I know what a dragon is.”

    You start tuning them out in favor of studying the map. You don’t know the next time you’ll be able to see it or if you will ever be able to again. You doubt they’d even want to bring you along. It takes them a while to trust Bilbo and you don’t have anything to offer the company. You don’t know how to fight, you can’t track. What point would there be to take you anywhere?

    “Shazara!” You nearly jump out of your skin when Thorin shouts in Khuzdul. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!”

    You hold back a flinch when they all cheer. They’re louder than expected.

    “You forget: the front gate is sealed,” Balin says. “There is no way into the mountain.”

    You look to Gandalf immediately, knowing what he has up his sleeves. “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

    You watch as the wizard produces the key to the mountain, seeing everyone look at it with as much wonder as you have.

    “How came you by this?” the dwarf king asks.

    “It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now.”

    Since you’re next to Kili and Fili, you hear quite clearly, “If there is a key, there must be a door.”

    “No shit, Sherlock,” you mutter, catching the two younger dwarves attention. You send them a small, sheepish smile, hoping they’d ignore what you said and wouldn’t ask what Sherlock was.

    Gandalf taps the runes on the map with his pipe. “These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls.”

    The puppy prince chimes in. “There’s another way in!”

    “Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

    “That’s why we need a burglar,” Ori says, looking at Bilbo, then to you.

    “Hm, a good one, too. An expert, I’d imagine,” your friend says thoughtfully.

    “And are you?”

    “Am I what?”

    You roll your lips together to stay quiet.

    “He said he’s an expert! Hey hey!”

    Bilbo looks shocked as the dwarves laugh. “M-me? No, no, no, no, no. I’m not a burglar; I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”

     With a small nod of agreement on your part, Balin says, “I’m afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He’s hardly burglar material.”

    “Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

    Your spirit drops slightly, knowing you probably can’t do either. Bilbo keeps agreeing as the dwarrows start arguing. With a small expression of sadness, you look up at a now angry Gandalf. He stands to his full height and the room grows dark as he speaks in his voice of power, making everyone fall quiet.

    “Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is.”

    He then sits again and the room goes back to normal. He looks at you with a mysterious expression and you feel your hopes lift a bit. Maybe you would be included. Did Gandalf know you knew what would happen in this journey?

    “Hobbits are remarkable light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest, as well as the young lady, and he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this.”

    Your eyes flick over everyone, waiting to see what would happen.

    “Very well. We will do it your way.”

    Bilbo starts freaking out. “No, no, no.”

    “Give him the contract.”

    “Please.”

    “Alright, we’re off!” Bofur says as Balin hands Bilbo a very long contract.

    You move from your spot to read over Bilbo’s shoulder.

    “It’s just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

    “Funeral arrangements?”

    He tugs you a few feet away from them to read it over. You still stand behind him as he starts muttering over the contract. “Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any.”

    “Sounds fair,” you murmur.

    “Eh, Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations...evisceration...incineration?”

    “He is a dragon,” you add.

    “Oh, aye, he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.”

    Bilbo seems a bit breathless as you put a hand on his shoulder. “Huh.”

    “Do you feel okay?” you ask softly so only he hears you.

    “Uh, yeah...feel a bit faint.” He bends over like he’s nauseous and in pain.

    Bofur, in an attempt, possibly, to help him feel better, starts saying more on how dangerous this dragon will be. “Think furnace with wings.”

    “Air, I...I...I need air.”

    “Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash.”

    Even you flinch at that. Bilbo takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as you feel him lean more into your hand on his shoulder.

    “Hmmm. Nope.” 

    He immediately drops, you move quickly to hook your arms under his to hold him up. WIth a huff that blows loose hair out of your eyes, you turn to fix the dwarf responsible for this with a look.

    “Now look what you did. He’s not used to dangers like you guys, that was uncalled for.”

    Gandalf has to keep himself from chuckling over how you scold them like children. “Very helpful, Bofur.”

    He looks sheepish as you look at the other dwarves, still holding Bilbo up in your arms.

    “Well? Anyone wanna help me sit him down somewhere?”

    Thorin looks at Gandalf and whispers something you can’t hear.

    “Do you require us to take her as well?”

    Gandalf only smiles, watching as Dwalin comes to you and takes Bilbo to sit him in his comfy chair. “Hm.”

#Grandma's ring #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #x reader #thorin's company #bilbo baggins #this is fun to write #fili x reader #yes it it #enjoy #it's probably gonna be a slow burn #which is also fun #anyway #yeah that's it

[chasholidays]

They Were the Best Years of My Life

An And So It Goes timestamp for @matriarchal and @lushatrocity!

i.

It's not like Bellamy wanted to have kids so that he could come up with family Halloween costumes. He loves Clarke, he's always wanted children, and once they've moved into a larger place and gotten their jobs stabilized, they figure they're ready.

It's still staggering and more than little terrifying to start a family, but then they have a baby, and he doesn't really have enough room left in his brain to not feel ready for that. He's too busy making she she doesn't choke on her own hand or something to think about how he's an adult with a house and a wife and a baby.

Cassandra is just over seven months old when October rolls around, and he remembers that Halloween is a thing, and for the first time ever, he has a tiny, living prop to work with.

"I came up with a list of costumes for us during my free period today," he tells Clarke when she gets home.

"For what?"

"Halloween. I'm going to need to get working if we're going to have three costumes by the end of the month."

She bites her lip, trying to hold back either a smile or laughter, he's not sure which. He's a little ridiculous about Halloween; he knows that. And Clarke knows it too. She thinks it’s cute.

“We’re going trick-or-treating with our infant? I think everyone’s going to know the candy is for us.”

“We must have something to dress up for,” he says. “She can come to parties with us. Or help us give out candy. Or just pose for pictures.”

“Maybe we should get into cosplaying or something,” she muses. “So you have more opportunities to dress her up.”

“Or you could just help me pick a family costume.”

“From the list that you made.”

“From the list that I made,” he agrees. “We’ve got years of family costumes to go. We just need to pick what order we do them.”

“I love you,” she says, shaking her head. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bellamy's favorite thing about Halloween costumes is that there really is no limit. They range from fictional characters to generic professions, inanimate objects to vague concepts, which means he really has a lot to work with, and he thinks he has some great ideas there.

Clarke, however, gets stuck on the first one. "Frodo, Sam, and Gollum?"

"I'm Frodo, you're Sam, Cassandra is Gollum. She's mostly bald and isn't great at communicating. I could make her a One Ring pacifier."

It sounds as if Clarke is actually choking on her laughter, which is always an accomplishment when he can manage it. "Okay, that's--on the list. Pirates is a little vague."

"We're pirates and we rig Cassandra's stroller up to look like a treasure chest. That one might be better when she's a little older," he admits. "It would kill at trick-or-treating."

"Or when we have two kids and Cassandra has her own costume."

"Or that."

"Bat, Super, Wonder?"

"One of us is one of the Batpeople, the other is one of the Superpeople, Cassandra is Wonder Woman."

"I want Batgirl, you can be Superman."

"Cool, write that down."

In the end, they come up with ten potential costumes to do over the next decade, and settle on the Lord of the Rings group for this year, largely because Clarke can't stop giggling about it.

"Besides," she says, like Bellamy hasn't agreed and she still needs to justify herself to him. "That's a much better costume to show off to our friends than to go trick-or-treating in. We'll save the others for wider audiences."

"You know these were all my idea, right?" he asks, with a smile. "I like them. You don't have to convince me."

"I'm rehearsing for when our friends make fun of us. Just let me know how I need to help," she adds, and Bellamy kisses her and gets to planning.

He and Clarke are still the only ones in their immediate friend group with a child, but their friends also love Cassandra and never mind having to accommodate her when they make plans that involve Clarke and Bellamy. He knows the two of them don't go out to the bar to hang out with Gina as much as Monty, Miller, and Raven do, but they've pretty much accepted that. They have a baby; they're drinking at home.

The Halloween party is at his and Clarke's place this year, both because they have the largest place and because taking the baby places can be a pain, but a group costume doesn't have impact unless it's seen all at once, so Bellamy and Clarke both open the door, with Cassandra in her mother's arms.

Monty and Miller take a second to take them in. The costumes are great, if Bellamy does say so himself; they're not leaving the house, so he even made furry socks to give them authentic hobbit feet.

"You know," Monty finally says. They're dressed as Captain Cold and The Ray, which is also a pretty great costume he approves of. "We met playing Hearthstone. It shouldn't be possible that we're not the dorkiest people here. And yet here we are."

"Is that a One Ring pacifier?" asks Miller. "You can't just give Gollum the ring, guys."

"But it makes her so happy," says Clarke.

"I'm just saying, I wouldn't put my kid in a costume that actually encouraged her to bite my finger off," Miller says, and Bellamy shrugs.

"I'm willing to risk it. But I'll take that into consideration for next year."

"This is going to be a thing, isn't it?" Monty asks, wary.

"We've got a list," says Clarke, bright. "It's already a thing."

Monty just shakes his head, but he's still smiling. "Great, can't wait."

"Yeah," says Bellamy. "Neither can I."

ii.

It gets a little more complicated when Cassandra starts developing opinions of her own about how she'd like to dress for holidays, but it's the nice kind of complication. He remembers, a little bit, how it was when Octavia was growing up, what it was like to see her turning into a person before his eyes, but it's even cooler this time, when he's old enough to really understand and appreciate what's going on.

She's three and a half by the time she's articulate enough to express opinions on Halloween costumes, and when he asks what she wants to be, she thinks it over carefully and decides, "Chewbacca."

Clarke's sitting at the table looking at their budget, and he can actually see her trying not to laugh.

"Chewbacca?" he asks. "From Star Wars?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay," he says, inclining his head. "I bet we can do that. But it's going to be a lot of work to put all that fur together. Are you going to help me?"

"Uh huh."

"And you're not going to quit if it's too hard, right?"

"Nuh uh."

"Okay," he says. "Let's get started."

Obviously, he's not actually expecting Cassandra to do a ton of work, but it's never too early to start learning the basics of sewing and construction, as far as he's concerned. And it's not actually that hard a costume, in some ways. He can buy some brown leggings and a top, sew some fur on there, and then make a mask. And his and Clarke's costumes will be easy; Han and Leia is definitely a dream couples costume.

"One of the big Halloween secrets is that you only make as much stuff as you can't buy," he tells Cassandra, low. They're drawing up plans together, which means he's sketching actual plans, and Cassandra is drawing a picture of Han, Leia, and Chewbacca, which is mostly just a bunch of blobs.

"You know you can just buy the actual costume, right?" Clarke says. As usual, she's not contributing to the overall costuming process, but she likes to be close, so she can still be a little involved.

"Mom's right, but it's more fun when you make stuff. But making shirts is really boring."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But making the costume is going to be fun."

"Sure it is," Clarke mutters, and he sticks his tongue out at her over Cassandra's head.

Of course, he's right, and even Clarke gets in on it, as he knew she would, because Clarke doesn't know how to resist a project, especially when both he and Cassandra are involved. She puts her foot down that she wants Leia's Cloud City look, and Cassandra gets really into going to thrift stores with her looking for costume components, which is really kind of ridiculously cute.

It really is a group effort, and when they line themselves up for the first time in front of the mirror, no one's more excited than Cassandra.

"We look so good!" she says, and just like that, she's hooked.

Bellamy's never been so proud.

iii.

The next year, Clarke is visibly pregnant, so they have that to plan around.

"It's too bad she's too young to watch Fury Road," Bellamy muses, drumming his fingers against Clarke's stomach. "She'd definitely be a war boy."

Clarke laughs. "She's four, we're not showing her Mad Max just for a Halloween costume. I don't care how much you want her to ride eternal, shiny, and chrome."

"Which is what I said."

"Sometimes you say things hoping I'll secretly disagree."

It's not like she's wrong. "I just can't think of many age-appropriate characters who are visibly pregnant."

"That's because kids can't know that pregnancy exists, or else they'll ask where babies come from."

"God forbid." He sighs. "I guess she'll have a lot of opinions. You think you're going to be up for trick-or-treating? You've been a little tired."

"I think I'm good." She kisses his shoulder. "I don't want to miss it. And I really want to find out what you guys come up with."

He smiles. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to that myself."

He and Cassandra sit down to talk about it the next day.

"So, I was thinking it would be fun if our Halloween costume this year had the baby in it," he tells her, and she frowns.

"Is the baby going to be born?"

"No. But maybe Mom could dress as someone who's having a baby soon."

"Oh." She frowns. "That could be okay."

"Okay?" he asks, a little amused in spite of himself.

"I wanted to be ponies."

She's been watching My Little Pony basically non-stop on Netflix; he should have seen this coming. "And there's a pony with a baby?" he asks.

"Uh huh. Princess Cadance had a baby. So Mom can be Princess Cadance and you can be Shining Armor and I can be Twilight Sparkle!"

Twilight Sparkle is her favorite, so it's not like this is some great sacrifice for her. "You want to do that?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay," he says. "I bet we can figure it out."

And he really does mean it, but after about half an hour of googling, he'll admit he's not entirely sure what to do with the whole thing.

"I'm worried if we just dress up as ponies, we're going to be furries," he admits to Clarke.

"I think furry is something you already are, not something you become the first time you dress up as a cartoon horse."

"Is that based on something, or are you just guessing? Remember when the dean on Community got that dalmatian fetish? It could be like that."

"Community wasn't a documentary, Bellamy. Except for the documentary episodes," she grants, before he can make the argument himself. "Anyway, did you look at Equestria Girls?"

"At what now?"

She rolls her eyes. "Didn't you have a Navy buddy who was a brony? Why aren't you better at this?"

"I'm okay with not being better at this. What's Equestria Girls?"

"It's the one where all the ponies are humans in high school."

"How is that real?"

She shrugs. "No idea, but it would probably be a lot easier to do those costumes. Regular clothing decorated with, like, their cutie marks and stuff."

"You think that's going to be pony enough for Cassandra?"

"We can do pony ears, just to be safe. I bet you can talk her into that."

"Oh, so it's my job to talk her into it?"

"Halloween is your holiday, babe," she tells him, patting his shoulder. "I'll tell her that Santa's not real, when that comes up."

He laughs. "And you're fine with being a pregnant, anthropomorphic horse for Halloween? Just checking. I want it in writing that you're fine with this and it was your idea, because I don't want you to be complaining ten years later about how much this sucks."

"I promise I will only ever complain about the year you made me a pregnant anthropomorphic horse costume as a joke," she says, and he kisses her hair.

"Good enough for me. I'll see if the kid doesn't mind."

She's thrilled, of course, and Bellamy doesn't worry about it until the night of. It's their first year trick-or-treating with Monty and Miller; they'd only been fostering Dylan for a few months last year, and he wasn't comfortable going out with a big group of near-strangers. Now, he's settled in a little more and sees the wisdom in going on a longer route with nicer houses and better candy.

He's just that he is, unfortunately, also a six-year-old boy, so he looks a little wary at the sight of them.

"What are you supposed to be?" he asks.

"Ponies," says Cassandra, smug. "We always make family costumes."

"Oh," says Dylan. "That's cool."

"I bet Dad would make one for you too," she says, with the magnanimity of a child making a promise she won't have to put any effort into fulfilling. "If you want him to."

"We're not doing a six-person costume next year," Miller tells him, low. "I will actually murder him."

"I know," says Bellamy. He smirks. "We'll have the baby, so it's actually going to be seven people. Unless Raven and Gina want in, and--"

"There is something wrong with you."

"That too," he says. "Happy Halloween."

iv.

Seven people is really a lot to work with, Bellamy has to admit. It's why he and Cassandra decide they should start planning in September.

"It's like Christmas creep, but specific only to our family," says Clarke.

"They're already selling Halloween candy some places," Bellamy points out. "It's not just us."

"Well, I think we should go back to an old classic idea," she adds, which is surprising. Clarke usually considers her role in Halloween planning to be supporting, not leading.

"Yeah?" he asks, "What's that?"

"Pirates."

Cassandra lights up. "Pirates?"

"Yeah. Dad had this cool idea where he thought he could rig a stroller up so it looked like a treasure chest, and then the rest of us could be pirates, protecting it. That would be fun, right?"

"Yeah!" she says. She's practically vibrating with excitement. "Can we do that, Dad?"

"We should check with Uncle Nate and Monty and Dylan," he says. "Make sure they wants to do it too. But even if they don't, we make a pretty good pirate gang with just the four of us, right?"

"Uh huh," says Cassandra. "Well, three of us. Marc is the treasure, right?"

"Yeah. This one's going to be complicated," Bellamy adds, doing his best to bring some real gravity to the statement. "We have to put together the treasure chest. That's construction, not just sewing."

"I like complicated," Cassandra declares. "Let's do it."

Clarke, unsurprisingly, takes point on building the treasure chest; construction and artwork are her fields, and she manages to put together a sturdy cardboard shell that slides over Marc's stroller. For the lid, she finds some cloth to go over the top of the stroller, taking advantage of the part that folds up, and Bellamy has to admit, it looks awesome.

"It's almost like I'm good at things," says Clarke, with obvious smugness.

"It never gets old, finding new things you're good at," he tells her, fond, and leans in for a kiss. "Seriously, this is awesome."

"Of course it is. I love our Halloween tradition," she adds, with a small smile. "Just because I'm not always as involved--"

"I know." He smiles. "Trust me, I never doubted. Now you just have to help me come up with an appropriate pirate costume for you."

"I didn't know it was that hard."

The smile turns into a smirk. "When I think about you dressing up as a pirate, it's not exactly G-rated fantasies."

She laughs, tugs him down for another kiss. Both the kids are actually asleep, so there's an outside chance he's going to get laid tonight. He's pretty sure they can make it happen.

"So tell me about your idea tonight, and I'll help you figure out something appropriate for me in the morning," she murmurs, and he grins and tugs her closer.

"Works for me."

The pirate costume she ends up wearing to trick-or-treat is not, therefore, the pirate costume of his fantasies, but once the night is over and the kids are settled down, she undoes the top few buttons and tightens the corset, so, really, who says you can't wear Halloween costumes all year round?

They're going to get a lot of use out of this one.

v.

At age ten, Dylan is the one who finally says, "I want to be Spider-Man this year," and Bellamy and Clarke exchange a look,

Bellamy doesn't often think of the conversation he and Clarke had during their first Halloween together, all those years ago. He does remember it, but less on its own and more as the first time Clarke confirmed that she wanted to have kids with him, that she didn't just love him and want to stay with him, but that she was planning a future for them, the same as he was.

He did not expect, in any way, to actually have to make Spider-Man costumes for any number of children.

"I wanna be 'Pider-Man too," says Marc, right on cue. He thinks Dylan is the coolest person to have ever lived, which means that everything Dylan does, he wants to do too.

"Is there a girl Spider-Man?" asks Cassandra. "A good one. Not just Spider-Man with a ponytail."

"I think we can probably figure something out," says Bellamy. "But I'm not being Uncle Ben. There's no way I'm jinxing myself like that."

"I think as long as we're all in the Marvel family, it still counts as a theme costume," says Clarke. "I bet Monty will have ideas."

This, as it turns out, is an understatement.

"Okay, so, Spider-Gwen is awesome, Cassandra can be her. She's got a hoodie, it's a really cool aesthetic. And then Dylan can be Peter Parker Spider-Man and Marc can be Miles Morales Spider-Man."

“So they’re not just different costumes for the same person?” Bellamy asks, frowning. “How many Spider-Men are there?”

“How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?” Monty asks. “This is not for us to know. I already have a Black Widow costume, so I’m set. Assuming it still fits.”

His frown deepens. “Why do you already have a Black Widow costume?”

“Because I’ve already dressed up as Black Widow. Nate wants to be Heimdall.”

“Does Nate know that?”

Monty just looks at him, unimpressed. “It’s Idris Elba. Everyone wants to be Idris Elba.”

Bellamy can’t argue with that.

After some googling, Clarke opts for Captain Marvel for her costume, and Bellamy goes with Captain America, mostly because he has a thing for Chris Evans. And Clarke has a thing for Chris Evans. Everyone has a thing for Chris Evans, from what he can tell.

But for some reason, it feels like more work than usual.

“It’s because you’re making fucking armor,” says Raven. She and Gina are coming with them this year, but have opted for DC superheroes. Bellamy’s pretty sure Raven just wants someone to try to tell her she’s a fake geek girl who doesn’t know Oracle isn’t in the Marvel universe so she can fight them. Which he completely supports; he hopes she kicks their hypothetical asses.

“So it’s Miller’s fault.”

“And yours. You want a real shield.”

“What’s the point of having a fake shield?”

Raven rolls her eyes. “So have you always been like this, or is this a weird biological imperative? Like you had kids and decided you needed to disguise them so they’d be protected from predators.”

“That sounds real. I like Halloween,” he says. “Miller and I did costumes together when we were little, and I always liked it. And when O let me dress her up.”

“Masculinity meant you couldn’t play with dolls so you had to figure out another way to do it,” she supplies.

“Or I just like Halloween. Seriously, it’s fun. And I’ve got another five years tops before Cassandra decides she’s too cool to dress up with her family, so I’ve got to milk it while I can.”

“Kids sound exhausting, I’m glad I don’t have any.”

“Yeah, if that's how you feel about it, it's definitely good. You want to be sure about kids. But you’re still coming out with us? Trick-or-treating can be a lot."

"Obviously. I miss having an excuse to get free candy. The costumes look really cool," she adds, bumping her shoulder against his. "You're good at this."

"Costumes? Yeah, my mom taught me to sew when I was a kid."

"Not just that. You guys are good at all of this. I still feel like I'm not used to you being parents, but--you're doing awesome at it."

He smiles, but there is a lump in his throat. Validation never gets old. "Getting sentimental in your old age, huh?"

"Shut up," she says. "Metal-working always does that to me."

He puts his arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. "Yeah, that must be it."

The costumes get done, and by the time Halloween rolls around, Bellamy really does feel like a successful parent. Not, of course, that Halloween costumes are the be-all and end-all of parenting, but--it's not just costumes. His kids have two parents who love them and are able to take the time to do things for them and with them, which is lucky, and they have adopted aunts and uncles and friends who all want to go out with them. When Bellamy was Cassandra's age, he was already taking his sister out alone, and while he could do that, he likes that his kids will probably become embarrassed to be seen with him long before he stops wanting to make them all family costumes.

"Do you think if we do this again next year and I start now, I could make myself web shooters?" Cassandra asks.

"Depends on what you're thinking," says Clarke, clucking her tongue. "You could probably get something that would shoot something out of it, but it's not going to be like real functioning webs."

"I know that," says Cassandra. "But I really like this costume, and it would be cool if we could do, like, silly string! Fwip, fwip," she adds, flicking her wrists at the darkness. Monty loaned her some Spider-Gwen comics, and Bellamy can sense the start of a new obsession. It really might last her all the way to next Halloween. "We could do that, right, Dad?"

"Raven might need to be technical consultant," he says. "I'm not really an expert on web shooting. But yeah," he says, putting his arm around her and giving her a squeeze. "Any costume you want, we'll figure it out. You know that."

"I do know that," she says, easy, and that's his favorite tradition.

After all, he gets to be a superhero every single Halloween.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Silver Secrets pt 8

Previous chapters: [1]  [2]  [3]  [4]  [5]  [6]  [7]  [8]

At Ravenhill...

You could see the wooden signalling devices atop the tower from across the river.

“Where is he?!” Thorin growled, cutting the head off the final orc in your path.

“It looks deserted,” Kíli remarked, taking the words right out of your mouth. Fíli’s fingers found yours, squeezing gently.

“Maybe he fled?” you offered half-heartedly, returning Fíli’s silent offer of comfort. Already, the blade of your axe had seen more blood than ever before, running thick and black along the sharp edge.

“I’d love to think so, Mjoll,” Kíli agreed, nodding, “but…” Your lips thinned into a grim smile; you didn’t believe so either.

“He must be here!” Thorin exclaimed.

“We’ve got company!” Dwalin growled, staring across the frozen landscape.

“Fíli, Kíli,” Thorin nodded towards the tower, “go scout it out, report back if you see anything, you got me?”

“Goblins,” Dwalin spat, “but no more than a hundred.” You followed his eyes, catching sight of – were some of the Goblins riding other Goblins? – the oncoming force. You smiled grimly, getting better hold of your double-bladed war axe, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship Dwalin had unearthed for you; his grandmother’s, he’d said, looking wistful.

“We’ll take care of them easily; you three, go!” Thorin urged you. With a light push, he sent Kíli off onto the ice, taking up his familiar stance with Dwalin; you’d seen them dance like that a million times, though never had they looked so deadly. Fíli tugged on your arm, making you turn around once more.

“Be careful, adad,” you whispered, following the two princes across the frozen river. Behind you, you heard them bellow out a war-cry.

You moved slowly, quietly, through the abandoned ruins of the tower. Fíli in front and Kíli bringing up the rear, your eyes and ears peeled for anything out of the ordinary. You could hear wind howling through stone; an eerie, mournful sound that cut through your bones with dread. Otherwise, there was only the sound of your own boots on the stone, the slight huffs of breath from your companions and the constant thump-thump of your heart beating.

“I don’t like this,” you whispered, “too easy to design an ambush in this warren of tunnels.” Ahead of you, Fíli nodded, while Kíli’s hand found yours where it rested on your weapon, squeezing gently.

Something made a different noise up ahead.

“You keep searching the lower level,” Fíli whispered, “I’ve got this.”

“No!” you cried, though your voice didn’t rise beyond a whisper. You caught his arm, holding on tightly. “We should stay together.”

“I’m with Mjoll on that,” Kíli added behind you, as you stared imploringly at Fíli; knowing he meant to protect the two of you if he could, “we shouldn’t split up. We’re stronger together, Fee, that’s what you always say.” He tried for levity, though it didn’t quite work. You bit your lip. Staring past Fíli’s shoulder, your eyes widened. He pushed past you with a low oath.

“Someone’s coming!” you hissed, lifting your weapon again. With another oath, Fíli shifted Kíli into the middle – the tunnel was too narrow to fight side by side, and you were the better melee fighter.

“From behind us, too,” he muttered darkly, and you felt your heart sink at the words even as you readied yourself to meet the smallish orcs rushing at you.

 “Where is that orc filth?” Dwalin grumbled, kicking a decapitated head away when it failed to answer. Thorin stared towards to tower, anxious to catch sight of pale hair – Mjoll or Fíli would be easiest to spot through the holes in the structure – and feeling his heart sink when he saw neither young dwarf.

“I don’t know –” he began, but was interrupted by Dwalin sound of surprise, making him turn around swiftly, raising his sword in preparation.

“Thorin!” Bilbo wheezed, out of breath from running.

“Bilbo!” Thorin exclaimed, staring in wonder. “How did you…”

“You have to leave here!” Bilbo cried, waving away their questioning expressions. “Now!” he urged, trying to drag Dwalin off by the arm. “Azog has another army attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded. There’ll be no way out.” The warrior did not move, casting a desperate glance back at the crumbling tower.

“We are so close! That orc scum is in there. I say we push on.” Dwalin growled, staring at the Hobbit that had appeared out of nowhere. Bilbo shook his head.

“No, Dwalin!” Thorin retorted, catching his arm when the warrior moved towards the river. The Hobbit shivered. “That’s what he wants, Dwal,” Thorin murmured, “he wants to draw us in…” Dwalin groaned, but he did not shake off Thorin’s hand. “It’s a trap!”

“And we sent our children right into it,” Dwalin whimpered, staring at the tower.

“We will find them,” Thorin swore, “we’ll call them back; there’s yet time to leave.” Dwalin nodded, hefting his axe once more.

“Live to fight another day, eh, Thor,” he rumbled, though the joke did not elicit more than a pale smile, before striding off with determination.

“Let’s go.” Thorin said. “We’ll all live to fight another day.”

 They kept coming; you were trapped, but the three of you were holding your own. Kíli had long-since run out of arrows, but you were managing to retreat slowly but surely, Fíli again in the lead and you bringing up the rear, trying to get out of the tower.

Or so you thought.

Your careful plan crumbled – literally – between one step and the next, the floor giving way beneath you. The fall was no more than the height of two dwarrow, you knew, lying on the broken bricks and staring dumbly at the ceiling a floor above you, but it had felt like you fell forever, weightless until the merciless impact with the hard stones beneath you. You blinked. Beside you, someone groaned; you thought it was Kíli.

“Mjoll!” Fíli exclaimed, his worried face appearing in your line of vision, blood running in a trail from the split in his eyebrow and down to his chin. Vaguely you heard your adad’s voice bellowing; familiar sound, though not usually tinged with fear.

“Fíli…” you smiled, but movement behind him made you cry out, using your training to flip him, staring down at his confused expression for one infinite moment before the impact registered. With a gasp, the air left your lungs. Falling forward, landing heavily on Fíli’s stained armour, you vaguely heard a sound that could only be called Anger, but you were too busy trying to gasp air back into your chest to care. Fíli’s blue eyes were wide and frightened as he stared at you, his hand coming up to cup your face.

“Mjoll?” he whispered, but you didn’t have the energy to nod. “Mjoll!” he repeated, shaking you lightly. You tried to smile at him; you had been winded, yes, but you thought you’d be fine. “Mjoll!” Fíli cried. You closed your eyes, needing a brief rest before you thought about getting up.

Dwalin and Thorin barely escaped a crushing death when the ceiling caved in on top of them, but it was the next image that would be seared into their brains; the three younger dwarrow fell with the ceiling, but each had begone moving, getting over the shock of the impact. Dwalin cried out a warning, his face had been turned towards the ceiling, while Thorin was busy scrambling across the broken rocks to try to get to Kíli, whose leg was pinned beneath some rubble. The warning made no difference; the Orc scum – pale and vicious – still threw his spear, laughing down at them. Dwalin thought he screamed, his feet instantly moving, but he knew he’d be too late to make a difference, watching Mjoll execute a flawless wrestle… and the giant spear that embedded itself in her back. He heard Fíli’s cries, was vaguely aware of his own bellowed fury, but it was lost in the haze of red that enveloped his vision.

“Dwalin!” Thorin yelled, but that was of no concern to him, charging off in a random direction, bent on finding the fiend that dared take his daughter away from him – dared spill her blood.

“Mjoll…” Fíli choked on her name once more, watching her eyes roll back into her skull, her body slumping on top of him. “Mjoll, no, please, please,” he begged, brushing her hair away from her face. She did not respond.

“Fíli!” Thorin barked. “Get up!” Fíli didn’t want to, as though getting up would make it real, would make it true. She’s not breathing, he panicked, staring at Uncle Thorin’s face, set in hard lines of anger. “Fíli!” he repeated, “You must get up; get out of here!”

No.

Shaking his head, Fíli slowly moved out from underneath her body, doing his best not to think about it, lifting her into his arms. The spear in her back moved slightly, the sound of metal scraping against bone making him wince. Orcrist’s perfect curve arced in front of his face, slicing through the shaft of the ugly-looking weapon with ease. He looked up at Thorin, and suddenly the sounds of the world returned to him, Kíli’s pained groans sounding from his left.

“No.” he repeated. “I’m not leaving.”

“Fíli.” Thorin seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say, but Fíli was not in the mood to listen.

“They killed her, Uncle,” he whispered. Putting her down beside the wall, lying on her side just like she preferred to sleep, Fíli looked up at his uncle’s blue eyes, “I can’t…”

“I know,” Thorin replied, and something in his eyes told Fíli that he did know, that Uncle understood precisely how much he needed vengeance. “and I’m asking you to leave here anyway.” Feeling Thorin’s gauntleted hand wrap around the back of his skull, Fíli obeyed the pressure, knocking his forehead against Thorin’s.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I need…” Pulling the head of the spear out of her, Fíli threw it with all his might at the far wall. Mjoll did not move.

“I know,” Thorin sighed, “odds are Dwalin’s not going to make it out of here; can’t you understand that I don’t want to bury you, too?” Fíli nodded, but he couldn’t change his mind.

“I’ll stay with her, Fee,” Kíli whispered, his face pale. For the first time, Fíli registered the terrible angle of Kíli’s lower leg; legs weren’t meant to look like that. He felt faint. Grasping the sword that had fallen beside him, he nodded once. Thorin sighed. Working together, they managed to shift Kíli over to the wall, too, letting him sit against the damp stones next to Mjoll.

“This is going to hurt,” Thorin warned, though the words were drowned out by Kíli’s scream echoing off the stone as he pulled the broken bones back in place. Kíli slumped against the wall, his face bloodless and clammy-looking. “I’m okay,” he gasped, though none of them believed the obvious lie.

“I’m going to kill Azog,” Fíli swore in a low voice. He did not look to see if Thorin followed, did not throw one last glance back at Mjoll’s pale hair or Kíli’s pained face, he simply walked away, the heavy threads of iron-soled boots on stone the only sound echoing through the tower after his low oath.

Tag-list:

@life-is-righteous @filisleftmustachebraid @pandepirateprincess @sassytyphoondetective@littlemergirl4779 @-waythe- @aidanturnersass @childoftheshire 

A/N: This is not the final chapter, don’t hate me!

#fili #reader insert #fili/reader #mjoll #Silver secrets #botfa

[vickyvicarious]

max, johnny, and the very important mission (bmw 2)

bullymagnet week, day two: heist

Since the plan is to make one cohesive story out of these, I’d suggest reading day one first.

.

“Mr. Spender, I need your help!”

It’s not exactly unusual for one of the Activity Club members to come bursting into the room with a dramatic one-liner. Actually, it’s probably far weirder for any of them to make their presence known like normal people, but Max usually does his best to bring down the curve on this one. Pair that up with his reluctance to ask for help in general, and… he would’ve expected more of a reaction, honestly.

“Oh, good afternoon, Max,” Spender mutters, flipping a page of his magazine. He doesn’t even bother to look up. “Yes, your pop quiz was a little below normal for you.”

“I’ve only been here like a week, you don’t know my normal,” Max retorts, frustrated. “Not that I ever expect to see ‘normal’ again… But, anyway, this isn’t about school!”

At this, Spender does perk up. “A spirit? Report!”

“…Not a spirit, per se,” Max shrugs. “More of a… Starchman situation?”

“STARCH-SIT!” Ed bursts into the room, followed by Isabel twirling her new umbrella around her wrist with a fierce grin. As Ed continues talking, he and she begin spontaneously fencing with their tools, leaving Isaac blocked in the doorway, scowling. “Man, I love those! What was it this time? Quoteathon? The Great Tremble? Oh, did he bring out The Noodle?”

“What? No. No. What is that stuff? No.” Max sighs, turning back to Spender. “He confiscated something that belongs to me, can you help me get it back?”

Ed just laughs mysteriously.

“Max! How could you lose y–” Cutting himself off with a quick glance to Isabel, Spender changes tacks with a sigh: “What did you do to make him confiscate your tool? Were you magnetizing things in class?”

“No. It’s weird enough that I’ve been carrying a baseball bat around everywhere, you really think I’m gonna draw attention to it like a numbskull?” The looks Max gets suggest that yes, everyone does think exactly that. Jerks, the lot of them.

“Well, your pop quiz suggests – ”

“There was a spirit on my desk eating that test! You saw it! You sparkled at it!”

“The fact remains, even Isaac gets good grades with spirits around.” The boy still trapped in the doorway perks up a little, until Spender continues, “Well, not in art.”

“Heh.” Max can’t help snickering at that one, despite the betrayed look Isaac shoots him. But he’s quick to get back on track – this is a serious matter, after all. “I only said I don’t really like The Hobbit, can you just help me get my property back?”

Spender sighs again, with feeling.

“Who doesn’t like The Hobbit, Max?” He shakes his head despairingly, and Max rolls his eyes. So sue him for preferring sci-fi. “I really shouldn’t encourage so much flaunting of the school rules – Isabel, your turn to watch the security cameras. I suppose I’ll be busy walking young Max down to the office to plead his case…”

“Max has his bat,” Isaac points out.

“Yes, it’s really not a good idea to separate a new spectral from their tool for long, we all know that Isaac – wait. You do have your bat.”

“I never said he took my bat,” Max grumbles, glaring at Isaac. There’s a stupid triumphant glint in his eyes; Max is totally going to remember how petty he is. He’ll be twice as petty back over this. “He took my hat! I need it back!”

As one, everyone turns to him with silent, yet expressive faces.

Do you really think I, a Teacher, would stand against the ancient teacherly art of Confiscation unless a tool were involved? Spender asks.

Gee, Max, that’s lame. Never knew you were so lame. It’s just a stupid hat, Isabel opines.

I wonder if I made a paint oven, could I cook a spectral potato? Hot potato hot! …Ed.

Ha ha ha that’ll show you, don’t make fun of my dumb drawings ha ha ha I win, gloats Isaac.

“Fine! I don’t need your help anyway!” Max yells, and storms out of the room.

The problem is, he doesn’t even know where Starchman keeps the stuff he confiscates. Normally the teacher’s desk would be a good bet, but this is Starchman. Max vaguely recalls a treasure chest his first day. The English teacher is way too terrifying to just ask for his hat back, and there’s no way he’s just waiting around until he manages to earn twenty-five stars to get it back.

Honestly, he’s not sure if it even counts as confiscation when you require students to pay you to get their stuff back, but the stars aren’t actually real money. Even if no one seems to ever remember that fact. Even the vending machine by the cafeteria accepts them, to say nothing of that school store.

Maybe, if it were just a matter of a day or two, Max would be willing to grit his teeth and wait it out… but collecting twenty-five stars would by all indications take a lot more time and effort. No, there’s got to be some way he can steal it back…

“Ow!”

Even though Max is the one who ends up knocked to the ground, Johnny gets mad. And he wasn’t even the one Max bumped into.

“Ollie,” the bully snarls, cracking his fists with that signature menacing grin, “what little punk dares to bump into my friend?”

The big lug blinks contemplatively down at Max, who rolls his eyes.

“He’s a nerd,” he decides.

“A nerd?!” Johnny’s voice gets more than a little bit insane, his grin ratcheting wider. Max can hear those tires screeching again. “Y’boys know how I feel ‘bout nerds.”

“You wish some of them actually wore suspenders ‘cuz snapping them seems like it’d be fun,” Stephen contributes with a grin, Ollie and RJ nodding seriously.

“No, not that feel, the mean feel!”

“I mean, that feel’s kinda mean too,” Max interjects.

“Yeah, Puckett, but it’s not like punch mean, you get me?” Johnny does a double-take. “Wait. Max?”

All of a sudden, Max finds himself lifted to his feet, brushed off in like fifteen different directions by what feels suspiciously more like nine arms than eight (a ghost?), and his right hand receives another weird Johnny slap-biff-punch-shake-clasp greeting. He’s fairly certain it’s not the same one as last time, but he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s moved up in Johnny’s book, or if they’re both just completely random. At the end, Johnny just stands there, giving him this weird stare.

“You look different, man,” Stephen says.

“Yeah, that’s cause Starchman confiscated my hat,” Max snarls, rage returning as he remembers the injustice done to him. “That thing is basically part of my head!”

“Oooooooh,” Johnny’s gang agree. “Yeah, that’s it. You look naked, dude.”

“You look like a nerd,” Johhny says. “That’s just not right.”

“I thought you thought I was a nerd, though? I mean… you broke into my house to call me one in the middle of the night only like a couple days ago.” Max hoists his heavily-graffitied cast as proof.

“Y-yeah,” Johnny says, cheeks flushing. “But. You don’t normally look like a nerd. Yer all… stealth-nerd. Normally.”

“Did. Did you just say my hat makes me look cool.”

“T-this kid needs a hat, stat!” Johnny roars, and leaps at RJ, trying to tug off their hood. “RJ, c’mon, it’s a sacrifice for the greater good! Gotta cover his, his stupid, uh bald head. Yeah!”

…That sounds like a yes.

Max ducks his head, scratching at his hair, grinning a little. When he looks up, it’s to Johnny staring at him again, frozen, with one hand in RJ’s mouth and the other hovering mid-air.

“W-what?”

“……Nothun’. Ollie, Stephen: extraction.” The two boys help Johnny to prise his hand out of RJ’s mouth, a task that takes a couple of minutes. They all act like this is usual stuff for them, but Max is very concerned about what this implies for RJ’s bite strength, and makes a note not to touch the hood any time soon.

Still, Johnny’s got a point. Max needs a hat. Not just any hat. He needs the hat his mom gave him, the one that makes him look cool. And, well, he was just thinking about how hard it would be to do this alone…

“Johnny,” he says carefully, well aware that maybe this counts as making a deal with the devil or whatever. “Johnny, uh, do you want to steal back my hat with me?”

Johnny’s face is – yeah. Definitely the devil.

“Do I ever, MAX,” he exclaims, suddenly at his side, arm clasped over his shoulders. “Do. I. Ev-arr. Yes! Yes Max I EVER SO DO -”

“Great we got it you like crime,” Max mutters, trying to at least pretend like he regrets this decision.

Twenty minutes later, after one strategy meeting, one hoist into the vents, ten minutes getting lost in the vents, and one spent hovering in the ceiling trying to think of a cool way to jump down without bumping his cast. After some frantic hiding beneath the desk and a lot of attempts at lockpicking the treasure chest and Johnny finally just kicking the lock off with a roar that brings Mr. Starchman back into the room moustache a-tremble and wielding what Max realizes in horror must be The Noodle -

Twenty minutes later, he finds himself bolting down a stairwell, screaming in mutual terror with Johnny at his side, when their escape is foiled by Cody, Violet, and Jeff walking up the steps chatting. The only free space next to them is filled up by a small spectral goat on two hooves wearing a ridiculously huge backpack, so there’s no way through. Well, on the steps anyway, but Max manages to leap up and rebound off the wall, flipping over them and landing in the hallway beyond. Freedom awaits him in the form of the open front doors to the school, and for a second he’s tempted, but…

Johnny’s tangled in a heap with the other kids on the last few steps, and if Max runs now he’ll probably start punching his way out. Jeff has had it rough enough lately, what with the spirit possession and all.

He pretends that’s why he goes back to offer Johnny a hand up, followed only moments later by a pool noodle lasso landing round both their necks with (he could swear) a spectral yeehaw! echoing in the air.

He pretends real hard.

#bullymagnet week #bullymagnet #my fic #paranatural #haha johnny doesn't even show up for like half of this sorry #anyway you can consider it alt text canon #that the new handshake is personalized and represents max moving up many rungs on johnny's people ladder #let's pretend that makes up for me skipping over the actual heist so quickly too haha

[theepolynesian]

Forgive Me

Master Lists: Drabbles/Imagines, and Completed Series

You look around Imladris. It felt so nice to be back home, but you weren’t going to say that. Not in front of these dwarves.

They had yet to find out that you were actually an elf. You told them that you were of the race of man and throughout the journey, you kept your hair in one big braid and your ears were always tucked under your hair and no one had suspected a thing. Well at least you thought they didn’t.

You felt bad but it was necessary in order for you to actually join in the adventure. Gandalf had sent word to you that he needed help and after a very long conversation with your father, you left to meet Gandalf in the Shire.

Gandalf had told you that Thorin would be very against you joining since you were an elf and you promised that you’d hide your heritage for as long as you could, but now that you were home you weren’t too sure you could.

You spy Lindir walking down the steps and he looks at you in surprise. You were not dressed in your usual elvish garb. You were dressed in a white, long-sleeved undershirt with a blue vest and black trousers. You were dressed like a hobbit. Sort of.

You nod at him and he nods back and the exchange isn’t missed by Thorin.

“Mithrandir,” Lindir states, but you continue to ignore him as you look around for your father. “Are you looking for something?” Thorin asks from behind and you jump.

“Nothing at all,” you respond as you hear,“my lord Elrond is not here.”

“Where is he?” Mithrandir asks and there’s a horn being blown. You smile slightly as you recognize it.

You turn as you hear horses galloping towards you. You hear Thorin shout something in Khuzdul and next thing you know you are being thrown into the middle of a dwarves circle.

“Close ranks!” Thorin shouts again and Bilbo is thrust into you. You watch as the dwarves are holding their weapons ready to attack. You see your father leading the group and you know he sees you as well.

When he unmounts, you look at all the elves. People that you have grown up with. You have this overwhelming urge to tuck your hair behind your ears but you don’t.

“Who is he?” Bilbo asks as your father strikes up a conversation with Gandalf.

“That is Lord Elrond. Ruler of the elven realm of Imladris,” you reply as your father turns towards the Company.

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain,” Lord Elrond states. “I do not believe we have met,” Thorin’s reply is curt and cold.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain,” Lord Elrond says again.

“Indeed. He made no mention of you,” Thorin replies and you can’t help, but growl at his blatant disrespect towards your father. That gains the attention of Thorin and your father.

“Do they know that I am your father?” He asks and you shake your head.

“You speak elvish?” Thorin asks, angrily. “It’s good to know multiple languages,” you shrug and he looks at you suspiciously but your father says something else in elvish.

Gloin thinks he’s insulting them but you know he’s offering them food and shelter.

Thorin accepts, bless the stubborn dwarf, and you all follow your father. You stay behind the group and speak with Lindir.

“When you left, I did not expect you to come back with dwarves,” he says, quietly in elvish.

“Neither did my father. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be quite upset,” you explain.

“Why the different clothing?” He asks. “Thorin Oakenshield absolutely hates elves. That much is obvious. They still think I am of the race of man. Well at least I think they do,” you respond.

You silence yourself as you see Fili and Kili falling back to you, Kili squeezing himself between you and Lindir.

Lindir narrows his eyes at the dwarf and moves to walk with Lord Elrond.

“Flirting with the enemy are we?” Fili asks and you laugh.

“He is not the enemy. Although your uncle may think so, they are not. The only enemies we have are the orcs,” you retort.

“Well flirting with the elf is a no no to Thorin,” Kili replies. “And to you guys?” You ask, wondering what their opinions on elves are and if their hate runs as deeps as their uncles or even exists to begin with.

“Well I mean he’d have to go through us to get to you. You cannot court our y/n unless you get the approval of the mighty princes of Erebor,” they exclaim, puffins their chests out and making everyone turn towards you.

You giggle at their antics.

“Are you quite done with your loudness?” Thorin asks coldly.

“Yes, my liege,” you say, bowing sarcastically. That earns you a few snickers from the elves and a growl from Thorin.

“You’re one of them,” he growls, boots thumping heavily as he makes his way towards you. You straighten and you realize that your ears are no longer hidden. You watch as Thorin pushes his way through the Company. You know you should be intimidated, but you can’t be intimidated by a dwarf who’s nearly two heads shorter than you.

“If you are referring to a fact that I am an elf then yes, I am an elf,” you reply, coolly.

“This entire time, you’ve been lying to us,” he growls again and you can’t help but think that he’s sounding like beast rather than a dwarf.

“For a good cause. If I had wanted to come on this trip, I had to pretend to be something I’m not because you Mister Oakenshield are too stubborn to accept help from a race other than your own,” you argue.

“We did not need you, you insolent little girl. You are nothing but a burden.”

You scoff

“Saying that I’m a burden is like saying you aren’t the rightful king under the Mountain-,” you say and you know he heard you wrong as he moves to strike you, but Fili and Kili are quicker and so are the elven guards. There are a total of six surrounding him with their bows drawn and with his arms pinned to his side by Fili and Kili. Dwalin makes a move to help Thorin, but is held back by his brother.

“Lay a finger on my daughter and you will find yourself forcibly removed. I will not stand for violence in my home Thorin Oakenshield and it would do well for you to remember where you are at,” Lord Elrond says, “y/n, please go to your rooms. I will send dinner to your chambers and when I am done with the guests, we will have a discussion as to why you have broken my promise to not follow these dwarves.”

You are in so much trouble now. You now your head slightly.

“Yes, Ada,” you say quietly and with that you leave to your room.

Once you are gone, the elven guards go back to their original positions and Fili and Kili finally let their uncle go. He fixes himself and turns back to face the Company knowing he messed up. All he spots are confused faces and disappointed looks from his nephews and Balin.

Lord Elrond continues leading the group to the dining area with a lot more tension hanging in the air. Thorin sighs as he realizes that he’ll be sitting with Gandalf and Lord Elrond.

They all take a seat.

“You come into my home and nearly attack my daughter. Not a great first impression,” Lord Elrond says.

“She insulted me-,”

“If I remember correctly, her exact words were, ‘saying that I am a burden is like saying you aren’t the rightful king under the Mountain. You misheard her,” Lord Elrond interrupts and Thorin looks down at his plate in shame.

He had misheard you and he was now regretting it even if you were an elf.

“It seems she has a lot of explaining to do to the both of us,” Lord Elrond states and Thorin looks confused.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

“My daughter spoke of a group of dwarves traveling to see their kin in their Iron Hills, but it was not obvious as to why she brought it up. She spoke of wanting to help you on your journey. Protect you from the orcs roaming the lands. As she was leaving Rivendell, I forbade her from helping you because her mother already got hurt heavily by the orcs in the past and she replied saying that she was going to Lothlorien to visit her grandparents. As you can see, she did not,” Lord Elrond tells him.

“Your daughter had betrayed your trust all for the sake of dwarves?” He asks quietly.

“That she has and she has not came back. She must like the Company,” Lord Elrond says again and they change the conversation to that of the swords they carry, but they are interrupted by a child. A child that is not of elvish ancestry.

“Lord Elrond! Is y/n back?” A boy with shoulder length wavy brown hair asks excitedly, interrupting the conversation and forgetting his manners. Lord Elrond smiles at the child slightly, remembering to scold him for his rudeness later.

“Estel, you have asked me this everyday since she left and I have given you the same answer everyday.”

The boys shoulders drop and he looks at the ground sadly.

“So she is not here then?” He asks quietly and that causes Elrond to smile.

“She is in her quarters. She could probably use the Company,” Elrond states and the boy looks up excitedly and runs out the way he came, knocking over a few elves, making the Company laugh.

“Is he y/n’s child?” Thorin asks.

“No, he is not. He is an orphaned child that we had found outside of Imladris. He is not what he seems,” Elrond states and Gandalf nods, understanding exactly who the boy is and what he is to become.

Thorin nods and watches as Bofur sings a tune and ducks as good gets flown his way.

With Y/N

You sigh, staring at your feet. You decided to draw yourself a bath. You haven’t had a proper bath since you left.

Thorin will surely leave you behind and your father will not be happy. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You scrub your body, not wanting to think of it and get out of the tub, putting on the elvish dress you usually wore at home. There’s a knock on the door and you open it only to get tackled into a hug.

You look down to find Estel. You smile and pull him up into a hug. He wraps an arm around your neck.

“Hello, sweetheart. It is good to see you after so long. You’ve gotten so big,” you tell him.

He breaks away and looks at you and he looks like he’s ready to give you a scolding.

“Why did you leave me?” He asks, pouting and you can’t help but smile.

“Because I wanted to bring you back a present. A present from The Shire and Bree,” you say, bringing him into the room and place him on your bed.

“What kind of things did you bring from the shire? Hobbits don’t really seem like a race to have things only they make,” he tells you and you look down at him. He may look 5 but he’s a 10-year-old and a very smart one at that.

“Will clothes suffice?” You ask him. He brightens up.

He quite liked clothes that didn’t look elvish and was always interested in their design. He did not like the silk of elves but rather the cotton and leather made by other races.

“Bright clothes? Like the ones they wear?” He asks and you nod going into your back.

You bring out six waist coats: two red, two green and two yellow. One for his size now and another for when he gets older. It was the biggest hobbit size they had and you knew he was going to outgrow them soon, but you didn’t care. You also bring out a white undershirt that hobbits seem to wear with their waistcoats and a pocket watch you bought along with the clothes.

He hurriedly takes off his clothes and tries on the hobbit clothes that you had brought. He spins around, watching himself in the vanity and that makes you laugh as there’s a knock on the door yet again.

You leave him to try on the rest of the clothes and open the door. There is an elf-maid carrying a try of food. You thank her and accept it, thankful for actually being able to eat. Dwarves and Hobbits and Wizards were keen on eating meat while you were not.

You leave the door open behind you as you take a seat at your desk, watching Estel put on and take off his clothes. He beams at you as he puts back his elven garb.

“I love it y/n,” he tells you, giving you a hug. You smile at him.

“Have you eaten?” You ask him. He shakes his head and you stand to grab another chair and bring it over to you. You two end up talking about trolls and dwarves and hobbits.

Many hours later, instead of finding just you, Lord Elrond and Thorin find you and Estel lying on the bed with Estel clinging to your side as if his life depended on it and you with a smile on your face.

Elrond smiles and closes the door.

“We shall speak to her tomorrow,” he says and Thorin nods and they both go their separate ways.

Thorin joins the Company, sitting next to his nephews.

“What will you do with y/n?” Fili asks quietly, not wanting to anger his uncle further. Thorin sighs as all of the Company members turn toward him, waiting for an answer.

“I will speak with her tomorrow. If she still wants to come after the way I treated her, then so be it, but her father isn’t too keen about her coming with us but he is leaving the decision to her,” he announces and the Company lets out a sigh of relief.

They liked you. A lot. You were quirky and brought joy to those around you. You didn’t stand for anyone’s shit and always defended those who needed it. You Almost hit Thorin when he said it was Bilbos fault for being captured by the trolls. Almost. Dwalin was there to hold you back.

“Why the change of heart?” ImDwalin asks.

“She may have lied to us, but she chose us over her own kin and I cannot ask for more loyalty then that,” Thorin says, looking at the makeshift fire.

The next day, the Company awakens to a child’s laughter. Said child comes running into their make shift camp and straight into Thorin.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Estel apologizes, quickly standing straight. He squeaks as you pick him up and throw him in the air.

“Got you little prince,” you tell him, turning him around. He groans and thumps his head on your shoulder.

“I’m not a prince Lady y/n! I hate when you call me that,” he says. “I’m sorry little prince,” you say, giggling as he glares at you.

“I don’t want to be it again! I’ll never find you,” he pouts.

“Okay we’ll take a break alright? And then we can play some other games that I picked up from Hobbits and Men,” you tell him. He nods enthusiastically and you put him down.

He runs off to who knows where.

“You’re quite good with him,” Thorin says and you look at him, smiling and temporarily forgetting that he was probably mad at you.

“I’ve always wanted children, but it’s hard to settle down. Children are amazing things. No care in the world with unending happiness surrounding them. Oh how I wish to be like that once again,” you tell him, watching the spot Estel was once at.

Thorin watches you quietly.

“Walk with me?” He asks and you nod, sighing.

You go to a more private area over looking Rivendell.

“I am truly sorry about almost hitting you last night. I don’t know what came over me,” he apologizes, swallowing his pride.

“It is quite alright. I guess I could have worded it differently,” you tell him.

“Why?” He asks.

“Why what?” You ask, leaning on the railing.

“Why disobey your father for the sake of dwarves? Why are you so forgiving after I nearly attacked you? Why?” He asks, looking down at his feet in shame.

You look at him closely. You’ve never seen a dwarf act so quietly around an elf. Especially this one. It made your heart happy that he was slowly getting over the differences.

“Because Master Dwarf in this world that we live in, there is no hope if all we do is hate each other. We will burn to the ground if we do not get along and I do not want that. I have been in this world for 2841 years, I think it is time we make a change,” you tell him.

He nods as there is a throats being cleared behind you. You sigh, spotting your father.

“I will see you later, my king,” you say. He nods.

You’ve gotten quite used to calling him that. You actually stated it sarcastically while he was barking out orders to you and it kind of just stuck.

You take your father’s offered arm and you walk through the familiar halls of Imladris.

“You have disobeyed my orders,” he states and you sigh.

“That I have,” you respond

“And why is that, may I ask?”

“Because I want to go on adventures not just listen to them! I want to see the world and what’s out there and I can’t do that here,” you explain excitedly.

You rarely left Imladris. Actually you never left. As the eldest you had a lot of things to take care of back home. A lot of things to learn and memorize and etiquette and all that good jaz. You also had been very skilled with swords since the day you picked one up and after being the trainee you were the trainer. You trained all of the soldiers your father had.

So in your 2841 years of life, you have never left. You didn’t even know what a dog looked like and it was getting quite annoying.

“Is this what you truly want?” He asks.

“It is father. I am sorry that I have disobeyed you but you have to let me go sometime,” you say.

He sighs.

“That I will. Come, let us head to the dining room,” he says and you follow him to the dining room.

The dwarves are already there and have already started to eat. You take a seat next to Gandalf with Thorin sitting on the other side. You begin eating and you hear Bofur say something about changing the tune.

You turn to find him moving to stand on the sacred stool.

“Bofur!” You snap. He stops in mid step and turns to you afraid. “Don’t you dare!” You hiss. “I was just trying to relieve the boredom Miss,” he says, straightening out. Your glare does not waiver.

“You are a guest in the house of elves not the house of dwarves. You will sit and eat your food or I will screwer you myself,” You demand narrowing your eyes. He nods and sits back down.

You look around as you realize everything is quiet. All the elves are looking at me like You’ve grown another head. The dwarves are giggling behind their hands. They already know my anger.

“Did I say something wrong?” You ask, turning back to your father. “Of course not dear. We’re just a little stunned is all. I’ve never known a dwarf to listen to an elf,” he says.

“Dwarves are an amazing race and if elves would take their time to get to know them rather than judge then the world will be a much better place,” You say eating my food and missing Thorin’s smile.

“That it would,” he says.

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