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labyrinth-runner · 4 months

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A Shire Yuletide

Summary: Reader accompanied the dwarves on the quest to retake their home and now its their first Yuletide after being home and they invited Thorin and his family for the holiday. Non-canon compliant in the sense that none of them died in BotFA. Happy Holidays folks

Pairing: Thorin x Gender Neutral reader.

Word Count:

It had been a long shot when you asked Gandalf to help you send Thorin your letter, and yet he'd came and the rest of his family were coming, too. Thorin had been the first to arrive, much to your delight, and the two of you had caught up on your friendship, picking up where you'd left off. The truth was that you missed Thorin, much more than a mere friend, but you couldn't tell him that. He didn't see you like that. No, you were just friends, trauma bonded over a fight for their mountain kingdom that'd left many of them wounded. He was missing this morning, a short note saying he was going to take a walk was resting on your nightstand along with a hot cup of cinnamon spice tea. He'd remembered. You had a laundry list of things to do to set up for the holiday festivities since you had both dwarves and hobbits to house and feed, so you quickly washed up and got to it.

You couldn't imagine what was going through his head as he came in to the kitchen. You knew you were a sight, your arms elbow deep in the mixing bowl, flour handprints down the front of your apron and even the side of your pants because honestly, you forgot you were wearing an apron 90 percent of the time. Your hair was in your eyes and falling out of the quick hairstyle you'd tossed it into to keep it out of the dough.

"What's all this?" Thorin asked from where he leaned against the doorway, gesturing to your general being.

"It's Yuletide baking," you said as if it should be obvious. "I have chocolate crinkles in the oven, gingerbread cooling on the rack, molasses dough in the fridge chilling--and no that is not the same thing as gingerbread even though they are VERY similar in ingredients-"

"And what are you currently making?" he asked, peeking over your shoulder into the bowl. His breath was hot on your neck and you shivered. When had he moved over here?

"Th-this is the experimental cookie," you said, your voice wavering from his proximity.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep in his throat. "And what is so experimental about it if you're following a recipe?"

"Well, the experiment isn't the cookie itself, you see, it's whether the family will like it. I've never made them before, and I've already botched it up by putting everything in the mixing bowl because I was tired and not quite paying attention to where it said mix the egg whites separately to form stiff peaks, like a meringue I'd guess, but..." you trailed off, realizing that you were rambling. "I'm sorry, I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

His brows furrowed. "Stop apologizing." He reached out to swipe some flour off your cheek, following through to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The pad of his thumb was rough against your skin and you held your breath as his gaze roamed over your face. "Your hair will never stay back like that."

"I just needed it out of my face," you murmured.

"May I?" he asked.

You tilted your head at him. "May you...?"

"Take care of it for you."

You shrugged. "I'm fine with how it is, but if it bothers you that much, then sure."

He had a small smile that you saw out of the corner of your eye as he moved behind you. You felt a gentle tug before your hair was cascading down around your shoulders. His motions were so incredibly gentle, nothing at all like when your mother used to do your hair as a child. He was silent, focusing on your hair. A shiver went down your spine as his fingers grazed the back of your neck.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, trying to fill the silence. It weighed heavily, and you weren't quite sure why. Silence between you two had been mostly comfortable these days, but this silence was intense.

"About our families meeting? Should I be?"

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Aunt Tilda is very... let's just say she doesn't always take to other's opinions. Cousin Mathilde will try to steal the cutlery. I'm more worried about how they'll be to your family. It's..." you trailed off, trying to pick up the thread again. "We're not very conventional."

"Perhaps hobbits and dwarves should mix more often. We're not that much different," he said, tying your braid with a ribbon. "There."

Your hand came up to stroke the tail of the braid hanging over your shoulder. "It's better than I could have done."

"Is there anything you need help with?" he asked, suddenly sounding unsure of himself. It was cute. "I may not be good at it, but my hands are yours."

"Can you put the kettle on? I'll finish this up and we can break for tea."

You could see the relief flood through him. "Cinnamon spice?"

"As much as that is my favorite tea, I think we should take the holiday blend out to make sure it's still good for tomorrow's breakfast. What time are your nephews getting here?"

Almost as if on cue, the door to your hobbit hole swung open nearly hitting the wall.

"Uncle Thorin! Your favorite nephew has arrived!" Kili called from the front hall.

"Yes, and thank you for the introduction, brother," Fili said.

Thorin sighed, but you caught the smile tugging at his lips as he went out to greet them. "You two better not be destroying the house. We are guests here."

You bit your lip. You knew he'd have to return to Erebor. That was his home, but still, part of you wondered if maybe, just maybe, he might find his home with you. You weren't fit to be anything resembling a ruler of the dwarves, that much you knew. You'd tried life under the mountain for a week after the battle had subsided and you waited for Thorin to recover. It was cold and not at all cozy. There was very little sunlight in most places, and everything echoed in the cavernous halls. You heard every groan of pain he made from down the hall, and you got little sleep worrying about whether he'd recover. But he had. He was almost completely himself, aside from the slight limp he had, but even that seemed to be getting better. You'd returned home fairly soon after his fever broke. There hadn't been a place for you in his court, and you knew it.

Peeking around the corner, you spied on the three of them hugging each other, a clap on the back and a good natured laugh as they caught up. You wondered if Thorin felt as out of place here in your home as you did in his.

Kill saw you first, coming over and hugging you so hard your feet left the ground. "Madtubirzul! It's been too long."

"Thank you for inviting us," Fili added, presenting you with a bouquet of flowers that looked an awful lot like the flowers from your neighbor's winter garden.

"Please, you are all doing me the favor of taking the attention off of me," you replied, taking the proffered flowers. "They won't stop asking me about my time under the mountain and I just want a relaxing holiday."

You pulled out a vase for the flowers, setting them on the table in the dining room. "You can put your things in the second bedroom on the left. Dwarves on the left, hobbits on the right."

"And where's Uncle Thorin sleeping?" Kill asked, elbowing his Uncle.

"On the left with the rest of you sorry lot," he said, smacking Kili's hand away.

"Well, I'll let you boys settle in," you murmured, returning to your baking.

The sound of the kettle pulled you out of your baking trance, You wiped your brow with your sleeve. Thorin pulled the kettle off the stove and began to prepare the teapot as you put your last tray of cookies on the cooling rack.

He handed you a cup, expecting you to sit with the rest of them at the table, but instead you walked outside, choosing to sit down in the grass. It was cool, and you needed the break from the heat of the oven. You rested the teacup on your knee as you laid back into the grass and shut your eyes just for a moment.

"Lanselê," Thorin murmured, taking the cup of tea off your knee.

You opened your eyes, realizing with a start that you'd fallen asleep. "Butter and biscuits!" you cursed. "How long was I out for?"

"An hour," he replied.

You dug the heels of your hands into your eyes. "Well now my schedule is all out the window. I won't get anything done in time."

"You have three able-bodied dwarves in your home. Put us to work."

"Thorin, you are my guests, I cannot ask you to do things," you groaned.

"I'm more than just a guest," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"You're right, you're a King. I really can't ask you to do domestic chores," you replied, standing up and brushing off your pants.

"That's not what I meant."

Your brow furrowed. "Thorin, I don't really have time in my already ruined schedule to argue semantics." You marched back into your kitchen and began to pull out the goose and start to brine it so that you could cook it the next morning.

Kili was the first to pop into the war zone that was the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

"Want to peel some potatoes?" you asked, pushing the bucket of potatoes and peeling knife towards him.

He nodded and got to work, his eyes flicking to you every couple of seconds.

"What?" you snapped.

"Your braid," he said.

"Thorin did it for me earlier."

"And the bead on the ribbon?"

"What be-" you looked down to see a small wooden bead that the ribbon had been strung through. It had a wide, ornate, almost X shape carved into it.

Kill laughed from where he sat on a stool peeling. "You have no idea what that means, do you?"

"Should I?" you raised a brow at him.

Kili shrugged. "If I were going to braid your hair I'd at least would have told you the importance of it first. That's what I did with Tauriel."

You narrowed your eyes at him, pulling your arm out of the goose's carcass. You washed your hands, wiping them on your apron to dry them. Thinking better of it, you removed your apron and left it on the kitchen table before stomping off to find a dwarf.

He was in your library, sitting at your desk. Reading YOUR book manuscript.

"Do you normally read other people's things? I don't know how you do things in Erebor, but you aren't under the mountain anymore," you snapped.

His eyes flicked up to you. He held the book up, waving it towards you. "Is this how you see me?"

"What are you talking about?"

He opened the book to the page he was on and began to read, "There were a gaggle of dwarves in my home, but then one arrived unlike any I had ever seen before. He was incredibly handsome, but his eyes were ice."

"Well, you didn't make a very good first impression," you grumbled.

Thorin began to get up.

"Thorin," you pleaded.

With a sigh, he sat back down.

You took a tentative step towards him. "What does this bead mean?"

He blushed and looked out your window. "It's just a bead."

"Kill doesn't seem to think so."

He muttered something under his breath.

"Thorin," you said, sitting on your desk. "Why did you come?"

"Because you invited me." He looked up at you, his eyes tired. You hadn't noticed it since he'd gotten there, or maybe you had but you'd just explained it away with the fact that you just hadn't seen him in a while and people change. "Why did you invite me?"

"Because I missed you," you admitted.

"We wrote all the time, but its not the same, is it?" he said, placing a hand on your knee.

You placed your hand on top of his. "Stay."

"What?" he asked.

"Are you happy as King Under the Mountain?" you asked. "Because... I think that you've seen too much of the world to be content to hide away in a cave again. I think that it's nice to know that you have a home to go back to..." you took a deep breath to choose your next words very carefully. You stroked your thumb along the side of his hand. "But I don't think home has ever been a place for you, has it?"

"It can be a very lonely mountain," he murmured, squeezing your knee.

"So stay," you begged.

"I can't. I have to take care of my people."

"But who will take care of you?" you turned a critical eye on him, taking in everything about his appearance. "You look exhausted. You've lost weight. You didn't reply to me for months. I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," he said, a slight edge to his voice.

"But I do!" You grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Listen, you stubborn dwarf, you need to take care of yourself, and sometimes what you think you wanted isn't what you actually want once you get it."

"What could you possibly know about that?"

"Everything!" You stood, exasperated. You were crying tears of frustration at this point. "All I wanted to do was get home and now that I'm home, all I want is to be with you."

Thorin stood and cupped your cheeks in his hands, brushing the tears off them.

"Stop comforting me when I'm cross with you," you sniffed.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Dwarves braid the hair of their consort."

You rested your hands on his chest. "By hobbit standards, we've been courting since you all asked me to go on the longest walk of my life."

Leaning forward, you kissed him. It was soft at first, as if he was afraid that you'd pull back and regret it. When you didn't, he slanted his mouth against yours and sunk his fingers into the base of the braid at your neck, wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you flush against him. He had lost weight, but he was still so strong under your hands. You kissed him back, running your tongue over his bottom lip. He grunted against your mouth.

Incessant knocks sounded at the front door and you reluctantly pulled back, a slight grimace on your face. "That would be the hobbits."

"Well, I guess I should meet my future family," Thorin said with a grin.

"I never said yes," you replied.

He deflated a bit.

"But you also never asked," you said pointedly. You paused in the doorway. "Tomorrow, after dinner, let's go for a walk."

Thorin smiled. "A walk would be great."

#thorin oakenshield #thorin x reader #thorn oakenshield x reader

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scotianostra · 8 months

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Happy Birthday Percy James Patrick, AKA Scottish actor, Sylvester McCoy who was born 20th August 1943, in Dunoon.

His father was killed in the Second World War a couple of months before he was born, and he was brought up by his mother, his grandmother and aunts.

He attended St. Mun’s, primary School in the town and as Percy Smith he trained as a priest, joining Blair's College, a seminary in Aberdeen, for boys between the ages of twelve and sixteen he then gave it up and applied to become a Monk! This was rejected, as he was too young, so Percy returned to Dunoon and finished his education at Dunoon Grammar School.

On leaving school he took a holiday to the bright lights of London and ended up staying, taking a number of jobs, he sold insurance, acted as a bodyguard for the Rolling Stones, then gained a job selling tickets and keeping the books in a theatre box office. Eventually, he joined the Ken Campbell Roadshow. Along with Bob Hoskins, Jane Wood, and Dave Hill, McCoy started performing a range of sketches with the umbrella theme of “modern myths.”

McCoy found himself for a while in a double-act with Hoskins before Hoskins left to pursue his film career. When working with Ken Campbell in an improvised a circus-based act about a fictitious stuntman called Sylvester McCoy he thought it would be amusing if the program stated that this character was played by "Sylvester McCoy". While at the Royal Court Theatre, one of the critics missed the joke and assumed that Sylvester McCoy was a real person. McCoy liked the irony of this and adopted the name of his stage identity.

His big break came when McCoy was starring at the National Theatre in “The Pied Piper”, a musical play written especially for him, when he learned that the BBC was looking for a new lead actor to replace Colin Baker in “Doctor Who”. He later won the role as the seventh Doctor and the first Scottish one!

Following “Doctor Who,” McCoy continues to work extensively in theatre, films, radio, opera, and on television.He sees himself as an all round entertainer, his talents include,playing the xylophone and the spoons. He can also juggle and once gained a reputation for stuffing live ferrets down his trousers.

McCoy was considered for the role of Bilbo Baggins in The Lord of the Rings Trilogy and must have made a lasting impression on the filmmakers as they were later to cast him as Radagast the Brown in The Hobbit films.

Like many other former Time Lords, Sylvester has televised the role, in 2022 we aw him return in The Power of the Doctor, I assume there is a chance he will crop up in the 60th anniversary specials, although I can't see him being mentioned as yet.

Sylvester is still keeping busy, he is lined up to appear in the BBC drama Father Brown, it will air next year. This year he appeared in the horror film, Necronomicon, it only has two reviews on IMDB, both slating it. The website also notes that he has four more projects in various stages of production.

#scotland #scottish #actor #theatre #cinema #television #dr who #the seventh doctor #the doctor

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fizzyxcustard · 1 year

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Bringing Christmas Home.

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: From the imagine, "Imagine that you tell Thorin all about your Christmas traditions. As a surprise, he attempts to re-create them in Erebor."

Comments: Requested by @sydmarchsstuff Thank you! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated very much. If you would like to be added or removed to my tag list, let me know.

Thorin kept the image of you in his mind as he worked alongside a group of volunteers to re-create your beloved festive holiday of Christmas. As he helped make ornaments for the tree, with Dwalin by his side, he smiled to himself. You were to be his queen, to be treasured and honoured more so than any other woman in his life. You were his One, his life companion. It was Thorin’s duty to make sure you were happy, and this would hopefully be one more way to solidify that happiness in the mountain kingdom of Erebor, as you were not a child of Middle-earth.

During their first break, Dwalin and Thorin both sat side by side, drinking a mug of tea that had been freshly made. The peppermint scent hit Thorin between the eyes as he tipped the mug forward to take a sip.

“Everything is coming on so much better than I’d hoped for,” Thorin said. He sighed in relief, knowing that all the jobs were almost complete. “I even have her personal gifts prepared.”

“Gifts?” Dwalin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have you not done enough with all of this?”

Thorin shrugged. “It is in her kind’s tradition and custom to exchange gifts. They decorate their homes, celebrate with food and drink, among other things. I cannot quite remember all of them, but I made sure to remember most.”

Dwalin put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. He had never seen his longest friend, his King, so happy and content. There was no longer a gigantic weight on Thorin’s shoulders, a need to prove himself. For once, he could be exactly who he was meant to be. And you helped that shine through in him.

***

You wrapped the gifts which you had got for Thorin. You knew that Christmas was not a tradition held in this world, but you wanted to give him signs of your love all the same. These gifts were not wrapped in brightly coloured paper, but instead, you wrapped them in gold and silver fabrics. The library had become your little hideaway, and it was here you had brought the items, which consisted of: a new, midnight blue tunic, a new pipe, and a silver ring with both of your initials engraved. Thorin would no doubt be in your chambers signing documents after council, so it was best you remained scarce.

However, when you returned to your bed chamber, you opened the door to find it dark inside. Candlelight shone through the murk, beckoning you further inside. Were you seeing things? Maybe the darkness was causing you to see shadows. Was that a tree?

“My love,” Thorin’s voice came, drifting through the dark from your left. The door closed behind you, and then you felt his hand in yours. “Come and sit.”

At the end of your four poster bed, you could see a table had been laid out with food. Your eyes were now beginning to grow more accustomed to the gloom. A large cooked turkey and roasted vegetables were laid out.

Your fire was roaring in the corner, creating a comfortable heat. And just to the left of your fire was a tree. It was covered in wooden ornaments, carved into shapes of animals, stars, flowers. Beneath the tree were wrapped gifts, all topped with red bows of silk.

“You did all this?” you gasped. “Why?”

“I wanted to bring Christmas home for you. You have told me many times how you love the festivities, and how could I not try and replicate them here for you?”

“I…I….don’t know what to say,” you whispered. You turned your body toward him, and placed your hands on his chest. “Thank you.”

Thorin wound his arms around you tight and kissed your head. “Anything for you.”

After your meal and the two of you sat in front of the open fire, large mugs of cocoa in hand, and opened your gifts.

“I had no idea you were going to do all of this, but I wanted to get you something anyway,” you said, watching as Thorin opened the fabric to find his new pipe.

“I thought you wanted me to smoke less?” Thorin chuckled.

“I only ever said that I didn’t like the taste of it when we kiss. I didn’t ask you stop,” you corrected him, smiling. “Do you like it?”

Thorin shifted across to you and wound his arm around your waist. “I do. Thank you, my love.”

A short while later and the two of you were idly tangled together on the rug in front of the fire, having just made love. Thorin had his arm over you, and his fingers rubbed circles at the base of your back.

You leaned in and kissed him gently. “There’s only one thing that could make this night even better.”

“And what is that?”

“Get your boots on, and call for Dwalin. We’re going to have a snowball fight.”

***

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the-likeable-wizard-mack · 4 months

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Modern Fantasy Monsters: Holiday themed

Take care of the small fae that live in your garden during the winter months by giving offerings of small fabrics that they can use for blankets or small warm drinks for them so they won't freeze.

Werewolf cuddle piles during the winter, just imagine in the middle of a pack of werewolves cuddling up together using their fur and body heat to keep warm. Werewolf children also get in the pile maybe kicking a parent or sibling in the face while sleeping.

Vampires who THRIVE in the winter months not having to hide in their house. Cold weather? Cloudy skies? No sun??? They are absolutely loving it.

Dragons who lend their cave to very close friends as warmth. They would "hoard" their friends into a huddle.

Centaurs who take jobs during the winter as carriage horses becoming sort of tour guides around the city.

Sirens who sing beautiful Christmas songs bringing everyone in the holiday spirit.

Special magical holiday food and drinks served at coffee shops. (i.e peppermint hot chocolate with winter sprite sparkles or snowman cookies made with edible sweet snow and enchanted icing)

Having a cozy night in with Hobbits/ Halflings serving a grand Christmas/Holiday meal. A party full of good food and friends all around enjoying each others company.

Happy Holidays Everyone!! The wizard loves you all and would like to thank you for all of your support! 🧙🏾

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minaturefics · 1 year

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Sweet Summers

Request: I’m happy to hear your requests are open! Your writing is incredible! ^^ I have a Legolas x human!reader request if that’s okay. ^^’ One that takes place in between the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings when Legolas traveled with Aragorn after leaving Mirkwood- Legolas and Aragorn stop to stay at a village during a summer festival, Legolas’ first time being at a celebration outside of Mirkwood. During the festival, he sees Reader dancing along with the music and they spend time together before Legolas leaves with Aragorn. Times passes and during the celebration of winning the war, he once again sees Reader dancing to the live music.

A/N: Helllooooooo! Sorry this took like three months but it's here now! First one back since I've been on holiday so I feel a bit rusty but hopefully it's still enjoyable, even after such a long wait. Thank you for your patience! (also idk how it ended up so long but here we are ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Legolas x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

No content warnings

5k words

---

You wandered into the village square, taking in the merry scene before you. The entire square was alight with torches and lanterns, and colourful bunting was strung up between the posts. A quartet of musicians were setting up off to the side, and shopkeepers arranged their wares on the tables on the edges of the square. The night was warm and balmy, and the smell of roasted meat and sweet baked goods wafted around the village.

You nodded at the people you passed and dodged the squealing children running around. You paused by one of the stands, surveying the assortment of desserts. Creamy cheesecake and glistening fruit tarts, sugar coated funnel cakes and raisin biscuits.

“Do you want any of them, sweetheart?” Dera asked with a grin, her wrinkled eyes sparkled with mirth. “I’ll even throw in some gossip for free.”

“Perhaps a funnel cake,” you said, and placed a couple of coins on the table. She handed it over to you and you took a bite. It was still warm, the sugar melting on your tongue, and you hummed in appreciation. “Now what news do you have?”

“A couple of outsiders wandered into the village today. An elf and a man, they said, staying at the inn.”

A man was not anything novel. Men wandered through the village frequently, stopping by your village near the Merling Stream before continuing into Rohan or Gondor, but an elf was a rare thing. And a man and an elf together, rarer still. “Did they mention their business?”

She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. “Just passin’ through, they said, but no one here believes that. They aren’t merchants, not with those bows and swords, and they don’t look like the beacon wardens. ”

“Will they be coming to the festival?” You took another bite of the funnel cake, licking the sugar from your lips.

She shrugged. “I know some people are hopin’ they will. Mighty good looking, they are, ‘specially the elf.”

“Rich?” You smirked.

Dera laughed. “Always thinking about coin. There are other things in life.”

You glanced at your hands, eyeing the small nicks and scrapes that littered your fingers. Woodcarving had been a way to sustain yourself; it neither required you to toil in the fields or to fight the orcs and beasts in the wilds. You thought of the baskets of wooden figurines and dolls, the stacks of cutlery and bowls in your cottage.“Perhaps I should have set up a stall myself.”

“You work hard enough as it is, child. Tonight, we enjoy!” She shooed you with her hands. “Off you go, looks like they are ready to begin.”

The quartet struck up a merry tune, the rich sound of the fiddle dancing with the quick notes of the flute, and people began to flock to the centre. Dera nudged your shoulder and you joined the crowd gathering at the edges of the square. The beat of the drum resonated, amplified by the claps of the crowd, and you felt your feet tap in time. You watched the dancers, their smooth movements, their wide smiles.

You thumbed the small carved deer in your pocket. Should you go and join them? It had been such a long time since you danced.

The dancers began to link their hands together, pulling in members of the crowd. One of the girls, the daughter of the butcher, yanked on your arm and you spun into the fold. She held fast, flashing a grin at you, and the next person grasped your hand. There was no choice but to continue with them, kicking your legs in the fancy footwork pattern of the song and rotating with the pound of the drums.

Your eyes fluttered shut, trusting your feet and the pull of the dancers to lead you on. The flute trilled, the lyre harp fluttered. The cobblestones slipped under your feet and the breeze rushed through your hair. Your muscles burned a little and your breaths grew shorter. Laughter rose in your chest and burst from your lips. Round and round you went, until the song finished with a strong drum beat.

Your eyes snapped open into a pair of soft brown eyes.

You stepped back, chest heaving, and blinked at the man. He was tall and slim, and clad in a simple green tunic and trousers.

“Apologies,” you said, “I must have lost myself in the music.”

He tipped his head to the side, a smile tugging on his lips. “It is a lovely sight, to see another so wholly lost in such a joy.”

His light blonde hair glowed golden in the lantern light, and your breath hitched at the sight of his pointed ears. An elf. The elf. Your heart sped up in your chest. The murmurs around you grew, and you could feel the eyes of others trailed on you.

You gaped at him before shaking your head and offering him a small smile. “Are you… enjoying the summer festival, sir?”

“It is different to what I am used to but I am more curious than I am uncomfortable.” You chuckled at his honest words. “The music is more lively, the dancing more free in a way.”

The scent of something sweet in the air caught your attention and you thought of Dera. “Have you tried the food yet?”

He arched an eyebrow. “We supped at the inn before we came.”

You shook your head. “If you are to truly experience our summer festival, you must try Dera’s cakes.”

His eyes scanned the square. “And where may I find this Dera?”

“I shall lead you to her, I am in need of another sweet treat.”

You started off in the direction of Dera’s stall and the crowd parted, their eyes fixed on the elf behind you. The quartet started up again, the strum of the lyre harp echoing through the air, and the crowd’s attention drifted back to the dancing. You pressed the back of your hand to your cheeks, willing your heated skin to cool, and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your sticky forehead.

Dera’s eyes lit up at the sight of you and the elf and she grinned at him. “Now what can I get you, sweetheart? First time at a summer festival?”

He gave her an easy smile and scanned her table. “What would you recommend? I am unfamiliar with some of the food of men.”

Dera pointed at the funnel cake and the berry tart. “These two are a good start. Where is your friend? First time at a festival and he left you on your own.”

“He has some business to attend to.” The elf counted some coins in his palm, inspecting the currency. “I believe this should be enough.”

Dera handed the treats over to him and smiled. “Well, since you are without a guide, I offer my young friend here.”

Your eyes widened. “Dera—”

He smiled at you, eyes bright with delight. “Wonderful, I thank you very much. I am Legolas Greenleaf, though you may call me Legolas.” Dera introduced herself and you muttered your name at him.

He glanced down at the treats in his hands and Dera took the opportunity to wink at you. “Well, no eatin’ in front of my stall young man. Go off then and find somewhere.”

He looked at you, waiting for you to speak, and you glanced at the couple weathered stone benches on the outskirts of the square. “We can sit there and not be disturbed. I do not think you appreciate the looks my village has given you so far.”

You started for the bench and he fell in step. “I am used to such looks. My companion and I, Aragorn, have been to other settlements before this.”

He sat down next to you and took a tentative bite of the tart. His brows drew together for a moment as he chewed, before his expression smoothed out. “This is quite delicious. What is this yellow cream?”

You chuckled. “It’s custard. Do elf folk not have custard?”

“No, or at least, not in such a manner. I shall have to speak to my father about this. I’m sure the kitchens would be able to imitate it.”

Your eyebrows rose. The kitchens? Why did he speak as though he was some high born? You took him in, his smooth unblemished skin, the cut of his jaw, the quality of the fabric of his tunic. He certainly didn’t look common, but perhaps even the lowest of elves had the air of nobility compared to men. How distant the elves seemed. There were always stories, of course, but how much truth was held in them?

“Legolas,” you said, and he looked up from his tart. “If I may, what is your homeland like? I have heard little of the realm of elves.”

“I hail from Mirkwood in the north. There it is green and lush, where the trees grow into each other and moss carpets the floor. The south of the forest has since fallen into shadow, but there are parts of it that remain untouched.”

You could picture it, the light streaming through the canopy, the rustle of life among the shrubs. “And what do you think of the land of men?”

He finished the tart and started on the funnel cake, humming in pleasure. Crystals of sugar clung to his lips, and your eyes lingered on the pale pink of them. “It is strange, but also wonderful. There seems to be a rush, almost an urgency about the way humans live. A fervour, perhaps, for life.”

You barked out a laugh and shook your head. “We do not have the luxury of immortality. We must make the most of our days while we can.”

A frown crossed his face. “But we have passed so many settlements where I see humans suffer. There is hunger and struggle, there is pain and conflict.”

“Yes, but there is also joy.” You gestured to the crowd at the square, tilting your head up to capture the melodious notes ringing in the air. “And we relish these moments, perhaps because of the very nature of our mortality.”

He considered your words, chewing. “I suppose if one could only eat a finite number of funnel cakes in one’s life, one would seek to savour each of them.”

You nodded. “And we humans have found excuses to celebrate with each other where we can. Birthdays and holidays, the beginning and end of each season. Maybe this is how we cope, to know that despite how short our lives are, we have mattered to another, that we have shared something beautiful together.”

He looked down at the remains of his funnel cake. “Even for something as simple as sharing the joy of a sweet treat?”

You laughed. “Especially for something like a sweet treat.”He finished the last of the cake and leaned back on his arms, staring out at the square with a content smile on his face. “Tell me stories of your kin. It is not everyday that I meet an elf.”

His brown eyes brightened and he nodded. He told you of their festival celebrating the stars, how they would sing and their voices would echo into the night, how the lakes would reflect the endless starlight. He told you about how he used to wander off as a child to explore the forest, how he would nestle himself between the great roots of a tree and feel the life humming under his touch.

He looked young, but there was something so old about his words, longing and lingering, sighing and wistful, like the elders of the village. The clouds shifted, revealing the moon, and for a moment he was bathed in the silvery light. It outlined his handsome features, the long line of his limbs. Your heart sped up. And then it wrenched in your chest.

This was only a moment in time, a fraction of his lifespan. You would remember him for the rest of your days, a glowing, glittering night in your memory, a dream, but he would most likely forget you.

“Are you alright, my friend?” Legolas tilted his head at you. “It seems you have gone somewhere else.”

“I was simply thinking it is a lovely night.”

“Indeed.” He smiled. “It was lucky that we were here tonight. My friend and I will have to leave the towns and cities for some time. I do not believe I shall encounter another festival any time soon.”

You shifted and the wooden deer in your pocket jabbed into your thigh. You felt for it in your pocket. “Would you… care for a souvenir of sorts? Something to remind yourself of tonight?”

He nodded slowly. “Though all the stalls are selling food.”

You offered the deer to him, the figurine small in your hand. He reached for it, his fingers brushing your palm, and your breath caught in your throat. Such smooth skin, warm and gentle.

He held it to the light, turning it in his hand as his smile grew. “Did you carve this?”

“I did. I usually carry one or two of them, for the children.”

His eyes grew troubled for a moment. “I would hate to deprive a young one of such a charming thing.”

You shook your head. “I have others. Keep it, if you wish.”

He smiled at you, soft and slow. “You have my thanks. I shall treasure this.”

Legolas leaned back against the rough bark of the tree and stretched his legs out. The fire was little more than glowing charcoal and a few burning twigs. Aragron was asleep a few paces away, rolled up in his cloak and curled around himself. The browning leaves on the tree rustled as a cool breeze drifted through the small clearing. Somewhere an owl hooted.

He pulled the carved deer you had given him from his pocket, twisting it in his hand. The low light caught the edges of your delicate strokes, picking out the texture of its fur. He imagined your hands working at the wood, dust covered and callused, careful and skilled. When your fingers had brushed his that evening a warmth had lingered on his skin. Elves always ran cooler than humans and it felt as though your touch had seared him.

You had been so captivating in the blazing light of the lanterns, dancing with an abandon so foreign to him. It was as though the music was a part of you, moving through your limbs and lifting your heels. How wild, how beautiful.

That night felt like some distant memory, some dream too far for him to grasp. He thought of your eyes, shimmering in the light of the moon, of your laugh, loud and joyous. He could picture you perfectly, the warm orange of the lanterns lighting half of your face, the cool light of the moon illuminating the other side. You reminded him of some of the old fables and tales, like some mythical being, caught between two worlds, a miracle of existence.

And your words. They would not stop echoing in his mind. You were young, only a fraction of his lifespan, and yet there was something ancient about the way you spoke. He had always pitied humans for their short years but your words had made him wonder. Was he, an elf, missing out on some fundamental experience by being immortal?

That evening he was so close to asking you to… to wait for him, or something fanciful like that. A year or two while he went off with Aragorn, hunting the orcs, watching the Enemy. But a year or two was no mere ask for a human, whose life would sweep past them before they realised. He could not ask that of you,to rob you of a chance of finding another who could bring you happiness in those years.

The thought of another lacing their hands with you, drawing you close, made his heart clench. There might even be the chance that you had forgotten him. It was only an evening together, conversing to the backdrop of merry music. You must have had dozens of festivals in your life. It was probably nothing more than another to you. He was probably no more special than another passing traveller. He sighed and pocketed the deer.

Aragorn shifted and squinted over his shoulder. “Is anything the matter, my friend? I sense an unease in you.”

“Do men pity us elves?”

Aragorn considered the question, his eyes drifting to the weak fire. “I think that a great many of them envy your kind. Why do you ask?”

“I have always believed that no other could revere life as we do because of our endless life spans. But now I wonder if perhaps we do not fully understand life because of it. That perhaps we cannot comprehend it without death as a counterpoint.”

“Men and elves have different ways of life, and of celebrating it. It does not mean one is better than another.” Aragorn twisted to fully face Legolas. “What has brought such thoughts to your mind?”

“Someone at the summer festival.”

“That was over a year ago.” Aragorn arched his brow. “They must have been quite a person to weigh so heavily on you after such a time.”

Legolas nodded. “But I do not believe I shall see them again. The Enemy is growing stronger each day. I can feel it. I fear a great many battles are ahead of us.”

“That village by the river is not far off from our scouting route. We can pass through if you wish.”

“No,” he said, and closed his eyes. It would be better if he did not lay his eyes on you again. Better if he put you out of his mind. What good would it do to dwell on something beyond his grasp? “No. Our errand at hand cannot afford delay.”

You smoothed down your hair and tucked a carved robin into your pocket. Outside, people hurried past your modest shop front towards the upper circles of Minas Tirith. You swept your eyes over the counters and shelves, ensuring everything was arranged and prepared for the next morning, before stepping out and locking the door. The sweet scent of honeysuckle and lavender perfumed the city, wafting down from the blooming gardens in the higher circles. A distant drum beat above the excited chatter of the citizens and you joined the crowd headed towards the music.

The warm evening air, the faint leaping trills of the flute, the weight of a carving against your thigh. It brought back the memory of Legolas from two summers ago. His soft brown eyes, his barely there smile. Where was he now? Elves had descended upon the city in preparation for Aragorn’s coronation, but you were yet to see the flowing blonde locks that you thought of so frequently.

Did he think of you? Did he even remember you? Perhaps you were just another human to him, fleeting, passing. Nothing interesting, nothing important.

You spared another glance behind at your shop. The last two years had been eventful. In the autumn after Legolas had left, a travelling noble had passed through your village. She had taken an immediate liking to your craft, had found your bowls and plates well made and your trinkets amusing. A short conversation and a full coin pouch later, she had convinced you to follow her back to Minas Tirith. The coin was better, and you had your own rooms above the shop, but the people of the city were more restrained than those in the country. Gone were the spontaneous village square dances, the casual shared dinners in someone’s home.

A more comfortable life, but perhaps a more lonely one too.

The music grew louder as you approached and you peered through the heads of the crowd that formed where the market stalls usually were. A group of musicians played some jaunty tune and in the middle there were couples dancing. They whirled across the cobblestones, skirts fluttering and arms wheeling, eyes soft and smiles wide.

How lovely it must be, to dance with another. To have warm arms encircle you, to have tender words muttered in your ear. You thought of Legolas’ gentle brown eyes and the low timbre voice. How many times have you twirled alone in your rooms, imagining his hand in yours and his lips on your temple? How many nights have you lain awake, revisiting the memory of him?

You sighed and shook your head. The Enemy had been defeated and a new king was to be crowned — it was time to shake off the shadows and find some joy.

The musicians changed their tune and more people began flocking to the centre. The dancers began linking arms with each other and forming small circles. You kicked up your heels and joined the closest group of people, a smile growing on your face.

The rapid beat of the drums bounced off the high stone walls and the strum of the lute raced to follow it. With each flutter and trill of the flute, the song sped up, and heat rushed to your cheeks. You closed your eyes and tiled your head back, revelling in the harmonies of the harp. Your body moved on its own accord, feet shifting in well practised patterns and arms moving in sync with the others.

The music reached a crescendo, the melody rising to a fever pitch, and you spun out of the circle. You swirled through the air on the tips of your toes, arms arcing in smooth motions. The last of the notes faded in the breeze and your eyes fluttered open.

There, across the square, hemmed in by the crowd, stood Legolas.

His lips were parted and his eyes were wide. Your feet faltered on the cobblestones and you stumbled. What was he doing here? How was it possible, after so much time, after so much death?

The crowd broke out into cheers and claps for the musicians, and dancers bowed and thanked each other. You glanced away from him, blinking rapidly and offering polite smiles to the people around you, your heart hammering in your chest.

Would he want to see you? Speak to you? You straightened your clothes and smoothed down your hair. Valar, if you knew he was in the city you would have made more of an effort to look presentable.

You looked up, but he was gone.

You craned your neck, shuffling backwards out of the dancing space, looking for him as your chest tightened. Perhaps he did not wish to speak to you. Perhaps he did not even recognise you. You shook your head. You were just being ridiculous with your flights of fancies, with your daydreams and imaginings. He probably did not think of you once since that evening.

Your back collided with something solid and you turned on your heels, apology ready to leap off your tongue. His brown eyes, as soft as you remembered, peered into your own.

“Legolas,” you whispered, “I… Good evening, sir.”

A smile stretched across his face. “I did not think you remembered me.”

“I did not think you remembered me.”

“You are impossible to forget.” The music struck up again and he leaned closer to you. His scent filled the space around you. Woody and fresh, like a forest on a spring morning. “If it is not too much trouble, may I request your company for this evening?”

You blinked at him and your jaw worked. Another evening with Legolas?

His brows drew together and he took a small step back. “Unless… You are already in the company of another?”

You shook your head and his brow eased. “What would you wish to do?”

“There was a stall nearby selling funnel cakes I believe. If you have not eaten, perhaps we can find some sweet treats.”

You grinned before you could stop yourself and he tilted his head in the direction of the market stalls. Legolas located the dessert stall and inclined his head at the matronly lady behind the display. He handed her a few coins and she passed two warm funnel cakes to you.

He led you to one of the stone benches by a watchtower, away from the buzz of the crowd, and sat next to you. The sun was just dipping below the horizon and its rays painted the fields a warm orange. You tore off and popped a piece of the cake into your mouth. The cinnamon and sugar melted on your tongue and you sighed.

“It has been quite some time,” Legolas began, “How did you come to be in Minas Tirith?”

“My wares attracted a wealthy patron. I have a shop in one of the circles below this.”

“And has the city been to your liking?”

“It is certainly much more interesting than my little village but…” Your eyes drifted towards the mountain ranges in the distance. Beyond them, between dense trees and by the rushing river, your village still stood, unblemished by the war. “But I do long for the ease of familiarity, for the comfort of knowing another would be there should you need them.”

“Minas Tirith, while beautiful, can be a cold city. Away from the green of the forest, my companions have been a great comfort to me, and Aragorn —”

“King Aragorn?” You gaped at him. “You… You know him?” You blinked rapidly, words and gossip from the last few months filling your mind. The elf and the dwarf that accompanied the returned king to Mordor… The elf prince of Mirkwood…

“Yes, he is one of my closest companions.”

Your body went cold. What were you thinking? He was a hero, a prince. And what were you? Some common carver, some unknown person. There would be no chance now, not even the slightest sliver of hope. It would be better just to stop before your heart runs away with itself.

Your eyes lingered on his long eyelashes, how they almost appeared transparent in the setting sun, on the sharp edges of his cheekbone and jaw, on the pale column of his throat. Maybe you could be happy as his friend, simply watching from afar. A friend, yes, that would be better than nothing. But even then, he might be going away after the coronation, back to his towering trees and moss covered rocks.

“Is something the matter?” Legolas asked, finishing the last bit of his funnel cake.

“I am just thinking that chance has favoured us for us to have met twice.”

“Yes, I had hoped…” He glanced away, eyes on the horizon. “I had hoped that we would meet again. And chance has been even more generous, for we now reside in the same city.”

“You are not returning to Mirkwood?”

A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, his voice growing tender. “No, I think I finally understand what you spoke of that evening, and I have found people I wish to share that… burning of life with.”

Your cheeks flushed. Your words had stayed with him since that evening? “I’m sure your companions will be happy to hear that.”

His eyes drifted back from the horizon to yours. His brown eyes had melted into a deep, warm amber in the orange light. His voice was low, tentative, when he spoke. “It is not just my companions who I wish to share my time with.”

Did he mean you? You blinked at him, jaw working.

“I am aware we are not closely acquainted,” he murmured, brows drawing together. “But it is just I have thought of little else, of no one else, but you since that evening.”

Was it truly possible? That he could return even a fraction of what you felt for him?

“Forgive me,” he whispered, glancing away. “If I have upset you with my words. I am still learning the ways of men.”

“No, no,” you said, heart swooping in your chest. “I have thought of you frequently since that night. Wondering, hoping.” He turned to face you and you reached out for his hand on the bench.

Your trembling fingers curled around his. His hand was cool, nearly as cool as the stone beneath it, and his skin was impossibly smooth. A quiet sigh escaped his lips and he smiled. His thumb caressed your knuckles before he lifted your hand to press a kiss to your fingers. His lips were warm and soft, his breath featherlike on the back of your hand.

“I find your hands captivating,” he admitted, running his fingers over your calluses.

“Do you not think them rough and unrefined?”

“They show character, of your time spent on something you love, of your cleverness and skill. Elves do not develop such marks, no matter how many years we devote ourselves to something.”

You eyed the hardened patches on your skin. “Yes, I suppose they have created some beautiful things.”

“I must confess a small terrible thing to you,” he said, a rueful smile on his face. “I lost the carved deer you gifted me with. We were beset by orcs while tracking our kidnapped friends. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the fight.”

Your heart clenched at the thought of him keeping your carving with him since that night? “It is no matter,” you said, smiling. “I can carve you another one.”

“You would give me such a gift again?”

“I would carve you one every summer should you wish it.”

“I would wish for nothing more than your company every summer.”

“Only in the summer?” You laughed, squeezing his fingers.

“Every season,” he said, voice low as he leaned closer. His lips brushed your temple and your eyes fluttered shut. “For as many as you are willing to give.”

“All of them,” you muttered. “As many as I have to give.”

#legolas #lotr #legolas x you #legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #request

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the---hermit · 8 months

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18|08|2023

The last day of holidays at the seaside has come, and I am not happy about it, but I am postponing those feelings to tomorrow. Yesterday I went to a medieval festival that I have been looking for for the whole year. I went years ago and loved it, and this time around I loved it even more. Everyone in the town was wearing period costumes, the food was amazing, people were working in the street making ceramic, binding books, weaving, baking bread, it was amazing. You could stop and people would talk to you and exaplain what they were doing. My first stop was to the weapons tent where I got some explainations on period swords (beloved) as well as other weapons. The music was absolutely amazing, I love the sound of drums and people dancing in the streets and parading. There was even a road full of fortune tellers, it was magical. I really hope that in the future I'll get to come back to this festival because it's an absolute delight everytime. Today on the other hand was a beach day. It was way too hot for my liking especially in the morning, and mosquitoes keep bothering me, but at the end of the day I managed to relax and get some more reading done.

Chill hobbit summer activities of the past few days:

Braiding people's hair

Walking in the streets of a town that is suddely gone back to older times (at this medieval festival they try to cover up everything modern, so you don't see signs and electronic stuff, and there's oil lamps and candles all around the town)

Really enjoying food

Sharing a cup of green tea with my dad

Listening to an owl as soon as it starts to get dark

Finishing Dolores Claiborne by Stephen King

Listening to new podcast episodes

Walking in the sea water for the last time of this year

Saying a mental thank you and goodbye to this place I have spent so many summers in and I probably won't come back to

📖: Dolores Claiborne by Stephen King, Of Ghosts And Goblins by Lafcadio Hearn

🎵: Enter Sandman by Metallica

#tomorrow i expect a big nostalgic post as a holiday conclusion if i do end up losting something #we'll see #travel journal #holiday journal #studyblr #studyinspo #bookblr #travelling #history #journal #journaling #chill hobbit summer #productivity #self care #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

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discord-emote-customs · 3 months

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Pinned Post/Info!

Welcome to my emoji drawing side blog! Here you can request for me to draw any discord emotes you'd like. Everything is free to use for its original purpose, if used for other purposes please credit this blog!!

Will not draw: NSFW, slurs (reclaimed or not), heavy gore, non-emoji people, discriminatory emojis, backgrounds to emojis (does not apply if it is the emoji itself), asl/hand emojis, and animations.

Will draw: Basically everything else, but this can change! This includes wordmojis, emoji people, animals, pride stuff, and anything disorder/neurodivergent/mental illness/medical condition related. Will draw religion/belief related emojis.

Everything will be tagged accordingly, so if you see something you don't like, don't complain! Simply block the tag!

I can and will refuse anything I don't want to do, so please don't take it personally.

Main blog: @arunningjoke

About me: You can call me Zen/Chara/Knife/Vela/Zaniah/Mira/Fulu and my pronouns are she/they/it/he with any neos (no emojipronouns!)

DNI: NSFW/kink/paraphillia/fetish blogs, no LGBTQ+phobia, ableism (of EVERY kind!!!), and those with gacha/Noelle Holiday (Deltarune) profiles (just request with anon, gacha is a trigger for me and Noelle makes me extremely EXTREMELY uncomfortable T^T")

The emoji archive carrd

Other stuff to know:

If you send me anything to base an emoji/emojis on and dont give a creator + don't have proof of permission, I'll either ask for creator/proof of permission via private answer, or if you're on anon, I'll just delete your request.

If you want to edit/recolor my emojis and put them anywhere but discord, link the post the original emojis you are using are in. When using for Discord, put EDITED or NOTMINE in the name. If someone asks who made it, link the post the original emojis you are using are in. Never never NEVER edit my emojis for hate speech or harassment or anything in my DNI. It's absolutely unacceptable behavior no matter what/who you are using them for/towards.

If you want to send in a lot of requests at once, please wait. At least one or two days between each request. On the other hand, you can put a bunch of stuff in one request. If it gets to be too much for me I'll post a bit and then reblog later with more/the rest so that people get their turn.

Requests are currently closed!

What I'm currently working on:

More samoyeds

Happy goldfish & taiyaki

Little holding highland cow plush

Little holding fox plush

Little cuddling mary meyers marshmallow stegosaurus plush

Little holding personal plush frustrated/overwhelmed/happy

Event stuff:

Frodo Baggins & Hobbit stims (ears, kicking feet) (Lord of the Rings)

Cupid (Kaitou Joker), Yatterchat

Marcy Wu (waving & hand flap stim) (Amphibia)

Martin & Jon (Magnus Archives)

Young Greg (basic emotions) (Steven Universe), Don Lothario (Sims 2)

Kangel (Needy Streamer Overload)

Zim (Invader Zim)

Sherlock Holmes (autism smile (???), "what's wrong with them"), Draco Malfoy (sipping coffee/tea in muggle cup), Agata Katsuhira ( "numb right now") (Kiznaiver) Noriko Sonozaki ("too much pain") (Kiznaiver), Lucifer Morningstar ("I'm better than you") (Lucifer Show)

Sprinkle & Blue (stims & wags) (Blues Clues)

Xion (hand flapping) (Kingdom Hearts)

Solar drinking out of a cup with a comically large silly straw (will make extra silly for friend)

The Shroud Siblings & Ortho Shroud (Twisted Wonderland)

#pinned post #discord emoji #discord emote #discord emojis #discord emotes #custom emoji #custom emote #custom emojis #custom emotes #not an emoji

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lordoftherazzles · 6 months

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TRICK-OR-TREAT

This was a part of my 2021 #ACORNTOBER event! While I am still debating on whether to keep the drabbles on ao3, I am absolutely keeping them here on tumblr, and want to give them a little bit of polishing and love! So, with perfect timing for Halloween, enjoy this Reshirement-Parentshield centered drabble!

“And once the sun goes down that’s when all the fauntlings will go out with their parents and go door to door and ask for the sweets,” Bilbo was rambling, feeling as if he was expertly explaining this whole Halloween thing, but truth be told, the confused look on Thorin’s face said otherwise.

“...There’s good food in the larder, Bilbo. Plenty of sweets. Why are we sending Frodo to beg for them from our neighbors?” Thorin scratched at his head some, genuinely trying to wrap his mind around the concept of this trick-or-treating thing. Hobbits sure were fond of their holidays, just as dwarves were, but this one was a little extraordinary.

No doubt Fili and Kili would have loved something like this when they were small, and even when they were full-grown, just as they were now.

“Thorin, I love you, but please try to keep up. Frodo’s not begging for food, it’s just a fun thing that we get to do! The kids love dressing up, and these aren’t just any sweets, you won’t find a single tart in Frodo’s basket—” Bilbo narrowed his eyes dangerously before reaching forward and giving the bottom of one of Thorin’s braids a small yank. “And stay out of his basket when we all come home!” He said loud enough for Frodo to hear in the other room before dropping his voice with a wink. “We go through the basket after he’s asleep.”

Like any good parent, it was customary to sneak a few pieces out of the young one’s baskets. They couldn’t possibly eat it all!

It was still confusing, but Thorin was just going to go with it. He had been trying incredibly hard to adjust to Shire life, and this was part of it. It was part of why he had allowed Bilbo to put this silly bit of headwear on him. At first, Thorin had scowled, but tossing a few dark horns on his head to replicate that of a dragon was no big deal.

The headpiece would come off, at least.

Bilbo on the other hand had little ears on his own head that likened him to a rabbit. That was what Beorn had called him once upon a time, no? Little rabbit, or bunny, something of the like.

“And what’s Frodo dressed up as?” Thorin asked while adjusting the headband on his head.

“I’m a wizard!” Frodo announced as he dashed into the room, a gray pointy hat on his head and a robe swooshing as he ran. “Just like Gandalf!”

“If you’re a wizard, can’t you just magic yourself some sweets?” Thorin was promptly swatted on the arm as both Bilbo and Frodo cried in unison.

“Uncle Thorin, we’re going Trick-or-Treating!” Frodo handed his basket over to Bilbo, grabbing a free hand from each uncle and moving to tug them along as the light outside was fairly dim. Someone was incredibly eager to enjoy the holiday, and catch up with the other fauntlings of the Shire.

Bilbo flashed Thorin a grin as they all eased out the door and already the shrieks of happy young ones could be heard. “Now Frodo, remember your manners at each door. Holiday or no, you will say please and thank you, right?”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo sighed, sounding incredibly annoyed, but that was a kid for you, even as young as the fauntling was.

Thorin couldn’t help but crack a grin as Frodo released all hands, grabbed his basket, and took off a few steps ahead of his uncles, ready to see how many sweets he could fit into his basket. “He really does remind me of Fili and Kili.”

“Except Frodo knows his O’s from his A’s. They still call me Mister Boggins.” Bilbo sighed, sounding just as annoyed as Frodo had a few moments prior. At least Bilbo’s exasperation had gotten a laugh out of Thorin.

Watching the fauntlings run up to doors, knocking fiercely, and being on their best behavior was quite a sight to behold. Now that he was witnessing it for himself, Thorin could see where the appeal was. There were a fair amount of decent costumes running around as well. More wizards, a dwarf or two, and Thorin was certain he had seen a young one dressed up as Lobelia in all the most obnoxious of ways.

For as much energy as Frodo had though, darting from smial to smial, you could see the exhaustion in his little legs start to plague him. There were a few doors to hit and Frodo seemed determined.

“He’s getting T–I–R–E–D,” Bilbo laughed, spelling out the word before hearing a disgruntled sound ahead of them.

“I’m not tired, Uncle Bilbo! We only have a few more. Can we please finish them?” At least he said please.

“Of course.” Tired, you could see it in Frodo’s big blue eyes.

When it came down to one door left, a familiar yellow door that housed one of the better families of Hobbiton as far as kindness went, Bilbo had Frodo’s wizard hat atop his head as well as the basket of sweets, and Thorin had Frodo in his arms who was drifting into slumber.

That yellow door opened up and there stood Hamfast and Bell.

“Trick-or-Treat,” Thorin and Bilbo both spoke softly in unison.

“Oh, look at you three,” Bell cooed as she placed a hand over her heart. “Samwise was all tuckered out before we made it home too. Bless their little hearts. Wait here.” Bell disappeared, earning a small chuckle from her husband.

“Be sure to tell Sam in the morning that there is a special tart in Bag End with his name all over it. He’s welcome to it anytime,” Bilbo grinned, looking towards Frodo and adjusting a small bit of those curls away from the fauntling’s face.

Hamfast gave a small nodding hum in response, everyone seeming to be as quiet as possible to not wake Frodo who was now snoring pleasantly against Thorin’s shoulder.

“Here we are, one of my apple pies. Thank you both again for watching Sam last week,” Passing over the pie to Bilbo where it could rest carefully at the top of the sweet-filled basket.

“Sam is welcome anytime,” Thorin interjected quietly, adjusting Frodo in his arms who had a death grip on one of his braids. “Frodo’s done nothing but talk about how excited he is for Sam to stay with us a few days next weekend while you and Hamfast are out of town.”

“You two are just precious, as is he,” Bell wiggled one of Frodo’s feet, earning a small twitch from the sleepy fauntling. “Happy Halloween, boys. I’m sure we will see you tomorrow.”

Then came the usual pleasant goodbyes, though the more time that went on, the more informal it all became. Thorin truly admired the Gamgee’s and was happy to lend a hand where he could.

The trek back to Bag End was quiet. The Shire all seemed to agree that it was time for all the little fauntlings to be tucked into bed and for the adults to settle down as well. The excitement was short-lived but well worth seeing the joy it brought.

“I’ll put him to bed,” Thorin announced quietly as they awkwardly maneuvered the door open, careful not to jostle Frodo around in the process.

Bilbo met Thorin’s gaze, his brows rising and falling playfully. “And then…”

“...we go through his basket,” Thorin grinned just as playfully in return.

“Exactly, now you’ve got it.”

Thorin finally understood the importance of Trick-or-Treating.

#bagginshield #parentshield #the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #frodo baggins #hobbit fic #bagginshield fic #fic: acorntober #razzledrabbles #raz reposts #razzywrites

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kelly6ridge · 2 years

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it's been such a week

(actually it's been a couple of weeks but who's counting)

and while I think this tuesday will be the day I hit 10,000 posts for this blog — I have no desire to do any art for it

instead i think I'll wear my bicycle shorts with the deep cellphone pockets, put both my hip flasks in - filled with tito's or bombay, I haven't decided - wear my black summer cocktail dress with the pearls over it paired with my kitten heels; and go to the movie theater in town, where I'll purchase a large $5 coke, no popcorn, which I will douse with the yet undetermined liquor, for the noon showing of Thor Love and Thunder, at the tuesday special pricing of $4.75, and then follow up with Buzz Lightyear at approximately 3pm at same price, and get the hell turnt up cinephile style.

I'm thinking, as the theaters are almost always empty on tuedays (picture me isolated in the dark, sole witness to the terrible light in front of me), i could live blog it, or maybe wax philosophical about the various folks i have made out with in this exact complex, or alternatively, knit like a hat and show it off later.

i should do something.

#k6 #also have the 10yr anniversary of this blog coming up in september #which i do have something blanned for #and with august i will be honoring my birthday the way bilbo intended #not to mention the four different fandom events im in currently #and inktober and happy hobbit holiday coming up #(i had ao much fun doing dwarrowtober last year — i hope mr. kira does it again)#and that is not touching all the real life stuff i have recently stuck my foot into #anyways... wish me luck?#tw #drinking

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blairsanne · 1 year

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Reunion at Bag End

A TSS gift for @coconi for Tolkien Secret Santa 2022 @officialtolkiensecretsanta! Happy Holidays @coconi!

The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings (slight AU) 1443 words

Summary: Bilbo is anxious as he awaits Thorin and the Company's arrival at Bag End. Everyone lives AU, cozy fluff.

Bilbo stood in his kitchen and stared out the window at the falling snow.

The sun was just starting to set, and the winter wind had been blowing powdery snowflakes across the shire for days, but it was warm and cozy in Bag End. The smell of spices, meat, and pastry filled the room, the pies in the oven nearly ready.

“Bilbo?” a voice called from the other room, but Bilbo didn’t notice, eyes trained on a far hill and thoughts elsewhere until a small hand tapped his forearm.

“Are you alright, uncle? The kettle was whistling.”

Bilbo blinked back to his senses and turned to see Frodo pouring the freshly boiled water into the tea pots Bilbo had prepared on the table.

“Do you think they’ll be much longer?” Bilbo wondered.

Frodo laughed. “Uncle Thorin loses his way, but he must be keen to enjoy the party.”

Thorin had gone out to Erebor for a visit and was meant to be returning with the old Company that had reclaimed the Lonely Mountain together. Even Fili - now the king - was set to be arriving with them for the long overdue visit.

Bilbo had spent the entirety of Thorin’s absence preparing for the dwarves. The pantry was overstocked with cheese and meats, and all manner of breads. The table where they’d eat was already set with plates of cakes and cookies, and the doorways were framed in winter greenery for a sense of festive cheer. It was to be a party to remember. If only the guests of honor would arrive.

Bilbo ruffled Frodo’s dark curls, forcing himself to relax his shoulders as he fetched the tea cozies. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen most of them. I must admit, I’m a bit impatient.”

His young nephew grinned up at him. “Me too, uncle! I look forward to meeting them.”

More than impatient, Bilbo felt nervous, somehow. It was a lot to ask all of them to come to the Shire. Bilbo and Thorin had traveled out a couple times since Thorin had left Erebor, but now with Frodo, Bilbo had been hesitant to make such a long trek. Still, it had been too long since he’d seen them all. He hoped they’d all been keeping well, and that they’d approve of the hobbit hole now that they were used to living in Erebor surrounded by dwarven finery in metal and stone. He wanted everything to be perfect for his old friends; warm enough, fed enough, entertained enough.

Frodo, who hadn’t lived at Bag End long, had asked both Thorin and Bilbo about the quest heaps of times. He had vivid mental images of each of the dwarves, as well as many of the events that had taken place. He was keen to see if they were at all how he’d imagined. The dwarves were supposedly rowdy and unruly, and fierce warriors. And one of them was the king of Erebor! Thorin and Bilbo didn’t always fit in completely with the other hobbits, but to Frodo, they were far more interesting.

Kili cleared his throat subtly as he stepped up beside Fili. The Shire was now just in view as the sun was beginning to set. The air was growing even cooler now, nipping at their skin as they walked.

“Seems you owe me three gold.”

Fili laughed brightly, the reminder of their earlier bet - that Thorin would get them lost beyond salvation - catching him off guard. “Seems so.”

“I’ll give you the chance to earn it back,” Kili offered, his face pure mischief.

Fili pursed his lips, shaking his head subtly. Kili had actually mellowed out quite a bit in the years since the quest, becoming a fine advisor to Fili. But something about being out on the road again with the company - and especially their uncle - had brought out some of his childhood chaos. “What did you have in mind?”

Kili leaned in and whispered as quietly as he could. “Three gold if you get him in the head before he stops you.” With that, he held a snowball up that he’d been hiding behind his back.

Fili took it and contemplated. Finally he nodded and winked at his brother. They were nearly at Bag End now; a bit of harmless fun wouldn’t sour hours of future travel, and surely Thorin would let it go once he got home to the Bagginses.

Frodo dropped the cookie he’d been stealing from the tray when he heard the front door push open.

“We’re here!” Thorin’s low voice called out into the hall. He smiled when he saw Bilbo and Frodo’s heads poke out of different rooms.

“Just on time,” Bilbo praised, sounding every bit as relieved as he was.

As the dwarves piled in, they greeted Bilbo with warmth, all talking over each other and taking off their packs and cloaks as they let themselves in.

Frodo stepped over to take Thorin’s cloak from him as the space became chaotic. “Welcome home, uncle.” “Thank you, Frodo.”

“Frodo?” Half the group turned their attention from Bilbo to Frodo now, remarking on his appearance, mainly. None of them had ever met such a young hobbit, apparently, slightly shorter than Bilbo, with bright eyes and dark curls.

Bombur clapped a hand down on Bilbo’s shoulder and gave him a stern look.

“Er- Great to have you again, Bombur.” “Let’s get to work.” “I- beg your pardon?” Bombur rustled the pack over his shoulder. “Food to set out.”

“Oh!” Bilbo blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected them to bring anything, but perhaps Thorin had suggested it, given the size of the group. “Of course, the kitchen is just in here, as you may remember-”

Just as Bilbo was leading him away, the door swung open again to reveal Fili and Kili, covered in snow, shaking themselves to loose what might come off.

“You’re late,” Bofur teased. “Right, well-” Kili could barely contain his laughter. “Someone pushed us down the hill, and all.”

This sent a fit of laughter through the group as they recalled Thorin getting his revenge on his nephews for the snowballs, and a surge of warmth through Bilbo’s chest as he took heart in the happiness of his fellows. The brothers laughing about mischief they’d caused just felt right somehow. Some things don’t change.

“Well- clean up and let's go sit, shall we?” Bilbo suggested, making his way with Bombur toward the kitchen.

Thorin led the rest of the Company toward the dining room. “Come on, you mongrels!”

The night progressed easily, everyone happily sharing stories and catching up between mountains of goodies and several musical interludes.

Ori had brought them a book he’d scribed about Erebor and its history, including intricate drawings that enthralled Frodo, who was an endless fount of questions for everyone. He learned - only slightly embellished - accounts of Bilbo’s bravery, Thorin’s leadership, everyone’s skills in battle, and more.

As the hour grew late, Bilbo passed around another plate of nut cakes before settling at Thorin’s side to let out a wistful sigh. “I’d missed this,” he admitted quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the group that was milling about Bag End in total comfort and goodwill.

Thorin placed his hand on Bilbo’s thigh and raised a brow. “Oh?”

“It reminds me a bit of those nights on the road.” He scrunched his nose and mouth about briefly. “I was terribly nervous, back then, mind you. Sure we’d get struck down by orcs, or worse, Smaug. But this is nice.” He turned his attention to Thorin. “Like a family reunion.”

“Only without the fear of stolen cutlery,” Thorin pointed out.

Bilbo laughed brightly, distracting Frodo for a moment, who’d been caught up in one of Kili’s tall tales.

Frodo was glad to see his uncle had relaxed. He’d thought Bilbo might actually have lost his marbles a bit in Thorin’s absence, fretting and wringing his hands as he paced around Bag End for days.

“You’re staying a few days, right?” Frodo asked suddenly. Fili nodded. “That’s right. Just a few days, then most of us will return to Erebor.” “I hope you’ll come again soon. Bilbo really missed you.” Fili and Kili glanced at each other. It was difficult to get away like this, but everyone had been keen to the idea the moment word had gotten around.

Fili nodded. “I suppose we’ll have to.”

Kili leaned in, a grin on his face. “Say, Frodo. Have you ever built a snow dragon?”

When the teen shook his head, Kili clapped his hand down on his brother’s shoulder. “I know what we’re doing tomorrow.”

#tss2022 #happy holidays #the hobbit #bagginshield #reshirement #hobbit fluff #hobbit fanfic

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stereksecretsanta · 4 months

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Merry Christmas, @thetommoway-oioii!

I hope you enjoy this. Here is all the fluff and cuteness for you with most of the tropes you requested.

*****

Tis the Season to be Merry (and to be Married)

The words came to Derek on a Monday morning about a month before Christmas.

He was in the kitchen that afternoon cooking dinner for… well, a crowd, basically. He and Stiles might have moved into their own house sometime earlier this year in a bid for privacy, but there never seemed to be a shortage of people suddenly popping in and out of their lives, especially to eat them out of house and home, and most especially during the holiday season.

Sometimes it was Derek’s parents, Desmond and Talia Hale, who had retired from handling the family businesses and the Hale Foundation, and were spending most of their free time either traveling or meddling in their children’s lives. Derek’s siblings also made frequent appearances, all six of them—Matthew, Valerie, Laura, Cora, Cameron, and Nathaniel—and each one bringing about their own brand of mayhem, chaos, and pandemonium.

And then there was Peter, Derek’s uncle, but the less said about him, the better. Derek was still wishing the man was too busy to make an appearance at the Christmas table this year.

Though it wasn’t like Stiles’s side of the family was any better. He only had his father, retired Sheriff John Stilinski, as immediate family—and Derek could already feel the headache at the two’s constant arguments about John’s love for meat and Stiles’s insistence on a diet—but Stiles made up for it with a found family numbering in… well, far too many.

There were his best friends, Scott and Lydia, with their own partners, sweet, gun-toting Allison and douchebag Jackson. Then there was their collection of friends like Erica who could castrate a man with her nails, tall and dark and silent Boyd, Kira who could wield a katana while wearing a skirt, Isaac who wore far too many scarves at any given day, and his boyfriend Danny who had blackmail material on everybody.

Derek paused in his cooking. They had too many people in their damn lives and in their damn business. He and Stiles should consider moving to, like, New Zealand or something. They both loved Lord of the Rings. They could probably go and live in a hobbit hole or something.

Though God knows their families and friends would still find a way to follow and pester them.

Derek resumed his cooking, putting the finishing touches on the chicken and the salad and checking that the brownies were baking perfectly. He passed by the refrigerator, pausing at the knick knacks that littered the surface.

Pride of place was his and Stiles’s photo from four years ago during their second year anniversary. They hadn’t been able to celebrate properly because Stiles had just finished a grueling shift at the hospital and Derek had been bogged down by paperwork from the university where he taught. Because of the late hour, all they could do was a fast food drive thru and then eat in the car. Stiles had taken a selfie photo of them.

They looked like crap, honestly—both of them obviously tired and worn, Derek’s tie was crooked and he had crumbs all over his shirt and Stiles was still in scrubs and had ketchup on his chin. But they were happy and in love.

Derek stroked the photo.

“I want to marry you,” he murmured, the words flowing from him like an exhale.

The words weren’t surprising and not even unexpected, not after ten years—two years of being annoyed by each other, two years of being friends, and six years of being together, one of which was spent here in the house they bought together.

Derek glanced out the window. It was a winter wonderland outside, interspersed with blinking lights from the neighbors’ Christmas decorations and the snowmen that littered the yards.

What was surprising was the urgency that came to him.

It was a cliche thought though, especially on Christmas, but maybe the festive season was getting to him, wanting him to find more reasons to celebrate.

Derek thought about Stiles as he cooked, thankful for the long vacation from teaching at the university that he could do this for his partner, especially since Stiles had pulled the short end of the stick when it came to shifts at the hospital this Christmas.

Derek thought about Stiles’s impish smile and his pretty eyes, thought about his voice, rich and soft, and about something funny he had said the other day—he said a lot of funny things all the time. He thought about taking lunch to the hospital a few days ago, only to have Stiles pull him into his office for a rather lengthy ‘thank you’ kiss and then complain about the amount of work he had to do as they ate together. (It was a lie. Stiles loved being a doctor, even if he had ended up being on duty on Christmas Day.)

Derek thought about Stiles’s dry wit and his sarcastic quips, how he played around with his Dad and his friends, how he adored Derek’s family, even though Derek’s siblings were insane. He thought about how soft he was during their quiet moments, how he curled into Derek’s touch and indulged in lazy sex and slow, lengthy kisses.

“I want to marry him,” Derek murmured the words to himself quietly.

It wasn’t so much that he and Stiles hadn’t considered marriage, but it hadn’t been a priority over the years, what with everything going on with their lives and families—Valerie’s son being born, John’s retirement, Scott and Allison’s wedding, Lydia and Jackson’s engagement, Stiles getting promoted, then that following year Derek had an accident and broke his arm…

Everyone knew he and Stiles were in this for the long haul. They obviously loved each other, annoyed each other, felt at home with each other, and they had plans and promises for the future and had started living together.

A formal arrangement just hadn’t been in the cards yet.

Derek heard a car horn and looked out the window to see Stiles’s jeep pulling into the garage. However, he highly doubted that they were not getting any other visitors that night. He finished the preparations just as the key was turning in the lock and Stiles’s voice immediately flowed into the once-quiet home.

“I’m home!” he called out, loudly and cheerfully. “And advance warning, we’re getting a bunch of strays tonight.”

Derek snorted. “That’s not new.”

There was the sound of shuffling and keys, and then muffled footsteps as Stiles moved further into the house. Derek was scooping servings into a large bowl when Stiles plastered himself to Derek’s back, arms snaking gently around his waist and pointy chin popping itself on his shoulder.

“You’re cold,” Derek said, not even fighting the smile that appeared on his face.

Stiles, just to be a jerk, slid his cold hands under Derek’s sweater. “Lydia, Nathaniel, Erica, and Boyd are all dropping by; and Mattie, too, which means he’s also bringing his baby girl, CC. They’ll be here in about an hour.”

Derek sighed. “All I wanted was a peaceful dinner.”

“When, in all our lives, have we ever had peace?” Stiles chuckled, kissing his cheek. “That smells good.”

“It’ll taste even better once you get comfortable and get changed,” Derek said, turning around to face him.

Stiles was smiling, and Derek had seen it a thousand times, but it was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His pale skin was a little red from the cold, especially his nose, cheeks, and ears, his brown hair was falling messily across his forehead, and his eyes were bright and warm as they looked at Derek.

“No welcome home kisses?” he asked, those pretty lips pouting.

Derek chuckled and obliged. “Welcome home.”

They kissed for a few moments, long and slow and sweet, before Derek rubbed Stiles’s back.

“Go and get changed. In an hour, we’ll get your strays bothering us.”

Stiles let out a squawk of offense. “Hey! How come when they’re bothering us they’re mine?”

“Because you make just as big a mess as they do,” Derek said, pinching his hip.

Stiles cackled, dancing away. “But you already picked me, so you have to put up with it. No take backsies.”

He let out a raspberry, which was really unbecoming of his age, especially a doctor, and then laughed loudly as he ran off.

‘I want to marry you,’ Derek thought, smiling at his retreating back.

A formal arrangement just hadn’t been in the cards.

But maybe it should be.

The words came to Derek again and again over the next few days.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought, when Stiles was smiling at him, talking animatedly, his hands flying as he talked about his cases at the hospital.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought, as they were getting groceries, with Derek’s siblings, twins Cora and Cameron in tow, all of them getting more sweets and chocolates than what the grocery list indicated.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought, as Stiles ran past him screaming, followed by Isaac, Kira, and Derek’s nephews as they engaged in a snowball fight. Laura was screaming in the background that she’d punch whoever gets snow in her newly-dyed hair, only to get pelted by snowballs from all directions.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought, a flutter in his heart, as they walked around the Christmas bazaar one afternoon, ungloved hands tucked into Derek’s pocket as they looked for kitschy Christmas gifts for their friends. Stiles beamed at him, bright and carefree, his nose pink from the wind, and Derek tugged him close and kissed him right in the middle of the market. Stiles didn’t seem to protest, going by the enthusiastic way he responded.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought, holding a sobbing Stiles close after delivering the bad news to a couple that their child hadn’t pulled through during the surgery. He stroked Stiles’ hair, his back, his cheeks, and held him tighter, even tighter.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought, panting and aroused and flushed as they showered together, pressed intimately from head to toe with Stiles kissing his neck.

‘I want to marry you,’ he thought as he watched Stiles conversing with their parents, Talia and Desmond and John, talking about where they could go for next year’s family vacation—Stiles and Desmond were both pushing for Disneyland, for the hundredth time, as they liked collecting Mickey ears. John wanted somewhere with cows, for some reason.

“I want to marry Stiles,” Derek said, the words coming out of him, unbidden and sudden in the middle of dinner with their parents at the Hale Family Manor when Stiles had gone to the bathroom.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Talia cooed, eyes growing misty. “A new celebration for the family to look forward to.”

“Congratulations, son,” Desmond said, smiling proudly. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Derek turned to Stiles’s father, unsure what to expect, but the man was still enthusiastically into the steak he had managed to bribe Stiles into letting him eat for the night.

(“If you let me eat steak, I will drink all my medication and vote for Disneyland for next year’s family holiday,” John had said.

Stiles had looked torn, but he needed all the votes they could get. Family holidays were by majority vote.

A few minutes ago, just after Stiles had gone to the bathroom, John had said, in an act of betrayal, that he still planned to vote that they go somewhere with cows, possibly Switzerland.)

“Honestly, Derek, you two are practically married already, I don’t see the difference,” John said, shrugging. But he smiled. “You’re already family, but I guess it would be nice to put everything down in black and white.”

That night, Derek thought of the words and pressed them against the skin of Stiles’s shoulder as the younger man laid in bed beside him, breathing even and deeply asleep.

“I want to marry you,” Derek murmured reverently.

Stiles let out a sleepy murmur, snuffling a little, before turning into Derek’s hold, letting his warm and pliant and still-mostly-asleep self be gathered into Derek’s arms.

Derek pressed another kiss into his dark hair and smiled when Stiles squished his face against his neck.

As expected, Derek’s plan to propose to Stiles eventually made its way to their families and friends. He knew their parents wouldn’t have said anything. They knew better than to get ahead of Derek. But he knew one of his nosy siblings had probably heard and then blabbed about it. (He was betting on Matthew. He might be the oldest of them, but he was a shameless gossip.)

The constant hints and eyebrow raises during the yearly Christmas Eve dinner at the Hale Family Manor was a dead giveaway, as was Scott pulling Derek to the side for a speech—or something like that? Scott was awful at speeches—on taking care of Stiles, Erica almost spilling the beans twice before Boyd dragged his girlfriend to the corner to ply her with eggnog—which was probably the wrong thing to do—and Danny trying to coerce Derek not to propose until he got a betting pool going, with an offer to split the winnings. (It was honestly tempting.)

But it was Peter—who the hell invited him again?—who opened his big mouth.

“So, when’s the wedding?” he asked from his spot on the long dining table between Talia and Laura. Not even Talia’s death glare stopped him, but that was probably because of the two glasses of wine already in the man.

“Why is Uncle Peter even here?” Valerie asked, rolling her eyes at him. “I thought we made a rule that he’s banned here on Christmas.”

“It’s the other way around,” Cora spoke up. “He’s banned here, except for Christmas.”

John frowned. “We should add Christmas too, really complete the whole calendar.”

Peter ignored them. “So?”

Derek was sighing into his meal. Scott was groaning into his hands. Desmond was busy trying to wrestle the knife away from Talia. It would be awful if blood got on the Christmas placemats.

“Who’s getting married?” Stiles asked, confused.

“You and Derek, duh,” Peter said. “It’s high time you two stopped living in sin and finally tie the kno—” he suddenly found himself face down in his mashed potatoes from a well-timed smack on the head from Laura.

“Uh, what?” Stiles turned to Derek.

Derek took his hand.

“I told our parents I wanted to marry you,” he said calmly. He felt a touch nervous, but honestly he’d been thinking of the words so many times that it seemed so easy to say even in front of people.

Plus, Peter had sort of taken the wind out of his sails.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand.

“Marriage sounds good,” he said.

Peter blinked from where he was wiping his face and still snorting out potatoes.

“What?”

“I guess it’s high time we stopped living in sin, sweetie,” Stiles said, fluttering his eyelashes at him.

Derek sipped his glass. “Outdoor wedding would be great.” He raised his palm at Stiles. “Not Disneyland.”

“Fine. I get to pick the honeymoon then,” Stiles said.

He raised a hand at Stiles again. “Not Disneyland.”

Stiles pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Derek sighed. Stiles was so obsessed with Disneyland. “We can add it to the itinerary for a few days as long as you take time off from the hospital. We will not be getting calls during our honeymoon.”

“Deal,” Stiles said cheerfully. “I want an autumn wedding.”

Derek hummed. “That’s fine. You look beautiful in the fall.”

Stiles blushed. “Aww, Der.”

“Wait a sec! What just happened?” Peter blinked, looking around. “Did I do that? Did I get them engaged?”

“Peter is banned from our wedding,” Stiles immediately said.

Derek nodded. “Of course.”

“What? Oh, come on!” Peter whined. “I got you two engaged!”

“You did nothing. You were just nosy,” Stiles said, glaring at him. “And Derek already proposed a few nights ago.”

Derek looked to his parents. “I proposed that same night I told you.”

Stiles laughed. “No, you didn’t! You said it when I was half asleep!”

Derek shrugged. “Still counts.”

“Derek, you’re so boring,” Peter whined.

Stiles snapped his fingers, glaring at him. “Banned!”

John sighed and shoved food in his mouth. “Like I said, you two are practically already married anyway.”

“Well, we have been together for six years,” Stiles said, smiling at him, which enticed Derek to lean forward and kiss him.

“Congratulations!” erupted all over the table and Derek couldn’t help smiling.

Well, things didn’t go quite as planned, but that was all right. He was still marrying Stiles sometime in the future, and that was the most important thing.

“Peter, you’re still banned from the wedding.”

#thetommoway-oioii #stereksanta23

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

Text

This was the artwork I commissioned, Baby It's Cold Outside done by the amazing ConsultingPacha for the #FotFicPinupCalendar2023 organized by @frosticenow.

and this is the fic (A Bit of Home) I wrote to accompany it...

A Bit of Home

Summary: The Hobbit, Post-Sack/Pre-Quest for Erebor

You’re spending your first Yule with Thorin, but being that you are from this world and not Middle Earth, you miss Christmas as well. At least, you do until Thorin brings a bit of it to you

Pairing: Thorin x Fem!Reader

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, reader,

Warnings: Nothing but fluffy fluff to be found here

Rating: G

Words: 2,742

***

Snow shifted softly through the trees, settling along the branches to dust them white. Here and there, a cardinal showed through, their scarlet feathers looking like drops of blood against the stark background. The fire crackled softly on the hearth in the great room, and in the kitchen, where you stood, another crackled as well, a bit louder and the flames danced a bit higher, but it kept the kitchen warm enough.

It was your first Yule in Middle Earth and while you’d grown used to your new home, you couldn't help but miss your old one from time to time. The bouts of homesickness had lessened, of course, but you were fairly certain they’d never go away entirely, no matter how happy you might be now.

And you really were happy. It had taken some doing to convince Thorin you weren’t mad—after all, one could hardly fault him for thinking otherwise when he happened upon you, wandering about the woods not far from the village of Hamelin, wearing strange clothes he’d never seen before, and talking about things such as cell phones and the internet. You tried to explain the concept of a wormhole and falling through one to land in his place and time, but since you didn't really understand it yourself, you might as well have been talking Greek to him, as your mother would say. Still, the important part was how you managed to convince him you were perfectly sane and that you weren’t about to attack him or worse. He offered you a place to sleep for the night and you never left. Over time, he helped you settle in and things being what they were, you were now a couple.

But as the holiday drew nearer, the homesickness worsened. No one back in your time, in your world, knew what happened to you. You were probably just considered missing and you tried not think about how worried your family must have been. Especially at that time of year. You wished you had some way to let them know you were alive and well and very happy, but since there were no internet connections or cell towers to be found, you could only hope they felt it somehow.

You tried not dwell, and Thorin was endlessly patient as he listened to you describe what Christmas was like, and at its heart, it really wasn't all that much different from Yule. Thorin smiled as you tried to describe Santa Claus, merriment dancing in his pale blue eyes as he said, “He sounds like Bombur, only taller.”

“And with white hair, instead of red,” you’d said in return. “And not nearly as quiet.”

He’d asked you questions about your traditions, explained to you about the dwarven ones, adding, “And if the time comes where Erebor is ours once more, the celebration will be even grander.”

Erebor. His ancestral home deep within the Lonely Mountain, whose throne he stood to inherit was now in the possession of a firedrake from the north known as Smaug the Terrible. Thorin spoke every now and again of returning to the mountain, of taking back what was rightly his, but at the same time, he seemed very content with the home you’d created for the two of you. He worked as a blacksmith to put food on the table and keep the roof over your head and while it wasn't the same as being a king, he did very well just the same. He was an artisan, and people came from all around to commission pieces from him in addition to purchasing the more mundane, everyday tools he forged as well.

As the holiday grew closer, Thorin found himself working longer hours. More often than not, you ate supper alone and were fast asleep by the time he came home. He was up with the sun and gone before you awoke and while you understood, you missed him just the same and looked forward to the time when he’d keep more normal hours.

The kettle whistled to let you know the water boiled and you’d just plucked it carefully from the hook over the fire when there came a knock at the door. You set the kettle down and moved to the kitchen door to open it.

“Good morning, madam, I’ve a missive from the village for you.”

He held out the folded sheet of ivory parchment sealed with a scarlet D, which made you smile. Why the deuce was Thorin sending you a missive when he could just come home and tell you? True, the cozy stone cottage was at the opposite end of the village, but it wasn’t that big of a village to begin with and the trip would take no more than twenty or thirty minutes, tops.

Even so, you thanked the courier and as he strolled off into the snow, you cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment.

“Mesmel,

“Please come down to the village tonight at half-six. I’ve a surprise for you.

Yours,

T”

Mesmel. Jewel of all jewels, he’d explained the first time he’d whispered it to you. Without fail, you smiled every time he spoke it, and did so now seeing it in writing.

And a surprise? He wasn't much one for surprises, or of frivolity of any sort, really. He was stoic and serious and rarely smiled, although he seemed to smile much more often of late, even if it wasn't nearly as often as you’d like.

Your mind boggled all the rest of the afternoon and as the time approached, you grabbed your sensible woolen cloak to draw about your shoulders and hurried out into the swiftly falling snow. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon and the air was crisp and cold, your breath a frosty cloud of silver vapor with each breath, swirling about you as you made your way from the stone cottage at the end of the lane to trek your way into the village proper.

You smiled and bobbed your head at those you passed along the way. Hamelin was an eclectic village of Hamelin, with its mix of dwarves, Men, and even an occasional elf here and there. They all regarded you with suspicion at one time, but lately the smiles seemed more genuine and you didn't get the feeling they whispered about you behind your back nearly as often as they once had.

Thorin’s blacksmithy was at the far end of Stone Street, a large rustic wood-and-stone building from which plumes of smoke rose and the clang of steel meeting iron rang out the way church bells chimed. As you drew near, you not only heard the clanging, but felt it as the vibrations rippled through you with each strike of the hammer. It rose in volume, in a steady rhythm and you could almost picture Thorin there, at the anvil, hammer in his right hand, lifting it high above his head only to bring it down with incredibly force to slowly, steadily, shape the iron he forged into a gleaming blade that would soon be polished to a mirror finish when he was through.

The door to the front of the shop opened with the cheerful tinkle of the bell above it. The clanging stopped, then a deep voice bellowed, “Who goes?”

“Someone sent me a message requesting I stop by.”

“Mesmel.” You heard the smile in his voice as he said that one word. “Wait a moment whilst I clear up this mess.”

“What are you about, Thorin?”

“You will see.”

“Thorin?”

“Trust me, mesmel.”

You sighed softly as you reached to unfasten the frogs at your throat and then whisked your cloak from around your shoulders. It was always so warm in the shop and today was no exception. Various dull scraping sounds and an occasional thud came from the back, each followed by, “Everything is fine, stay where you are.”

“Thorin, this is getting silly.”

“Very well,” he let out a heavy breath, “come back.”

You skirted the front desk, and made your way around toward the rear of the shop, where tools and works in progress were kept along with orders awaiting pickup. Along the rear wall was a hearth large enough for you to stand in, and while it normally had a raging fire crackling away, this one was now far smaller, casting enough light to give everything a soft, ivory glow.

But, instead of the tools of his trade being scattered about, the work area was tidied and you smiled at the small table, and two chairs he’d set up, which explained the scraping and thuds. Upon that table stood an elegant, if somewhat tarnished candelabra holding the stumps of candles, whose dancing flames belied the candles’ rather sorry state.

A bottle of wine and two goblets stood together as well. The goblets didn't match, but you didn't care as you smiled at the sight. Your dwarf was not much one for overly romantic gestures on a regular basis, but when he gave into them, they were memorable, to say the least.

He came out of the back room and you could only stare, a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the sight of him dressed in only his black, rough-hewn trousers and a red Santa cap set at a slight angle atop his head. In the gleam of the firelight, he looked beyond handsome—almost mystical, really—with the glow highlighting the swells of muscle along his shoulders and wrapped down about his arms. His long, curly black hair spilled over those broad shoulders and his smile reached his eyes, softening them to near sapphire.

“Thorin,” you said, draping your cloak over your forearm, “what are you about?”

“I know you miss your world, and your traditions and I know I’ve been running like a madman these last few weeks, but I didn't want you to think I’d forgotten how important those traditions are to you. Merry Christmas, I believe, is what you tell people in your world?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as tears stung your eyes. “Yes,” you managed to whisper, “we say merry Christmas.”

He stepped closer. He was tall for a dwarf and you were short for being of Man, which meant you were both the same height. The same height, but he was far broader across the chest and shoulders, and his legs were far thicker than yours would ever be. He was handsome and utterly perfect in so many ways and without thinking, you lay your hand against his chest, your fingers slipping through the soft, dark hair that curled away from his skin as it stretched from shoulder to shoulder and down over his firm belly.

“Merry Christmas, amrâlimê.” He bent to you, his lips soft, his heavy, black beard shot through with hints of silver prickly against your skin. Those lips met yours, moved slowly against them, parted as the tip of his tongue swept between your lips to tease yours.

You slid the hand on his chest up, around to his nape to pull him closer. Heat from his massive hands sank into you as he wrapped those powerful arms about you and crushed you close. He bent you back, his hands splayed against you—one on your upper back, the other cupped about your lower cheek.

His kiss was slow and teasing and deep and you almost sighed when he broke it and pulled back to press his forehead to yours. “I have a gift for you, mesmel,” he murmured.

“You mean, this isn’t it?”

A low, rumbling purr of a laugh bubbled to his lips. “It is not, no. But, I’m glad you think it could be.”

“You’re hot, Thorin,” you told him as he straightened up and stepped away from you. “You have to know that.”

“Everyone is hot in here,” he replied with a hint of a puzzlement. “Because of the fires.”

You smiled. Almost a year together and you still had to explain certain expressions to him. “Yes, that’s true, but you are hotter than anyone else in this room at any given time.”

A hint of color rose along his cheekbones, above the line of that thick beard. “I thank you for the compliment.”

As he spoke, he moved toward the workbench along the far wall. “I know I’ve been going like a madman lately, and you’ve spent far more time alone than you bargained for.”

“I understand. You’re in demand and rightfully so.” You looked about at the wall to your left, where there hung blades and axes of varying sizes and embellishments, from a simple, plain sword to those with finely etched and ornate handles encrusted with gemstones set in precious metals. “You’ve got a gift, you know. You’re more an artist than a tradesman.”

He looked up, his forehead furrowed beneath the brilliant white fur rim of his Santa cap. “They are not mutually exclusive, you know.”

“No, I didn't mean it that way. I just—you have a gift and it shows through in every piece you forge.”

His forehead smoothed, to your relief, and he bobbed his head. “Thank you. Dwarves take great pride in their trades, you know.”

“I do, indeed.”

He moved a few things about on the bench, muttering to himself in a language of which you only knew and understood snippets. Then, he snapped his fingers. “Aha! There it is.” He peered at you over one shoulder. “It’s so small, I thought I’d lost it.”

With that, he plucked up a small wood box and with his free hand, gestured to the table. “Sit, mesmel, and close your eyes.”

You did as he said, and as you sank into the straight-backed chair, couldn't keep from asking, “What are you about Mr. Durin?”

“You shall see. Keep your eyes closed.”

You knew he’d neared by the way the air stirred before you, carrying on it hints of steel, iron, leather, smoke, and man. Thorin’s scent. You would know it anywhere. Your heartbeat sped up for reasons you couldn't quite grasp. Butterflies fluttered in your belly and you didn't know why.

“Open your eyes, amrâlimê,” came his tender whisper.

You did and you understood at once why your heart and stomach went wild. Thorin was before you, on one knee, and in his huge palm sat the small teak box. And within that small teak box, on a bed of rich black velvet, was the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. It was simple and elegant, understated to the extreme—a simple square-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds that were pure white and dazzling.

“I know you miss your people,” he began, his voice low and growly, “and you miss your family but I was hoping that perhaps you and I might start a family of our own to make up for what you’ve lost. So, I was rather hoping you would say yes, should I ask you to marry me.”

“Thorin…”

He lifted the ring from its velvet cushion, the sapphire sparkling and throwing off flashes of light in all directions as it glittered in the firelight, and gently eased it onto your finger, saying, “Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t speak at first. Your throat squeezed too tight and your mouth was so very dry. Your hand shook and as you met his beautiful blue eyes, your own stung even as you nodded and managed to croak, “Yes.”

His eyes softened. His smile grew wider than any you’d seen in the entire time you’d been in his company and as you eased from your chair to sink to your knees before him, you slid your arms about his neck, and then you whispered back, “There is nothing to make up for, though, Thorin. What I’ve gained in return it far greater than anything I left behind and there is nowhere I would rather be than right here, right now, with you, my half-naked dwarven Santa Claus.”

He grinned, reaching up to sweep the cap from his head. “I forgot I wore it.”

“You wear it well, Mr. Durin,” you murmured as he gently pressed you down into the warm, if slightly warped, floorboards.

He hovered above you, eyes glittering in the firelight, and a moment later, the only sound was the soft crackle of the flames and your low sigh of utter pleasure.

***

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