#felt pippin here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oxbellows · 1 day

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Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost.

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory.

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it?

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king.

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope.

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it.

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him.

Perhaps.

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised.

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition.

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

"Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap.

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears.

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

Your father thought you dead.

Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward.

He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him.

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered.

Faramir would never plan a suicide mission.

Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones.

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

He reached the top of the stairs.

A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.”

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

Boromir ran like he had never done in his life.

For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

“Faramir?” Boromir called warily.

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!”

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot.

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand.

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir.

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying.

Boromir dropped to his knees.

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell.

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill.

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart.

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it.

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs.

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

“No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief.

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

#@emilybeemartin #lotr fic #Boromir Lives AU

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 6 months

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can i get a lil sum sum with soft eddie? maybe he’s telling you all about his favorite movie while you watch it? little behind the scenes facts while you lay with your head in his lap 🥹 you can’t help but smile at how excited he gets over the movie, making you happier than ever

Eddie munson x reader

Warnings: none, fluff. Soft!eddie

"C'mon babe, I'm putting in the movie!" Edde yelled from across the room.

You were busy getting the snacks together for your weekly movie night. You had one every day of the week if Eddie didn't work too late. Since today is Thursday. That means it's Lord of the Rings night. Or as Eddie refers to it, Tolkien Thursdays. This week, you and him would be watching Return of the King together.

He's seen these movies probably more than you can count. Yet every time he presses play, he's like a little kid watching it for the first time. Eddie knows every single piece of trivia there is to know right down to the actors' shoe size. He's watched all of their interviews and will quote "when will you wear wigs" at any given opportunity. Eddie thinks that interview is the funniest thing to exist.

"I'm coming!" You yelled back, dumping the bag of popcorn in a large bowl.

You rush to join him on the couch, setting the bowl down on the table next to the sodas you brought in earlier.

"Hurry, hurry." He waved

"Eddie, you haven't even pressed play yet," you smile, shaking your head.

"You can't miss a single second, babe, not one." His said eyes trained to the screen in front of him.

You watch him with amusement as the opening title finally appears. Your eyes locked on him while. You couldn't help but think it was so cute how animated he got at times. As the movie went on, Eddie seemed to calm down a little. You just knew if you put your palm to his chest, you could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.

Smiling softly, you move to lay your head in his lap and watched the ending battle. Eddies favorite part besides Denethor tells Pippin to sing for him. He knows the song by heart, and you do too now. You often hear him humming it in the shower after he gets off work.

You felt him jump and gasp as is he doesn't know what's about to happen.

"You paying attention, baby?" His voice sounding panicked. He moves a hand to gently stroke down your face before placing it on the curve of your hip.

You chuckled slightly, "Yea, Ed, I'm watching."

This was the part he looked forward to most. The scene where Eowyn defeats the witch king. You felt him shift as he leaned forward. He's trying to contain his excitement since you're lying on him. Normally, he would be jumping out of his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"I am no man." He whispered, yelled to himself. You don't have to touch him to know he has goosebumps all over. Eddie was always at his happiest at these moments. You heard him repeating his favorite lines to himself all throughout the movie.

"Psst! You awake? " Eddie gently shook your shoulder.

"I'm awake."

He leaned back after getting a handful of popcorn. out stretched his legs, getting comfortable himself.

Did you know Frodo falls down 39 times in this?" He snorted with a mouth full of popcorn.

"He sounds a lot like me." You laugh as he continued telling you little facts here and there. The credits have started rolling, and Eddie still hasn't stopped educating you on his favorite trilogy. You soaked it all in every little detail he told you about. He even taught you how to say "I love you" in Elvish.

"So that's what you've been saying to me this whole time?"

"Yep." Eddie grinned from ear to ear.

You could listen to him ramble on forever. His face lighting up at the mention of Lord of the Rings is enough to keep you asking him about it. His smile was infectious. You never want it to go away. The way you both relaxed into one another during these moments was very special to you both. There was instant peace it felt like all of your worries just melted away.

"Eddie?" You call out to him.

"Yeah?"

"Can you read to me tonight? " Your eyes grow heavy as you turn to look up at him.

"Of course, baby. Ready for bed?" Eddie smiled down at you.

You nod. "Mmhmm."

"Kay, let's get you to bed then." He let out a loud yawn and popped the knuckles on his hands.

Eddie spent the next hour and a half reading The Hobbit to you. Trying your damn best to stay up longer. He was an amazing, great storyteller. He liked to make up little voices for each character as he read out loud to you. Eventually, sleep won and took over you and him.

Eddie fell asleep a little after you with the book tucked under his chin. Your head leaning against his shoulder. This became another part of your routine together. Movie nights and then a book before bed. You loved the way he would get so immersed in them both. Now you really understand why the kids loved having him as their DM. He made it fun and exciting. You didn't think you could fall in love with him more than you already were. But you were wrong. You were very wrong.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanons

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shadowtriovibes · 11 months

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Hello,

Can you write some shameless pre-relationship Sebastian x mc flirting? Like pining, comparing hand sizes, teasing about height, all that cringe cute stuff! Just go off on that however you like!

hello anon!! here's a quick 1.5k pg-rated words for you because i'd just started a little drabble of MC working at j pippin's for the summer and it turned into two goofy teens in love 🥹

edit: i felt like this deserved a name so i'm calling it "the potioneer's apprentice" and i personally love a potion-loving MC characterization very much so i may return to this 'verse later on xoxo

"I happen to know that you can make a perfectly good batch of Wiggenweld yourself," you point out. Sebastian watches distractedly while you untie your hair, shaking it loose as it falls down to your shoulders. "W-well, yours is better," he insists. "Always has been, even Sharp said so." "It's even better now," you say proudly, pulling one of the bottles out of your bag to hand to him. "...You're not actually hurt, are you?" "No, just bored," he admits. "I wanted to see you."

Staring down at the order slip in your hands, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Mr. Sebastian Sallow Feldcroft Hamlet

x3 Wiggenweld x1 Focus x1 Felix Felicis

“Simple enough,” Parry Pippin says cheerfully, tucking a knut into the pocket of the postal owl that had just dropped off your latest order. “I’ll put together the Liquid Luck, I know that’s a tricky one.”

Bustling over to his potions station, he adds, “I trust brewing the Wiggenweld and Focus draughts should be no problem for you?”

“Of course,” you say, quickly tying up your hair before lighting a fire beneath the cauldron at your own station.

You’ve been an apprentice at J. Pippin’s Potions for just over a month, refining your potions skills over the summer break – and helping keep an eye on things in Hogsmeade. In that time, your brewing skills have improved significantly, and Parry is more than happy to pass on some of the simpler potions to you.

Attempting to be casual, you ask, “Will this be a delivery?”

“Oh, I should think so,” Parry confirms. “Though it’s not exactly my neck of the woods.”

“Would you like me to drop it off?” you offer hopefully.

“How about this,” Parry offers. “I’ll send you down to the hamlet to drop these off, and then you can call it a day.”

“Thank you, Mister Pippin,” you say with a grin.

Your boss smiles approvingly as you carefully pour some horklump juice into your cauldron, precisely tapping the side of the bottle as he’d taught you.

“Besides,” he says cheekily. “I think this is the third time this month that young mister Sallow has ordered from my shop and requested delivery, even though Fatimah’s shop is much closer.”

You nearly spill the entire bottle.

“Any idea why a Hogwarts student on summer break would need so many potions?” Parry asks, smirking to himself as he pours some lacewing flies into his cauldron.

“W-well, I – I suppose he could be clumsy,” you mumble unconvincingly. “O-or stocking up, perhaps. We’ve got N.E.W.T. classes next term, some of these spells are quite challenging, a-and the beasts, we’ve got Grindylows to examine, you know how they bite…”

You trail off feebly, blushing a bright red. The Wiggenweld potion in your cauldron signals its completion with a puff of smoke, offering a welcome distraction.

“Aye, of course,” Parry murmurs, sounding very much like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest. “In any case, as soon as you finish that Focus potion I’ll send you on your way.”

Quickly ladling three portions of Wiggenweld into Parry's glass vials, you scrub out your cauldron and prepare the last draught, wrinkling your nose at the smell of dugbog tongue. Once it starts to smoke and bubble, you measure out a generous portion and collect the Felix Felicis from your boss, tucking the lot into your satchel.

“Please thank young Sebastian for his order, and tell him I said good day,” Parry tells you with a wink. “And to kindly stop pilfering my apprentice so often.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply sheepishly.

Outside the shop, you trek outside the boundaries of Hogsmeade to hop onto your broom and head south toward Feldcroft. It had been more than a week since you’d seen Sebastian, which felt like an eternity compared to how often you saw him during the school year.

One month into your break and you feel like a simpering wreck.

You miss him like crazy – not that you’d tell him like that, of course. He’s your closest friend, and the two of you have been through so much together in the past two years. You aren’t about to ruin it by confessing that you’re hopelessly in love with him.

—

Sebastian is not moping.

And even if he was, why shouldn’t he mope? He’s alone, it’s swelteringly hot in the hamlet and he hasn’t seen his best friend in a week.

He’s bored, and when Sebastian gets bored, he gets creative.

Really, it’s almost too easy to summon you to Feldcroft. All it took was a quick trip to see the owl post stand and another superfluous order for some potions (with a little bit of Liquid Luck thrown in on a whim), and he knew you’d arrive by the time the heat broke.

He conveniently manages to be tending to his small garden when you touch down beside the Sallow home, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows while he pats some dirt around a sprig of fluxweed.

“Sallow?” You call out teasingly. “I have an order here for Sebastian Sallow?”

“Must be a lazy bloke, ordering all those Wiggenwelds instead of making them himself,” he answers, sitting back on his heels and wiping some sweat away from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Or perhaps just daft.”

“I happen to know that you can make a perfectly good batch of Wiggenweld yourself,” you point out.

Sebastian watches distractedly while you untie your hair, shaking it loose as it falls down to your shoulders.

“W-well, yours is better,” he insists. “Always has been, even Sharp said so.”

“It’s even better now,” you say proudly, pulling one of the bottles out of your bag to hand to him. “...You’re not actually hurt, are you?”

“No, just bored,” he admits. “I wanted to see you.”

If Ominis were here, he’d likely pick up on how those words make your heart race a little faster, but mercifully, Sebastian does not.

“Here I am,” you say. “And I’m all yours for the day, Mister Pippin gave me the rest of the day off.”

“Oh, really?” he replies, brushing some stray dirt off of his trousers as he stands up. “Whatever could we get up to with an entire afternoon?”

You blink in surprise as he stands, realizing for the first time that Sebastian has gotten taller.

“What?” he asks, catching your gaze.

“You’ve grown,” you say dumbly. “I – I mean, you’re tall.”

“Am I?” he asks, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Perhaps you’re just short.”

“I am not short,” you protest, following Sebastian as he leads the way into the old Sallow home.

It feels different now, obviously. Less like a family home and more like a chaotic bachelor pad, Sebastian’s strewn-about books and haphazard notes covering up a distinct lack of coziness.

It’s only for the summer, Sebastian had told you the first time you’d seen it.

(You know he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go anymore, what with the Gaunt household becoming more toxic by the day. You wouldn’t be surprised to find Ominis squatting there as well by the time July rolls around.)

“You’re practically pocket-sized,” Sebastian teases, closing the door behind you to keep some of the midday sun out. “I think it’s why you’re so powerful – it’s concentrated, your magic.”

You scoff and shove at his shoulder, wondering to yourself when he became so broad.

It had only been a few weeks since school had let out, hadn’t it? And suddenly Sebastian was walking around in a man’s body, one you were sure wasn’t there in Charms class in May. Or maybe it was, hiding beneath his suit jacket and his robes…

You blink rapidly to clear your head.

“Um. Your potions,” you mumble, pulling the rest of the bottles out of your satchel and placing them on the front room table.

Then you can’t help but ask, “What’s the Felix Felicis for?”

“Not sure yet,” Sebastian admits. “But I’m sure it will come in handy at some point.”

You hum under your breath, picking up the delicate vial and examining it in the light.

“Hand it over,” Sebastian demands with a laugh. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at that bottle, I know what temptation looks like on your face.”

Blushing, you place the vial in his outstretched hand, letting your own hand linger a beat too long. Sebastian quickly catches your wrist, turning your hand palm-side up.

“Merlin’s beard, your hand is small,” he observes.

“Not this again,” you groan.

“I’m being serious, you hold your wand with this tiny thing?” he jokes. “Poor Ollivander had his work cut out for him.”

“Let’s see yours, then,” you insist, holding your hand up to him. “Go on.”

Sebastian presses his palm against yours and you raise your eyebrows. His hand dwarfs yours to the degree that he could wrap the tips of his fingers overtop yours if he wanted to.

“See?” he says, his voice suddenly much quieter in the empty home. “Tiny.”

“And yet I can still beat you in a duel,” you retort, trying to calm your racing heart.

Just like that, the tension in the room dissolves away and Sebastian lights up.

“A duel, hmm?” he echoes. “Is that an offer?”

“Seriously? That’s what you want to do today?” you laugh. “It’s thirty degrees outside and you want to duel?”

“We could practice on the training dummies,” he offers hopefully. “You know you want to.”

…Damn him, he’s right.

“Fine,” you relent. “But if I sweat through this chemise, it’s your head, Sallow.”

Sebastian tries very hard to not think about you in a sweat-soaked white shirt as you lead him back outside, and if he trips over the doorframe on his way out, he’s happy to let you continue to assume it’s just his clumsy streak.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #requests #my fic

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thewulf · 18 days

Text

Brighter than the Stars || Legolas

Summary: Request - Second, could you write a reader x Legolas where after the two grew close on their journey w/ the fellowship, Legolas (and eventually the rest) noticed how the reader would look at Legolas whenever the two were together/talked... Read Rest Here

A/N: I love sweet boy Legolas. Really like how this one turned out. Let me know how you like it :)

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.4k +

TW: Insecurity, Slight angst, Pure fluff? No LOTR triggers

The journey of the Fellowship was one fraught with danger and uncertainty yet amidst it all, a tender bond began to blossom between you and Legolas. Gandalf had brought you along as the healer, but it was Legolas who captured your attention with his ethereal grace and unwavering kindness towards you. From the moment you laid eyes on him, you felt a pull towards Legolas that you couldn't quite explain. Perhaps it was the way his eyes sparkled like sunlight filtering through the trees, or the gentle softness of his voice as he spoke of the wonders of middle earth. Whatever it was, you found yourself drawn to him more and more every day.

At first, Legolas treated you with the same courtesy he extended to all members of the Fellowship. Yet, as the days passed, and your interactions became more frequent he couldn't help but feel a stirring in his heart whenever you were near. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a newfound depth to his feelings that he hadn't realized before. As the days turned into weeks the subtle shift in dynamics within the Fellowship did not go unnoticed by the other members. Aragorn with his keen perception honed by years of ranging across Middle earth was among the first to pick up on the blossoming affection between you and Legolas. He observed the lingering gazes, the gentle touches, and the shared smiles that passed between you. Though he said nothing, a knowing look passed between him and Boromir whenever your eyes met.

Gimli, ever the gruff but good-hearted dwarf couldn't resist teasing Legolas about his newfound fondness for the human healer. "I see you've taken quite a liking to our healer, Master Elf," he remarked one evening with a twinkle of amusement in his eye. Legolas merely responded with a raised eyebrow and a secretive smile, neither confirming nor denying Gimli's suspicions.

Even Boromir, burdened with the weight of his own quest and the responsibility of protecting the hobbits couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Legolas' demeanor whenever you were near. He observed the way Legolas would seek out your company during their brief respites. For you there was a softness in his eyes that betrayed his usual stoic gaze.

Yet, it was the hobbits who truly brought the matter to light as their curious natures were unable to resist the opportunity for a bit of mischief. Merry and Pippin in particular took it upon themselves to play matchmakers. Much to the amusement of the rest of the Fellowship sans you and Legolas.

"I say, Pippin, have you noticed the way Y/N looks at Legolas?" Merry whispered conspiratorially one evening as they huddled around the campfire. The two of you were lost in conversation. So much so that Legolas wasn’t even paying attention to the comments around him. His focus was solely on you.

Pippin, his eyes wide with excitement, nodded eagerly. "Aye, Merry, it's as plain as the nose on Gandalf's face! She's smitten, that's for certain." Earning the laughter of the hobbits at that remark and a smack on the back of the head from Gandalf.

Armed with their newfound knowledge, the hobbits embarked on their mission to uncover the truth. And though Legolas and you remained oblivious to their antics, the spark of romance that had ignited between you could not be denied. Sam and Frodo, ever the loyal and steadfast companions watched the unfolding dynamic between you and Legolas with a mixture of amusement and quiet support. While they appreciated Merry and Pippin's enthusiasm they also understood the delicate nature of romance amidst the perils of their quest.

At first, Sam and Frodo exchanged knowing glances whenever Merry, and Pippin attempted to prod you or Legolas about your feelings. However, as the hobbits' antics grew more persistent they decided it was time to intervene albeit in their own subtle way. "Perhaps it's best to let them be, Merry," Sam murmured one evening as they watched you and Legolas share a quiet moment by the fire. "Love has a way of finding its own path after all."

Frodo nodded in agreement. His gaze thoughtful. "Indeed, Sam. And if Legolas and Y/N are meant to be, then nothing we say or do will change that." While Merry and Pippin continued their matchmaking schemes with gusto, Sam and Frodo opted for a more hands-off approach. They were content to watch the budding romance between you and Legolas unfold organically.

Gandalf the wise and enigmatic wizard, had a keen intuition that often surpassed the understanding of those around him. When he insisted on bringing you along as the healer for the Fellowship he did so with a subtle knowledge of the bonds that would form among its members. This included the burgeoning connection between you and Legolas. Though Gandalf didn't overtly push you towards Legolas, his gentle guidance and sage advice often served as a catalyst for self-discovery. He recognized the spark of potential between you and Legolas, understanding that love knew no boundaries, not even those between different races.

In quiet moments by the campfire or during their long marches across middle earth, Gandalf would offer words of wisdom and encouragement as he nudged you towards introspection and self-awareness. Through his guidance you began to unravel the complexities of your own heart slowly coming to terms with the depth of your feelings for Legolas. It was during one such conversation with Gandalf that the truth finally dawned on you. As you confided in him about your confusion and uncertainty regarding your growing affection for Legolas, Gandalf listened patiently, his eyes twinkling with a knowing light.

"My dear Y/N, love is a powerful force that transcends race and circumstance," Gandalf said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Do not shy away from the feelings that stir within you. Embrace them, for they may lead you towards a happiness beyond your wildest dreams."

And as you gazed into Gandalf's wise eyes, a sense of clarity washed over you as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. In that moment you understood that your feelings for Legolas were not a mere fleeting fancy, but a deep and profound connection that had blossomed amidst the trials and tribulations of your journey.

As the days stretched into weeks and the Fellowship journeyed through the untamed landscapes of middle earth Legolas found himself increasingly drawn to your side. There was an undeniable magnetism between the two of you. A pull that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He savored the moments when you tended to his wounds, relishing in the gentle touch of your hands against his skin. There was a soothing quality to your presence. A warmth that seeped into his bones and chased away the shadows of doubt that lingered in his heart.

Yet, it wasn't just your healing abilities that captivated Legolas. It was the way you listened intently as he spoke of his homeland, your eyes alight with genuine interest and curiosity. In your company he felt understood in a way he never had before as if you saw beyond the facade of the stoic elf prince into the depths of his soul. And as he watched you laugh and joke with the hobbits a soft smile tugged at the corners of Legolas' lips. There was a lightness to your presence that filled him with a sense of joy he hadn't felt in ages. It was a feeling that he couldn't quite put into words.

It was during one such quiet moment by the campfire that Legolas finally admitted the truth to himself. As he watched you interact with the hobbits a surge of warmth washed over him igniting a fire within his chest that he couldn't ignore any longer. It was then that he realized he wanted more than just friendship with you; he wanted to explore the depths of this newfound connection, to see where it could lead.

As the night settled around the campfire, casting its warm glow upon the Fellowship. Merry and Pippin seized the opportunity to indulge in their mischievous tendencies. With conspiratorial grins and playful nudges, they pulled you aside, their eyes dancing with excitement. "Alright, Y/N, spill the beans," Merry said with a lopsided grin, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "What's going on between you and Legolas?"

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by their sudden interrogation. "I... I don't know what you mean," you stammered, your cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment.

Pippin chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Oh, come on now, Y/N. You can't fool us! We've seen the way you look at him."

Your heart skipped a beat as you fumbled for a response, desperately trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't reveal the true depth of your feelings. "I... uh...I just...admire his...hair," you finally blurted out, the words sounding feeble even to your own ears.

Merry and Pippin exchanged incredulous looks before bursting into laughter, their mirth echoing through the quiet night air. "His hair?" Merry exclaimed between bouts of laughter. "Is that all?"

Pippin nodded, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Oh, Y/N, you really are something else."

You couldn't help but join in their laughter, though a part of you cringed at the absurdity of your own words. How could you have been so foolish as to think that admiring Legolas' hair would suffice as an explanation for the complex emotions swirling within you?

And as you glanced across the campfire to see Legolas with his back turned to you chatting with Boromir did a sheepish smile playing on your lips. You couldn't help but wonder what he must think of your clumsy attempt at deflecting the truth. Little did you know, he had overheard the entire exchange. His own heart swelling with affection at the realization that your feelings for him ran deeper than mere admiration for his hair.

As the laughter subsided and the hobbits' playful teasing continued, you found yourself squirming under their scrutiny. Merry and Pippin exchanged knowing glances, their mischievous smiles widening as they prodded you further.

"Come now, Y/N, there's no need to be shy," Merry teased, nudging you with his elbow. "We all know there's more to it than just his hair."

You sighed, feeling the weight of their relentless questioning pressing down on you. "Alright, fine," you admitted reluctantly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Maybe I... maybe I do like him."

Merry and Pippin exchanged triumphant looks, their grins widening into smirks as they teased you mercilessly. "Ha! We knew it!" Pippin exclaimed with a grin. "You fancy the elf prince!"

You flushed even deeper feeling the heat of embarrassment spreading through your entire being. "It's not like that," you protested weakly though the truth of your feelings hung heavy in the air.

But beneath their teasing, there was a genuine warmth in Merry and Pippin's eyes, a silent reassurance that they meant no harm. And yet despite their best intentions a seed of doubt had already taken root in your mind. Why would an Elven prince like Legolas with his ethereal beauty and noble lineage ever be interested in a lowly healer from Eriador? It seemed like a fantasy too far-fetched to even entertain. It was a cruel trick of fate that mocked your deepest desires.

The hobbits noticed the shift in your demeanor, their playful teasing softened into genuine concern. Merry and Pippin exchanged worried glances, their smiles fading as they realized the depth of your insecurity. "Hey, Y/N, what's wrong?" Pippen asked, his voice gentle as he reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Did we go too far with the teasing?"

You shook your head, trying to force a smile despite the heavy weight of doubt pressing down on your chest. "No, it's not that," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just...I can't get my hopes up, you know? Legolas is an Elven prince, and I'm just a lowly human from Eriador. He could never feel the same way about me."

Merry’s eyes widened with understanding. His expression filled with empathy. "Oh, Y/N, don't say that," he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "You're worth more than you know. Legolas sees something special in you, I'm sure of it."

But your heart felt heavy with doubt, the weight of centuries of tradition and prejudice bearing down on your shoulders. How could you ever hope to compete with the storied history and timeless beauty of the elves? It seemed like a fool's errand. A futile pursuit that would only end in heartbreak. As you poured out your heart to Merry and Pippin, unaware of Legolas' keen ears tuned in to your conversation the Elven prince's own heart ached with a bittersweet mixture of longing and sadness.

Though he had overheard snippets of your conversation with the hobbits, it wasn't until now that the full extent of your insecurities became painfully clear to him. As he turned away from his conversation with Aragorn, his attention fully captured by your words. A pang of empathy pierced through his chest. To hear you speak of yourself with such self-doubt and resignation broke Legolas' heart in ways he couldn't fully articulate. How could you not see the radiant light that shone within you? the kindness and strength that had endeared you to him from the very beginning?

Legolas felt a fierce determination ignite within him. A resolve to show you just how extraordinary you truly were. He longed to sweep away the shadows of doubt that clouded your mind and to replace them with the unshakeable belief in your own worth that you so rightfully deserved.

With a silent vow in his heart, Legolas turned his gaze back to the campfire. His mind ablaze with thoughts of how he could show you the depth of his feelings and the true beauty that lay within your heart As Legolas listened intently to your conversation with Merry and Pippin his heart swelled with a mixture of sadness and determination. He couldn't help but feel the weight of their shared concern for you.

Across the campfire, Merry and Pippin exchanged knowing glances. Their expressions filled with a silent plea for Legolas to intervene. With a subtle nod and a meaningful look they motioned for him to join them, hoping that he could offer you the reassurance and support you so desperately needed.

Legolas met their gazes with silent understanding. His resolve strengthening with each passing moment. With a graceful movement he rose from his seat by the fire. His footsteps were light as he made his way towards you. He was careful not to draw attention to himself.

As he approached Merry and Pippin stepped aside, their eyes flickering with a silent message that Legolas understood all too well. With a grateful nod he took their place by your side, his presence a comforting presence in the midst of your turmoil. Though you remained unaware of his silent exchange with Merry and Pippin, Legolas couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards the hobbits for their unwavering loyalty and support. And as he settled in beside you his gaze met yours with a tenderness that took your breath away

“Y/N,” he began, his tone gentle as a whisper of the wind through the trees, "I couldn't help but notice that something seems to be troubling you.."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the realization that Legolas had sensed your inner turmoil and you couldn't help but feel a pang of self-consciousness. "I'm sorry, Legolas," you murmured, your gaze flickering away from his intense gaze. "I don’t mean to burden you with my concerns."

But Legolas reached out to gently tilt your chin upwards, his touch sending a flutter of warmth through your chest. "No need to apologize, mellon-nîn," he said, his voice filled with a tenderness that melted away your fears. "I want you to know that you are worth more than you could ever imagine."

Your heart swelled with gratitude at his words, a flicker of hope igniting within you as you met his gaze. "That is kind of you to say." you whispered, unable to contain the doubt that still lingered in your heart. "But I'm just a human healer, and you're... you're an Elven prince. In another life we would never have even crossed paths.”

Legolas smiled with a softness in his eyes that spoke of a depth of feeling you had never known before. "We do not choose who we were born to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper yet filled with a quiet intensity, "you are kind, and brave, and full of a light that shines brighter than any star in the sky."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest at the sincerity in his gaze. As you looked into his eyes, you felt a flicker of something stirring deep within you. A longing that you couldn't quite name.

"But," he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "if it's my hair that has caught your fancy, I must say, I've spent centuries perfecting it."

As Legolas spoke, his words carrying a playful yet genuine warmth, your mouth dropped open in realization. A blush flooded your cheeks as you processed his teasing remark, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment washing over you. How could you have forgotten that Legolas possessed such keen perception, his senses far surpassing your own?

Feeling a sudden urge to hide away from him, to shield yourself from the intensity of his gaze, you instinctively turned away. Your gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the campfire. It was easy to forget that Legolas was not just a companion but an elf prince with abilities and perceptions far beyond your own. Even as you sought to hide your embarrassment you couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at Legolas' playful teasing. There was a familiarity in his words, a shared moment of levity amidst the weight of your doubts and insecurities.

As Legolas noticed your sudden shyness a playful yet tender smile graced his lips. "Don't hide away from me," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that enveloped you like a comforting embrace. "If it makes you feel any better, I quite like your hair too. In fact, I like so much about you..."

You turned back to him, your heart racing with a mixture of apprehension and hope. "You do?" you asked, unable to hide the hint of surprise in your voice.

Legolas nodded. His gaze unwavering as he met your eyes. "Yes," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "I've admired you from the moment we met. Your kindness, your bravery, your unwavering spirit... They've all captured my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession, a rush of emotion swelling within you. "Legolas..." you whispered, your voice filled with awe and disbelief.

He reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I know that our paths may be uncertain, and the road ahead may be fraught with danger," he continued, his gaze soft yet determined. "But I want you to know that my feelings for you are anything but uncertain. I care for you deeply, Y/N. I want nothing more than to explore this connection between us."

Tears welled up in your eyes at his heartfelt words. A sense of overwhelming joy flooding your heart. "I... I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

As Legolas leaned in closer, a tender smile gracing his lips he pressed a soft kiss against your cheek. It was a gentle lingering touch that spoke volumes. A silent promise of the love and affection that lay between you. Feeling the warmth of his lips against your skin sent a rush of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It was a sensation that felt like the soft caress of a summer breeze. You closed your eyes savoring the moment. You let yourself feel the depth of his emotions conveyed in that simple gesture.

And as Legolas wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close in a comforting embrace, you nestled into him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. In that embrace, surrounded by the soft glow of the campfire and the tranquil beauty of the night, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you letting you know that everything would be quite alright.

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grondds-and-roses · 2 years

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So Pippin named his son after Faramir, right?

And like here is the thing. That child- Faramir Took, i mean- has never felt alone . Ever.

For as long as he could remember, he felt like someone was with him. Some sort of presence. Not in a creepy sort of way. It was comforting and made him feel protected and safe. He remembers how his nightmares would suddenly shift into happier dreams and how during storms there was a soft voice telling him stories and singing till he fell asleep. Everyone described him as a happy baby because he was usually heard laughing hysterically and clapping in delight, which is normal, except that some of those times, no one was with him in the room.

Faramir never questioned it though. He only did when the incident happened.

He was never supposed to go into the forest on his own, but he saw a fluffy, white rabbit playing among the trees and decided to watch it for a while then simply get out of the forest. Except that he followed the rabbit deep into the forest and ended up losing his way in there. He wasn't scared. He thought that this was an adventure if you will. Then it started raining and he was soaked, cold, hungry, lost and alone. So terribly alone.

But then the comforting voice returned. It reassured him and told him that it would lead him home, that he just needed to follow it and he did. But as he walked, he saw footprints of one of the Big People beside him in the mud, but what disturbed him was what he saw in the water puddles. It was the face of a man with dark hair and grey eyes, but Faramir couldn't see anyone around him.

The voice did help him get back to The Smials. Everyone fussed over him and asked him where he went, but Faramir was too distracted to answer them. All he could think about was The Man.

And as his father was tucking him into bed for the night, Faramir told him about the comforting voice and how it led him home, but most importantly, he told him about the man in the water puddles.

"Do you know who that could be?" Faramir asked

And Pippin, with tears in his eyes, answered him.

"That is Boromir."

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raven-awed · 1 year

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Defense Lessons

Professor Aesop Sharp x fem reader

Summary: Sharp offers Defense Against the Dark Art lessons to J. Pippin’s new employee.

A/n: Couldn’t resist writing for this sexy professor. I’m hoping to write a part 2! Thank you @minichrismd for the help!

*Not my picture

Professor Sharp opened the door to his office and shuffled in. With a flick of his wand the candles and lanterns illuminated.

His office was immaculate, as usual, a potion master's paradise. His shelves were stocked full of every ingredient imaginable, from Ashwinder eggs to Wormwood essence. There wasn’t a single conceivable potion he wouldn’t be able to brew with this stock.

He sighed, glancing down at the full bag he lugged into Hogwarts with him and dropped it carelessly onto the floor. Slowly, he moved to the attached closet, glaring at the door before pulling it open. A frown formed on his face as looked at the crammed shelves and the materials spilling over onto the ground.

Sharp was completely aware that he didn’t have the space for any more ingredients, but he couldn’t resist stopping at J. Pippin’s when he saw that y/n was tending the counter.

That’s how this whole mess started in the first place.

Roughly a month ago he had gone in to purchase Dugbog Tongues, as he no longer felt up to venturing into the Forbidden Forest to hunt down his own. Afterall, he wasn’t a spry wizard anymore, unable to maneuver through the thick woods or climb like he used to, especially with his limp.

When the door chimes had rang over his head, he wasn’t greeted by the familiar face of Mr. Pippins, but the warm smile of a lovely stranger. The gruff professor nodded politely as she welcomed him in and introduced herself as Mr. Pippin’s new assistant.

Her good mood must have been infectious because he soon found himself making small talk with her. She had easily impressed him with her potion’s knowledge and her eagerness to learn and improve. Perhaps if his students were more like her, he’d have more hope for the future.

He huffed again, looking at his recent purchases on the floor. Now everytime he found himself in Hogsmeade, he made some sort of excuse to see her. He dragged a hand over his face, he was too old to be acting like such a fool. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a pretty face anymore, even if she was pleasant to talk to.

Grabbing the new supplies from the floor, he unceremoniously shoved them in the closet and slammed the door shut. He’d deal with that some other time.

In fact, a certain red headed Gryffindor came to mind, he’ll be overjoyed the next time he sneaks in here to steal ingredients. Sharp could just let him know everything in the closet up for grabs, but it was more fun to make him work for it. That Weasley boy would rob him blind if Sharp isn’t careful.

The week progressed as usual, lessons, potion brewing, sending students with minor burns or cuts to the hospital wing. One student had managed to singe his eyebrows off, it was probably the most memorable event of the week.

By the weekend, Professor Sharp was ready for a break, he went to the Three Broomsticks by himself and had a few drinks. He didn’t see y/n on his way over when he passed the potion shop, just Mr. Pippin assisting a couple of customers.

He sighed as he finished his last drink of brandy, setting the empty glass on the bar and rising to his feet.

The autumn air was brisk and the sun was beginning to set as he started walking back to the castle. On the bright side, he saved a few galleons by not spending anything at J Pippin’s, that man already has enough of his salary.

As he slowly headed back to the castle, Sharp froze when he spotted y/n walking towards him, or to be more precise towards Hogsmeade.

A wide friendly smile made its way on her face as she waved at him. “Good evening, Professor Sharp!”

He nodded, “Evening.”

She looked a little less composed than normal, her hair a slightly out of place with leaves sticking out, she was wearing pants instead of her typical uniform she wore at the shop, and there was mud caked onto her boots.

“Did I miss you at the shop?” She asked, her voice was light and sweet. “I was just out collecting some ingredients in the forest.” She held up her sack.

He shook his head, “I’m already set for the week with ingredients.” And probably for the rest of the year, he thought to himself.

They continued to walk towards each other, meeting halfway. Sharp narrowed his eyes and immediately pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh?” Y/n blinked in surprise while the older man began to clean the blood from her temple.

“What happened out there?” He asked firmly, on the outside he appeared as calm and collected as ever, but he’d be lying if he said that his pulse didn’t start racing at the sight of y/n hurt.

“Poachers,” she answered quietly. “Didn’t know I was so close to their camp before they attacked.”

Sharp frowned, lifting the handkerchief to get a better look at the wound. The cut was long and gushing blood, there also appeared to be some dirt mixed in.

“I’m alright, really I am,” she tried to reassure him, placing her hand on his.

“We should go to the hospital wing, have the nurse check it,” he suggested.

“It’s just a scratch-“

“There are all sorts of things out there in those woods, could get infected if you’re not careful,” he explained. “Come on.”

“But I should really take these back-“

“Your health is more important,” Sharp pointed out. “Parry will understand.”

Sharp escorted y/n to the castle and up to the hospital wing. He lingered while she was examined, sitting quietly with his brow furrowed, while he mulled things over.

It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to ask her not to go back, especially with her line of work. Perhaps he could suggest that next time he could accompany her, however, as a retired auror he knew that dangerous witches and wizards were everywhere, not just lurking in the Forbidden Forest.

From what he had seen y/n had proven to be a capable witch, skilled at potions and quite knowledgeable about other subjects, maybe with more support she could learn to properly defend herself. She most likely knew the basics, but he could show her a few more advanced spells, help her be prepared for next time.

Sharp cleared his throat, his dark eyes locking onto hers as the nurse finished treating the wound. “Starting next week, I’d like to offer you lessons.”

Y/n lifted her brow and tilted her head, “Potion lessons?”

“Defense against the dark arts lessons,” he stated, rising to his feet. “With some practice, I’ll have you ready to take on any dark witch or wizard.”

He acquired a practice dummy from Professor Hecat and brought it up to his classroom. He flicked his wand and all the tables and potion stations moved to the side clearing the space in the center of the classroom.

They met once a week for lessons, Sharp taught y/n advanced spells that were not part of the basic curriculum as well as strategies he had used back when he was auror. Sometimes two seemingly unrelated spells could be a powerful combination if used in the right order at the right moment.

Sharp’s main goal was to get y/n more accustomed to using these spells, make it so it was second nature for her to defend and attack if posed with a threat. The only way for that to happen was practice, lots and lots of practice.

Her nerves and discomfort were apparent from the beginning. Her hand would tremble slightly each time she attempted to produce a combat spell.

“Defensive magic wasn’t exactly my favorite while in school,” she explained one day as Sharp pushed the practice dummy in front of her. “Was always too much pressure, too much risk, I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone.”

Sharp sighed, “Unfortunately the world doesn’t share that mindset, cause out there,” he gestured to the window, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who couldn’t care less who they hurt, and if you’re not prepared, you’ll wind up injured again or worse because of one of them.”

Y/n nodded, taking his words in, she hadn’t shared with him how shaken up she had been after the attack. In all honesty, she was quite scared that something like that would indeed happen again.

“Let’s retry that spell,” he directed. “And no holding back this time. It’s important to have conviction when casting, remember that.”

Y/n practices the spell a few more times, getting better with each turn. She wondered if Sharp is this patient with his actual students; she had graduated from Hogwarts before he took on the role of Potions Master.

“You’re improving,” Sharp pointed out as they finished for the evening. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Good night Professor Sharp,” y/n smiled, heading towards the door.

He frowned for a brief moment. “Y/n?” He called.

“Yes,” she answered, spinning around on her heels to face him.

“You know, it’s unnecessary for you to call me ‘professor’,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “You aren’t my student.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” y/n pursed her lips for a moment. “Mr. Sharp…?” She addressed him, but unsure as the words left her mouth.

“Aesop would suffice.” His eyes remained as cool as ever, but in truth the matter had been bothering him for quite sometime now. Her referring to him as Professor Sharp presented a hierarchy when there shouldn’t be one, or at least he didn’t want her to think there was one.

“Oh, alright,” she responded, a little wide eyed, heart fluttering more than it should. “Good night Aesop.”

A barely noticeable half smile formed on his lips as he prepared his classroom for the following morning, it even remained as he retired for the night.

In the weeks that followed, Sharp observed y/n’s growth, she had become more confident and casted spells with ease. But besting a dummy in the safety of a classroom was nothing like a real duel.

“Today we will be doing something different,” he explained while shucking off his coat and laying it on the back of his desk chair.

Y/n tilted her head, face heating up as Aesop also removed his tie and vest. “What did you have in mind exactly?”

“Dueling,” he answered with a smirk.

Her face fell, “Me duel you?”

His smirk grew, “I’ll go easy on you, but this is the best way to see how you’d fare in an actual fight.” Aesop drew his wand, “Ready?”

Y/n raised her wand but she hesitated to cast a spell, Sharp, however, didn’t.

“Expelliarmus,” he shouted.

“Protego,” she responded just in the nick of time, deflecting the curse.

Flashes of lights lit up the classroom as the duel evolved into a dance as they circled each other. There wasn’t a single pause or lull between spells.

“Depulso!” Y/n blinked in surprise when the spell actually landed, sending Aesop flying back. Immediately she rushed over.

“Aesop!” She knelt beside him, her hands cupping his face as he groaned slightly. “Are you hurt?”

Her touch was so light and gentle as she cradled his head. It had been quite a long time since anyone touched him like this.

Looking up at her so close to him, his face began heating up. Sharp cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”

“Looks like you can hold your own in a fight,” he commented, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. He frowned for a moment as his own words sunk in. “I suppose that means you don’t need anymore lessons,” he explained solemnly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

They both stood at the doorway, realizing that they wouldn't be seeing each other anytime soon.

Sharp could try to go back to the shop, but he knew after spending so much time in his classroom that she had noticed his well stocked shelves. He racked his brain for another excuse to spend time with her but he was drawing a blank.

He sighed, glancing at y/n, she had probably had other things to do tonight, “Well, good night-“

“We should get drinks!” Y/n chirped, interrupting him. Her face revealing her excitement over the prospect. “To celebrate and as a thank you!”

“As a thank you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Yes! For teaching me how to properly defend myself! Nothing big,” she rattled on. “Just drinks and maybe dinner. Does next week work for you at the Three Broomsticks?”

Aesop smiled, “See you next week.”

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader #female reader #reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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lady-adaneth · 1 month

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Romantic Inclination

To whoever finds this, hello friend! I’m super excited to be sharing my first ever fan fic with you! What an incredible thing that we’ve found each other on this vast platform. I’m looking to improve my writing, so if you have a moment I’d be very grateful if you shared any criticisms or requests. I hope that this little one-shot brings some tranquility to your day!

Synopsis:

You and your betrothed sneak away from the wedding festivities for a romantic moment alone.

Legolas x gender-neutral elf!reader

No use of y/n

One-Shot (but if you’d like more don’t hesitate to send a request)

Meleth Nin = My Love

Content Warnings:

Spice scale: Mild kinda smoky salsa

Physical/romantic touch

Word Count:

500+ words

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧‧₊˚ ✩°｡

The forests of Mirkwood were fabled for the ghastly creatures that lurked beneath its thick canopy. The treacherous floor remaining untouched by the glow of stars nor the suns kiss; the darkness teeming with monstrous spiders and unforgiving elves…

The centuries old fable had kept your elfling self from wandering at night, much to your father’s relief. If only he could see you now, dancing amongst the Mirkwood elves in their sacred forest; marrying a Mirkwood elf under thousands of glimmering stars.

Your steps faltered as your mind wandered to your betrothed; and your dance partner took notice. Gimli and you had fought side-by-side against Sauron and his hoard. Combat was a dance in itself, and Gimli’s ax was a perfect complement to your blades. So it’s no surprise that he was privy to what troubled you.

“You’ve suddenly got lousy footwork for an elf, what’s on your mind lassie?” A smile graced Gimli’s face, however his eyes betrayed true concern. Your mind had been wandering to Legolas ever since the ceremony. Tradition mandated that both of you greet and dance with as many guests as possible, reuniting hours later for a final dance. However, as much as you enjoyed the company of others you couldn’t help but scan the motley crowd for his circlet-adorned hair.

“Well,” you began, eyes still searching.

“I have so many more guests to thank…” Gimli cut you off in an explosion of laughter.

“Screw tradition, I’ll keep these unruly guests in check. You go find that damned elf, wherever he may be,” before you could muster a retort, Gimli twirled you in a surprisingly artful spin, abruptly letting go of your hand and launching you into the open. You opened your eyes, searching for any sign of your beloved dwarf friend amongst the crowd, to no avail. Rolling your eyes, you took stock of your immediate surroundings. To the left, the merriment continued; with Pippin and Gandalf leading a rather humorous waltz that had everyone hollering. To the right, you found yourself flanked by the seemingly endless Mirkwood forest.

Suddenly, a set of encompassing arms wound their way around your waist.

“Meleth Nin,”

The whispers warm air lingered by your ear, a firm chest pressed up against your back. Despite his choice of words, you could recognize his intoxicating scent of fir and amber anywhere.

“And who might you be?” You say coyly. “Are you my savior, prince?” Legolas chuckled, his voice inches from your ear.

“I’m here to rescue you from the endless dancing and idle chatter, my princess,” you spun to face him, a mischievous smile on his saintly face. Heavens, that face. You could feel his heart rate accelerate with your own as your hand found his jawline. His arms still encompassed your body. You felt yourself melting as he gently leaned down to meet your lips. The rhythm of the kiss was gentle-familiar, and you melted farther into his touch. His arms tightened around your figure as the kiss deepened. His teeth gently grazed your lip, sending a chill down your spine. You pushed farther into his chest in an almost primal effort to meld into one. Your heart rates grew louder, your shared breath drowning out any sound. His right hand ascended to rest in your hair, carefully grasping the roots. Suddenly, you pulled away, gasping for air as the sounds of merriment returned to you. His eyes found yours, a combination of adoration and worry; searching yours for any sign of injury.

“What are your thoughts…” your forehead found his as he held you tightly. “On taking our leave from the festivities, only for a moment of course?” His reverence shone brightly in his eyes.

“I’d be honored to steal you away for the night, Meleth Nin,” he smirked, pulling you hand-in-hand through the glistening forest of Mirkwood…

—————

Thank you for reading! If you have any criticisms or would like a part 2 please let me know!

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meraki-yao · 6 months

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RWRB: A list of thoughts on the Campfire Scene

Ok I went to sleep for another hour to calm myself down and now I can form coherent thoughts about the scene and not just scream and squeal

It's a three-minute scene with two shots. The first shot is a little over two minutes

When Alex asks his question, Henry, who was looking into the fire, tilts his head towards Alex as if to listen better. After Alex finishes, Henry looks up towards the sky, like he's wondering how to answer

Alex doesn't really react to Henry's "Once upon a time" even though he's not directly answering Alex's question. He just listens, and that's such a beautiful thing

Nick deserves a round of applause for this scene, his monologue was two minutes long, and monologues are really hard to perform because it's just you who keeps talking, you don't really get to react to other things or people, it's just you, so Nick is a fantastic job

Nick's delivery and tone, and the way he sometimes ends a sentence a bit like a question (ex: "acutely") makes it sound like Henry's been thinking about this story/ metaphor for a while but this is the first time he ever verbalizes it, so while he knows what he wants to talk about thus he doesn't need to pause a lot to think of the story, he does occasionally need to think of the next word or line because again, he never actually said any of this out loud before, and Nick does that so well

@pippin-katz pointed out that Nick misspoke and said "sent the suit a prince of armour" which is hilarious, and while because movie, this shouldn't happen, realistically we all have moments where we mix words up so it almost feels more... authentic? Also, I didn't pick it up but now that Pippin mentioned it I'm really aware of it lmao

Also Henry/Nick's voice here is so soothing? I can almost imagine him telling bedtime stories to his and Alex's kids like this in the future. I wonder if Henry would write children's books because it feels like it'd be something he do and something he could write really well, if this clip is anything to go by. Plus I stumbled across an audio of Nick reading "The Emperor's New Clothes" before (I literally have no context of why he was reading that and it was literally just audio, not sure if I can find it anymore) and it was so soothing and calming that I fell asleep to it one night. Besides the full-cast RWRB audiobook that I'm practically demanding at this point, I wonder if he would be interested in doing more audiobook/narration stuff. He's really got the voice for it

The King sending a suit of armour to protect the prince's heart kind of further proves my point of the King being a much more loving grandparent to Henry than the queen in the book, and him worrying more about Henry himself than the image of the crown. He noticed that 1, Henry is an emotionally sensitive person, 2, Henry is gay, and both of those things could be turned against him easily, and he will get hurt. He does love Henry, just not in a way that's good for Henry. If we get a sequel I do hope we can see them reconcile in one way or another. It'd be a nice example for people in the same positions.

The "Nothing will ever happen to him" line!!!! I wrote a whole essay about Kensington and this line because somehow this line was one of the most powerful ones to me, but to know that it was originally Henry's word just adds another level of pain to the Kensington scene

You can see Henry's face light up when he starts talking about the peasant boy. And Alex's quick eyebrow raise and deep chuckle. It's so beautiful, I wanna cry

We talk about Alex's heart eyes, which, yes, but Henry's look of pure adoration and love at Alex when he says "Truly Alive" makes me want to melt

I yelled a little at Alex when he started to lay back down (as in I verbally shouted "DAMMIT ALEX LOOK AT YOUR MAN") because I felt like if Alex saw Henry's face in the following lines he'd figure out Henry has issues earlier? But then I saw a take saying the shot was framed like theatre where Henry's both centre stage and in the spotlight so the focus is on him, so Alex was designed to lay back down on the timber bench to make the entire space for Henry

Henry's look of sad longing when he talks about the peasant boy pulling apart his armor is heartbreaking

I wonder if this was originally planned to be the changing point from Alex's POV to Henry's POV? Because in that case I do think the lake scene worked better as a changing point

I also wonder how did Henry end the story in his head up to this point? Because as hopefully as the last line is, at this point in the story, Henry still doesn't believe he can keep this

I get why scenes are cut because when you're putting together a movie, there are a lot of things you don't see for individual scenes until you put them together. This is why as much as I want the cast and crew to get the premiere they deserve to have, I don't really want an extended cut of the movie, because things were cut for a good reason

That being said, if the cornetto scene and this scene proved anything, is that the scenes themselves are fascinating, and I WANT THEM ALL

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #firstprince #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #rwrb thoughts #rwrb deleted scene #my rwrb list

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grandeoatmilklatte · 9 months

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And Then There Were Three 🍼

Happy Weasley Wednesday once again! This week's theme from the Discord server was "kink" which is nice and open ended for us to go nuts with. I love the Garreth HCs that say he's a family man and wants a big family, and the ones that say he would have bad pull out game 😂 so with that I present to you - br33ding k!nk Garreth!

I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea, and that's fine, you can skip this and I'll have something you for next week! But if you're into this, please continue!

And Then There Were Three - Garreth Weasley x F!MC

Summary - After a year of marriage, Garreth and MC are ready to start their family, which brings out a particular kink in Garreth. 1.6k words

NSFW/18+ Smut! Characters are aged up, over 18, and married. You read the description, there's mentions of breeding kink, and pregnancy in here, so please don't proceed if either of those things may upset you!!

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Garreth checked his pocket watch for the fifth time in the past hour, it was finally time for him to close up shop, jumping from his desk to quickly close. He couldn’t wait to get home. Not because he hated his job, he actually loved running J. Pippins potion shop, which he took over after Mr. Pippin had retired. Normally he wouldn’t mind the work day, but today was special. Today was his one year wedding anniversary with MC.

It felt like it was only yesterday that they got engaged. After two years of dating, Garreth proposed to MC right after graduation. They were married a little over a month later, refusing to wait any longer. They had a small little 2 bedroom home right in Hogsmeade. Garreth running the shop, MC training to be a professor at Hogwarts. Everything in their life was perfect, with one small exception - they still didn’t have any children yet.

Garreth and MC had discussed children at length before they got married. They both agreed that they wanted children soon after marriage, eager to start their own Weasley family. They had tried a couple of times already, but they had no successes so far. MC wasn’t too discouraged, knowing they were still young and had time. But Garreth on the other hand was losing his mind. Garreth was a family man through and through. He loved caring for his siblings and loved watching his parents care for them all, seeing how happy raising children made them. The two things he wanted the most in the world was to be a husband and a father. He had one, he just needed to get the other.

The failed attempts also put Garreth in a bit of a predicament. Although he loved everything about MC, and lots of things turned him on, he had developed a particular kink as of late, the lack of success in their endeavors leaving his new kink unsatisfied. Lately he had found himself insanely aroused by the idea of impregnating MC. Every time they had actively tried to conceive, his mind was running wild. The way MC would moan and beg for him, so eager for him to finish inside of her, the way she’d tightly wrap her legs around him and pull him close as he plunged into her as deep as he could when he came, the way she’d lay with her legs up against the headboard afterwards, trying to make sure his seed was deep in her, all of it was insanely arousing for him. And every time they failed, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged. But tonight he was confident. Tonight was going to be the night that they finally conceived their first, of many, little Weasleys!

When he walked through the door, he found MC preparing dinner, her having gotten home before he did. He placed the flowers and bag of pastries he had gotten for her on the kitchen table and came up behind MC, placing his head on her shoulder and his arms around her. His hands coming up to rest on her stomach. He couldn’t wait for the day he could do this and there would actually be a baby inside of her.

He planted a kiss on her cheek before turning her around to pull her into a deep kiss, dipping her slightly backwards to deepen the kiss. “Happy anniversary my beautiful, darling wife!” He shouted. MC giggled as he returned her to her normal standing position. “Happy anniversary, my love! Are those for me?” She took note of the flowers, a large bouquet of red roses. “No, I actually quite fancy roses myself! The rose petals make good potion ingredients!” Garreth teased. MC and Garreth broke into a fit of giggles as they sat down to enjoy their dinner.

Once dinner was done and the kitchen was cleaned up, they cuddled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, MC’s head in Garreth’s lap, her eyes closed as he played with her hair. MC opened her eyes, staring up at Garreth while he stared down at her. Their eyes locked, small smiles on their faces, each of them taking in the beauty of the other, relishing in how much they adored each other and how happy they were together. After enjoying some comfortable silence, MC spoke first. “You know Garreth, maybe tonight we could…try again.” Her voice was soft, but her look was mischievous. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask sweetheart!” MC rose from the couch, Garreth taking her by surprise and picking her up in his arms, carrying her to their bedroom, MC giggling the whole way.

Once he brought her to the bedroom, he immediately placed her onto the bed on her back and got to work on undressing her. He was quick with it, ripping her clothes off and tossing them haphazardly around the room. “Someone’s eager!” MC teased. “Do you blame me? Look at you!” Garreth exclaimed as he took note of her choice in lingerie tonight, an all white lacy set, the exact thing she wore on their wedding night. Garreth took a few moments to admire her. Once again, he was flooded with thoughts of starting a family. His thoughts went from sweet to naughty in a second as he removed the lingerie, as well as his own clothes.

He lined himself above her, leaning down to passionately kiss her once before he took his rock hard length in his hand. He ran himself through her folds, coating himself in her wetness. “Oh sweetheart, you’re soaked. I just love how wet you are for me already!” He then slid inside her with ease. Normally Garreth loved foreplay, but there was only one thing on his mind tonight.

Once Garreth was fully inside of MC, he began rapidly thrusting into her, fucking her into the mattress, the bed frame shaking violently. Her whines of pleasure egged him on as he lost himself in her warmth. Garreth grabbed at her legs, lifting them up onto his shoulders so he could sink in deeper.

“You feel so good sweetheart! I can’t wait to fill you with my seed! You’re going to look so pretty carrying my child” Garreth said through gritted teeth. His thrusts were harsh and deep, but MC couldn’t get enough.

“Garreth! I…” MC was in such a state of pleasure she could barely speak. “I want it…please!” She whimpered. “What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me.” His brilliant green eyes were dark and there was a seriousness to him unlike she had ever seen before. “I…I want you to fill me up! Put a baby in me, please Garreth!” She looked up at him with a desperate look in her eyes. Garreth let out a loud groan. “Oh don’t worry sweetheart! We’re not stopping tonight until you’re good and pregnant! I can’t wait to put a baby inside you!”

Garreth’s thrusts were becoming sloppy, a telltale sign that he was reaching his release. “Are you ready for me, darling?” MC whimpered in response as Garreth gave her one more thrust before bringing his body flush to hers and pulling her close. MC wrapped her legs around him drawing him close as well. He stilled as he came, and she could feel his cock pulsating and emptying into her. It was such a wonderful feeling, being full of him.

He pulled out of her slowly, looking down at her filled cunt and smiling, his hand coming up and rubbing her stomach. “Oh sweetheart, you look so pretty full of my seed.” Garreth then shoved two fingers inside of her and pumped them a few times, which drew a moan out of MC. “Just making sure my cum is deep in there. Can’t have anything spilling out, can we?” He gave her a dark chuckle as he removed his fingers. MC smiled at him, sucking his fingers clean before proceeding to get into her usual position, her legs up and against the headboard.

Garreth pumped three more loads into MC that night in a similar fashion to the first, wanting to make sure it stuck this time. By the time his cock emptied into her for the fourth time, MC was a whimpering mess, legs shaking and voice hoarse from her moans that had turned to screams as Garreth fucked her into a state of overstimulation.

Garreth rolled off of her as he caught his breath, also spent from their long night together. Once they both had come down from their final high of the night, MC brought her legs down as Garreth pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly, one hand coming down to rest on her stomach.

“Darling, you know there’s nothing there yet, right?” She asked with a giggle. “I know, but I’m already excited to meet our little Weasley!” They both laughed as MC snuggled into her husband, falling asleep in his arms.

———————

Garreth breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door to the shop. It had been a long, busy day, and all he wanted to do was go home and rest, especially since he was arriving home later than he usually did, his work forcing him to stay a little longer.

“Sweetheart! I’m so sorry I’m home late! We had an insane last minute order.” He shouted as soon as he opened the door to their home. MC wasn’t in the kitchen like she normally was when he arrived home. Instead he found her sitting at the dining room table.

MC looked up at him as he entered the dining room, tears streaming down her face. Panic set in for a split second until the biggest smile formed on her, tears still actively coming down. “Garreth, you’re going to be a father!” She choked out. Garreth grabbed MC from her chair and hugged her, lifting her in his arms as tears ran down his own face.

He could finally put his new found kink to rest, at least for now, until it was time to create their next little Weasley.

———————

#garreth weasley #garreth weasley x mc #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley x you

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deadlymistletoe · 10 months

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A Token Of Love

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Romance

Description: Legolas has been acting suspicious, but you soon find out why when he presents you with a gift.

Warnings: None

Word count: 955

To put it plainly, Legolas was acting suspicious.

Throughout the journey, the elf had been cheerful (perhaps unreasonable so considering where you were going), always happy to talk, and never turned you away when you approached him, however shyly.

Now though, it was different. He was spending more time with Gimli than usual, and had just about jumped out of his skin (which he never did) when you’d gone to find him in Gimli’s workspace - another odd thing, however close he was with Gimli, he detested the ‘loud, smelly’ workspace.

You were more hurt than you should be. You had no claim to the elf’s attention, let alone affection, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Why was Legolas suddenly spending so much time with the dwarf? Why did he always seem… off around you?

You knew why you were feeling this way. Over the course of the journey, you’d come to care about the elf more than you should. A crush, Pippin had called it, before you’d forbidden him to speak of it as your cheeks burned.

After the friendship you’d built with Legolas you didn’t want to risk saying something in case he didn’t feel the same, so you’d slowly started doing little things such as bringing him his supper, collecting any rare flowers you saw when it was your turn to try and scavenge for some food and giving them to him and sitting beside him when he fletched new arrows, passing supplies as he needed them, hoping that maybe he’d pick up on your hints and say something first if he felt the same way.

There were moments, when your hopes had risen, such as when he’d held you as you cried the night after Boromir’s death, and Merry and Pippin’s kidnapping, and when he’d wrapped his arms around you after checking for injuries after the Battle of Helm's Deep, but then your hopes would be crushed when he retracted his embrace, sending you off with that accursed word ‘Mellon’.

After that, there hadn’t been much time to ponder on it, with the Battle of Pelennor Fields quickly being followed by the battle at the gates of Mordor.

It was only when Sam and Frodo had recovered and Aragorn was crowned king that Legolas had shown any signs of something that could be more than mere friendship, dancing with you at the coronation feast, his hand slightly lower than what might be appropriate for friends, kissing you on the cheek at the end of the night.

And that brought you back to here, where you stood just outside the door to Gimli’s workroom, wondering if you’d be welcome.

You sighed, about to knock when you heard Gimli's gruff voice “Is that what you wanted?”

You knew you shouldn’t listen in, but you leaned closer to the door as you heard the smooth voice of Legolas reply. “It’s perfect. Thank you Gimli.”

Gimli grunted. “Don’t you mess this up, laddy! You two have been pining after each other for long enough!”

As a brief silence occurred, you felt your heart jump. Legolas pining? After who? Could it possibly be you, or were you just dreaming pointlessly?

You jumped back just as the door handle turned and the door opened, the elf looking surprised when he saw you just outside.

His surprised expression cleared after a brief moment and he gave you a smile that had your heart jumping again. “Y/N, I was just coming to look for you. I want to show you something.”

You nodded soundlessly, following helplessly after him as he made his way to a courtyard, one of the only places in the White City with any sort of plantation that went beyond a few pots.

You watched as Leoglas sat down on a bench, beckoning for you to join him, and you did, heart thumping erratically for reasons you didn’t understand as he took something from a pocket holding it out to you.

It was a chain, you realised, a necklace as you accepted it from him.

You turned it in your hands, admiring the charm hanging from the chain. It was a round gold medallion with a bow and arrow carefully engraved into the center of it.

Beautiful, was the only word that came to mind as you ran your fingers over it.

You glanced up at the elf beside you. Holding it out for him to take back. “It’s beautiful. I’m sure whoever it’s for will treasure it.”

Legolas swallowed, looking uncharacteristically nervous for an elven prince, before gently closing your hand around it, slightly calloused archer’s fingers brushing yours.

“It’s for you. Gimli helped me make it. He made the medallion and taught me how to engrave it. I had hoped…”

You smiled softly, daring to believe your dreams may be coming true as he trailed off. “You had hoped what?”

He met your gaze, a sudden surge of confidence filling his eyes. “I had hoped you might accept it as a token of my love for you. And that you might consider accepting my proposal to court you.”

“I don’t need to consider anything.”

Hand still clenched around the jewelry, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips gently to his.

It was less than a second before he kissed you back, gently taking the necklace from your hand and carefully fastening it around your neck without breaking the kiss. His hand settled on your cheek as you pressed closer to him, the space between your bodies disappearing.

You pulled back, necklace a comforting weight where it hung from your neck. “Consider that my answer.”

This time it was he who kissed you first.

A token of love indeed.

Taglist

@fizzyxcustard @bookworm-with-coffee

#the hobbit #imagines #female reader #lord of the rings #legolas #legolas x reader #my writing

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sindar-princeling · 11 months

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(I was wondering for a while if I should edit this post to be neater, or erase the things I've already said, but after all I decided to keep it just as it was, because over the past few months I was adding more and more thoughts to it as I edited, and I wanted to keep them that way, unedited and just the way they came to me. so here are some thoughts I had while editing the newsletter)

editing LOTR to go chronologically felt like constantly finding some hidden gems that can only be found when you read that way, and wondering if they were put there intentionally (and knowing jirt, they most probably were). it was a truly, deeply special experience, and a unique way of experiencing LOTR to me

there are so many fragments where jirt says what happens after everything! the ponies were okay, Pippin cried when he heard horns after the battle of Pelennor fields for years to come, even the prologue reveals some information about who survived the War

the long breaks in Rivendell and Lórien were very interesting in this format. some people were remarking how they liked thinking about the fellowship just chilling during those breaks, and I think it created a nice effect of both the characters and us forgetting how close the danger is for them. it let us take those breaks with them!

the only part of the quest that doesn't have a date assigned to it takes part in Lórien, it's the one where Frodo and Sam sing about Gandalf. and it's SUCH a good detail! Tolkien kept track of every event, of dates and even times of day for the entire duration of the quest, but this fragment is just Somewhere There, because in Lórien time seems to stand still, and you can never know when you are

the only other fragments which are confusing time-wise take place during the dark days with no sun, which is of course a great writing choice, but even they are described in Appendix B - the Lórien fragment has no date, no reference point, nothing

it doesn't hit you that much when you read the book, but the battle of Helm's Deep happened literally just one (1) week after the breaking of the Fellowship. Aragorn was out there having the Worst Week Of His Fucking Life

I loved feeling the impact of certain events more while reading chronologically (the three hunters running for days made more impact on me when I was sending yet another entry and they were still running)

before actually going through TTT and ROTK, I was preparing for very long entries for each day. but after the Tower of Cirith Ungol and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (March 15th), the next ten days before the Ring is destroyed are so... empty in comparison. and it works amazingly well when you read according to dates. we hear just enough from Aragorn and the Host of the West to let the tension grow and grow. we hear just enough from Frodo and Sam to feel the oppressive atmosphere of these entries. but on the other hand, the entries are short enough to set our imaginations to work and make them fill in the rest. to me it's the perfect balance of the horror you read about and the horror you know is still there even after you close the book. this is what I mean by hidden gems, because it works that well only when you read day-by-day - in the book those fragments are just a few pages long, and you can get through those ten days very fast. but when you read according to dates, the torment is spread over so much time

the previous point is why I loved seeing the pacing in LOTR this way. in LOTR, so much can happen in ten days; and yet so little happened between march 15th and 25th besides fear and suffering

there was one part that gave me a headache because I spent so long trying to figure it out I forgot to eat - March 10th-14th in the Frodo and Sam subplot. it was a huge relief when I opened my atlas of Middle-earth and found its author Karen Wynn Fonstad had the same doubts when she'd been researching for the book that I did (and also that she arrived at the same conclusion).

apart from the March 11th-14th fragments, the most challenging day to edit was March 15th because Everything Happened So Much, and many things - simultaneously. it was a choice between chopping certain fragments into really small bits or sacrificing the impact of certain scenes

the only thing I'm sad about losing in this format is the ending, because Frodo getting ill and leaving Middle-Earth in fall, the same season as when he first set out, brackets the plot of LOTR such a beautiful and heartbreaking way and underlines one last time that "there and back again" is never really just that - you always end up somewhere else than where you started

#lotr newsletter #it's mine my own my precious

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whositmcwhatsit · 10 months

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Afraid

AN: It's been a difficult couple of weeks, so I wrote myself some fluff. Maybe you're in need of fluff too. If so, enjoy!

Written using the prompt: "Isn't that mine?"

@thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain

“I shouldn’t be here, I’ve got a History test tomorrow that I haven’t even started to study for.”

“Well, I didn’t put you in a headlock,” Shirley pointed out, pinching cotton candy between her fingers before she popped it into her mouth. “Anyway, so you fail a test, are you telling me you wouldn’t regret missing out on seeing Elvis more?”

“I’m just thinking about when my parents find out and they ban me from coming out.”

Shirley, whose parents who paid little attention to what she did, just shrugged and sucked in more cotton candy. “Then you’ll just sneak out, right? Plenty of the kids do it.”

Tina knew that a lot of the girls wrapped their pillows in blankets and shimmied out of the window to get into cars that idled at the kerb a safe distance from their houses, but she felt a pang in her stomach at the thought of becoming one of them. She liked her parents, respected them, and had always liked being the daughter they wanted her to be, but ever since she had found herself outside the gates of Graceland a few months before, that girl had been drifting further and further away from her.

“So, what d’you want to do now?” she asked Shirley. They had already rode the Pippin and the Rocket and the dodgems were off limits for the moment while Elvis and his friends tried their best to kill one another. She didn’t even like watching them for too long, it made her hair stand on end the chances they took. If nothing else, it proved how blessed Elvis really was that no one had ever been seriously injured.

“Ferris Wheel?” Shirley shrugged, tossing the last of the cotton candy and wiping her fingers on her skirt. Tina nodded and sighed as they wandered over to the huge ride that loomed up into the night sky. She let her head tip back as she squinted up at the top where the carriages swung in the breeze and let out another sigh.

As they headed towards the booth that marked the entrance, something hit Tina hard between the shoulder blades and she stumbled forward, grabbing onto Shirley’s shoulder to stop herself from toppling onto the asphalt.

“Hey, dumbass, watch it!”

Both girls whirled round at the familiar voice just in time to see Elvis give his cousin Billy a swift kick in the pants that almost sent him sprawling. He turned back to the girls, eyes roaming all over as he asked if they were okay and apologising for his thoughtless cousin.

“No harm done!” Shirley chirped, even though she wasn’t the one that had been hit.

Tina had to crane her neck again as he stepped up to her, looking impossibly handsome with his gleaming black hair and white sports jacket. He was wearing some kind of hat that would have looked silly on anyone else, but whatever magic Elvis was encased in had swallowed up that hat too and it just added to his look. There was a smile glinting in his eyes even though he was affecting a concerned frown.

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? I feel like I need to make it up to you.” He looked around, surveying the immediate area. “Let’s take us a ride on the Ferris wheel, I should keep an eye on you in case you got concussion or something.” She opened her mouth to explain that it was her back that got hit, but her brain managed to kick in before the words started to come out.

“You don’t mind, do you, darlin’, if I steal your friend for a while?” Shirley shook her head, her face glowing with her smile, but as soon as Elvis turned away, her expression became an Arctic glare at Tina.

In a daze, Tina let herself be led by the hand, perching onto the seat and clutching at the bar as it was pulled down. Elvis leant over and called over the ride operator, saying something to him before they were lifting up into the air.

Tina wasn’t sure what was more terrifying, being suspended at heights that would mean certain death or sitting alone next to Elvis Presley. It was probably a draw.

“So, you’re sure you’re okay?” Elvis said, lifting his arm over her head and laying it across the back of her seat. He shifted slightly towards her and the car swung wildly. Tina emitted a muted squeak and squeezed the bar tighter in her sweaty fingers. “Honey, you don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t hurt you.” Tina couldn’t even look at him, convinced that if she took her eyes off the ground that she was going to magically slip beneath the restraint and tumble out.

“It’s not you,” she managed through her clenched jaw.

“Aw hell, you scared of heights, honey?” He moved again, she presumed to try and meet her eye, and she whimpered, feeling the cold sweat prickling across her forehead. “Why didn’t you say nothing? You were heading this way, I thought-”

“I’m gonna beat it,” she replied, starting to nod but stopping because any movement felt like too much. “Every time I visit I make myself come up here and I- I’m gonna get used to it. And I won’t be afraid no more. I mean anymore.” Terror is no excuse for not speaking properly, she could hear her mother instructing her in that earnest way she did.

“I do the same thing,” Elvis answered, so softly that she forgot herself and glanced over in surprise. His eyes flicked from the ground to hers, filled with a tender glow that tricked her into smiling despite her unease. “You know, every time I walk out on a stage or onto a set over in Hollywood, I get so scared, my heart feels like it’s gonna pound right outta my chest and I get this energy in my arms and legs that I think is gonna fry all my circuits.” He laughed a little to himself. “But I keep on making myself do it, play the shows, say my lines, because it’s gonna get easier the more I do it. I mean, it has to, right?”

Tina took a deep breath, as much as she could with the tight band of fear around her chest, and fought against the pull to look back down at the ground, which she sensed was a dizzying distance away now.

“You’ve performed in so many shows now,” she said, her eyes fixed on those warm, gentle eyes, “has it gotten easier?”

“Sometimes I think it has,” he nodded. She heard what he was trying not to say and sighed again. “But- But facing an audience is something different than heights. Being up high, it’s gonna stay the same, right? No matter where you are, high is high. Every audience is different, just ‘cause you went over okay in one city don’t mean they’re gonna take to you the same in another. The changin’, that makes it hard to get used to. Heights though… You’ll crack it, honey, I know it.”

Tina’s smile was more genuine now, she could see how hard he was trying to comfort and distract her and she felt a little like that silly hat with the upturned brim, encased in Elvis’ aura where bad things could not happen and nothing couldn’t be fixed. She was just about to thank him for his kindness when the ride stopped with a sudden jolt and the car lurched precariously at the very top of the wheel. She screamed instead.

“Oh shit!” His eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. “Honey, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know and I told them-“ He leaned over the edge of the car, trying to get the ride operator’s attention. “Hey! Hey, start it back up! Hey!” He glanced back over his shoulder at her and gripped her shoulder with his large, warm hand, reassuring her.

“I think it’ll be okay if you just stop moving!” she said, trying to keep the panic from making her voice sound funny. It came out sharper than she wanted.

“Just stop moving,” he muttered, turning round again so that he was practically facing her, his arms bracketing her. “Might as well learn to fly at the same time. Ain’t exactly my strong suit, honey.”

With what felt like superhuman strength, she peeled her fingers on one hand away from the bar and lifted it slightly, clamping hold of his forearm. She could feel the muscle tense beneath her fingers through his jacket. He went to raise his arm, probably to wrap it around her, but she shook her head sharply and pushed down, forcing it to stay in place.

“You hold on,” she instructed. “And I’ll keep you still.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, eyes fixed on hers again, reading them like pages of a script. She exhaled shakily and swivelled slightly in her seat, freezing momentarily when the entire world seemed to slip off its axis for a second. The inside of her skirt clung to her sweaty legs, but she ignored the discomfort of it peeling away as she slotted her legs around Elvis’ jiggling thigh, clamping hold with her knees.

“Whoa, good grip, hot damn.” She watched him visibly swallow and she grinned, forgetting which one of them was supposed to be nervous. Her final act of bravery was to release the bar from her other clawed death grip and transfer it to the arm he had laid behind her, squeezing his bicep on this side.

They sat this way for a what felt like a lifetime, her frozen against even the suggestion of a breeze and him pinned down, studying her face like he had a test on it in the morning.

“Elvis, do you know my name?” she asked suddenly. His eyebrows twitched suddenly as he realised that he didn’t.

“Well, there hasn’t exactly been a good time to ask…” His slow smirk was so beautiful that she felt her face moving to match it.

“It’s Christina, but people call me Tina. You might not remember the name, but I guess I might stick in your mind a little bit after this, right?”

“I’m pretty sure you would’ve anyway, Tina honey,” he replied with his usual charm. “But yeah, I think you might be right. I gotta introduce you to my mother, she’ll wanna meet the girl that managed to keep me still for more than ten seconds.”

“You’re doing really well,” Tina observed, noting that he had matched the grip she had on his right thigh with his legs bookending hers.

“You too,” he replied, cheekbones brimming as he glanced to the side, looking down at the small crowd milling around the ride. “You know, it really is a beautiful night.” She winced and he smiled a little wider. “You can do, it, baby, just a little peek.”

Tina turned her head in a slow, stuttering swivel, squeezing him tighter the more the horizon seemed to bob up and down. He was right, the sky was clear and the stars seemed especially bright. The low moon was so big you could count the craters.

“It is,” she agreed, “You know- Oh no!”

The ride suddenly cranked back into life and Tina shrieked again. Someone further back laughed like they thought she was playing. In the chaos, Elvis surged forward since the car was already swinging precariously, and wrapped his arms around her, hushing her in a low voice as she clung to his shirt.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got you, I got you.” She had her face buried beneath his jacket somehow, taking in his scent. Her breathing evened out and she lost track of whether the ride was moving at all. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, surprisingly fast like a handful of coins thrown down a stairwell, jangling and clanging with only speed and little rhythm.

“You can let me loose now, honey, we’re back down on solid ground.” She withdrew from the folds of his shirt, meeting the smirk of the ride operator as he lifted the bar. She had daydreamed the myriad ways that she might catch the eye of Elvis one night at the fairground, roller rink or movie theatre. She would use the precious moment she had his attention to convince him that she, out of all the girls he dated, kissed, flirted with, was the one he was looking for. Well, the best laid plans…

Scrambling off the seat, she swayed slightly as she hurried through the exit, looking for Shirley’s familiar blonde ponytail.

“Tina, wait a minute!” Elvis’ voice was different compared to when they had been alone up there in the sky, deeper and more authoritative. She had no choice but to stop and wait for him to catch up. “Honey, I really am sorry. I fouled everything up something awful. I don’t blame ya for wanting to-“

For a second, she thought that he was going to topple over as she surged up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth, but he only staggered back a step before he caught himself and her. Well, she almost kissed his mouth, the corner of it at least. There had been little time to aim accurately. She stood in front of him anxiously, waiting for a response, but he just stood there too with a little smile on his face and his cheeks pink.

“Uh, that was- I mean, thank you, for being so nice when I was being a scaredy cat up there. You could’ve made fun of me, but you didn’t. That was real nice of you.”

“Nothing to make fun of,” he shrugged, shaking off his embarrassment and regaining his usual self-assured stance, hips thrust forward. “Everybody’s afraid of something, right? Only they keep it a secret.” He wiggled his eyebrows pointedly.

“Uh huh, yep, secret,” she nodded, miming turning the lock on her lips.

“Anyway, you weren’t heading off home, were you? The night’s young and I feel like I gotta make it up to you-” He waved his hand behind him at the Ferris wheel. She bit back pointing out that the wheel was supposed to make up for his cousin hitting her in the back, so he had struck out two times already.

“I guess I can stay a while,” she replied absently, scanning the crowd. “I just gotta find my friend because she’s my ride home.”

“Oh, that ain’t no problem, I’ll get you home, don’t worry about that.” He snatched up her hand and spun on his heels. “Okay, so where to next?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he had already decided and she was just along for the ride. He strode over to a row of games, rejoining some of his friends who were huddled around trying to win prizes for their dates.

“Okay, you clowns, step back and let me show you how it’s done!” he intoned in that deep voice again. Everyone smiled and laughed and did as they were told. Red, who had been in the middle of his go, handed his baseballs to Elvis without a word. Elvis thumped them onto the counter and wiped his palms on his pants, before reaching up to remove his hat.

“Here you go, honey,” he murmured, plopping it onto her head. “You look after this for me and be my little good luck charm.”

The boys were ribbing him, saying he couldn’t make the shot, that he had a better chance of hitting the broad side of a barn or the barn side of a broad.

“Just shut ya damn mouths for a minute,” he scoffed, making as if to lob a baseball at them. They scattered like a shoal of fish in a racket of cackling and guffaws, before regrouping as he stepped up to the counter. At the back of the stall, wooden figures were moving along a conveyor.

“Watch me now, honey,” he said, turning to Tina and tugging her forward slightly by the arm. “You think about which of these prizes you want me to win you.”

Instead, she watched as the crowd began to form behind them. She wondered if he got scared in these situations too, yet another audience he had to impress. This reverie halted the minute he started flinging the balls at the wooden figures and they collapsed on their hinges one by one. His aim was spot on, every single one a hit.

“That was amazing!” she marvelled as the last ball met its target with a thwack. He turned, a small proud smile on his face and went to say something, but one of the guys made a crack about beginner’s luck.

“Beginner’s luck, my ass!” Elvis shot back. “Give me some more fuckin’ balls. Pardon my French, ladies, but this fool’s got me all turned up.” Tina felt her smile fade and she leaned against the flimsy wooden overhand of the booth, watching him obliterate the figures yet again.

Next, another of his friends accused him of being in collusion with the game operator, saying that he had been paid to press a hidden button to make the figures collapsed on their hinges. So, Elvis had the greasy, skinny man stepped out from behind the counter while he continued his winning streak.

It was clear that his friends were only teasing him because they wanted his attention, wanted him in front of them trying to impress them. And now that they had what they wanted, they were not eager to let him go. She let her eyes drift towards the other rides, catching sight of a blonde ponytail. She peeled away from the crowd, it wasn’t difficult when Elvis had barely glanced at her since starting the game, and tried to catch up to Shirley.

“Hey, where you going?” She only managed to reach the concourse before he had her by the wrist. “C’mon, Tina honey, you gotta pick your prize.” He fixed her with a proud, boyish smile that made her feel like she was being sour and mean for getting fed up waiting for him to finish.

Tina chose a big panda wearing a pink ribbon around its neck that Elvis promptly christened ‘Tina Junior.’

“Let’s take Junior for a walk, baby,” he said softly, clapping a couple of his buddies on the back and kicking one in the seat of the pants as he led her away from the stalls. The further they moved from his audience, the quieter and more attentive he became, the softer his voice too.

Tina followed blindly, smiling faintly at his twinkling eyes and Hollywood smile, not realising until too late that he was leading her to a darkened area of the park, an area containing the kind of rides that Elvis and his buddies were not interested in riding and so they were not left operational when the park was rented out.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything to do over here,” she said slightly nervously, glancing back at the lights, music and voices.

“You’d be surprised, honey.” He drew closer to her, swooping in for a kiss that was thwarted by Tina Junior pinned between them.

“Damn, burnt by a bear,” he observed, taking it from her arms and holding it down at his side as he leant in again. His aim, as he had proved copious times, was always true and his soft, full lips pressed against hers with a feather light touch.

“Elvis, I-”

“It’s okay, baby, let’s keep on trying it and soon you won’t be scared no more.” His hand cupped her jaw and he stole away her breath so that she couldn’t protest again. Not that she could remember that she wanted to. Softly, experimentally, his tongue flicked against her lip and she drew back sharply, unsure whether she had just been the victim of a prank.

Elvis’ eyes narrowed. “How old are you, Tina honey?” Her cheeks burnt with shame that she had obviously given her inexperience away.

“I’m nearly eighteen,” she answered. In eleven months.

“And you ain’t never been kissed before?” Tina couldn’t parse the expression on his face, nothing fit exactly, almost as if there was more than one feeling swirling away in there. “Ain’t let no other boy touch you…” He placed his finger on her peter pan collar and let it deliberately slide down her chest, slowing as it passed over her nipple, which was pebbling and aching beneath her clothes.

“My parents don’t want me to date until I graduate High School,” she replied in a daze. “They don’t want me to get distracted from my studies.”

“God bless, Mommy and Daddy,” he murmured, blue eyes fixed on her face and his pouty mouth hanging open slackly as his hands kneading her hip. “They’re right, you know, you shouldn’t date until graduation. No boys, no one but me.”

“I don’t understand,” she breathed, as he ran the back of his hand steadily down her chest and over her ribs and belly.

“I wanna see you again,” he whispered, pressing her against a ticket booth and stepping in to crowd her, hips pressed into her petticoats. His mouth caught hers and his tongue brushed against her lips again. This time she opened her mouth as she inhaled and he took it as an invitation.

It didn’t feel like a kiss, it felt more intimate, more secret and maybe slightly wrong. She tentatively put out her tongue to meet his, letting him graze against it as he worried at her bottom lip. The ticklish stimulation was matched by the pressure against her hips and lower down. It felt he was poking her, but both his hands was around her neck and face.

“Okay,” he gasped. “Okay, we gotta take an intermission, baby, before the show’s over completely.” He stepped away from her and she felt a surge of loss coupled with an draught of cool air that swept in to fill the void he had left. She shivered.

“Aw, you cold, baby?” He shrugged off his white sports jacket and helped her into it. She could feel his warmth clinging to the lining, not to mention his scent. “Let’s go back, huh, it’s about time we got you home anyway. It’s a school night, right?” She bristled, but it didn’t seem like he was teasing her, not as he beamed down, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

As they walked back into the light, Elvis threw his arm around her and drew her in close, his wrist hanging from her shoulder, fingertips brushing her chest. They looked, she reflected with awe, like they were dating. She looked like she was dating Elvis Presley.

Elvis and a few of his friends drove her home in his Lincoln. She was pressed up against him on the front seat, and he was back to talking in that loud, deep voice he only used in front of other people. She let her mind wander back to the Ferris wheel and the way that his eyes had held her, coddling her with warmth and tenderness even in her stupid fear. She focussed on the way that his hand, whenever it was not shifting or on the wheel, flopped down onto her skirt, cupping her knee hidden beneath the material.

“Here we are, honey,” he announced, pulling up at her parents’ neat one-storey home. The windows were dark, which was a good sign, she reflected. “Want me to walk you to the door?”

The guys in the back laughed and she couldn’t stop herself from glaring at them. Elvis turned slightly and gave the nearest one a swat with the back of his hand.

“Ignore them, honey, they’re fools.”

“I had a good time tonight,” she said softly, looking only at him and his heavy-lidded eyes. “Thank you for-“ She stopped, mindful of their audience. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he replied with his famous half-grin. “And I mean that, really.” She climbed out of the car and onto the kerb. Suddenly, remembering Tina Junior still sitting on the front seat and leaning in through the window to grab her.

“Oh, and my hat too!” she gasped, snatching it up.

“Your hat? Isn’t that mine?” he asked with a laugh.

“Hmm, well consider it compensation for pushing Billy into me tonight,” she returned, playfully sticking out the tip of her tongue. He laughed sheepishly and rubbed at his forehead, before shrugging an admission. Busted.

“I’ll see ya, darlin’,” he said. “Give Tina Junior a kiss goodnight from me, okay?”

Tina watched him pull away from the kerb as she wrapped her arms around the teddy, finally noticing that she was still wearing his jacket. It was too late to call him back, the car tail lights were barely visible in the dark, and it would be an excellent reason to show up at the gates tomorrow if he didn’t call like he promised.

It was time to stop being afraid.

#elvis presley #baby elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #50s elvis #whositmcwhatsit #writing prompt game

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autistook · 1 month

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DAISIES - pt 1

Merry Brandybuck x fem!hobbit!reader/soft oc

Words: 3.1k

Summary: You have been best friends with Merry (and Pippin) for several years. You see each other on almost a daily basis and have been referred to as the unseperable trio, as you do almost everything together, and have all been there for each other, through thick and thin. Slowly, you start to feel something shift. Something feels different when you look at Merry.

SLOOOOOOOW burning romance, pre - the Fellowship of the Ring.

Possible TW's: panic attack, anxiety, mentions of drowning and death, dead parents

English is not my first language, and this is the first fanfiction I have written since I was 10 years old, so I apologize for any errors or confusion. 😭 Treat me gently, I am sensitive to critisism lol

The sun glistened on the leaves, making the raindrops that fell on them the night before look like diamonds. The grass was damp under your feet, and the slight breeze felt comfortable on your skin. The sounds of the Shire were as usual: lots of Hobbits doing their regular chores, children running around and a few groans here and there, when the sleepiest of all were forced to get up early. Your gaze followed a beautiful bird flying from one tree to another. The bird was a beautiful one, with a bright-red chest and a grey back, the feathers on the wings being different shades of grey and black. It's melodic singing as it sat on the old willow branch, is always a reminder for the Shire folk that spring has arrived. There was a fresh lavender smell in the air, and as you stopped on your feet to enjoy it, you noticed another familiar scent.

Your gaze moved to a pastry shop window, and as you started walking towards it, you could see your best friends enjoying a couple of scones, filled with strawberry jam. Your lips curved into a smile as you opened the wooden door, and the bell above it rang to announce your arrival.

The friendly Hobbit lady behind the dusty, old counter greeted you gleefully. Her hair was grey, curls all the way down to her shoulders, and the smile lines nearing the corners of her eyes revealed just how happy of a personality she must have. But your eyes weren't focused on her, but to the two young Hobbits now noticing your entry. Pippin's green eyes sparkled with joy as he noticed you enter the room. More happy than Pippin to see you, was Merry. You had been best friends with the two for a number of years, and almost every week, the three of you would sit at the bakery, planning some mischevous pranks and talking about any new happenings around the Shire.

"We were wondering where you were!" Pippin exclaimed, mouth full of the delicious scone, and some red jam from it that had decided to settle on his lips. Amused at the sight, you smirked but still decided to not say anything, as usual. It would be funnier to see how long it would take him to notice his messy appearence.

"Sorry, I had other things in mind," you said in serious tone, pulling up a chair and sitting between the two. The round table was full of crumbs and there were two empty plates. You looked at the plates and then at your dearest friends, raising one brow as if to question how on earth they could have this ritual without you.

"We got hungry, I'm sorry!" Merry said, wiping his palms on his cream colored cotton shirt.

"How dare you!" you answered with a playfully offended tone. You turned to look at Pippin for an apology, but the young Hobbit just shrugged his shoulders, and kept munching the last piece of scone in his mouth. You shook your head and chuckled slightly, leaning back on your chair.

"What did you mean when you said you had other things in mind?" asked Merry, curiously, now wiping his mouth with a napkin. You took a deep breath and crossed your arms.

"It's been twenty years," you stated, as if Pippin and Merry were supposed to immediately understand the rest of that sentence. The two locked eyes. Their faces could only be described as curious, but utterly confused.

"Twenty years since what?" Merry inquired. His blue eyes looking straight into yours, his gaze making you feel like he was almost concerned.

"Since my parents died," you sighed. Pippin immediately turned to look at Merry, flustered as the two completely forgot about this tragic event in their best friend's life.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Merry apologized, his tone full of shame. "I completely forgot that was today."

"It's quite alright. You couldn't have known," you said with a faint smile. Your head might have told you to act fine, but the sadness behind your eyes revealed your true feelings: how tragically heartbroken you felt at that moment and how twenty years still wasn't enough of healing.

"But we should've remembered!" Merry cried in guilt. Pippin apologized, mouth full of scone, then finally swallowing the last piece. You reassured both of them that they did not offend you in any way, and that you would be fine.

"Is there anything we can do?" Merry asked, like he was in a rush to cheer you up.

"Yes! We could do something fun!" Pippin said cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He slammed his hands on the table, making the empty plates clink against each other. "How about we go for a swim?"

"You know I can't swim, Peregrin!" you cried, arms still crossed, your fingers fidgeting with the soft fabric of the sleeves on your favorite yellow dress.

"Didn't you say you have had practice?" Pippin asked, puzzled.

"It doesn't mean I can."

"Well, we could always just go just hang around the water, you know?" Merry suggested, trying to not make your mood any worse. "We used to do that all the time when we were just little innocent Hobbits." You smiled at him with gratitude. Merry's lips curved upwards and his eyes had a glimmer of pride in them.

"That actually sounds great," you finally responded to him. "When should we go?"

"How about immediately?" said the young Took suddenly, and before either of you could answer, he was already up from his chair, quickly whisking away the empty plates from the table.

"I guess we're going?" you chuckled. You and Merry got up and before you could make a leave, he put his palm on your shoulder. His warm touch gave you a sense of comfort.

"But seriously, are you okay?" he asked, looking at you from under his brows, his eyes full of concern. You nodded and gave him a soft smile.

On your way to the river, the sun was rising higher in the sky, warming your skin. The spring breeze had settled, the lavender scent no longer lingering in the air.

"I can't believe you still can't swim," Pippin said, shaking his head. You groaned in frustration as a response. "You should know at this point!" he teased, skipping ahead of you and Merry. You shook your head. Still fidgeting with the fabric of your dress, Merry took notice of it.

"Can I help your anxiety in any way?" Merry said suddenly.

"How do you know I'm feeling anxious?" you asked, looking at him full of confusion. Merry smiled softly and compassionately.

"You always fidget something with your fingers when you feel anxious," he responded and gestured towards your sleeve, where the tips of your fingers now suddenly had stopped rubbing the dress, like they almost felt shy for being caught. You blinked slowly, moving your eyes to look at your delicate hands.

"I never realized that it was noticeable," you mumbled, slightly embarrassed. You were aware of it, but did not know it was a telltale sign of anxiety for others.

"We've been friends for years," he said, as the three of you kept walking towards the water on a gravel path, Pippin just slightly ahead of the two of you. "Of course I notice things like this."

You smiled at him, impressed by this small detail that he had noticed. Pippin was still slightly ahead of you two, every now and then stopping to gesture for you two to move faster. "That's kind of endearing, actually," you smiled and Merry let out a small snicker, turning his face to the ground.

"You actually have a lot of tells for how you're feeling," he said in a confident and knowing tone. This made you plead for him to tell you what he had noticed. "I'm not going to tell you what they are!" Merry smirked visibly amused. "Where's the fun in that?"

"If I have a tell, I will have you tell me what it is!" you said in a commanding tone, horrified of this revelation.

"I think not!" Merry exclaimed, his tone mischevous. "You just have to wonder about it for the rest of your life!" he laughed, and then in a mocking, high pitched voice, imitating you, he said: "Oh no! How did Meriadoc know I was exceptionally happy today? How did he notice I was nervous? Whatever will I do? How will I ever figure it out?"

"You jerk!" you laughed, elbowing his side gently, making him stumble a little to the left. It made him want to continue teasing you, still mocking you.

"Oh, how will I ever know? Merry is such a master at reading people!" he continued, making you crack up a little. You gave him a gentle push. You then suddenly bumped into Pippin, who was standing there, waiting for you.

"What took you so long?" Pippin asked.

"You were practically running!" Merry responded, still a wide smile on his face from teasing you. He gestured towards you and smirked. "And as I can tell from her expression, her old age has caught up to her, and her body gave up, forcing us both to slow down."

"Excuse me?" you said as your jaw dropped. "I am younger than you, Merry! I will have you know, if someone has any problems with their old age, it's you, Mister Brandybuck! Now, you old prune, what are my tells? Tell me!"

"My dear friend," Merry said, putting his hands on your shoulder. "I absolutely will not tell you."

"What are you two on about?" Pippin asked confused. Merry just chuckled, and gestured you both to follow him to a shallow part of the river, so you could safely sit with them without going too deep. You scrunched your nose at Merry, and walked behind him and Pippin to the water.

You had sat on a large rock, smoothed down by the flowing water, making it sparkle under the rays of sunshine. Every now and then some water ran over the rock, drenching your dress from the parts that were laid on the almost black stone. Twenty minutes had passed, and Merry gestured you to come closer to the slightly deeper water. You shook your head, fidgeting the sleeve of your dress anxiously. The water had finally washed away the jam from Pippin's lips as he kept plunging into the water, diving for what seemed like a forever. Pippin's head ascended from the cool water and he shook his head like a wet dog, trying to dry his curls.

"Come on, it's just waist deep!" Pippin tried to pursuade you. You just shook your head again. Pippin locked his eyes with Merry's. They both nodded in unison, turning to look at you again. "I bet you a small pouch of Southern Star that you don't have the courage."

Your ears perked up at the mention of pipe-weed. It was a delicious offer, but just the thought of going in any deeper made your heart pound faster. Pippin and Merry also knew just how to press your buttons right; they knew how competetive you were. "How much are we talking?" you inquired, your ears doing one small wiggle as your body started to show signs of peaked interest. This made Pippin and Merry chuckle.

"Does it matter? You don't have the guts!" Merry cried with a wide grin on his face. This made your fingers stop fidgeting the dress, and instead your fingertips squeezed the fabric tightly. You stood up, careful not to slip on the wet rock, and tipped your toes in the water, moving them on the surface lightly. You gave a challenging look to both mischevous hobbits, and hopped in the water, ankle deep. You took one deep breath, inhaling the warm air to help calm you down. One step after another, you slowly waded towards Merry and Pippin, who looked rather amused and impressed. The water rose as you waded in deeper and as the cold water touched your hips, you froze still.

It felt like the world stopped for a moment, and the surrounding noises of the river flowing suddenly sounded like an ominous threat coming closer and closer, about to swallow you whole. The bottom of the river was muddy and it felt like you would slowly sink, inch by inch, until you would be under water, unable to escape. The water felt like it tried to push you down, make you stumble and fall. It would laugh at your struggles to try and stay on the surface, making you regret ever taking even one step towards your best friends. How foolish of you to take up on a challenge, knowing the water was your enemy, who would smother you the first chance it got.

Suddenly you felt Merry's hand on your arm, shaking you softly. All you could hear was mumbling. Your ears were ringing and your vision was blurry, as you tried with all of your strength to not collapse from fear of facing the same destiny as your parents. Your feet lifted from the mud as Merry and Pippin lifted you by your armpits and waist to get you off to the dry land immediately, taking notice of your looming anxiety and inability to move even an inch.

What felt like forever, you soon got back to dry land and your hands gripped to the grass like it was the only thing that would keep you from falling into the flowing river. Your vision still blurry, you could distinguish the familiar voices of Merry and Pippin, but not one word was coherent. The grass felt safe and warm, pieces of dirt clinging to your wet palms and feet. You were starting to shake a little, still not able to move.

Soon you felt a warm palm on your cheek, turning your gaze to the direction of it's owner. Merry caught your attention enough to lock your eyes on his. His blue eyes felt comforting as they looked at you with compassion and care. You could see his lips moving, but not one word made sense to you. He gently brushed your cheek with his thumb, looking guilty from pressuring you.

"You're okay," you could finally decipher some of his words. Your brain felt fuzzy, and your lips were quivering with fear and anxiety. "You're safe, just breathe."

You took a deep breath, slow and steady, trying to push away the panic attack that was taking over your body. You followed Merry's guidance as much as you could make sense of it, slowly starting to feel more air in your lungs. The grass started to feel like grass again, instead of an anchor you had to hold on to, unless you wanted to drown. You felt Pippin's palm gently rubbing your back, as Merry was still caressing your cheek, guiding your every breath. You could slowly focus more, but you kept your gaze on his blue eyes, scared that if you turned your face away, the water would somehow jump on you and try to pull you back. It took you several minutes, but finally the two managed to calm you down. Your body still trembling lightly, you took one more deep breath.

"Well that was embarrassing," you jested, trying to lighten the mood immediately. Merry chuckled with relief and shook his head, lowering his hand to your shoulder from your face. Pippin didn't laugh, but instead made his way in front of your face next to Merry.

"Are you okay?" he asked nervously, clearly feeling some guilt for the second time that day. You nodded, looking at him reassuringly. Pippin's lips curled into a small smile. "Good, I thought you might feel embarrassed." You laughed loudly, voice slightly shaky.

They both got up on their feet, clothes drenched and every curl on their head dripping with water. You slowly got up, taking some support from the two hobbits and straightening your back. After a small discussion, you all agreed it was time to go home and calm down a little. Pippin did promise you that he would still give you some pipe-weed as a 'consolation prize.'

You made your way home alone for most of the journey, as Merry headed towards his home in Buckland and Pippin made his way to, in his own words, 'somewhere secret.'

The green round door of Bag End was there waiting for you, immediately providing you comfort at the sight. You entered your home and called your brother by his name. He was not your brother by blood, but being adopted to the same household and growing up together most of your lives made him as much of a brother as someone who was a blood relative would.

"Hello?" you shouted, the hallway echoing, seeming empty. You took just a few steps before Frodo's head popped up from behind a wall. He gave you a soft smile and let you know there was tea at the ready in the kitchen. Frodo had made it for himself, but so much of it was left that he decided to just let it sit there, knowing how much you liked his chamomille tea.

You made your way into the kitchen and poured some still warm tea into a small cup you inherited from your parents. It was decorated with yellow flowers and had been hand painted by your great-grandmother. You stirred it calmly, looking out of the round window, admiring the green grass and the butterflies flying around, enjoying the spring as much as any being would. The small silver spoon your uncle Bilbo had given you as a birthday present (that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins kept trying to steal) was softly moving in circles, creating music-like sounds when it hit the porcelain on the edges. Your dress had mostly dried up on your way home, but it was still slightly moist, making you do a small squirm as the slightly wet fabric of it kept clinging to your thigh.

With the tea in your hand, you started making your way to your room, but something stopped you in your tracks. As you passed a small round mirror, you noticed something behind your ear that was not supposed to be there. A small daisy was decorating your frame on the left side of your face. You touched the soft flower lightly. Merry had put it there while calming you down. A small chuckle escaped your throat. He really knew how to cheer you up, even if it took some time to notice the gesture.

Next chapter

#lotr #please do not judge me i feel very proud but i am scared its shite LMAO #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #tolkien #merry brandybuck #pippin took #peregrin took #Meriadoc Brandybuck #merry x reader #lotr fanfic #Merry Brandybuck fanfic #jrrt #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #lotr merry

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thewulf · 2 months

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Am I Wrong? || Aragorn

Summary: Request: Could you write something about (fem)reader who's part of the fellowship and really close to Strider? When they split up to find Frodo after Boromir blows the horn, reader goes with Merry and Pippin and gets separated from Strider.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Picking up when the group reunites in Isengard after Treebeard/Hobbits/Reader sack the place :) This is really sweet and fluffy, thank you for the request @fluentmoviequoter !!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.7k +

TW: General LOTR triggers, anxiety, fear, kidnapping, orcs,

Aragorn followed behind Gandalf as he led the small group to Isengard to deal with the dark Wizard himself. What he wasn’t expecting was to run into another part of the Fellowship after so being separated for so long.

He heard the Hobbits before he saw you standing there, radiant as ever, “I feel like I’m back at the Green Dragon after a hard day’s work.” Pippen spoke with his pipe happily placed in his mouth relieved the events of Isengard were over more than anything.

Merry spoke next, “Only, you’ve never done a hard day’s work.” That’s when he heard your bubbly laughter in response to the usual joking hobbits who were clearly very inebriated. You on the other hand seemed totally in control of the situation.

Aragorn’s heart pounded in his chest as he spotted you standing with your side facing him chatting happily with the two Hobbits that stole you away from him. You were alive. Somehow more beautiful than he ever remembered you being. His eyes scanned up and down your figure making sure they truly weren’t deceiving him. You were here in Isengard. Merry and Pippen too.

Merry stood, almost falling over, shouting at them with rosy, red cheeks, “Welcome my Lords, to Isengard!” You turned with the biggest smile on your face. Once your eyes landed on Aragorn’s you couldn’t take them away. Your smile grew as his mouth dropped in shock seeing you standing there alive and well. He couldn’t track you. He thought the worst of it. He knew right then that he had to tell you. He loved you. So deeply. He never knew if he was going to see you again, he thought the worst of the Orcs after not being able to find your tracks with the Hobbits.

“Y/N.” He spoke before nearly shoving the Hobbits away from where you were standing. He needed to be right next to you. Your smile turned to one of focus as you took him in after too long apart. Truly, you knew you loved him too. You wished to never spend another night away from your Strider. He was your home and comfort. He became your person without you even knowing it.

Without another word you through your arms around him tightly, bringing him in for an unexpected embrace. Unafraid of all the glances and knowing smiles from the fellowship and other men around you. You couldn’t seem to care about that right now, you’d deal with the embarrassment later, “Strider. What are you doing here?”

Before he could answer you Gimli shouted from behind the reunion, “You young rascals! A merry hunt you’ve led us on… and now we find you feasting and… and smoking!”

After dropping your arms from around his neck, you stepped around your missed companion taking offense to his words, “They’ve earned it Gimli!” You only smiled bigger once you felt Striders hand resting on the small of your back. He had always been protective of you but never so forward with it. The two of you had pined from afar but never acted on it as that would be seen as improper. But that was then. That was before he had feared the worst. You were alive. Breathing right in front of him with the most precious blush sitting on your cheeks. Yeah, he knew it was over for him. He needed you and was tired of trying to hide it.

Merry cheered with his pipe after you spoke and before Pippen tuned in, “We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well-earned comforts.” He giggled in his non-sober state, “The salted pork is particularly good.” Pippen added for good measure knowing it would get under his dwarf friend’s skin.

You nodded along with them giggling yourself, “It is indeed.” You saw the gleam in Striders eye like he was trying not to laugh at the situation they had found themselves in. The plan certainly wasn’t running into the three of you while in an inebriated state. Aragorn knew you well and currently you were particularly giggly, a sign you’d partaken in some of their endeavors even if you tried to deny it.

The Hobbits waved their friends into Isengard, “We’re under orders from Treebeard who’s taken over management of Isengard.” Merry led the group in leaving Strider standing next to you holding onto the reigns of his horse. After the two of you shared a few moments just staring at the other he finally decided to speak to you. Neither of you were willing to follow the group at that moment. The two of you had a reunion to attend to before dealing with Saruman.

“I thought you were dead.” He admitted to you. Aragorn couldn’t meet your eyes as you just looked at him with a bit of bemusement forming along your tapered smile.

You tisked at him shaking your head, “You think so little of me Strider, no?” A growing smirk was playing at your lips as you studied his downtrodden expression.

His eyes finally looked into yours again, “Never, you know this. But I… I could not find your tracks along the Hobbits…”

“You did not think I would cover my tracks?” You eyebrows rose, challenging him now, “I thought you have always said I learned from the best?” Referring to him, naturally.

He let out a lengthy laugh. The tension in his shoulders released seeing you as the same person he thought he lost only a few weeks prior. Even though it had only been a few weeks he knew he could never part from you for that long again. He was a fool and only he came to realize that once you had slipped through his fingertips after getting taken by the Orcs. You didn’t hear his yell for you as he watched you fight. But even you, one of the best Rangers he knew, couldn’t overcome so many of them all at once. And just as he saw you, you had vanished in front of him along with the Hobbits. He had never felt such a failure before seeing you disappear with the creatures you had detested for as long as you’ve been alive.

“I should have never doubted you.” He spoke with that twinkle in his eye. He adored you, through and through. A slow gulp overtook him as he studied you. He always knew you were beautiful, ever since you met him all those years ago. But now, after it took him losing you to realize that he was in love with you, he understood just how stunning you truly were.

You nodded with that confidence he had adored in you, “Aye. Thought you would have learned by now Master Strider.” Tossing him a wink even you did not know where this overly friendly attitude towards your partner was coming from. That’s all he was and could ever be, just a partner in work.

He bowed his head with a similar smirk gracing his face, “Indeed. Forgive me, Y/N. But I was terrified. I thought I had lost you. My thought process was… less than rational.” When his eyes met yours once more a sad smile parted his lips. It hit you that he truly thought he might have actually lost you. Thinking of what you would do had you thought you lost him had you in an instant fit of tears. There would be no rationality in your actions had you thought of Strider dying.

His striking blue eyes sent a familiar shiver down your spine. You gave him a quick nod, “I will always forgive you, my king.”

Strider let out that familiar laugh that you had adored so much. The one that sent a shiver though your body, “It wounds me that you mock me so easily, my Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop your fluttering heart at his words, my Y/N, “I would never do such thing, you are my king, no?” You rose your eyebrows in curiosity. Sure, the news that he was the heir of Isildur took you by surprise. It didn’t shock you completely though. There was always something about him that felt so other worldly. When Legolas let true of his identify at the Council of Elrond it all sort of made sense. You’d been Rangers together for nearly thirty years, both of you being Dunedin it made sense to pair the two of you together early on in your ventures. He had never told you of his true heritage throughout all that time together. While it stung when you learned you understood why he had done so.

“I see you have not lost your tongue.” He avoided your question.

You smiled knowing his usually ways of dodging, “Would you rather they take it?”

But a quick shake of the head let you know he was simply playing, “Never. Your wit is but my favorite thing about you.”

Letting out a feigned gasp you shook your head, “I should be so offended Aragorn.”

“What do you mean?” He looked surprised by your reaction unsure if you were simply messing with him or being completely serious.

“Do you find me that unattractive?” You asked a little too bluntly knowing that you were surly crossing that invisible line the two of you had danced around for far too long.

A fiery blush rose to his cheeks letting you know you had finally gotten the better of him, “Oh no. Never. No. I did not mean it like that. Please…”

You stopped his incoherent rambling with a stifled giggle, “I tease.”

Shaking his head slowly he knew he likely looked a fool standing in front of you. He couldn’t hide it though as all of his emotions came forward seeing you there alive and well. He had begun the process of mourning your death, thinking he’d never see you again. He knew he wanted to tell you exactly how he felt, right here. He wanted to waste no more time. He came to the striking realization that even no matter skilled you or he was life in middle earth was very hostile and unforgiving. The chance of death was high and even higher now that the two of you had joined the Fellowship.

“You are fortunate I care for you very deeply.” He chose his words carefully, hopeful you would pick up on his true meaning.

“Oh?” You heard his words a little surprised. There was not much he could say that took you by surprise but this was one of them that did. He had never so much admitted he cared for you at all let alone deeply in your time together. Strider was very kind to you but the two of you shared a working relationship at most. You weren’t out here letting your tightly bound feelings out and he certainly wasn’t either.

His confidence grew seeing the color rise to your cheeks at his words. You were thinking and hard at it apparently, “That cannot be all you have to say.” He stepped forward knowing that he had the upper hand on you for once. He could never seem to catch you off guard until this very moment.

You sucked in a breath not having a clue where this seemingly innocent interaction was heading. Turning around you spotted the rest of The Fellowship talking to Treebeard far off in the distance. You spun back finding him standing much, much closer than he was before. Eyes widening your head was not making sense of what was actually happening, “I was not expecting you to say that.” It was you deflecting this time which drew an arrogant smirk on the man standing far closer than you were used to. How did he smell so good? Surely he hadn’t bathed in a while. How did Strider do it? Make your mind fuzzier than ever.

He had to look down to meet his eyes with yours, “I never want to spend a day away from you again.”

If your cheeks were not already aflame with realization they were flooding with color now, “You do not?”

It was he who had the courage to make the first move on you after seeing how easily you reacted under his words. He took his hands and brushed away a streak of dirt across your cheek slowly sending your already racing heart into another frenzy, “No, never. These last few weeks have been the worst in my life. Never do I wish to part from you again. If that is what you wish for too.” Ever the man you fell in love with, he left the decision up to you.

It was your turn to be courageous now, “I wish the same.”

His devilish smirk turned into a smile of utmost joy. A smile you so rarely saw on the man. For you knew you didn’t wish to separate from him ever again either. Nearly every moment you were away you thought of him. You thought what he would do in your situation and tried your hardest to stay positive. If it were not for the Hobbits you may have stayed to fight with the Rohirrim when they had saved you from the clutches of the orcs who had you running for days on end. But you knew Strider would save them before fighting on his own, the Hobbits would never survive Gondor on their own. In a way he had saved your life countless times even when he was not there. Strider stayed with you always. You loved him always.

It was then that he realized he had nothing to lose. The way you had looked at him told him exactly what he wanted to know. You had loved him just as dearly as he loved you, “Can I tell you something?”

A nod came from you, “Anything.”

It was now or never and he wasn’t planning on missing his chance, “I love you.”

You could not help the way your mouth dropped at that, “You what?”

“I love you.” He said again with more confidence. He loved you and he couldn’t keep it from you anymore. Strider also knew that things would never go back to normal after this quest. His true identity was revealed. Things would change. As much as he longed to go back to the simple life of patrolling the woods with you he knew that’d never be in his cards any longer. And if his life was going to change he wanted to bring the one thing that brought him comfort along for the journey as well. If he were to be king he wanted you to be his queen. No, needed you to be his queen. For a majority of his success came from you being there with him helping and guiding him.

“You love me?” You asked more to yourself than to him. When he placed his hands on your shoulders with a gentle touch you knew you were a goner. The look in his eyes was like nothing like you had seen from him, “Why me? We’ve been partners for over thirty years and… where is this coming from?”

He stopped your racing mind by running his thumb along your lower lip, ever the intimate action sending your speeding heard into overdrive, “I’ve always known. But losing you… thinking you died. It all but made me realize how daft it is to hide it away when I can tell you outright when clearly you feel the same. Am I wrong?” He smiled as he held the back of your head in his hand so gently.

“No. Certainly not wrong.” You spoke in a soft whisper. When he smiled even brighter than you had truly ever seen you had to tell him too. You’d all but implied the same feelings but you needed to let it out too, “I love you too.”

The next moments felt like a blur. He pulled you close before whispering in your ear, “The next time the nosy prince of Mirkwood is not watching I will give you a proper kiss, my lady.” It was the first time he’d called you that in all your time knowing him. A rush of warmth was felt throughout your body. It felt… right. Like you were meant to be at his side.

Once he released you from the hold he had you in you turned your head over your shoulder spotting the blonde-haired elf sitting on his horse paying much more attention to the two of you rather than whatever tale Treebeard was telling the new group.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you over the absurdity of the situation. Of all the things you thought could happen today confessing your love to the man who had you enraptured ever since you met him was the last thing you thought possible. Yet here you were. Avoiding the ever-clear eyes of your elven friend, “Damn elves.”

He nodded in agreement, “Come on, hop on.” He led you to his horse where he got you situated before he got on behind you. Slowly, he led you back to the group. You caught Legolas’ side eye knowing the he had to have heard a majority of the conversation if he wanted too. And knowing him, he wanted too.

When Strider’s horse stopped he made sure to keep his hand on you, uncaring of the curious stares from the rest of the group. He loved you. They knew it. Why should he have to hide it any further? Finally, it felt like something in this journey made sense. All he had to do now was keep you safe and destroy the ring. Simple, right?

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