#the hobbit broke my soul

[caspianofcamelot]

Bilbo my love<3 also someone help me not hate my art lmao

#lord of the rings #thorin x bilbo #bilbo my beloved #bilbo baggins #male art #art #my art blog #thorin durin #thorins company #the hobbit bilbo #bilbo and frodo #the hobbit #hobbit #middle earth #myart #portraitart #portrait #martin freeman #the hobbit broke my soul

[thatfanficstuff]

Color My World - Haldir (LOTR)

Pairing: Haldir x soulmate!reader

warnings: nothing beyond canon

The forest of Lothlorien loomed before a weary band of travelers, known to some as the Fellowship. Their steps were heavy with exhaustion, a mantle of grief weighing them down. Their companion, the wizard Gandalf, had fallen mere hours before. But they didn’t have time to stop, to allow their hearts a moment to heal. The orcs would come and the group needed to be safely within the depths of the forest before they did.

You walked beside Frodo in the middle of the group, your eyes darting between taking in the beauty around you and keeping an eye on your companions. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above you, bathing the world in golden rays. Even the bark of the trees glittered faintly with hints of gold. You could only imagine how stunning it would be if you had already met your soulmate. All the muted, faded colors you saw would be bright and vivid. You never wished for it more than at moments like this.

“Can you feel the trees watching us?” Frodo’s voice, barely above a murmur, broke the fragile silence.

You placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There have been eyes on us since we stepped foot in the forest, little hobbit.”

He looked up in surprise and you squeezed gently as you gave him a soft smile. “No worries. All be fine.”

“Thank you for being here,” he said, his tone hovering between gratitude and fear.

“We all have our purposes in this life, Frodo Baggins. Mine is make sure you complete yours.”

As you continued, you ignored Gimli’s talk of elven sorceresses and enchantments. You were too focused on the force gathering along the edges of your senses. The elves had sent a welcoming party. Of a sort.

Suddenly and almost silently, the Fellowship was surrounded. Elves with arrows drawn in you and your companions faces. With an arched brow you stepped in front of Frodo and pushed the arrow aside that was nearly brushing your nose. Ridiculous. Arrows did much more damage if they had a little room to move.

“The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark,” a rich voice said as the most beautiful man you’d ever seen addressed Aragorn. The elf observed your group, taking each of you in. When his gaze met your own, he lingered ever so slightly before turning back to the king. “Why do you enter the woods of the Lady of Light?”

The quiet words stoked something deep inside you, a yearning that had followed you your whole life. A cascade of vibrant color burst forth with the marchwarden at its center. Greens deepened into a multitude of shades. The golden undertones of the trees shimmered with new life.

As he and Aragorn spoke, every syllable from his lips only brought more beauty to your world. And every word bound your soul more tightly to his. You wove your fingers together, a poor effort at self-restraint as you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze from his profile. You’d heard so many stories of this elf and now, seeing him in person, he was everything you could ever desire in a mate. And he was far too important for someone like you. Finally, you tore your eyes away as he turned to lead the Fellowship deeper into the trees.

You weren’t certain how far you walked or how many stairs you climbed before you were greeted by the ethereal presence of Celeborn and Galadriel. You half listened to the conversation about the fate of your wizard as your attention kept flicking over to Haldir who stood to the side looking straight ahead. It felt odd that you were so connected to him and he didn’t even know you existed. That he knew nothing of your bond. It was for the best, you knew that, but it didn’t make your heart hurt any less.

Feeling eyes on you, you turned your head to find Galadriel looking at you though she spoke to the Fellowship as a whole. You bit back a gasp as you heard her lyrical voice in your head. “Within these woods, bonds deeper than the roots of the mallorn trees are forged. You have felt the stirring of such a bond, child of the outside world. Your connection with Haldir is stronger than you know. An intertwining of souls, a sharing of strengths. Together, you harbor magic that will aid you on your quest.”

“Magic?” you thought back.

Rather than answering, the corner of her lips curled into a knowing smile and she gave you a small nod. “When you need it the most, it will be there,” she said aloud. Your companions frowned in confusion but you ignored their questions as Haldir showed all of you to where you would be spending the evening.  

You managed to leave the elves without Haldir finding out who you were to him. Your friends found it odd that you refused to speak louder than a whisper until you were well on your way down the river but you simply waved off their questions. It was better this way. No matter how utterly alone you suddenly felt.

Days turned into weeks. Frodo and Sam had gone off on their own. Boromir had fallen. Gandalf had returned. And now you stood with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli at Helm’s Deep alongside an army made up mostly of old men and boys. Hope was fleeting that most of you would make it through the night. Gandalf had told you to look for him at the dawn but that was many hours away.

You stood on the wall watching a storm roll in while the others prepared themselves for battle. You’d taken care of that hours ago. A horn blasting drew your attention. Elven archers marched toward the keep. You grinned, feeling hope for the first time in days. The smile fell as you saw who was leading them. Haldir. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It was too dangerous. He was supposed to be safe in Lothlorien.

You watched Aragorn greet him, Legolas by his side. Haldir glanced up when they finished, his gaze finding yours. He studied your face for a moment before nodding a greeting. You nodded in return then slipped away into the crowd, making sure the rabble were as prepared as possible for the coming attack.

While Aragorn moved through the ranks of elves on the wall, you stood with Legolas and Gimli. The hordes of orcs and Uruk-hai approached, banging weapons on the ground as they came. You rested a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder trying to calm him as he bounced around. “Steady on,” you told him as you prepared your bow.

And then they came in a flood of anger and teeth. Chaos reigned around you as you slashed and dodged. Rain fell in heavy drops as lightning flashed in the sky and thunder roared. You focused solely on the opponents around you until King Theoden called for a retreat to the inner walls. Aragorn grabbed your arm and pulled you along as he yelled for the men to fall back. When he turned and yelled Haldir’s name, you turned with him.

Haldir acknowledged the order a breath before he was surrounded by iron and hate. A blade stabbed toward him even as he cut the wielder down.

Heat surged through your veins as fear swamped you. You unleashed your fury with a cry torn from the very depths of your soul. The world seemed to slow as a shimmering shield surrounded your soulmate, deflecting the blade that would have run him through. His eyes found yours, wide with astonishment.

You ignored Aragorn calling your name as newfound strength flowed through you. You weaved through the melee, each step bringing you closer to Haldir’s side. Finally, you reached him and helped dispatch the orcs that swarmed him. When there was an opening for you to move, you grabbed the breastplate of his armor and pulled him toward the stairs. “Move, Marchwarden.”

The battle was over after a last minute save from the Rohirrim and the Ents. As soon as you had a moment to breathe a breath you weren’t convinced would be your last, Haldir grabbed your hand and pulled you to the side where you could have some semblance of privacy.

His hands cradled your face as his thumbs traced your cheeks. He looked you over with wonder.

“Why did you say nothing when first we met?” he asked. “Why keep your connection to me hidden?”

You grasped his wrists in your hands. “If the bond was complete, formed on both sides, what would happen to you if I died on this quest?”

The silence stretched as he studied you. “A partial truth at best, hiril vuin.” (my lady)

You sighed and looked away from him, unable to meet his eye as you confessed. “I did not wish to be a burden upon you. I feared the revelation would be a disappointment.”

He ran his thumbs along your skin again to bring your attention back to him. “You are the furthest cry from a disappointment. Your courage, your strength, your heart…they are gifts more precious than the rarest jewels of my people.”

You searched for any signs of deception from him. Finding none, a smile crossed your face. He mirrored it before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. It took only a moment before you returned the gesture with equal fervor.

For a moment, you could forget about your quest.  Forget about the death that surrounded you. Because here in the midst of so many endings, was your beginning and you intended to hold onto it with all of your heart.

#haldir x reader #haldir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #haldir x soulmate #lotr soulmate au #soulmate au

[itsonlydana]

Find a cure for my heart | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

On the eve of the battle, you and Thranduil spent a night that spurred a flurry of letters while Dale grew as a city and you both grew too, first apart, then closer again. However, you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the truth that your health was deteriorating with each passing day.

warnings/tags: sickness, angst, mentions of death (reader is actively dying but only realizes after Thranduil helps) hurt/comfort, happy end

words: 5,6k

an: finally finished this fic after working on it since January. If you are interested in being tagged when I post new fics– comment that under this post or send it to me in my inbox!

+ masterlist + rules

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Contrary to general belief, the elves did not return to their forests immediately after the battle.

In the stories told, there would be remarks, on how the Elvenking offered his help to the yet-to-be-crowned King Bard once more, bringing aid with however warriors he had left for disposal to search the endless chaos and ruins of Dale for survivors until many sunsets later.

They would speak about the sorrow of losing friends and family and neighbors to a war that had been won at costs no one could comprehend yet, and they would mention how the great Elvenking guided them through the darkest of nights for he had experienced this all before; the grief, the helplessness and the colossal question of What now, who's to say we haven't lost ourselves as well as those we have to bury?

Many had their own experience with the Elvenking, whether it was a hand pulling them off the ground, a loaf of bread delivered to them after days of fighting, or a warm blanket to huddle under to finally lay their body to rest under the watchful eye of Elves that had sworn to protect them.

You had your own story. A different one.

But it wasn't one with the Elvenking, no; the night before the battle, where the air was filled with the sound of blades being sharpened and children crying for their parents, you had met Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves but most importantly: a set of strong arms that caught you as you stumbled out of Bard's tent.

You needed to run away from the discussions over how to draw the dwarfs out of the mountain.

You'd been a friend to Bard for many long years but standing in that luscious tent, being offered wine as the Wizard, Bard, and the Hobbit pondered over what was about to happen while you weren't sure your mind caught up on what had happened already, there was no room for friendship inside your panic-riddled chest.

Just as you flung open the tent flaps and tried to dash away to get some air, your foot caught on a root, and had it not been for Thranduil's fast reflexes, you surely would've planted your face into the dirt and mud.

Up until now, you had no idea what had transcended between the two of you at the moment where his arms held you up, his softening face looking down at your widened eyes filled with tears and your tongue too tied up and heavy to say anything other than: "Air– please"

Whatever it had been, likely an unspoken wish – by Thranduil or you, or maybe you both; it didn't matter – for someone who would not pass judgment over the urge to disappear from your skin and role and crown for one night, a fallen star flung across the darkened skies at the right time.

It felt as though Thranduil had pulled a sheet over your heads; your world narrowed down to this other soul and how beautiful and divine his body felt on yours as you found a way to survive the night before life as you knew it turned once more and the solid ground beneath your feet shifted and broke.

A few nights, while unforgettable and brooding with feelings neither of you admitted to, did not change that you had to move on somehow.

Although the Elves did not depart for Mirkwood immediately and Thranduil and you were given time in the aftermath to find the other in the cover of the night and under the pretense this was nothing more than mere distraction, a wishing star could only do so much shining before dimming out.

The day you awoke to a sunrise bathing the debris of Dale in a pinkish and warm light, pillars being rebuilt dipped into molten gold, and the cracks glued together, Thranduil's strong arms were wrapped around your middle as if he wanted to hinder you from sneaking away, you knew it was him who would leave you before the day was over.

And so he did.

Sunrise came and went and soon enough all the tents were packed up on horseback and wagons, leaving flattened grass as the only reminder they had been there at all if and there were goodbyes, political between Bard and the Elvenking who parted from the weary man and his children with the promise of support, and between you and Thranduil in the form of a slow nod.

Thranduil sat high on a dark stallion, dressed in silver and long robes that hid fingerprints that spoke of an attempt to cling to transience. His chin lowered, though his eyes were fixed on you.

You knew that nod carried the conversation you had whispered into the morning mist.

And it was all that wasn't said that motivated you to step away first and turn your back on the caravan that took away a King and a Lover.

There was much to do, the looming task of building up Dale needed everyone's full attention, and that included you.

Especially you.

There were houses to plan, accommodations to be made so that no one needed to sleep under the stars.

No one could ever pry the reason why you were keen on getting a roof under everyone out of your hands; a lonely part of you wanted the stars to remember you and Thranduil lying in the grass. And no one else.

The first letter arrived a few weeks after you hadn't had the heart to watch him go and threw yourself into one task after the other, dismissing even the smallest hint of sickness, like the heaviness inside your chest every time you lifted something heavy, or tiredness crashing down onto you in moments to catch your breath, to continue working, that you wouldn't find a moment to admit how much you missed him.

That utterly ridiculous mindset stopped as soon as the messenger Elf rode into the city and hand-delivered you the first of many envelopes with the nearly indecipherable handwriting of Thranduil.

Or the Elvenking.

Because the first letter, despite being addressed to you as well as Bard, who wouldn't have been able to read it in the first place, was a list of things the King would send and a question of what else was needed that he could provide.

"It's fine," you said to Bard through a smile that didn't reach your eyes as you read aloud the letter twice, from the greeting to the last paragraph that was signed 'the Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion, Lord of Mirkwood and friend of Dale'.

In the flickering light of the candle dripping wax onto the table between you, the dark circles under Bard's eyes were all the more prominent than when he was running around the city and there was a bottomless pit in your stomach that wouldn't want to add to the many things he was already worrying about.

"It's totally fine," you said to Bard when he asked if you had skipped over a private note from Thranduil or if there truly wasn't one (there wasn't, you had turned the letter over and over in your hands until the edges became soft and wrinkled) and you both knew that to be a lie.

You answered the letter in the same professional manner because even though you wanted to, you couldn't send a letter to a King helping however he could and expecting nothing in return with a smeared "I wish for your heart and our nights and for your voice to tell me we are alright" written under tears in another sleepless night.

The next few letters follow the same pattern, Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion would inquire if there was anything Dale needed and answer Bard's question on leadership and share his knowledge of what was fundamental for a new King, and you would write for Bard on the other side.

The weeks passed and so did the hope of rekindling that fire you had thought to burn in the both of you.

That Thranduil didn't see the need to reach out was a punch to the gut that left little room for anything else but disappointment of putting your effort into pulling on a rope that wasn't attached to something on the other end.

Why waste the dwindling energy of your exhausted body on someone who would live longer than the memory of you?

Every time a new letter arrived by messenger you would find Bard until one late evening you opened the letter by yourself and saw your name written in that beautiful sharp handwriting, not Bard's added in front or behind; only your given name and not your title.

Your hands shook as you stood in the frame of what was to be your house and the ink glued together the cracks of your heart.

'Forgive me for not writing to you sooner and for how sentimental I must sound. It has been weeks since I last saw you and every time I wander through my familiar halls, I find there is no soul around that could understand me how you did, whom I could tell what plagues my mind. The time we spent together has not left my thoughts. Neither has the promise to not grow apart too much and I apologize for not contributing to that. Now, if you would still have me, I would like nothing more than to hear how you are faring. As for me…'

Nothing had the power to stop you from running off that giddy feeling that spread through your chest as Thranduil, finally Thranduil, wrote about the happenings in Mirkwood; not even the cough that sat deep where suppressed laughter spilled into the grass you fell into– the letter clutched into your hands.

Thranduil and you fell into a routine then, one that was no obstruction for the many tasks at hand but made room for each other to hold on to the promise.

You would send out two letters, one on behalf of Bard whom you taught his signature as well as a few more words every fortnight you sat down together, and one addressed to Thranduil, filled with all the thoughts that ran through your mind that you wanted to tell him.

It was by no means as precious as the talks you had now many weeks ago, not when there were days you had to wait for a response instead of seconds.

You appreciated them all the same, every bit of himself that Thranduil wrote into his messages was countered with a confession of your own.

When he said he wished to know where his son had disappeared to or rather if he followed the direction Thranduil had given to him, you admitted to the nightmares that still plagued your mind, the dreams of fire and a monster that still rested in the lake.

You offered piece after piece, chipped bits of your heart into every letter that you sent away, and after a few weeks had passed, and Dale was taking shape with its houses raking their roofs to the sky and its people planting seeds and flowers, rooting themselves into what now was theirs, there was not much left of your heart that was completely yours and not Thranduil's and the letters of his proved that the same could be said about him.

What you did not mention, not with one drop of ink, was that the nightmares were no longer confined to the few hours of sleep you fell into.

There was a dragon, not just in the cold lake where your old home lay in ashes and was drowned in the ruthless darkness, but by the heavy weight on your chest, it felt like there was one inside you as well.

You were coughing as if there was smoke blocking your lungs, blackening out what little air you heaved for when a coughing fit took over your whole body.

It started small, a cough then, a sleepless night there; both accumulated to an uncountable amount and it got only worse as the season changed and the autumn winds lost their last warm touches and the trees bared their wooden arms.

You waved it off as a common cold, nothing that would hinder you from your tasks to becoming a liability the city didn't need in its time of growth.

Then, the coughing got worse, rougher, sometimes taking your voice for a moment until you found some water although that only helped for a small moment, like trying to extinct a burning building with just the water your bare hands could carry.

The worst part was the blood that stained the cloths, the sweats that not only held you awake at night but weakened you at day as well.

"I'm better!" you promised Bard on a night when he had to sit next to your bed, wringing out the cold cloths that lay on your fevered forehead.

His voice was a low whisper when he dabbed away the sweat, pushing your wet hair back with hands that were far too gentle for what you deserved for rotting in bed and not pulling your weight, "You're not, an' that's clear for everyone but you. Did you tell him?"

"Yes," you lied through your teeth, eyelids dropping close from exhaustion but you knew sleep wouldn't come, "he said it would pass, nothing to worry 'bout."

Three days later you were on your legs again, if not a bit shaky and needing more breaks than ever.

You sat in Bard's kitchen, a warm bowl of soup in front of you that tasted like ash and firewood, and ignored the silent pleading in his eyes to tell him what was going on and why you could barely lift the spoon of a soup that you clearly did not enjoy.

Winter wore your body down like rough sandpaper on soft oak, the cold winds and dark hours an enemy far worse than what you had to encounter on the battlefield. This had no logical explanation, nor was there an enemy you could see.

Your own body betrayed you and you had no idea what you had done to deserve it.

You knew that somewhere was a solution to it all, that was the string of hope leading you through the snow outside and the fire in your blood and bones, singing down what little fight was left on the days when the sun pushed away gray clouds and you felt normal and healthy.

The sole reason why you lied in letters filled with otherwise honesty as pure as heaven's snowflakes was that you did not want to be a bother.

Thranduil wrote how much of his time the dwarfs and their trading demands swallowed; he did not need another burden and you would be damned if he came because you had a small cold you couldn't get rid of.

You had promised Thranduil to visit him in spring when the soil was rich enough for the seed to take and the livestock could roam the meadows. If you weren't better by then you would ask him.

Until then work demanded all of you. Even if that was through a white knuckle grip on the last bits of health in aching bones.

⸺

Spring brought forth daffodils pushing through the cobblestone streets. Tilda, the youngest Bardling and a wonderful distraction on the days when getting out of bed was the hardest bounced excitedly beside you and pointed at the flowers.

"Like stubborn trumpets proclaiming winter is finally over!" she said as you followed her outside. "Spring is finally here!"

You disregarded the pain echoing through your body, the weight of guilt forcing you to spend the day with the girl.

She had been knocking on your door every morning, angelic eyes asking if you wanted to come and play with the lambs that she had taken too and this morning, you couldn't disappoint her.

"Aren't they just so pretty?" Tilda crouched down, gently cupping one of the blossoms in her small hands.

Lowering your gaze from the burning brightness of the sun you got a short glimpse at the yellow dots decorating your doorstep.

Then, suddenly, black spots appeared on the edge of your vision, taking you by surprise though they have been your companion for the better part of the last few days.

"Tilda–"

You tried to hold on to your doorframe, bruised hands frantically searching for a grip on the warm wood but they slipped and caught only the edge.

The last thought that crossed your mind was that you should bring Thranduil some of those flowers before you blinked and crumbled to the ground.

⸺

You woke up to the confusing taste of grass on your heavy tongue and the dizzying realization that you were not spread out on the street but tugged inside your bed.

Above you, moonlight fell through the opened window in the slanted roof above your head and you immediately closed your eyes again.

This had to be a dream.

Though your dreams had not been like this in a long time.

Peaceful. Comfortably warm. Silent except for the croaking of toads, the buzzing of insects outside, and the laughter and clattering of your neighbors probably enjoying the night more than you.

A groan passed your lips as you tried to sit up; a seemingly impossible task with the heaviness of your bones as well as the mountain of blankets that covered you.

"What do you think you are doing?" a voice you knew all too well sneered.

For a second you thought it to be a hallucination, a projection or your dazed mind still lulled in the fog of unconsciousness.

The bones in your neck cracked as your head snapped to the other side. There was no way you did not imagine the tall figure that should be across the woods in his palace; not in your bedroom.

"What are you doing here?"

"Merely strolling through the neighborhood," Thranduil's voice dripped with sarcasm, yet a subtle tension marked his stance beside the bed. "Now, enlighten me. Did you conveniently forget to mention this sickness in your letters?"

Ah, straight to the point.

"It's trivial," you waved it off, attempting to assert yourself by sitting up.

Naturally, consciousness promptly slipped away once more.

This time you were not that surprised by the sharp taste of grass on your lips when you came to your senses once more, pushed back into the pillows that had never felt this stuffed. You were still unable to move your leg more than from one side to the other under the blankets and Thranduil was still there, glaring at you through dark furrowed brows and hardened eyes.

You wanted to say something to break the heavy silence but all that passed your lips was a giggle that was more desperate and closer to insane than amusement.

One brow lifted. "Oh, how glad I am you are entertained by this," said Thranduil. He was as rigid in a frightening calm way but all of that was overshadowed by the cloud of confusion that muddled your thoughts.

"Noo," you drew out the word and continued giggling. This had to be insanity. "You jus' look very out of place here – wait. Turn around? I need to make sure you're really here."

He didn't fit into the cramped space of your house, his fine clothing stood out against the poor backdrop of crooked furniture, used towels hanging over stools, and the small layer of dust that covered the areas you hadn't been able to clean in a while; which was most of the bedroom and you didn't dare think about the state of the kitchen.

Where he deserved a throne out of gold you could only offer the chair next to your bed, the one that was crooked and leaned heavily to one side.

That being said, nothing took away the sheer amount of power he radiated.

It easily filled every nook and cranny or tight corner of your humble house, his voice as well as the image of Thranduil, King of the Elves, towering over your bed in long robes and bathed in the light of the night sky, glittering silver like the moon knew the importance of the Elf in front of you.

Thranduil remained stoically still. "I will definitely not do that," he said. "I am here. Where I should have been a while ago."

The accusation would have hit harder if you weren't drugged up on whatever medicine he had apparently fed you while you were out cold.

You shrugged your shoulders as well as you could with your arms bundled under the blankets. "I saw no reason, it was just a cold. Nothing I couldn't manage."

Well, you hadn't managed to handle it, that was the worst realization of the whole lie.

"Clearly," Thranduil said sarcastically and ground his teeth against each other. His arms were behind his stiff back and the way he tilted his head down to you made you feel like a child being admonished for bad behavior. "Do you know how much despair I felt when Bard's letter arrived this morning?" His voice was even but there was a resonance in it – a deep rumble akin to the ominous approach of distant thunderstorms over the sea. "Nearly indecipherable scrambles where he begged me to come; telling me that you have been asleep for two whole days?"

A crack in the form of a small tremor broke through the mask of the all-mighty Elvenking.

"This morning?" you asked, caught up by the first part and ignorant of everything that followed after, and you huffed while running the calculations through your head. "Thranduil, this can not be, the journey is not manageable in one day."

"Is this truly the point you consider most important?" He closed his eyes as a pained expression passed over his face. "You deem it impossible, yet I assure you, nothing could have hindered my arrival here; the boundaries of possibility, for once, were not a barrier but an aid. It reveals your scant regard for your circumstance if your worry fixates on my journey through the land. Not on the sickness that nearly stole you from this world. Two days –" Thranduil took a deep breath, "two whole days where those around you had no idea if you would ever awake again."

"But –"

"No, you can speak when I am finished," he commanded sharply. "You were reckless. Ignorant of your health as if your life was not precious." Thranduil spat the words out cold yet they burned. He was blind to the way you flinched and lowered your burning eyes to the blankets.

You shrunk deeper into the pillows, a hollow ache inside your chest that had felt empty from the pain ever since you awoke the first time.

"But –" you repeated helplessly. This time, he allowed you to continue and you did so in a whisper: "I didn't want to be an inconvenience."

"An inconvenience?" he sneered back at you, the flickering lights of a few burned-down candles casting shadows over the creases of anger edged into alabaster skin.

He took a step toward the bed and you saw a twitch in his lips that had you blanching.

The fury brooding inside him was not new, you had seen it on the battlefield before. In ice-cold cuts of his sword as he flawlessly executed the most brutal movements while his face resembled a mask of the most dangerous kind of rage – stillness.

Now, there remained little of that stillness.

"You were a greater inconvenience by nearly throwing away your precious mortal life, all because of your unfathomable stubbornness!"

"There was lots to do!" you snapped back. Shortly but surely, you were fed up with his anger and the insults he was throwing at you. "This town was suffering far more than me and don't you dare tell me I'm wrong," you had to bury your teeth into your lower lip to stop it from shaking. "Dale needed me!"

The pale skin was flushed red around his heaving chest and delicate ears. "And I do not?" Thranduil road and his voice boomed through your little bedroom loud enough for the cicadas outside to fall silent.

Immediately, your eyes watered. You felt trapped under his gaze, engulfed in pure heat hotter than any dragon fire.

You searched for a response inside you but found none.

All there was was chaos – the loud beating of your heart against your chest like iron being beaten and shaped though all that was formed was pain sharp like a sword edge; cutting through the layers of protection you had wrapped around your heart.

Thranduil slightly lifted his nose, staring down at you through thick eyebrows and a clenched jawline. "You were dying," he said and his nostrils quivered. "I can not fathom how you through that would not have been a greater inconvenience.

His expressions made up in sound for the lowered voice he'd used to speak about what you previously refused to acknowledge.

Never before had you seen him this out of control of his emotions, not even on the nights he had bedded you where he still had a hold on himself.

The way he stood before you, dressed in fine robes not fit for riding, the hem of them stained by dirt, his boots muddy, and his face full of anguish, it was as if he could have been kneeling at your feet.

You ignored the tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was indeed, and far beyond that."

The tears made it impossible for you to continue looking at him and your head dropped down as a sob broke through you. "I didn't know," you panicked, "It didn't happen fast so… so I thought it'd pass but – and then it got worse and worse and I was so afraid to speak to anyone about it." The words tumbled into your lap, where, under the blankets, your hands were balled to fists now that the strength to do so had returned to your body, "I – I couldn't," the night air stung as your breaths turned into gasps, "They – Bard was exhausted and –"

Thranduil's face softened ever so slightly, pushing away the furious frown. "You are too pure for this world," he said quietly and – dealing a fatal blow to your ever-fragile heart – slowly went down on one knee next to the bed until you were eye to eye and his cold long fingers could gently caress your wet cheek.

He stopped, most of his fingers covered in the glistening tears he'd freed you from and his thumb rested on the plushness of your lower lip. "The world would have lost its sunshine had you perished," his robes rustled as he drew closer, silver hair falling onto the blankets like stars flying across the skies, "You must promise me to be more careful or darkness shall be my companion from that day on."

How could you do anything else but break into tears once more?

They flooded your face too fast for Thranduil to catch them with his hand and he did what seemed more reasonable yet utterly out of character: he rose to push away some of the blankets and sat down on the mattress.

While his face showed some revelation of his thoughts at the meek bed of hay that surprised him, he said nothing except for a lowered: "Hush now, shh." while his arms found your shaking body and pulled you into his side.

He cradled you until there were no more tears to cry, until your cheeks hurt and your lashes clung together awfully damp, and then some more, his hands on your back, cooling down the firing heat that spread through you and the other in your hair. With tenderness, he massaged his fingertips into the areas where your head throbbed uncomfortably.

You cried for all the nights where you had suffered, drawing closer to a death you hadn't seen coming.

You cried out of relief that this was finally over, that you could breathe and inhale only the rich scents of Thranduil instead of smoke.

You sobbed uncontrollably long into the night, not caring one bit that by the time the wailing grew quiet and exhaustion rendered you weak enough to fall into his chest even more, Thranduils robes needed to be padded dry.

"Thranduil?" you asked and burrowed your nose into a spot of fabric that wasn't salty. "Can you tell me what was happening to me?"

He didn't start directly. Thranduil waited, his heart stuttering for a second that made you marvel that the muscle was affected by you at all despite the many proofs he had laid to your feet.

Were it not for the pounding headache you fostered and tried to push away by shutting away all the lights and leaving your eyes closed, you would have looked at his face to check for those minuscule expressions he only showed to you.

"At first I could not figure it out," Thranduil admitted at last and his previously stilled hand continuing the circular movements against your scalp, gathering hair between his fingers, "and that frightened me more than anything else. There was not a scratch or a wound, nothing that explained why you were hardly–" he flinched and his other hand held your waist tighter, "hardly breathing. Bard was the one who explained how much you fought against this illness all winter, ever since autumn to be precise. He spoke of the meals you denied, the coughing and shaking, the blood-soaked cloths, and how.. how you rarely slept and if you did, he told me he heard your whimpers and sobs whenever he passed your door."

"He noticed it all?"

"He loves you," Thranduil said, "He loves you just as much as his offspring."

You shut your eyes even closer, turning your head more into his chest as another layer of protection against the feeling of pain that flinched over your face like a stone skipping on water, leaving ripples of agony at the memory of the many times Bard had pleaded you to talk to him. "I never wanted him to hurt at my expense."

"He is aware you thought it to be better this way," Thranduil lovingly stroked your hair – and it was love, soft and beautiful like the elf who abandoned his kingdom to race to save you – "To go against his word to you declares him a strong man and leader, Dale will flourish under his guide and your gentle hand will provide your people all they will ever need."

"So what was it?" you asked the question eating away at you, "This sickness?"

Thranduil's fingers twirled a lock of hair as he hummed lowly, "The beast in the lake is at fault," he said, "and its body infesting the in any case dirty water that you used to still your thirst."

You lifted your head at that, staring up at Thranduil whose gaze was already on you. "The dragon?" you repeated perplexed, "I got sick because of that damned dragon?"

Thranduil nodded, "I sent out the order to have its carcass removed this instant, so no one else has to suffer this fate."

You drew your eyebrows together, the hard crease between them immediately found by Thranduil for him to smooth the frown away with his thumb and a soft click of his tongue.

"So I was the only one?" The conclusion was confirmed by another nod that sent you down another spiral of confusing thoughts and loose threats of a riddle that made no sense to you.

"A mystery," Thranduil said as if he could read your thoughts, "There is no explanation as to why you solely were affected and quite intense at that. I was glad to have brought Asëa aranion with me – although you required more than a handful until your heart finally calmed."

In a moment of contemplating silence, you barely managed to stifle a yawn.

Now that your body seemed to be fine again, all your muscles yearned for the sleep that had evaded you for the longest time.

Thranduil's pleasantly warm body around you lulled you into a state of calmness, his body heat and the memories of his touch you replaced with the feeling of his strong chest in your back, and his hands threading hair through his fingers.

He was curled up in your bed, in your home, not some tent under the stars though you could see them if you looked up and through the window.

As you did so, your eyes didn't travel further than Thranduil and the watchful look on his face.

"You're as beautiful as the day you left," you remarked in a whisper like a slip of your tongue but you meant every word.

While your body ached and wore new scars his hands and mouth hadn't explored yet, he could've been away for a day or less.

You lifted a hand to stroke over his left cheek, over the faint scarred muscles that you knew by whispers hid what he deemed hideous.

Thranduil caught your hand before it reached his cheekbones and his lips pressed a light kiss against the calluses, the signs of hours of work.

"Rest, meleth nîn, you need it."

There was no denying that the elvish words had meant something important, that was clear by the way his tongue had wrapped around the words and breathed them out like a kiss but his lowered lashes and downturned lips hindered you from asking what he had said.

This was not the time to question what was probably just for him.

Later, when you were not falling into the depths of sleep cuddled against Thranduil's chest, when you would step outside your house with his looming presence in your back ready to help you with every foot you set on the grounds, there would be stories awaiting you.

Stories of the Elvenking storming into the city on horseback and all alone, the wind seemingly carrying him faster than possible and the fury and worry on his face lowered all citizens to the grounds as he yelled for their King.

They would speak about the way he nearly broke down Bard's door and how he carried your unconscious body in his arms to your house, demanding for the crowd to make themselves rare before he had them all seized and locked into his halls for obstructing his path; and even though he had no authority, Bard was close on his heels and no one dared to object.

You would hear about the day he sat by your side, caring for you and barking out orders for more water, not the one from the lake but from the springs, and how Bard and his children were the only ones allowed to visit – explaining the yellow flowers that took up every single glass your house had to offer.

Thranduil would tell you the meaning of the words he had said that first night he had spent in your bed, fully awake and watching your sleeping form in his lap until the birds woke you up in the morning; and he would say these words on all the nights that followed.

With him in Dale, or you in Mirkwood – never apart from then on.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #king thranduil #king of mirkwood #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction

[undreaming-fanfiction]

No Such Thing As Stupid Question

This one is for you, Anna! @unclewaynemunson! Congratulations on your academic progress, I'm so proud of you!

Also on Ao3 for your convenience :)

As someone who showed as little interest in romance as possible, Wayne Munson didn't really expect to be come a parental figure. Maybe he'd get a dog when he retired, some older mutt from a shelter, and they'd sit in front of the trailer in quiet company, perhaps a bark here and there as Wayne sipped his beer. Wayne could imagine that. But a kid, never.

But of course, life had a peculiar sense of humor and his younger brother hit a new low - sadly admirable, given that he was already at the very bottom, but someone brought a shovel with him. Grand theft auto, petty crimes all over, domestic disputes (to put it mildly)...Wayne breathed a sigh of relief when he found out he got locked up before he escalated even further. He didn't want to believe Danny had it in him to seriously hurt someone, but given the right or wrong circumstances, he couldn't guarantee there wouldn't be a casualty like a random witness, someone trying to protect their property...yeah, Danny was definitely better off where he ended up.

As for his son Eddie...Wayne couldn't guarantee the same, even though he vowed to try his damn hardest.

Eddie was a scrawny kid with an ugly buzz cut and dark eyes so large he seemed afraid of anything and everything. When Wayne met with the social worker and they talked over coffee, Wayne couldn't help but notice how Eddie grasped his milkshake, as if someone would take it from him the very next second. His twitchy fingers wrapped around the glass in a vice-like grip and even though Wayne was convinced he was listening to every word said, he kept stubbornly staring into the drink, refusing to meet anyone's eye. And even though the kid was barely in middle school, Wayne found the rigid focus all too familiar, painfully so. It was the first time he found himself truly and purely hating Danny, feeling a burning coal in his chest at what his so-called upbringing did to this boy.

In the end, Eddie was sent to live with him, only a bag with clothes too big, a few trinkets and a single book, worn from constant reading. The Hobbit.

The first day, the now joint Munson household was quiet. Eddie was chewing on an improvised pasta Wayne had made - on his own, thank you for asking, with all three ingredients - and looking anywhere but at his uncle. And Wayne was a quiet man himself so sure, they could stay in silence until Eddie graduated and moved somewhere else, but there was a part of Wayne that didn't want this for Eddie. He wanted at least one Munson to turn out alright.

"Hope it's edible. I...don't cook much," he tried, swallowing a lump of poorly mixed spices.

Eddie's eyes were fixed to his plate. He nodded, the movement almost indiscernible, and then returned to his pasta.

So Wayne tried again. "I saw that book you have," he mentioned and boy, was that a wrong move. Eddie almost curled into himself, his eyes darting to Wayne for the first time - but not with curiosity. With defiance and fear.

He didn't say anything, only stared at Wayne. As if he was daring him to say something, do something.

So Wayne did. "It looked interesting. The Hobbit? I've never heard of it. Is it any good?"

The slight relaxation in Eddie's shoulders seemed promising. "It's my favorite," he said, his eyes returning to the pasta, stabbing a few offending pieces with his fork. "It has an adventure in it. An unexpected one."

Wayne huffed a quiet laugh under his breath. "Ah. So somethin' like this?"

Eddie looked at him again with those large dark eyes. "...yeah."

And then it was quiet again, but this was less forced, less tense. Wayne thought that maybe this was how Eddie would be normally, a withdrawn soul just like himself, but just as he chewed on the last mouthful of less than ideally cooked pasta, Eddie broke the silence.

"Why'd you take me in?" Eddie blurted out and seemed to regret it immediately, biting in to his own lip. "It's...it's not like you knew me before and you could have refused, I...I would understand that. I think. But you agreed to let me stay and I'm grateful and all, but...I just don't get it. Why?" Pausing for a moment, he added "sorry if that's a stupid question. I just want to understand."

It might have taken Wayne a second longer than ideal to answer, but he didn't want to spit ketchup on the poor boy who already seemed flustered enough. He held his finger up and quickly washed down the food with a gulp of soda. "First rule of this house, son," he said and smiled at Eddie, actually smiled, although his facial muscles protested. "Ain't no such thing as stupid questions. Anything you want to ask, just ask. And if I know the answer, I will give it. Understood?"

Eddie was maintaining eye contact now and he nodded eagerly. Almost too eagerly. It made Wayne reconsider in that very second, because this wasn't a withdrawn soul like he'd suspected - this was a boy who wanted to open up to someone so, so badly. "Yes," he muttered and Wayne couldn't help himself, he reached out, slowly, and ruffled whatever hair remained on Eddie's head. And Eddie didn't move away, just watched his hand like a hawk and, when he ensured he wasn't in any danger, even leaned into it, giving Wayne a small smile.

Returning to his side of the table, Wayne leaned in. "Why'd I take you in? I could give you a bunch of reasons, none would fully cover it. Obligation, sure. You're family, that's another thing. But most of all, I just..." He trailed off, finding the correct words, the truthful words. Throughout all of it, Eddie was watching him, waiting. "I guess I just want to give you something better, Eddie. Danny and I, we didn't have the best family, not sure how much he told you. And there ain't much we can do to fix ourselves, but I look at you and I think...maybe I can make a difference right here. Because you seem like a bright kid to me and I just...I just want to do right by you. Even if I'm the only one."

Eddie swallowed thickly, fidgeting. "And...and if I turn out like him?" he mumbled, struggling to keep the eye contact. "What if you...you do that, but I still fail?"

Damn, Wayne Munson did not cry, but the fear, the insecurity in Eddie's voice tugged at something in his chest. He reached over again and grasped Eddie's bony shoulder. "Then you'll still have home here for as long as you want. All I want from you is to give it your best shot. That work for you?"

The boy smiled at him and nodded, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah."

"Good." They were grinning at each other over dirty plates, the smell of ketchup and cheap soda between them. "And I meant what I said. Anythin' you want to ask, go for it. No question is a stupid question."

Eddie smirked at him and Wayne might have detected a glint of mischief in his eyes. He thought he'd bend over backwards to keep it there, to give this frightened kid a bit of childhood back. "Anything, huh?" he asked.

"Yup. But count on me askin' a lot of stuff too. Like," he paused, rubbing his chin in deep thought.

It was ridiculous. But Wayne remembered what the doctors told him when he returned from Vietnam - sometimes to get moving, you need something unexpected, something to confuse the anxiety right out of your brain. So he dug deep and hard into his imaginative side and pointed at Eddie. "What is the single superior animal noise? No long thinking, go."

Eddie blinked at him, once, twice, and then he burst out laughing. He kicked his knee into the table and the dishes rattled around, but he couldn't stop himself. He was wheezing, grasping the side of the table and trying to breathe. And if that didn't make Wayne's heart swell. "You...you looked so serious!" gasped Eddie between snorts and giggles.

"It's a serious question. Now, Eddie, what's your answer?" Wayne tried to keep his face under control, but Eddie's grin was contagious.

The boy cleared his throat and leaned forwards, brow furrowing in concentration. "So many fine choices," he said in a contemplative voice that made Wayne nearly choke on his soda because it sounded like a poor imitation of a British TV celebrity. "I have to go with ribbit. Unique and well-balanced." Glancing at Wayne, he shot back. "The soup to beat all the soups!"

Wayne smirked and crossed his arms. "That's an easy one. Bean soup. And before you ask - not from a can."

"Knew it."

It gradually becomes their thing.

Whenever Eddie is lost in thought, when he comes back from school with a new bruise, Wayne shoots a ridiculous question at him, what is the best race in the Middle Earth for a basketball tournament, what is the ideal number of dried peas to have in your kitchen, and Eddie's smile is back, as radiant as ever.

When Wayne returns from the plant, grumbling about the stupid idiots from the previous shift making his job harder, he finds Eddie bouncing on his feet, waiting for him to come home to ask what is the ideal sole color for running shoes. "Not the shoe color, the sole, Wayne, what is the sole color that makes you just want to run? No thinking, go!"

Even years after Eddie's hair has grown into the thick wavy locks that Wayne isn't envious of, nope, not at all, they still randomly yell questions at each other across the trailer. Eddie hollers "WHAT'S THE FUNNIEST FRUIT IN THE WHOLE WORLD WAYNE?!" and Wayne shouts back "IT'S PEACH BECAUSE IT'S STUPIDLY HAIRY JUST LIKE A CERTAIN NEPHEW OF MINE AND STOP YELLING, BOY!". Wayne asks between quiet puffs of smoke outside "if you had to wear a hat for the rest of your life, what hat would that be?" and Eddie blows out a circle and snickers "a top hat." There's a joke there and Wayne smiles to himself, wondering if he should acknowledge it.

And eventually, when his boy is returned to him after the hell that was March of 1986, when Eddie slowly heals and the Harrington boy doesn't leave his side, Wayne has the perfect question but he bides his time, watching the two fools dance around each other like the foolish fools they are (has he mentioned they are fools? Because they absolutely are). He's hoping he won't need to ask the question, maybe it will be enough to just wait, but nope, he's had enough. Life is too short for people like him and Eddie. So he grabs a couple of beers, drags Eddie to the porch of their government-funded house and after a couple of cans, starts their favorite pasttime.

"What's the best pink thing to ever exist?"

"Plastic flamingos," responds Eddie and sips his beer. "The one piece of clothing humanity should have never invented?"

"Ties, who's supposed to learn to tie that thing...the best cat name?"

"Household or wild?"

"Wild."

"Fluffles. Imagine being eaten by that in the woods. You'd never live it down, even after dying. The most humiliating job ever?"

"TV weather guy. Must suck to be wrong all the time." He doesn't even pause, just continues in the disinterested, flat tone they always use for their late night rounds of no-stupid-question. "The best place to take Steve for a date?"

"Somewhere calm, I think a picnic, he doesn't do well with a lot of loud noises or people," replies Eddie immediately. He sips his beer and freezes, mid-gulp, when his mind finally catches up with his mouth.

Wayne just pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Sounds like a great plan to me." When Eddie doesn't answer or move, he adds "swallow, boy."

Eddie pours the rest of his beer into his mouth and chuckles at Wayne, breathless. "That sounds more like a second date idea. Uh, shit. Sorry. I mean..."

"I'll pretend I stopped listening at the picnic," says Wayne, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays his sternness. "Just stay safe, Eddie. But if I have to keep watchin' you and that pretty boy dance around each other for a week longer, I swear I'll have you two sit down and talk it out, kindergarten style. So you'd better ask him out before I give him the talk."

With the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie nodding, grasping the can for support. "Will do. Just...are you..." He bites his lip, turns to Wayne. "Does this change anything?"

"I sure hope it does!" Wayne flicks the ash off his cigarette. "For one, I'd expect your room to be much cleaner when you get a boyfriend."

They're both chuckling now, clinking their empty beer cans together. "Smart ass," says Eddie but it has no bite, no venom. "Thank you, dad," he says quietly, and Wayne can't help himself, he throws his arm over Eddie's shoulders and pulls him into a very uncomfortable sideways hug. It's the best hug in his life.

When Eddie throws open the door the next Friday and hollers "WHAT IS THE BEST CHAPSTICK FLAVOR FOR KISSING?" and Wayne answers, he gets corrected for the first time. "Wrong," says Eddie and wipes at his mouth, still grinning wildly. "It's cherry."

And Wayne gets proven right once more when, not even a year later, after rebuilding of Hawkins, practically adopting Steve into their small weird family, Eddie proves to him that he's not just scarily observant, but he learns the worst tricks in the book.

Because sure, Wayne might have buried his own needs and desires so deep they're practically at the Earth's core, but then there was a sympathetic man close to his age, maybe a bit younger, who approached Wayne and told him he's so happy for him that Eddie is back, that he taught Eddie in middle school and he never believed a single word about his involvement because that boy is incapable of harming anyone, that's what he said. And he invited Wayne for a beer because some people were still treating the name Munson as the plague itself and Wayne might be finding himself looking at Eddie and Steve, wishing that he was younger, he had more courage...

So he's still mostly lost in those thoughts when Eddie starts pestering him during one of Steve's shifts, meaning they're home alone and bored. It's late July, they're both sitting on the porch, sipping beer again, and Wayne has already answered questions about the mug to end all mugs, whether soccer would be more fun to watch with human-sized insects and who is the single person from all Hawkins to be sent to Mars to never return. And then Eddie asks "what's the best movie to take Scott Clarke for the first date?" and Wayne's brain short circuits.

When he comes to, Eddie is smirking at him sympathetically, offering him a new can of beer because Wayne dropped the old one. "Come on, did you think I wouldn't notice?" he asks and nudges his shoulder. "I can sense the "desperately in love" Munson eyes from a mile away. I've got them patented, you know. So. Your answer?"

Wayne coughs and stammers out that it would have to be something smart because Scott is smart. And that he isn't smart enough to figure out what he'd like, so it's not really a good question...

But Eddie just shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, producing two tickets to the Hawkins movie theatre. "Wrong, Wayne. Or not completely. Mr. Clarke - Scott, shit, that's difficult to get used to, he loves smart things, but he's also a massive nerd, as our lady Applejack loves to call him and everyone within a certain interest group. And I happen to know there's something called RoboCop playing tomorrow. I also happen to have two tickets right here, to know that Scott is free and that he'll be waiting for you 15 minutes before the movie starts."

Wayne gapes at him, mouth hanging open and speechless for the first time in his life. His eyes are traveling between the tickets and Eddie's smile while he's desperately trying to stomp out the flames of hope in his heart. "But...but what if he doesn't see me like that?" he asks and he hates how small and insecure he sounds, but Eddie needs to understand that things are different for people like him, for his age, his...whole person.

His nephew - no, son - throws his head back and laughs into the setting sun. "Look at that," he grins and shoves the two tickets into Wayne's hand. "That has to be the first stupid question I've ever heard from you. Let's see..." he taps on his chin, pretending to think. "Ask me again tomorrow after the movie, okay? If you still need to ask."

The next evening, Eddie leans next to the door when Wayne returns from the movie. "So..." he drawls, raising his eyebrows. "Do you still need me to answer?"

And Wayne huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Nah, no more stupid questions in this household."

#steddie fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #academic fairy godmother Aneta #clarkson #wayne munson #scott clarke #steddie drabble #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[epilogue-and-prologue]

For the AU-gust Mashup:

Fili x Reader + Fairytale + “Just look at me. Forget everything else.”

No pressure at all! Thank you in advance for considering the request! <3

Words

Fandom: Lord of The Rings - The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Fili x Reader Trope: Fairy Tale - Curse Note: Prompt is in the ask. Thanks @sotwk I don't have the occasion to write for Fili near enough. SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE. Warnings: Curse, losing your voice, not being able to communicate, near death experience. Word count: 1 954 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

The summer had barely begun, when you met him. At first, you thought he was an illusion. A trick of your mind. Clear eyes, blonde hair, he’d carried himself just like you thought he would. The Crowned Prince, they called him. He had introduced himself as Fili. Nothing more. He came and went to your stand on the market place. Over the course of a few months, he had become a vital presence in your life. Just as you did in his.

To your agony, none of you would speak of it aloud. In your mind only, could he hold you, could he be with you. The status was one thing. The other was how people called you: the witch. Fili would never refer to you in such a way. He once called you a “soft-spirited soul who could cure any wound”. It had made your heart beat so fast you thought he would surely see the beats on your skin. But, the herbs you used and the unguents? It was common knowledge, yet it was not as widely used as it should have been. It was considered a women’s trade first and then was replaced completely by modern medicine. They did not keep your stall empty though. Even, on occasions, some people would come to you for more than just healing. For a kind ear and a cup of ale. That was why it did not surprise you when the tall and grand man came, in his white robes and equally beautiful staff. He did not say his name but you would remember his face forever. An intricate affair of wrinkles and bones showing under his skin. It was as if he’d been taunt over an overused canvas. You had seen worse ugliness, worse gnarly members, deformed by arthritis or unfair accidents. It was nothing new and you thought nothing of it.

“What may I help you with tonight, traveller?”

His robe was stained on the hems, earth and what you assumed was crusted mud over it. He did not move, only following your movements across the room with intent. His lips seemed to be moving, but no sound came out of them. Uneasy, you sat down and offered a cup of warm tea, just brewed. He stayed motionless.

“You look just like her, you know? — What?”

The jolt almost made you knock over your tea. The last time someone compared you to anyone else was when your grandmother was alive. Could he have known her? Or was he toying with you?

“You like just like your grandmother…” He stepped into your space, closing in on you. A chill ran down your spine. He had known her then. “The same eyes, the same face, those same treacherous lips…” He grabbed onto your chin, a harsh grip forcing you into meeting his eyes. You were so scared you did not dare move a muscle. “And you will pay for her lies and her filthy words.”

He released you, your body meeting with the floor in a violent attempt at getting away from him. His staff pointed at you, he mumbled incoherent words. Then, some all too coherent ones.

“Blood of the blood of my enemy, I hereby punish you. For your grandmother broke my heart with her words and it will break yours too! You will remain speechless, until someone confesses their love for you. Only if they do and you love them in return, the curse shall be lifted. A day and a night you shall have before the words strangle you. Hear my wrath, blood of the blood and know your time to be shortened.”

A maniacal laugh echoed through the room, white and grey fog sneaking through the door. You raised your head and he was gone, heaps of smoke the only sign he was there at all.

The next morning, you were mute.

———— It had taken a heavy toll on you. People could not understand why from one day to the next, your voice had gone out. The weather could not explain it. You couldn’t any more either.

Of course, Fili chose that day to show up. He did not exactly chose, for it was the first time in weeks he had managed to have some free time. Naturally, he arranged to come and see you.

“Hello.”

The smile you offered was…odd. Uneasy. He wondered what he could have done to deserve this thin lipped, excuse of a smile. You were always so quick to smile brightly, even in the early hours of the morning, eyes stinging with the last remnants of sleep.

“Are you not going to say it back?”

He rose an eyebrow, more out of curiosity than animosity. You tried. You really, really tried to tell him. But the clients were growing impatient and the line was growing thick behind him. Upon seeing you interact with them, gestures and half guessed prices, Fili realised you were not choosing not to answer. You could not. In an impulse, he jumped over the stand and joined you behind.

“Hello, good sir, what might we do for you today?”

The dandy man blinked once. Twice. His eyes kept going from you to Fili before choosing to ignore the fact that the future heir to the kingdom was now selling herbs and creams on the market. You could not stop him even if you had wanted to. Before you could try to intervene, he had already taken it upon himself to help you. He pushed you back and sat you down on your chariot. He did not stop, not for one minute. The whole morning he served and listened sometimes turning to you for confirmation. You intervened once or twice, and that was that. How long did he observe you to know almost as much as you did? From where you were you saw him leave his heavy pelted coat, warmed up by the activity. His shoulder blades barely hidden behind a linen shirt, became a good distraction to the feeling of helplessness within. Your fingers twitched once or twice, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him. You knew you couldn’t. But one can always dream. Right? Suddenly in lack of clients, he turned to you, chest rising rapidly. A hint of hair peeked from under his collarbones and you had a hard time focusing on his words.

“Now. How did you lose your voice?”

A real worry started to gain his face even as he smirked. He could not fool you anymore. His eyes started studying you, as if your face could tell him what had happened.

“Did you catch a cold?”

You shook your head and sighed. This was going to be impossible to explain. Suddenly, you sprung to your feet grabbing his hand. If he had been in his right mind, he would have stuttered and crumbled internally at that. Luckily he wasn’t and merely blushed when you did. Your hands were showing him something.

“Something to write?”

Excitedly, you nodded. He pulled a piece of paper and a charcoal out of his pocket and handed them to you. In quick words, you explained the situation to him. As he read on, his heart kept sinking. He knew his attachment to be love. Fili had known for quite some time. Regardless, if you did not feel the same then it was a doomed story. The deadline was growing closer as each moment passed and he was losing his mind. He kept pacing trying to find another way out of it. There was none. Even if he had gone to Gandalf - the sorcerer of the Kingdom - it would be too late before he’d come up with a solution. His only hope was to tell you how he felt. In the unlikely odds, that maybe, you would not reject him. If not, he’d make your last day a feast and a paradise. The taste of grief melted in his mouth. He swallowed it soon. In a whisper and an extended hand, he called you to him. When you took his hand, shaking and hesitant, his heartbeat accelerated.

If only he knew. His face told you everything. You could see his resolution disappear with every passing moment. He had no solution. So, he did not love you in the end and the dreams you had about living together were just dreams. You almost cried when he pulled you in, embracing you in his arms, his warmth. He could not look at you and you could not blame him for it.

“It’s time I told you…”

You held your breath, a deep sigh shaking him. He took your face in his hands, gentle and tender.

“I am afraid that all those months I have deceived you.”

Your heart sank again and as you struggled in his hold, he stopped you.

“Let me finish, please.”

You nodded, tearful sobs already on the edge of your lips.

“I have not been honest. From the very first time we met, I knew. I knew I would come to love you. I did not stop it. I knew our stations would not match. It didn’t bother me. It still doesn’t. I don’t care if you don’t love me back. I need you to hear this…”

Tears ran down your cheeks. He had to be lying. He had to be. How could he say such lies when you were in this deadly situation? How could he toy with you like this. Again, you struggled against his hold and he gripped your shoulders. Through the cloths his heat was both a fast poison and a powerful balm.

“Just look at me. Forget everything else. Forget where we are. Just listen to me.”

You did. You looked at him and his sea-coloured eyes. A deep feeling of content took root inside of you. Maybe if you were to die by tomorrow, enjoying him was not the worst thing you could be doing right now. So you did as he said and focused on his voice, his eyes, his neatly braided beard. Your fingertips combed gently through it and it made him stutter for a moment.

“I love… No. I adore you. You will not die today, I will not allow it. Never will I allow it. You cannot leave me like this. There were shadows in me before, now there’s only your light. Yours and no one else. How you did it, I will never know but I love you. I love you, and I will always love you until the end of time… —I love you too.”

Your voice croaked as if it had been unused for years. It startled both of you. An immense joy washed over you and you jumped into his arms, breathing him in, basking in his warmth. He held on to you so tight, it was sure to leave marks. The market around you was unchanged but you were. He looked at you dead in the eye, a mere centimetres from your face.

“Never, ever, do that again. —No promises.”

You laughed and squealed when he mumbled about “promises” and “worried sick” and you being the death of him one day. Quickly, in between two rants you pulled him to you and kissed him. He continued on for a good moment before he realised what had happened. He blushed furiously, the corner of his lips lifting. Soon, your lips found his, gently. He wanted to enjoy that kiss and all the others coming afterwards.

People around you, were sure to have something to talk about the next day.

On the other hand, you would choose to be nowhere else but right there in his arms.

All their words be damned.

#fotfics #prompts #fairy tale #au gust 2023 #fili x reader #fairytale!au #the hobbit fic

[siriouslytired]

Feedback fest 2024 🌻

Well RIP to my bookmarks because I just noticed that so many of my favourite fics have been deleted or made anonymous/put in a collection. Thought it would be fun to do this anyway.

Also apparently I managed to post this when it wasn't done (can you tell technology doesn't like me?) And for some reason I couldn't edit the original post (and what's up with that??). So uh, if anyone had liked the first post I deleted it because I got annoyed.

All fics on the list can be found on AO3

A Year In Toussaint by astolat

The Witcher; Rated E; Geralt of Rivia/Emhyr var Emreis

"[...] - and found himself spilling the whole sob story of his success to Emhyr, who actually broke and laughed out loud when Geralt got to the racehorses."

One of my comfort fics, will read it for a multitude of reasons but mostly just because it's so well-written and engaging (which is just all of astolat's fics really)

Hunger and Appetite by thegoodbutter

Shadow & Bone; Rated E; Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov; Modern AU

I couldn't actually tell you how many times I've read this, it's just SO GOOD. And the food descriptions are just fantastic, makes me want to cook up a storm/start baking something even though I hate doing the dishes afterwards.

The Stars Don’t Shine, They Burn by Sarcasmismydefaultmode

Shadow & Bone/The Witcher; Rated E; Alina Starkov/Emhyr var Emreis; Second Best AU

Read it. Do it. It's so fucking good. I usually don't read crossovers anymore but I couldn’t resist this one and it was so worth it. It blends the two worlds so well while making sure that the edges are obvious enough that you can still tell which parts came from what canon.

Amazing Grace (series) by Druid Moon

Marvel Cinematic Universe; Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton; Many references to different forms of crafts

A relic from when I mostly read MCU fics that I return to again and again and again. Super cosy, slightly sad, incredibly well-written, one of those fics that just draws you in once you start reading it.

coronas of wolf-teeth and rivers by Dialux

A Song of Ice and Fire; Not Rated; Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark; AU; Robert dies at the Trident, Ned dies at the Tower of Joy, Catelyn becomes Queen of Westeros

I remember reading the summary and basically attacking my phone screen to open the fic. It ties itself together so neatly from the premise and the way Catelyn is written is just fantastic.

Diplomatic Relations by KrazzeeAJ1701

Star Trek; Rated M; James T Kirk/Sybok; AU, Female James T. Kirk

Listen, I had a phase where I mostly read gender swap and I found some real gems - this being one of them. I don't re-read it as often as I should but every time I do I remember how much I like it and how fantastic the writing is. The set-up just makes sense and the progression of the story makes you want to keep reading forever.

the ghosts won't matter because we'll hide in sin by soapboxblues

A Song of Ice and Fire; Jaime Lannister/Lyanna Stark; AU

A cute little AU where Lyanna survives the Tower of Joy and is subsequently turned into a political pawn etc etc. Incredibly well-written and the pieces just fit together so well.

The Debt of Time by ShayaLonnie

Harry Potter; Rated E; Sirius Black/Hermione Granger; AU, Time Travel, Soul Bond

I must have read this at least 15 times by now. It just works so well, you know?

For One Last Day by fideliant

The Hobbit; General Audience; Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield; AU

"The things we don't do for love." It's so bittersweet and lovely and all those wonderful things that make me want to smile and cry at the same time. Sort of chances-not-taken and now we're old wrapped up in this little moment that fits so well into the canon of LOTR.

Eurybia by Annerb

Pirates of the Caribbean; Rated T; Elizabeth Swan/Will Turner; Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth Swan; AU

"A love story. Elizabeth Swan and the sea." Read it. Just do it. It's so so so good. And it's barely 1200 words so you can read it and then spend an hour contemplating what you just read and still have time to do other things.

#ifd2024 #international fanworks day

[theerrorofmylife]

Witch Queen Ch.2

Thorin x Witch!Reader 

See Masterlist for complete chapter listing, send me... something, if you’d like to be tagged :) 

  Mwahahahaha, this is quite a lovely chapter and yes, I do get very sappy with Thorin and the MC. I love them both dearly, I can’t help it. I did add a little HTTYD quote in there hehe. I did end up drowning my pride and adding in (Name) instead of (Y/n). Please enjoy – Error

 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, PTSD, Thorin being an instant simp for the reader, soul-crushing cuteness, Gandalf being a little shit, etc etc 

~

     60 years passed, and in my sorrow, I let the years go without care. I was still young, in my prime as a witch, and would continue to be young for a thousand years more if I so wanted. But, after 60 years, I can still be surprised. 

A knock at my door woke me. It was early, very early, and the dew on the grass had yet to settle. Climbing out of bed, I wrapped my dress around myself and secured my belt to keep everything in place. Waddling to the door, there was knocking again. 

“Alright, alright, my gods- Gandalf?” The old wizard stood at my doorstep, much taller than me, with gray robes and his staff. 

“Hello my dear. How have you been?” For the first time in so long I felt a little sense of peace. Gandalf seemed to carry that with him though. 

“As well as can be expected. It has been 20 years since you last came by. What have you been up to?” He smiled and his eyes crinkled in the corners. 

“Nothing too important. However, recent events have led me to be in need of a fellow magic user.” I invited him in, interested in this need for magic. 

“What have you done this time, friend.” He laughed gently and entered my home, sitting in the old chair near the window, his usual spot. 

“I have done nothing. However, a company of dwarves is massing, 13 in total, and they are to march on Erebor and kill Smaug.” I froze. I had been halfway to making tea and I couldn’t move. 

“They plan to reclaim the mountain.,” my voice shook and broke, my heart breaking just a little bit every moment. Thorin, my prince, they were going to reclaim the mountain. “Why have you come here, Mithrandir?” 

“I am here to ask you to join them, as the 15th member.” 

“15? You said there were 13.”  

“Well, yes, 13 dwarves, and 1 hobbit. They will be meeting in Hobbiton tonight, you will be escorting them across from Hobbiton to the lonely mountain.”

“Ah,” I know it would be foolish to go and risk my life with a bunch of strangers, but it would have made Thorin happy to have his homeland back, “I’ll go.” 

“Very good; If you will, I’m leaving immediately.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Of course he would come without giving me time to prepare. 

“Fine, let me pack.” I left him in the living room, puttering in his amusement. I put together a simple bag; two shirts, two pairs of pants, necessitates, and small wants. My apothecary book, ritual book, and small bag of spell needs were all tucked inside as well, and within 30 minutes I was packed and ready to go. My dress would be fine for the early parts of the journey, the wrap design hanging to my shins, boots laced tight, and cloak up to cover my head. 

“Well, come on then, let’s meet this company.” I raised my hands above my head and felt the wind grace my fingertips. A force I could not see pulled at my fingertips, tugging them straight up. When the pull became too much, I yanked my hands down and in a fuzzy flash of green, Gandalf and I were standing in the middle of a dirt road, cozy lamps hung along the edge, and doors were periodically placed in the cutouts of hills. Hobbiton was so quaint and cozy, and everything was my size! Flowers and gardens and fields and rolling hills were laid out before us, and it was beautiful. Gandalf put a hand on my shoulder and led me down the dirt road, all the way to a green circular door with a little rune carved into the bottom. At the door are two dwarves already. They are very friendly, and name themselves Oin and Gloin, brothers. From inside, a commotion is heard. 

“No! There's nobody home! Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If this is some clotterd's idea of a joke, I can only say that it is in very poor taste. -” the door opens, and the dwarves let themselves in as the young hobbit stares. “Gandalf. And… friend.” 

“Hello, the elves call me Niethir, daughter of Yelmain, witch of the eastern Greenwood. But that’s just a formal name. You may call me (Name), friend.” I did a little curtsy and he smiled, bowing in return. 

“Bilbo Bagins. I apologize, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”a He gave a very pointed look at Gandalf. 

“He didn’t warn you, did he? He never does.” I sigh, and Bilbo welcomes me in. I place my things neatly in a corner and wander into the rest of the hobbit hole while Bilbo and Gandalf talk. Large wooden arches hold up plaster ceilings, little lanterns brighten the home with warm light. It’s sweet, the feeling of this hobbit home, and it’s wonderful. Anyone who steps in would immediately feel welcomed and at peace. As I enter the dining room, a voice I recognize stops me cold. 

“Mahal save me… it’s you.” Dwalin sits at the table with the others, staring wide eyed at me. I cannot breathe. The last time I saw him was the day…. In Dale. 

“Dwalin… you’re here.” He stood abruptly and stomped over to me. I might have been scared, but only for a moment, because he clapped my shoulders and pressed his forehead against mine. 

“He knew you were alive, lass. He spoke of you every day, drove us all mad!” He laughed and my eyes teared up. 

“Thorin… oh Dwalin I’m so sorry.” His eyes got sad for a second before another was pushing between us. 

“Move aside laddie, let us meet her. You’re name please, lass.”

“(Name), Niethir to some, Yelmaindottir.” They all took turns introducing themselves. Lastly was two young dwarves, one blond one brunette. 

“Fili and Kili, we’re Thorin’s nephews.” My heart dropped. 

“Of course, he told me all about you. Why are you not with your mother, Dis?” Their eyes grew bright with excitement. 

“You know of mother! -”

“He must have told you so much! -”

“Uncle is leading us to Erebor to kill the dragon!” My heart stopped. 

“But… hold on I- you are Thorin’s nephews, yes?” They nod with enthusiasm. “Then… your uncle… Thorin is alive...?” Dwalin pushed the two aside. 

“Of course… why would he not be?” I couldn’t focus on anything. 

“I heard…. In the battle of Moria… the prince had died. I thought… I thought Thorin…” My eyes watered. Thorin was alive. He was alive and he was coming here to lead the company to retake Erebor. Dwalin stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. 

“You thought Thorin was the one that died…” I nodded, just trying to keep myself at least semi-oriented. Suddenly, the silence that festered was cut by a deep knock at the door. 

“He is here.” Gandalf grumbled. My breath left me, and tears fell freely as the door was opened out of view and that lovely deep voice from 60 years ago echoed in the house. 

“Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.” He was just the same, a tad older, and much tougher than when I’d last seen him. He carried with him a tiredness that only comes with carrying the weight of the world. I think he even got taller, if that were possible. He was. Just by a few inches, though. 

“Mark? There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!” 

“There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.” Oakenshield, that was quite an impressive name. It made him gruffer than he used to be.  

“So, this is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?” He was glaring, obviously not believing Bilbo could do much. 

“Pardon me?”

“Thorin, there are greater matters at hand.” Balin, who seemed to be the wisest, intervened. 

“And what would those be-” His eyes met mine, those same gray-blue eyes. “My Lady.” 

“My Prince. Or should I call you My King?” I was trying to have humor for my own sake, my nerves were nearly suffocating me. He was still in shock, slowly walking towards me, the hobbit forgotten. As he got closer my nerves began to get the better of me. “Thorin, Thorin what’s wrong?” I could barely whisper. He was finally in front of me and there were tears in his eyes that refused to fall. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.” He collected my hands in his and pressed kisses to them. Fresh tears ran down my face and I all but threw my arms around his neck. His arms instantly wrapped around my waist. 

“I thought you were dead.” I whispered into his shoulder. He laughed. 

“I thought you were dead. In Dale… no one got out, no one ever saw you again…” Tears were blurring everything. When he pulled away, I frantically wiped my face to seem at least mildly presentable. Suddenly my whole body was jostling as the entire company slapped mine and Thorin’s back. 

That night, we supped like old friends, but with Thorin’s hand constantly searching for mine it was hard to consider us friends. He sat at the head of the table and the others made room for me at his side. 

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” Balin spoke up from Thorin’s other side. 

“Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.” I watched as he spoke, the way he engaged with his people. He speaks like a king; I don’t know how I didn’t see it when we first met. 

“What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?” Thorin hesitates, seeming to weigh his options. Just before he speaks, he tilts his head to the side and catches my eyes with his.

“They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone.” 

“You’re going on a quest?” Bilbo pipes up from the hallway.

“Really, did you not tell him anything?” I picked on Gandalf, and for the first time in 60 years I watched Thorin smile like he used to.

“Ah, well, lets have some illumination instead.” I didn’t even think about the consequences. Snapping my fingers, a tiny flame sparked in the space between my pointer finger, thumb, and middle knuckle. The dwarves around me started huffing in shock while Thorin just stared at it. I spread my fingers outwards and the little candles Bilbo brought lit up all at once. One of the dwarves started clapping while the others were huffing. Seemed very few of them liked magic tricks. Thorin continued to stare until Gandalf placed a map on the table.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold. When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.” Oin spoke up from the other end of the table.

“Uh…what beast?” Bilbo’s little voice spoke up from the pantry archway.

“Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals.” Bofur was messing with him, but with every word he spoke my memory conjured images to match. I could only sit back and remember.

“Yes, I know what a dragon is.”

“I’m not afraid, I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksy!” Ori was being arrogant, and I could suddenly separate those who had seen the dragon and those who had heard of the dragon.

“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just fourteen, and not fourteen of the best, nor brightest; excusing the Witch, that is.” Well, at least Balin was being honest.

“Hey! Who are you calling dim?”

“Sorry, what did he say?”

“We may be few in number. But we’re fighters, all of us! To the last dwarf!” Fili gained everyone’s attention.

“And you forget we have a wizard in our company, Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.” Kili built off his brother’s energy. I pressed my lips into a line to stop myself from giggling. Gandalf had never killed a dragon. So much was clear when he began sputtering for an answer that wasn’t embarrassing.

“Oh, well. No, uh, I…I wouldn’t say…”

“How many then?”

“What?”

“Well, how many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!” They were all yelling now, yelling at Gandalf, at each other, just yelling to yell. Thorin stood suddenly, his chair nearly falling back in the process.

“Enough! If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?” He was an inspiration, a true leader. Something about watching him speak made me terribly sad. I felt… robbed, of the chance to be near him as he grew into this leader.

“You forget, the Front Gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

“How come you by this?”

“It was given to me by your father. By Thrain. For safekeeping. It is yours now.”

“There's another way in.”

“Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map...and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth...and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.” The rest of the evening passed smoothly, save for Bilbo fainting at the idea of a dragon. The dwarves were collecting near the hearth, talking loudly and catching up. I secluded myself to the bench by the front door. I couldn’t help but feel dread, thinking about facing Thorin. 

“My Lady.” The voice that had haunted me for years called out. Thorin was standing in front of me, concerned and weary. I hated seeing him so worried. 

“My King?” He came closer and knelt in front of me, taking my hands as he had always done.

“You have magic?” I should have known this topic would come up.  

“Yes.” My throat closed up and a nauseating feeling settled in my chest. I had planned to tell him, eventually, somewhere down the line back in Dale; Maybe the next day when I said I’d return. Or maybe when we became closer. But that didn’t happen, none of it did, and it was never possible. 

“What are you?” 

“I’m a Witch, probably the last of my kind now…” Admitting it out loud was harder than I thought. Being the last, the only one… 

“Your mother?” I sighed. 

“She passed…56 years ago, in the winter.” Something close to understanding filled his eyes and he nodded solemnly. 

“I’m so sorry, I wish I had known.” I laughed wryly. 

“I’m sure we both wish we knew a lot of things…” he smiled sadly before his face fell into hard lines. 

“I’m asking Gandalf to remove you from the quest.” My heart nearly stopped. 

“What…? No, you’re not, I’m going with you!” He grabbed my hands insistently. 

“You’re not, I can’t let you, not with where we’re going, Smaug-”

“I survived Smaug once, I would do it again.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping. He was trying to fight a losing battle with me. 

“My lady-”

“(Name), my king. And I came here for you,” he stopped, his mouth half open as his words died. “I thought you were dead, and then Gandalf comes along and says your kin are reclaiming your homeland. You’re not dead… but I’d still do this for you. Do you remember what you said when we first met?” He’s grinning again, but it’s sad, like remembering that day is both happy and terrible. It is for both of us. 

“I said a lot of things that day, My Lady.” He snarks. 

“‘Where would you like to go? Name it and I will lead you anywhere.’” I quote, and his face falls into a mock glare. He’s fallen into my trap, and I feel victorious. His head falls into his hand, his elbow propped up to support it. 

“(Name)-”

“Erebor. Take me to Erebor.” He sighs again in defeat, and I place my hands on his jaw to gently lift his head. His gray eyes meet mine. He’s not upset with me, nor is he angry, he’s simply tired and I know he has every reason to be. “You carry such a terrible weight My King, please, do not carry it alone.” 

~

@capricorn-anon @emmapotato88 @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @tschrist1 @eilin-brillewin​ @hpthalia126  <3 <3 <3 

_______________________________________

#thorin #thorin x reader #thorin fic #the hobbit thorin #thorin son of thrain #thorin x you #thorin fanfiction #thorin durin #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #the hobbit fic

[fantasyinallforms]

For the April alphabet... Inebriated yearning?? Maybe from Thorin's perspective?? (Sorry I just rly want some pining thorin)

Here you are, lovely Anon! It did get a little angsty, but it turned out well!

This is for the @fellowshipofthefics April Alphabet event!

enjoy some Inebrriated Yearning from Thorin's POV

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1.8K words {T}

Title: Mead Makes for Loose Lips

Celebrations after reclaiming Erebor lasted weeks. The day after the battle, Dains's men started to clear the mountain to make room for people to settle. They uncovered an entire room in the kitchens filled with untouched barrels of mead. They immediately cracked one open, and the party began. They had much to celebrate. The war had been won, the elves had gotten their diamond trinkets, and the humans had enough money to start rebuilding their livelihoods. Now the dwarves of Erebor could focus on what the future held for themselves. But not before drinking themselves into a stupor first. Even the King of Erebor was not exempt from the festivities, though his mind was not on their victory but on a future he might have ruined his chance at ever having. 

The bottom of a bottle probably wasn't the smartest place to be when your entire soul yearned for the mere presence of a single person. Thorin emptied his second mug of mead and looked into the crowd. As always, his eyes drifted effortlessly to Bilbo. He was sitting on top of a table with a mug far too big for him, loudly telling a story to a captivated audience. They were enamored by him, and why wouldn't they be? Everyone heard from his own lips how integral Bilbo had been to their quest, how he saved Thorin’s life on numerous occasions. Thorin got up to fill his cup and found Dain doing the same. 

“Eyyy, there ya are, cousin! Why do you look so damn glum! Even when we were kids, you couldn't help a good brooding session. The war is over! Drink your fill and have some fun. There’s plenty of company here to be had!” Dain broke into a raucous laugh and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Thorin rolled his eyes and let out a huffing laugh. No company would be warming his bed this night or any other night. The thought of a tumble in the sheets with a dwarf might have once been an entertaining idea but no longer. He could not imagine wanting anyone other than Bilbo under him in the small hours. That pleasantly plump body and adorably round face and perfect slightly upturned nose. Being as down the bottle as he was, his mind could not concentrate on the thoughts in his head, walking, and drinking simultaneously. He tripped and sloshed half his mead down the front of his tunic. 

“Careful there, laddie. This mead’s been sitting for 60 years; she’s a strong brew.” Dain’s boisterous laughter turned the heads of the tables nearest to them, which included Bilbo’s.  

“Perfect timing! Our brave Kings of legend! Fearsome leader of the great dwarven clans himself! And the king of the Iron Hills who came to Erebor’s rescue!” Bilbo had lept up on the table and dipped into a low bow. Thorin didn't like seeing Bilbo bow to him or anyone. Bilbo shouldn't bow to people. People should bow to him. He should be decked out in only the finest the world had to offer and treated like royalty. The hobbit before him had no idea how much power he wielded. Bilbo remained blissfully unaware that he could have a king on his knees for him with only a single command. There was nothing Thorin would deny him. To his dismay, there was also nothing Bilbo seemed to want from him.

Bilbo righted himself from the bow and stagged back. Thorin heard another dwarf, one of Dain’s men, shout. 

“Best get down before you fall down, laddie!” another dwarf at the table shouted. “My laps a safe place land!” Bilbo seemed none the wiser to the catcall, so the dwarf put his weight on the table, tipping it so the hobbit would stumble to the side. Bilbo lost his balance, dropped his cup, and landed directly in the dwarf's arms. The grabby dwarf's hands went straight to Bilbo’s hips to keep him in place. Thorin was fuming. He slammed his mug down on the table in front of the dwarf, causing him to jump, then plucked Bilbo from his lap. For good measure, he knocked the rest of his mead over and into the dwarf's lap. Thorin walked them to another table before reluctantly setting him down.

“You save the day again.” Bilbo giggled. “Better watch out, or I’ll become dependent on you.” Bilbo was a mess. This state was far beyond anything he had seen him in before. He could barely form full sentences. Thorin pulled the cup he had managed to get his hands on from Bilbo’s clutch and set it out of reach. 

“I wouldn't mind you becoming dependent on me.” Thorin mumbled, “But right now, you should find somewhere safe to lie down.” Bilbo looked like he was going to protest but slumped forward instead, so his head rested on Thorin’s chest. Thorin was too intoxicated to resist leaning into the gesture. He brought his hand up and glided his fingers through the curls on the side of Bilbo’s head. Perhaps he would feel guilty in the morning, considering he was enacting this bold gesture in the middle of a room full of dwarrow. There was a part of him that wanted others to see. He wanted the room to know that this hobbit was off-limits. Bilbo was to be touched by the king's hand only. 

“Can you walk on your own?” Thorin rumbled. Bilbo didn't lift his head; he just shook it from side to side. “Are you ok with me carrying you?” Thorin had moved his hands to rest on Bilbo’s upper arms.      

“I don't wanna be an inconvenience or a burden. You can leave me here.” half the words Bilbo said were sloppy, but he heard ‘inconvenience and burden’ clear as day. Did Bilbo really think that's how Thorin saw him even after all this time? 

“Hey, look at me. It’s unsafe to just nap on a table in the great hall. I think I’ve drunk my fill anyhow.” Thorin lifted Bilbo off the table, and he didn't protest. Bilbo's legs wrapped around his middle, and his hands went around his neck. Thorin was incredibly careful where he put his hands. The press of Bilbo’s body against his was doing things to his mind that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. Bilbo would never have to worry about being safe with him. He would rather fall on his own blade than enact his will on someone unwilling or impaired. His body, however, was threatening to give away the evidence of his rampant desire. Thorin tried to slow his breathing, and it almost worked before Bilbo all but moaned in his ear. 

“Why do you always smell so good?” Thorin tensed. Thankfully he was holding Bilbo above his waistline at this moment. Best, he gets out of the hall and get Bilbo to bed. He was near the doors when Dwalin stopped him. 

“Headed out for some fun? It’s about damn time.” Thorin turned to give him an incredulous look. “I’m your bodyguard and best friend; don’t look so surprised,” Dwalin chuckled. Thorin let out a huff. 

“No, he drank too much. I’m just putting him safely in bed.”

“If safety is the issue your room is the only one in Erebor that has active guards posted to it. Where do you intend to sleep tonight?” Dwalin knit his brow 

“On the floor, if I have to,” Thorin replied. He switched to speaking in khuzdul so that Bilbo would not hear what he said next. Not that Bilbo seemed particularly coherent for the conversation thus far.  “Oh, and one other thing. You saw the dwarf that pulled Bilbo into his lap?” Dwalin shook his head in confirmation. “I want him working third shift patrols for the next three months” Dwalin nodded in agreement. 

“Consider it done.” Thorin carefully walked them back to his room. It was the only full room yet recovered. Most of the company had set up in one of the open abandoned halls, and Dain’s men would spend the night in their tents. Or perhaps more likely, they would sleep where they lay after a night of near non-sop drinking. Thorin sat Bilbo on the edge of his bed and removed his hands from under his legs. Bilbo, however, did not remove his hands from Thorin’s neck. 

“This is your bed; you should lay on it too. It’s plenty big enough for the both of us.” Bilbo tugged at the sleeves of his tunic, pulling him forward. The invitation was tempting; he struggled against it as if it were being offered a pile of dragon gold.

“Please don't ask that of me,” Thorin choked. He was surprised at the melancholy look Bilbo was now giving him.    

“Dose the idea repulse you?” Bilbo pulled his knees back retreating in on himself. 

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite.” 

“Then why?” 

“Because you’re worse than gold to me, Bilbo! I’m afraid if you give me a taste of what it could be like to be near you, then I will beg for a whole meal, and I know you can not give me that. I couldn't condemn you to a life of rock and stone. I could not ask you to abandon the life you love to rule a broken kingdom at my side. I could not beg for your affection after nearly killing you in madness only days ago. You deserve rolling hills and a gentle lover. I can give you neither of those things.” He brought his hand up to Bilbo’s cheek on reflex, never letting himself actually touch the warm, smooth skin beneath his hands.  “I would not have you resent me for keeping you from true happiness even if I spent the rest of my days yearning for you.” Thorin felt raw. The alcohol in his system had lowered his guard, making him especially forthcoming but in this moment he felt sober. To his surprise, Bilbo leaned into his hand, forcing contact. Thorin nearly whimpered. 

“You don't get to choose for me what I decide my happiness looks like. Right now, happiness looks like laying down with the only person who’s ever made me feel truly safe.” Bilbo was half coherent. He pulled on Thorin’s tunic again, and he could not resist a second time. They slipped under the covers. Thorin’s arms wrapped around Bilbo as if it was the most natural thing to do, like a reaction he didn't know he had developed. Bilbo nestled himself under Thorin’s chin. “See, you’re plenty gentle.” 

Thorin lay there long after Bilbo’s small snores filled the room. He had never prayed to a Valar other than his maker before. Now he closed his eyes and prayed to Yavannah, Vala of all things green and growing, to allow one of her children to be happy living among her husband's creations.   

Let me know if you want to see any others!!

#bagginshield #thilbo #the hobbit #fotfics #bilbo x thorin #FIAF(me)fics

[glitteringaglarond]

For a moment it appeared to Sam that his master had grown and Gollum had shrunk: a tall stern shadow, a mighty lord who hid his brightness in grey cloud, and at his feet a little whining dog. Yet the two were in some way akin and not alien: they could reach one another's minds.

I truly truly love this moment, and it’s an element of Frodo’s character that is so interesting and so glossed over and so entirely missing from the movies.

Frodo, as his journey goes on, as his burden increases, as his body fails him, and as his spirit falters, undergoes a transformation. Gandalf noticed it first, while in Rivendell, that there seemed to be an almost transparency to Frodo. He even says that he thinks the Ring’s physical effect on him won’t be to turn him into Gollum 2.0, but rather a being that seems to be made of clear glass, filled with light - visible only to a few. And for an instant, Sam is starting to see that.

This is still Frodo, he hasn’t been broken beyond repair yet. His body isn’t fading to translucency, as legitimately eventually begins to happen. And yet, he possesses within him a brightness, still hidden behind a cloud, but a light that nonetheless reveals a hidden power.

People talk about how the Ring keeps going to more and more righteous/pure Hobbits —> Sméagol —> Bilbo —> Frodo —> Sam, but this right here is the beginning of my argument as to why that is not the case. Sam is the most wholesome of the Hobbits, and he is the only one of the four who truly never loses the entirety of his Hobbit-ness. But there is something special about Frodo, something otherworldly.

Frodo is tasked with an impossible burden, and his heart is so pure that this Evil can only succeed in destroying the physical shell and reveal the Light within. Sam and Bilbo alone in history both gave up the ring, but Frodo alone had a soul so pure it was untouchable, so pure that the Ring could only reveal its beauty as it slowly broke it beyond healing.

#frodo baggins #lotr newsletter #my op #newsletter february 29

[porphyriosao3]

The Day After

"I am tired, Gandalf," Bilbo said softly.  The wizard gazed at him in concern.  Long gone was the plump, friendly hobbit who had welcomed him (more or less, for certain meanings of 'welcome') to Bag End almost a year ago.  This thin, bitter creature was barely recognizable as the same hobbit.  His hair hung lank and dirty, tattered clothes hanging off a frame much thinner than the one they were designed to fit.  Most worrying of all, his mouth seemed permanently turned down at the corners, a look that was as far from the smiles he had borne through most of the journey as Hobbiton was from Dale.

"Have you eaten?" the wizard asked.  "I am sure there is more food about; Thranduil's kitchens are always well-stocked, even for an army on the move.  You may have noticed, he is not one to stint on his pleasures even when..." his joke fell flat as Bilbo's disinterested gaze flicked away from him.

"I am tired, Gandalf," Bilbo repeated, though his gaze sharpened where it was aimed at his own bare feet.

"Well, I will leave you to rest then.  If I find any food, I might bring it by, on the off chance that..."  Bilbo's eyes flicked up to meet the wizard's own and his words stopped as though frozen.  Bilbo looked furious and yet so soul-sick and harrowed that the wizard felt ashamed for not seeing it before.  "Bilbo," he murmured, as if to a child, "whatever is wrong?"

"What...!" Bilbo shouted suddenly, face reddening.  "What is wrong?  Are you quite serious?"  It seemed fury had won.  "I sit here on a battlefield where those I knew died, and you ask me what is wrong?  I sit here in a tent, provided out of pity by those who don't give a damn if I live or die, those who hate my dearest friends, and you ask me what is wrong?  I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, my heart is torn beating from my chest leaving only a gaping hole, and... and..." The hobbit broke off, breath coming harshly.  "Get out.  Go bother someone else with your wittering about food and rest.  I am too far from the Shire, it seems, and too beaten to be polite, and I am no longer sure you deserve it even if I were capable."

Gandalf rose, drawing his power about him.  "Bilbo Baggins!"  He was like a pillar of stern shadow looming over the hobbit.  Bilbo didn't even look up.  "Do not blame me for the actions of others!  It will not lessen your grief to be rude to me, and being rude to wizards is less than wise."  The hobbit's laughter sounded horrible, but laugh he did all the same.

"Or what?" he asked baldly.  "Will you strike me down with your fearsome power, then, O Gandalf the Mighty?  Am I the only thing you have left to oppose, since you arrived too late to be of any use to those who truly needed you?  Well," Bilbo sneered uncharacteristically, while tears ran unchecked down his face, "kill me and be done, then.  All that I have left to care about is a hundred leagues away, and all that I cared about here lies on a slab of stone beneath a mountain I can no longer stand the sight of, and both of those things are your fault.  So have your revenge, O Mighty Wizard, or find enough kindness to leave me to suffer in peace.  Because I tell you this, Gandalf the Grey," the hobbit's eyes flashed in the firelight, "your actions have wounded me already past bearing, whether you know it or not.  This whole coil is your doing, and there may come a day when I am able to pretend that we both don't know that, but that day is not today, and shall not come for a good while, I reckon.  Now.  Good night."

"I never meant to harm you, Bilbo." Gandalf said, all his power and majesty fleeing at this accusation (for he knew, in his heart, it was not entirely unfair).  "I am sorry things worked out as they did."  But from the hobbit there was no reply.

#gandalf #bilbo #bagginshield sort of #ptsd #stupid wizards

[caspianofcamelot]

Quick doodle of this cursed Elijah wood content

#elijah wood #sam and frodo #bilbo and frodo #frodo baggins #frodo my beloved #baby frodo #frodo and sam #frodo fanart #frodo lives #hobbit #the hobbit broke my soul #the hobbit #the hobbit bilbo #lord of the rings #hobbits #art #fanartist #fanart #fanfic #fantasy #cursed #Elijah Wood our local cryptic #artistsoninstagram #artists on tumblr #artistic #procreate #doodle

[nocompromise-noregrets]

five good things

time for a follow-up! things have improved a bit since I made the last one of these. Let's see...

Placebo were absolutely awesome, they played so many of my favourites, and my friend and I got almost to the front at one side so we could see pretty well too. It was utterly sweltering, and we had to queue for an hour to get out of the car park so I didn't get home until 1.30am and was utterly wrecked for the rest of the week, but it was so very worth it. I've adored them since they first appeared on the scene, and so many of their songs are woven into my soul; it was so good to see them again.

I had my doctor's appointment yesterday, and depending on the outcome of the blood tests I have to have in a couple of weeks (which may explain some of the other things that are bothering me - or they may just be further symptoms of Age-Related Loss of Plot, so we'll find out one way or the other) I ought to be getting onto HRT fairly soon. Which will hopefully sort me out, thank fuck for that. I used to be sunny-natured and happy, but I haven't felt that way for longer than I can remember - I want that back. And then if the HRT doesn't sort me where that's concerned, we can look at other solutions. Phew.

I have a four-day weekend this week, as I did two days at job number two last week (on top of the Placebo gig, it nearly broke me), so I've spent today chilling out and attempting to be less exhausted, having not slept particularly well for days.

I've finally finished (I think!) the reincarnation AU from @piyo-13's glorious artwork, so once that's beta'd I'll get it posted. Super excited about this one!

I treated myself to a couple of Hobbit Lego sets secondhand off ebay, having been inspired by @mastererestor's Imladris adventures (I'm still eyeing the Rivendell set but I want to work up to it, not having done anything but tiny sets for about 35 years) - I have Mirkwood Elf Army, with Thranduil and Tauriel, and Attack on Lake-town with Bard, Bain and Tauriel, so I have both of the bi widower dads :D :D :D and have made a start on the Mirkwood Elf Army, it has a catapult!

We watched the Full Monty TV series over the last couple of days, and it's all cheeky larks but the underlying tale of Horse falling through the gaping cracks in our deliberately austerity-filleted so-called welfare system is utterly, tragically heartbreaking and I cried a lot. Which I probably needed...

I still haven't been out on the bike, because the battery was flat when I went out there last week and it took us a couple of days to get it charged, but it's ready now and I'm getting it MOT'd tomorrow so I can tax it and renew the insurance. So that'll be the first time I've been out since last autumn, and it's only up the road but it'll do.

I'm rereading Fellowship and really enjoying it (it's been so long since I've had the energy for reading an actual book), and I'm also listening to the Andy Serkis audiobook, which is brilliant. He does all the voices (I'm only up to Gandalf telling Frodo about the Ring, so I haven't heard most of them yet) and it's just so enjoyable. Who knows when I'll have time to listen to the whole thing through, but whatever.

Right. That's enough for now, I think. If I can only get some proper sleep I'll be sorted...

#five good things

[noro-noro-noro]

had a dream that was really long. how much can I get before it goes away? anyway summary: i'm from the alternate pixel dimension & i have to undergo seven trials of color. we got to 3

anyway i was originally from a slightly more cyberpunky futuristic dimension that lay directly along the normal one. everything in that dimension was made of like pixels like Minecraft blocks.

that part started bc aliens paid us to operate giant Mecha to defend against something for them, but didn't train us at all - we just had potential. somehow. but it was not great tbh. and we were on the younger sife and sort of irresponsible.

anyway I escaped.my.mech or I was done for the day & was running through cyber town or whatever. it looked like Laketown from the hobbit except that everything was made of variously sized 3d pixels. I also had a grappling hook so I could get to higher up zones easier. the whole thing kind of felt underground bt at least on the top floors with their rickety walkways and everything, there was a crack above with sunlight pouring in.

anyways I also got some kind of message that the ancient ones or something needed me to master the 7 colors powers. it kinda felt similar to the seven deadly sins or whatever but it was what it was. the first fight was kind of easy - I broke a large minecraft block sized pixel with the tool I was given and hid my body in the black void outside of the map while the rabid dog woman thig that was my first opponent, the yellow one, sniffed abd tore at the ground - but it was always just out of reach. my soul floated untethered innthe center of the arena. eventually I won.

I don't remember the second boss, I think it was the green one. it teleported me to the real world, the middle of a small grocery store & I had some experience talking to real people and interacting, but I don'tremember the challebge itself. the third boss was the red one and she looked like lust fma. she trapped me in the human world on a time limit but hinted I'd need to build the contraption to return. also she'd appear in reflections to mock me. not like mirror reflections but anything with shine - the metal hooks that products were hanging on, a pot that was for sale, the back of a shelf, etc.

there weren't any permanent portals - if you weren't born to wield the powr of colors, you had to be moved by them or maybe craft a temporary device with a colored UV light that corresponded. this time the grocery store was full of terribly behaved kids from summer camp, but a couple other people were helping me trt to build it, & and turns out one girl wss from my dimension too but she'd been stranded here aftee the pixels shorted out abd briefly glcreated the color that moved her here. she hadn't been here for long at least! so we crafted tge thing while trying to fend off the curious but really really annoying kids, held hands so the light would take both kf us, and rhen the lught teleported itself abd what it was attached ro back hone instead of shining on us. first we scrambled to make another one, but we were not gonna find the right shade of color in the store, but one of the camp counselors that was fed up lived in an area that vorreaponded almost exactly to our universe so the barrier was naturally thinner there, and they had a secret hidden door undee the secobs floor staircase where thwt had a mirror painted red and when only a spotlighr qa in we coild go through. there was like an old lady that lived up there, but when the door was unlocked the red woman was holding her hostage and was like think I'd just let you cheat? prove that you did it right . and we argued our case fairly well and I think she was fine with it in the end

#dreams

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

Sixteen things I noted about CR2E115 “Fetching Fables & Frosty Friends” and the Talks Machina about it :

Whyyyyy French again ??? At least I know Sam knows a little French, so I'm somehow less offended when it's him. But yeah at the of the ad, I felt this screenshot IN MY SOUL :

Matt, to Travis, about Beau who's running way ahead of Fjord : "She's a monk, she's faster than you." Travis, immediately and petulantly : "You don't know that !" Matt, not impressed, deadpan : "Yes. I do. It's on her character sheet."

I love Dagen so much. He tries to do a little bit of polite conversation, and Veth is like "Are you asking if anyone of us is single ?" and Jester doubles down with "Are you secretly in love with me ?", and then he calls them "colorful". He has worked with Vess and Ludinus before, so yeah that must be a change of pace for him.

Dagen, recalling the worst group he ever traveled with : "There was this rowdy bunch out of Syrinlya, Uthodurnian folk. Too boisterous. Too loud. When you're trying to make your way across landscape like this, you want to keep quiet. Just a bunch of fucking dwarves singing about what they had for breakfast, about what they had for lunch, tales of mysteries to the north ! They had beautiful voices, but they just wouldn't shut the fuck up. One day we got ambushed and they all got torn apart. I was the only survivor... I just feel bad for the poor halfling they dragged along." Me slowly realizing Matt is describing the first Hobbit movie : AMAZING !!

Caleb, 20 minutes after Veth and Jester started getting real with Dagen and are creating what I can only describe as an elaborate fan-fiction of Dagen and one of the travelers possibly named Sheila he might have fallen in love with - and named his axe after : "Hey, are we the worst ones yet ?" Dagen, through gritted teeth : "Gettin' real close..."

Laura looks so cute with her unicorn hoodie on.

Love that they knew they were messing with POWERFUL NECROTIC MAGIC, and that Liam pointed out that this kind of trap "pivoted the entire campaign one" (which to me was a clear indication that he wanted to do it, because this is Liam and he loves this kind of stuff). And still they went for it. For an hour. Man, did Caleb try. The last attempt, dramatically casting Dispel Magic while walking away, because he couldn't let it go, and still the stone rests, is an very funny visual.

Oh Beau read Yasha's poem ! Which was not a poem, but a wonderful letter. I love how Marisha was overjoyed as Ashley was reading it (as the voiceover).

Oh my god, the story of the Katzen Prince is everything. The revelation that Liam wrote that in a day, just before they were paying, is the cherry on top. Look, I fucking love fairy tales, and I had a book when I was young where it was all of the original versions (aka the dark endings, and even when it was a good ending for the hero, there were some brutal elements, like when birds pierce the eyes of Cinderella’s half-sisters at the end !!). So I LOVED this tale !!! It was sweet, melancholic, had a dream-like quality to it, and still a happy ending. I also want to see all of the art.

Awwww, I love when the monsters turn out not-so-monstery after all ! The Mighty Nein chose to be kind, even after they were ambushed, and so they got precious intel : finally, someone saw Lucien and his group, not but one day ago !!!

Travis broke. They invited the yetis to dinner in Caleb's tower, and they even read them a Zemnian bedtime story, and it broke Travis so much. This is so awesome. I love this visual of 4 yetis, being inside a magic tower, in a grand and warm hall, under tents for them to sleep like they usually do, surrounded by small cats and the Mighty Nein, listening to a man reading them a story in a language they don't know, and falling asleep in 5 minutes.

I trust Beau, Beau is always right and she should say it. And the way Marisha made her pitch was wholesome.

It's true, Brian is right to recall it, every time there is a Talks Machina with Liam and Taliesin, the vibe is "whatever the fuck is the opposite of toxic masculinity" - I think it's what he called it one time.

Dani is being tortured this episode, what will all the Fartist and chest hair re-growing stories.

Taliesin, about the pillar with the necromantic emerald : "I was amused. I could have possibly stayed a little longer... Until we had to resurrect someone !" HAHAHA the little shit (affectionate)

OH. Oh. This is the episode before the 2020 American election ? Aka, the Destiel Putin Election crazy night we had over here on Tumblr ??? IT'S SO CRAZY TO THINK ABOUT !!!

#my thoughts #critical role #cr campaign 2 #CR2E115

[foxxybenedict]

How It Feels To Abandon Yourself

I deactivated my twitter today.

Please, hold your applause. Allow me to pontificate a bit first, then you may shower me in praise for doing the bare minimum for my mental health.

When I first got onto tumblr in 2011, it was so incredibly freeing. I could share exactly the aesthetics I wanted to uplift. I could put my thoughts out there in formatted blog posts. I could share quips in the tags of posts I shared. It felt like I was in control of every aspect of my identity, my aspirations, I set up a queue schedule so my posts would be evenly spaced and I wouldn���t spam people’s feeds. I had such a handle of who I was and what I wanted and how I wanted to express it. 

oh shit what’s that oh no it’s the tumblr exodus of the 2010s

When I went to twitter, I had to delete most of my tweets and revamp the whole thing, because twitter wasn’t a place on the internet where you lived your life and shared it with people, back in 2015 twitter was where I went to depression post, shitpost, and stalk each person that was ever involved with team starkid. But when the exodus happened, I had to learn how to live my online life on twitter, not only that, but I was on twitter at the behest of someone who was once very important to me, and for years my identity, specifically on twitter, was tied to this person. So I never really felt like myself, I never felt the same sense of comfort in myself or my expression like I did on tumblr. But it’s where the zeitgeist was, and you just had to be there. And when I went there, I deleted my whole tumblr. I abandoned myself. I burned the most comprehensive record of who I was from 2011 to 2018. 

When I did this I had no idea that it would be like burning every journal I ever wrote, but worse, because I’ve never written a journal, so it’s actually the closest thing I’ve ever had to one. But I didn’t realize how devastating that is, until **dunn dunn** 

The Breakup

in 2021 my best friend, my father figure, my BDSM dominant, and far too many more “my”s made the correct assessment that our relationship had run it’s course, and it was time for it all to end. And then he deleted any archive of our correspondences so not even I could not access them. I dunno I never understood telegram but as far as I know, that shit is gone forever. And that broke me inside a bit. Not only was this relationship over, the entire chronological dialogue of the entire thing was eradicated. It felt like someone wrote you the most valuable stack of letters you hold dear and then snuck into your home and burned them. But worse because we never wrote letters it’s all in those chats and they’re just gone. This is the first time that I realized the impermanence of all of this is existentially horrifying. Things I have poured my hopes, my dreams, my desires, my fears, hell my fucking soul, things I have poured my fucking soul into, just don’t exist anymore. 

I always loved the scene from The Lord of the Rings where Bilbo uses his ring to dazzle his fellow hobbits once more, and taking the most self aggrandizing exit from the pleasant fakeness of hobbit life. What I am trying to say, that he did in fact have the charisma uniqueness nerve and talent. This fucking camp queen. Bilbo has successfully made his way back into Plato’s cave without getting killed but then heckles the people making shadows on the wall cause it’s so funny to him.

So how I am coping with abandoning myself after I know how much damage that can do to my future self? I’ll be honest, because it doesn’t feel like me anymore. And I feel like I’ve been holding on to twitter solely because it’s where my largest following on the internet is. I had 5556 followers on twitter when I deactivated my account 30 minutes ago. That level of reach, that level of influence, it’s hard to let go of. I want to hold tightly onto it and hope to maybe make something out of it in the future. But that was all a cope. I just didn’t want to relinquish the only power I felt like I had on twitter, and that power was a silly little number. But the tradeoff I didn’t want to acknowledge is that you belong to that following, and I got that following from being in the proximity of people I am no longer in the proximity of. It feels like I’m sitting in a college course I didn’t sign up for, but I am too terrified of admitting I’m in the wrong classroom to go get up and find the right one. 

So this leaves me sitting here thinking about the very real parts of myself that have been abandoned. The parts of me that I’ve given to people that have been forgotten, erased, taken for granted, or taken as something more than that it is. How many fragments of myself am I going to just allow to be impermanent? Can I even at this point forward be myself when so many parts of my self have been erased? Do I even try in the future to express myself, give parts of who I am to these cooperate entities vying for my attention, my AdSense, my data, in exchange for the feeling of permanence?   

It feels futile, to fragment who you are into these very real pieces, and leave them behind, hoping someone picks it up, tosses a like, makes a comment. It feels silly, it feels hopeless. Jonathan Larson spent decades of his life fighting a clock he himself antagonized because he felt like if he didn’t, it would consume him. I am almost 29 years old and I don’t even have a rough draft of a meticulously crafted grandiose unique perspective that leaves behind an idea of why I deserve to be remembered. 

Maybe it’s about time that I stop abandoning fragments. The issue is, it’s all I know. And a part of me I don’t want to give any credence to, secretly loves to ability to kill a version of me once every few years, and burn the evidence.

#foxxythoughts

[scyllas-revenge]

I posted 1,764 times in 2022

That's 1,307 more posts than 2021!

133 posts created (8%)

1,631 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-did-not-mean-to

@blueberryrock

@heilith

@scyllas-revenge

@stillcantgetoverthesilmarillion

I tagged 533 of my posts in 2022

#boromir - 135 posts

#persuasion - 37 posts

#lotr - 32 posts

#lotr fanfic - 19 posts

#jane austen - 17 posts

#faramir - 15 posts

#north and south - 14 posts

#burn like cold iron - 13 posts

#piranesi - 12 posts

#pippin - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#imagine the hobbits' faces as this martyrdom goes down like o.0 where did his clothes go why is he posing all seductively what did we miss

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

shitty persuasion bingo

part 2 here

366 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

#4

oh you’re half-agony huh?? bitch i saw the trailer i’m full-agony 

408 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

#3

I know I always get overemotional reading Piranesi by Susanna Clarke but for some reason when I got to this part last night I just cried uncontrollably for five straight minutes and I can’t explain why

and basically after reading this book several times I think I’m starting to feel that sea longing that Tolkien’s elves get

907 notes - Posted January 28, 2022

#2

if they’re gonna ignore all period-accurate costumes, dialogue, and social norms to the point where anne calls wentworth her “ex,” i wouldn’t be surprised if they ditch wentworth’s letter completely and instead he just whips out a shiny iphone 12 and texts her “u peirce my soul babe ❤️❤️❤️”

1,007 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I can watch no longer in silence. I must complain about you by such means as are within my reach. You've ripped out my soul. I am half agony, half hopeless. Tell me not that this is it, that such precious Jane Austen adaptations are gone forever. 

I offer you my screenwriting advice with a heart even more desperate than when you almost broke it with the release of the Persuasion trailer one month ago.

Dare not say that this movie is accurate, that this Anne is a stronger protagonist than her book counterpart. I have loved none but her. Pretentious I may have been, annoying and demanding I have been, but always with the film’s best interests at heart. 

The book alone has brought me to you. For it alone I sat and watched. Have you not realized this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I would not have waited even ten minutes after turning off the TV to write this, could I have mastered my own feelings, as I think you must have guessed mine. 

I can hardly type. I am in every instant recalling something which makes me want to punch a wall. You rewrote Anne as a snarky girlboss, but I can appreciate the nuance of her book counterpart when it would be lost on the Netflix execs. Too horrible, too disgusting adaptation! You do us insult, indeed. You do believe that there is not a single brain cell in your audience. Believe mine to have shriveled up and died while watching this movie, most painfully, in the brain of

-Everyone Watching

I must go, and cleanse my remaining sanity with the 1995 adaptation; but I shall return hither, to laugh at this adaptation with my friends, as soon as I can stomach it. But another sentence of clunky narration, another infuriating wink from this horrible version of Anne to the camera, will be enough to make me cancel my Netflix subscription forever.

2,521 notes - Posted July 16, 2022

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