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middleearthpixie · 6 months

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Living Proof ~ Chapter Thirteen

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen. She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell @emrfangirl @emmanuellececchi

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

The clouds grew darker by the moment and although he expected it, Boromir still swore softly as the skies opened and rain fell in slow, fat drops that quickly became a teeming downpour. Shaking his dripping hair out of his eyes, he continued moving forward through the trees.

Between the rain and the darkness, he didn't see the exposed tree root until the tip of his boot caught it and sent him sprawling to the muddy ground with a not-so-muffled oath bubbling to his lips. Pain flared through his thigh as he hit, a hot spike that drove up into his hip. It wasn't the same pain that he’d felt in the those first days, but one brought on by overuse and exhaustion, as he’d stopped only when absolutely necessary since departing the cabin in the clearing.

One hand gripping the sore muscle, Boromir rolled onto his back, the oaths coming harder and faster at as wet mud seeped into his trousers yet again. He’d gotten himself hopelessly lost that first night, wandering about in the unfamiliar woods without so much as the moon to offer any light. Now, he wasn't at all certain where he was, as the rain had fallen with little break for almost a week now. For one who was usually much better with his surroundings, this was beyond infuriating.

With a low groan, he sat up and got to his feet to begin moving once more. The weather suited him, for it was as dark as his mood, and both had been this way since he’d awoken to find Kaia gone.

He stopped, his shoulders slumping as he turned his face up to the sky, to the icy raindrops pattering against him. A sense of hopelessness, one he hadn’t felt since the night they’d arrived in Lothlórien and the lady Galadriel had known what he would do in the very near future. She knew he’d try to take the Ring from Frodo, knew the weight he bore and the reasons why he’d try to take it.

And yet, she’d assured him all was not lost.

Except that it was and it happened not when he’d betrayed Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship, but when he woke up alone in a small, ramshackle cabin in the midst of the woods.

Sleeping with Kaia had been a mistake, for it awoke feelings in him that were best left undisturbed and buried. It awoke feelings that he had neither time nor room for in his life at the moment. His father had tasked him with retrieving the Ring in order to restore Gondor’s glory and renew the faith of its people in their steward. There was no room in his life for women, for romance, for anything even remotely resembling romance, actually. Perhaps some day, but not now. Which had been just fine with him. Any woman who thought to consider him her suitor was quickly disabused of that notion. And it had been working just fine for him.

But he had not once thought he would meet a woman such as Kaia, who made him question everything he’d once been so certain of, who made him want to forget the task Denethor had laid upon his shoulders and go in search of her instead. And that infuriated him as much as it frustrated him. He didn't want to want Kaia. He didn't want to be concerned about her, didn't want to worry about her.

He didn't want to lo—

“I don’t,” he muttered to the darkness, resuming his stride again. “And right now, all I care about is getting out of this blasted fool rain.”

A faint light broke through the trees, so he soldiered on toward it. Rain pounded down on him as the light grew larger and a cabin came into view. It was much like the cabin he’d just left and for one fleeting moment, he wondered if Kaia would answer the door.

The steps bowed badly, creaking as he stepped first on the lower one, then the upper one, and when he knocked, he offered up a silent request that whoever opened that door was friendly.

But not only did no one open the door, but he could no longer even see the light that led him to it. The door handle gave when he gripped it, and the door opened without a sound, but only darkness greeted him.

Easing his sword from its sheath, he gripped it with one hand as he nudged the door the rest of the way open. Cold darkness greeted him, the cabin offering up a sense of abandonment, a sense that it had been some time since it had last seen life of any sort.

Still, it was dry, so he strode into the middle of the empty sitting room, letting his pack hit the floor with a dull thud. “Is there anyone here?” he called, moving about the room’s perimeter. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness so he could make out the dark hearth, clogged with leaves.

He did a room by room sweep, which took almost no time, considering there was but a loft above, clearly empty, and the kitchen in addition to the sitting room. But, luck with him as he found a few pieces of wood at the very bottom of the bin alongside the heart. He’d take the flint and steel when he’d left Kaia’s cabin, and so he stacked the wood carefully on the grate and then set to work getting it lit, striking the flint against the steel to spark it. A few minutes later, he sank onto the uneven floor, somewhat warm if not comfortable.

He could not recall a longer night. He woke with every sound, reaching for his sword time and again only to find his imagination plays tricks on him. By the time dawn approached, he felt even more tired than he had before he’d fallen asleep.

Laying there on that blasted uneven floor, staring up at the exposed ceiling beams, he tried to ignore the new aches that came from his restless sleep. What he wouldn’t have given to be back in Kaia’s cabin, where even the ruined and lumpy sofa was far more comfortable than this horrid floor. And her bed—

He scowled. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? No woman ever haunted his thoughts the way one simple farm girl did.

Except she was not so simple a farm girl. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known before.

And truth be told, he missed her. Missed the sound of her singing in the kitchen, or out in the garden, missed the conversations they’d shared, and the sound of her laughter as she tucked her head against his chest and draped her arm about his waist.

A dull ache spread through him, partly the ache of healing still swirling through him, but there was more to it than that. The worst part of it was the ache of wanting to find Kaia and making certain that she did not get away from him again.

“Which is folly,” he muttered, wincing as he got to his feet and slid his sword back into its sheath. A hint of sunlight broke through the persistent gloom, making him determined to gather his bearings and redirect toward Osgiliath. He hadn’t crossed over the Anduin, so he would reach it before he’d reach Minas Tirith. There, he could regroup, could work out a new plan with Faramir, and then decide where to go from there.

Osgiliath bustled with activity, despite the small number of soldiers stationed there. Although they eyed Kaia with a no little suspicion at first, it didn't take long for her to win their trust—or at least some of their trust—nor did it take long for her to learn the basics any solider needed to know. Madril told her she was one of the quickest learners he’d ever trained, in fact.

The days passed quickly, as she was busy honing her new skills, but the nights were a completely different story, for they went on seemingly without end. For one who’d become accustomed to being alone, to hers being the only voice she heard on a regular basis, she couldn't believe how much she could still miss Boromir. Even being surrounded by others did not help, for it only drove home how she missed the sound of his deep voice. Truth be told, she even missed the sound of his snoring and that was something she never thought she’d ever miss.

She’d been in Osgiliath about a week, when she found herself in a crumbling courtyard at dusk, sword in hand, practicing a few of the newer skills she’d learned from Madril, when she had the distinct feeling she was being watched.

Peering over her shoulder, she saw Faramir in the arched doorway leading to said courtyard. He leaned against the discolored stone, arms folded, his expression neutral, and for a long moment, she had the feeling she was somewhere she was not supposed to be. Her heart hammered her rubs was she waited for him to scold her and tell her she needed to leave.

But he did nothing of the sort. Instead, he said, “Madril has said you’re coming along nicely as a soldier. He says he needs keep reminding himself you are a woman.”

“Is that good or bad?”

He chuckled. “I am not at all certain, really.”

With that, he unfolded his arms and strode over to her. “Few come here these days,” he said, gesturing to the far end of the courtyard, which was underwater. “It rises with the river tide and it won’t be long before the entire yard is flooded.”

“I like being near the water. My family lived not far from the Forest River, so I spent a lot of time in or on the water.”

“Boromir and I were raised along the Anduin,” he replied, “so I understand the water’s pull.”

“You are close?”

He nodded. “We are. I don't see him as often these days, though, more’s the pity.”

“When was the last time you were together?”

“Over a year ago now. It was here, actually.” A wistful smile lifted his lips. “We’d reclaimed the city and—”

He turned stare out toward the water, softly lapping at the broken stones on the far end of the courtyard. “My father ordered him to Rivendell after that, although I don't know why. All I know is that afternoon was the last time I saw him.”

“He spoke of you,” she tucked her sword back into its sheath and looked up to meet his gaze again, “and his affection for you came through in his words.”

“I’m sorry if he hurt you,” Faramir said. “He’s more brawn than anything at times.”

“He didn't hurt me.” Kaia shook her head, wondering if her own smile was anywhere as wistful as his had been. “But I think I hurt him and I regret that. It was never my intention.”

“So what happened?”

“I knew he planned to leave, to return to your city. So, I made the decision to leave first. Although, now I wonder if—”

A strange sound rent the air before she could finish her thought and a moment later, a large boulder crashed down into the pool of water at the far end of the courtyard. It sent a wall of water that drenched the two of them at the same time, leaving them both sputtering and leaping back in unison.

“What the—” Faramir began, but before he could get the entire sentence out, Madril and a legion of soldiers swarmed out into the courtyard, along with the two hobbits.

“Faramir! Orcs have taken the eastern shore. Their numbers are too great.” He glanced over at her, then back at Faramir. “But nightfall, we will be overrun.”

Kaia’s gut kinked sharply, a sour taste flooding her mouth. Faramir glanced at the halflings, who appeared to be whispering amongst themselves, and then to Madril said, “Take them to my father. Tell him Faramir sends a mighty gift. A weapon that will change our fortunes in this war.”

Sam jerked free from the soldier holding him. “Do you want to know what happened to Boromir?”

“I know what happened to him.”

“Do you?” Sam countered, his pale eyes sliding in her direction. “For I doubt she knows what he’d done. What he’d tried to do.”

Faramir glanced at her. “What did he do, Kaia? Did he say? Did he tell you what happened?”

“All he said—”

“Watch out!”

The voice came from behind them, and overhead, another boulder soared, slamming into one of the towers just beyond the courtyard to send dust and rocks and debris in all directions. Then, through the debris, came the most terrible sound Kaia had ever heard—a high-pitched, otherworldly screech that raked along her spinal cord and made every hair on her body stand on end.

“Nazgûl!”

She looked up at the Nagûli, black shadowy creatures astride flying beasts that looked like winged serpents. They all scattered, taking cover, drawing their weapons while Faramir shouted, “Take cover!”

Kaia dove toward a small alcove that might have once housed a statue of some sort. It was small, but she managed to fit and eased her sword out without cutting herself in the process. She winced as the shrieking grew louder, more deafening as the winged beasts swooped over Osgiliath and vanished from sight.

Frodo pulled away from Sam, walking almost as if in a trance toward the incline that led up to the ramparts and vanished around the tower, while both Sam and Faramir followed, the latter with his bow and arrow at the ready.

All around her, Faramir’s soldiers followed him up the rampart and despite her racing heart and freezing cold blood chilling her veins, she pushed herself out of the alcove and followed as well.

The Nazgûl took an arrow from Faramir’s bow and retreated with thunderous flaps of its mighty, leathery wings. As it flew off, Faramir looked down at the halflings. “I think at last, we understand one another, Frodo Baggins.”

“You know the laws of our country,” Madril broke in, “the laws of your father. If you let them go, then your life will be forfeit.”

“Then it is forfeit,” Faramir replied softly. “Release them.”

Sam shoved a hand from his shoulder while Frodo just stared up at both Faramir and Madril. Faramir gestured for them to follow him and to Kaia’s surprise, another… creature… joined them, one she’d never seen before. He looked like he might have once been a man of sorts, but now… he defied description. Skin and bone and big blue eyes and not much else, the creature made a terrible sound, like a cat horking up something awful, and Sam did not seem overly fond of it, whatever it was.

The four of them moved off and Madril turned to her. “Come. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

She bit back a sigh as she followed him. “I was so afraid you were going to say that.”

Boromir saw the Nazgûl and knew he’d found Frodo and Sam. He ducked beneath the archway leading into Osgiliath, out of sight of the fell beast as it went screeching overhead. Then, he slid his sword free and made his way into the stone edifice.

Following the sounds of voices, he strode along the wide corridor, his sword in one hand, shield in the other, and at the end of the corridor, where it opened into the courtyard, he stopped. There, at the far end, deep in conversation with Faramir’s second, Madril, was Kaia.

Seeing her was akin to being punched in the gut, for every bit of air left his body even as every fiber tightened as the memory of their night together surged to the forefront of his mind. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, the way the light shone along her dark red hair, even drawn back as it was into a single plait that fell halfway down her back. He’d forgotten what the sight of her in trousers did to him, what it had done to him since he was alert enough to know she was a woman, even at the worst of his recovery.

He stood there, rooted to his spot, and could only stare at her.

Then Madril looked up and smiled. “Do my eyes deceive me? Boromir?”

At his name, Kaia visibly stiffened and when she slowly turned toward him, he forgot how to breathe. Still, he managed to tear his eyes from her, to look over at Madril and nod. “It is, indeed. Where is Faramir?”

“He is showing two hobbits to the tunnel to send them on their way.”

“Two hob—When did they leave?” He quickened his pace and hurried over to Madril, his heart hammering his ribs as he closed the space between them. “Madril, when?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

Boromir slid his sword back into its sheath. “I can still catch them, then.”

“If you hurry, yes.”

Boromir stepped around him, and then paused as he came face to face with Kaia. Her eyes widened as she bobbed her head. “It’s good to see you, Boromir.”

“And you as well, Kaia,” he managed to say, despite the knots twisting his gut.

“I won’t keep you.”

“Thank you.” With that, he stepped around both Madril and Kaia and strode off in the direction Faramir would have taken. He would have to face Kaia eventually, and they would have to talk about what happened between them, but that would also have to wait. Finding Frodo was far more important.

He made haste to find Faramir before the hobbits left Osgiliath. It might be his last chance to explain to Frodo why he’d done what he had, his last chance to ask Frodo for forgiveness, and so sped up his stride.

“Boromir!” Faramir’s voice rang out along the corridor and despite the feeling he’d missed his chance, Boromir could not help but smile at the familiar sound.

Faramir embraced him, wrapping his arms about him as he said, “Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you alive and well!”

“Perhaps not, but I know how it feels to be glad to be alive and well,” he replied, returning the hug. “Madril tells me there were two halflings here. Tell me they’ve not gone.”

“I’ve just sent them on their way to Mordor to see their task to completion,” Faramir told him, stepping back. “And, there is someone else here I think you know as well.”

“I saw her,” Boromir said softly, glancing over his shoulder back toward the courtyard. “And to be honest, I’d much rather go after the hobbits.”

“She’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

“She is.”

“I am well aware of what she is,” Boromir growled, shaking his head, “and I know I will eventually have to sit down and talk to her, but not now. You said the halflings just departed and that means I have time to catch up with them. And at the moment, that is far more important than anything. Including that bloody jezebel you’ve given quarter to.”

“Jezebel?” Faramir burst out laughing. “She said you would be angry, but said nothing about just how angry you’d be.”

“Did she? Good. Then she won’t be surprised by anything I might say to her.”

“Probably not, but tell me, what exactly happened?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.” He brushed by his brother to go after the hobbits. The sooner he was away from Osgiliath, the better off he’d be and he cared not that he’d trekked through what seemed like endless forest to get there. All in all, he’d rather follow the halflings to Mordor than go back and face Kaia again.

“You should let him do what he needs do,” Faramir called.

Boromir ignored him. Ignored him and ignored the little voice in his head telling him he was making a mistake, the one telling him to go back and talk things out with Kaia because he had the feeling there was something there between them. Something that went much deeper and was far stronger than one night of passion.

“Boromir, you should speak with her!”

He threw up a hand as he marched away from Faramir, but that certainly didn't stop his little brother from adding, “I’ll make sure nothing happens to her until you return!”

It was on the tip of his tongue to shout back that he shouldn’t bother, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. All that mattered then was reaching Frodo. Everything else would wait and seeing Kaia topped the list of things that would wait.

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Sean Bean #Everybody Lives #Sons of Gondor

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nerendus · 3 months

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Okay, finished Rogue Trader, time for my in depth review.

This was my first Warhammer 40k game, and in terms of just how good it is to start with as someone who has extremely limited knowledge of the lore, it's very good. As a person who quite likes dark choir and Gregorian chant music and just existing online for a long time, it's kinda difficult to not gather some, albeit extremely out of context, snippets of the lore, but this game does it really well that you can go in completely blind and still be able to understand what was going on.

Before I go over the negatives of this game, I naturally have to bring attention to many of the positives.

The true highlight of this game was easily the companions. I was unable to grab Ulfar due to a bug and I got rid of Marazhai when I realised "oh no, he's going to be an awful person to all my canon lovers," but everyone else I loved dearly. Cassia....least of all, her whole thing got boring very quickly, and Yrliet was cool but her combat dialogue made me very annoyed with her. Yes, you are not my xeno pet, now can you please shoot that celestial being that is trying to kill all of us?

Everyone else, I have no complaints with. Argenta was very extreme, but in a sort of endearing way. Idira's story made me so sad, and I'm glad I was able to give her an ending where she lived a happy life. That bit of Jae taking her to go see the void whales nearly brought a tear to my eye. Heinrix...I like to make fun of him and call him a snitching bitch, but I do genuinely like him. It's just I like him in a way that I constantly want to bully him because I think it's funny. Jae and Pasqal are legally both my wives and I don't care what canon says. Abelard...Abelard is my Kim Kitsuragi. Most of my choices in the game were based around if he would approve or not. I wasn't able to give most of my friends the best possible outcome (tbh at a certain point I stopped trying), but just being able to send that old man off peacefully surrounded by people who love him was the greatest feeling in the entire world.

In terms of gameplay, naturally my favourite part was the space exploration. Finding new worlds and uncovering their ancient pasts...it was all so much fun. More on that in a moment.

The story towards the end did begin to bother me, but there were two moments that really made it worthwhile. First, the final goodbyes to all of your friends. I don't know how different the conversations would be if you were an asshole to them, but being on good terms with everyone really just warms the heart. Being able to hug Idira, Pasqal saying he was glad to travel with me, Abelard........being Abelard. The only thing I would change is that I think, as Lord Captain, I should've been able to order a group hug. I loved them all so much and I truly think they should've at the bare minimum hugged (bare maximum: best orgy the Expanse has ever seen).

The second part was...the ending sequence itself. I did the Iconoclast ending with my lovely son Nomos, and that whole sequence of the Rogue Trader going Go, my sweet summer child and watching my son becoming a literal god was great. I had...a few concerns throughout the game that because I played a good person I would get a bad ending since the Dystopian Fascist Government That's In Denial That They Are A Dystopia would naturally try to off my girl, but Nomos coming in clutch to save the Expanse was amazing. If Iconoclast had been a certified bad ending, especially after all the bullshit that happened in Act 3 and beyond, I would have been so pissed. Having a satisfying ending, however bittersweet it may be, made the difficult and stressful journey worth it. Warhammer 40k: Rogue Trader was my Mordor, and I was Frodo Baggins and Abelard was Samwise Gamgee.

In terms of endings.....I did okay. Abelard got the best ending, Idira did as well though she didn't reconcile with Vigdis or Argenta--if someone can explain how you do that, especially Vigdis, please tell me I'm curious. Everyone else....lived a life. Heinrix got assassinated, Jae got assassinated, Pasqal became a heretic which I think is hot of him, Yrliet was killed by Pasqal which is honestly kinda funny, Cassia...I didn't care enough to actually read her ending but I think it was okay.

I was only really trying to get good endings for Abelard, Idira, and Pasqal because naturally they were the characters I got the most attached to. I was initially trying with Jae, but after I realised that after Act 3 you can't go forward with romancing her, I was so fucking tired of this bullshit that I gave up. Everyone else I did make an effort to help them, but I didn't care that much about getting the perfect ending for them.

So...now is time for the negatives. First one is the one that I've mentioned a few times, and that's the story. Up until Act 3 I was deeply immersed in the story, I really liked where it was headed. But once you get to Commorragh (which I will now refer to strictly as Low Budget Tower of Latria) it starts to fall apart.

The very beginning was great. The Rogue Trader being mentally tortured and struggling to get by as she searches for her comrades that have also bear witness to the Horrors. Finding out the different ways they were abused at the hands of that....fish....elf....mermaid....thing was great. And the idea of then going to try and get revenge on the fuckers who tortured you was also good but it just...kept...going. The battles were just so boring, and the dungeon just kept spiraling on in a way that wasn't fun at all. It doesn't help that the story also just...wasn't appetizing. After we gather the crew and Tervantias told us to fuck off, it just became boring. Yeah, those dudes want to see us fight to the death, can I please continue on to the next area already?

I also just have an issue with just how...after Act 3 the torture is only really referenced in idle dialogue between companions. Funnily enough, the only one I got to mention it was Idira and she wasn't even there. Like, I feel like they should have put in at least a little bit of extra effort into placing those events into the overall storyline for the companions that were actually there. Make Abelard sad, Cassia even more of a whiny bitch. Hell, you literally tell Pasqal "hey man, we'll deal with the weird xenotech in your body once we get out of this place" and then it is never mentioned again. It felt so out of place for you to go through literal hell with your best friends and it not have a lasting impact on anybody. At the very least, there should have been the ability that the companions that went to Bad Latria to have new dialogue options open up at the bridge--there's no way you wouldn't have a deeper connection with these folk after all that.

But eventually, Act 3 passes and Act 4...was Act 4. I'm trying to keep my breakdown of the events linear, but I just...really think Act 4 and Act 5 should have been switched, or at the very least, the bosses switched. But I'll get into that in a moment.

Act 4 wasn't terrible. Most of it was just finishing up on companion questlines, and the questlines were genuinely fun to do...except Cassia. Look, at a certain point you lose patience with characters like her, and I just picked options that didn't make me sound like a total asshole. Pasqal's questline was fun...even though it was hard to keep up with the constant new information and names I most certainly don't remember being referenced. I really wasn't expecting the Truth to be that he is like, robot Moses, I really thought that he was just a septuplet or something. I did really like the twist even though I didn't fully understand it. Argenta's mission was cool. Abelard's was amazing even though I had to enlist the help of the wiki since it didn't really click at first.

There's also the bit on Footfall of making things normal again, and honestly, gathering a squad of bandits-turned-politicians-turned-bandits, pirates, priests, drunkards, to fight against Some Woman was really fun. But...then the inquisitor sends you off to war.

The war part itself was fun, even though it was just a storytelling bit. Grandpa Opticon-22 died, but comparing that to his Alive Ending....his sacrifice honestly just felt far more satisfying than robbing him of his martyrdom. Also, he's Grandpa, his legs must be so tired, he deserves some rest.

But then you get into the facility and the anger just comes back at full force. Listen, I'm not the biggest fan of turn based fights in video games--if I went seeking gameplay like that I'd go play DND--but Rogue Trader had been for the most part not bad though it does get quite repetitive and boring, but the shit on that planet fucking sucked. It wasn't fun. It was over staying its welcome for a really long goddamn time. And then you go fight Urlon and the bird....it's the same shit. It was boring as hell and didn't spark any fun whatsoever. The Urlon portion wasn't that bad, but the bird....man, fuck that bird.

There was a moment after returning to Footfall for answers that I did like, and that was all of the faction leaders sort of wishing the Rogue Trader good luck on her journey. It was cute, but I didn't manage to max out friendship with any of the factions by a long shot. I was aiming for really good rep with the Navy and AdMech since the colony stuff related to them was the most interesting to me, but...alas. Are you able to max out more than one faction? I've heard people maxing out the Navy, but I don't know if the only way to max out a faction is by focusing solely on one or what.

There was that bit of a Star Trek feel when you finally get through that portal and end up somewhere completely uncharted. It felt so magical, but it ended just as quickly as it began. There was only like, four, maybe five systems that you got to explore before you were at the end of the game, which just fucking sucked. The map for the Expanse is so huge and you only get to explore like 1/3 of it that if felt so...unfulfilling. I loved that feeling when I first pulled open the map and thought "Wow! This thing is huge! I can't wait to explore every nook and cranny!" and just for most of that space to go untouched really hurt my explorer brain.

So....the Inquisitor. I really hated how the story handled him. Sort of suddenly and disjointedly at the end of Act 4 the story begins to try and paint him as the big bad mastermind of the game and it just...didn't work for me. If there had been more intrigue...mystery....unanswered questions that just chewed at your brain throughout the game, maybe it could have worked. But really it was mainly just, you go up to this man and he has to explain how every little detail of the game was directly his fault. It did not feel satisfying at all. It just happened, and then he was dead.

I think, even if they kept him as the True Mastermind, he and Urlon should have swapped places. Urlon and Kunrad just mean so much more for the Rogue Trader's personal journey, that I can't help but think they should have been put at the end instead of the Inquisitor. So much of the story had been this sort of quest for revenge, and for the ending to not be a fulfillment of that revenge just feels wrong.

As for the actual final boss, no major complaints. C'tan was a bit....boring. They could've hired their orchestra to have a truly magnificent final boss theme and gave him far more cool and epic moves instead of just...standing there most of the time. I will say, though, I did really like that one attack that puts a bunch of spears in a companion and you can just...have another companion swap places. I think that was really neat.

The other part of the negatives is bugs...but this is already way too long so I'll be quick with this part.

Ulfar just...wasn't able to be recruited

enemies just remaining in their idle poses during fights and it taking upwards to a minute for the game to finally move to another fighter

Stairs.

Idle dialogue not supporting the canon events (Abelard grieving the idea of the Rogue Trader and Cassia being put into a loveless marriage....despite that not being a thing)

This isn't really a bug, but fuck if the camera angles in oddly shaped rooms don't just jerk you around constantly

There's probably more bugs and more grievances I have that I have just forgotten...but this is long and I just want this to be over.

I've wanted to get into Warhammer 40k for years, but with there being so much material and not knowing what would be a good starting point as someone with no knowledge, this game was a godsend. There's very certain things that I'm very much into about the universe: AdMech, the Necrons, the Elves all specifically and having now the basics to go forth I know what I want to go more into since there is no way in hell I'm going to play every game and read every book there is.

I'm not very interested in the Space Marines and the Imperium...but not for the reason you'd think. I don't care that they're facists and their god is a dead dude, it's....just that they look ugly. Not physically, some of them are quite attractive face-wise, but them just wearing this big bulky armour but their faces being exposed just fills me with a rage that even I don't understand. The reason I want to kill the God-Emperor isn't because he created an awful place to live, it's because I saw one picture of him as a Man In Armour and it just made me so mad and now I hate everything he stands for. It's weird, I can't explain it.

But yeah...I'm really glad that I played this game. There's talk of a DLC mayhaps coming, and I have absolutely no desire to play it. Act 3 and beyond just makes the game immediately unreplayable for me, but I am still very grateful that I did play it.

Final score. 6/10.

#texts from the underbrush #warhammer 40k #rogue trader

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nellie-elizabeth · 1 year

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His Dark Materials: The Clouded Mountain (3x07)

Dayummmm I'm gonna cry so much when I watch the last episode, it's not even funny...

Cons:

The thing is, this show never should have tried to pull off an action movie. The special effects don't pass muster, they're forced to rely on shortcuts that just aren't all that visually interesting... angels and witches are having an epic battle but we can't really see it, human troops are valiantly dying for the cause but it's in dark snippets we can barely focus on. The Gallivespians continue to have not enough to do. It's not a matter of what's on the screen being bad, so much as it is a matter of them not being able to put stuff on the screen that should be there, if they really want it to.

Underpinning this problem with effects is a bigger one of Asriel's motivations. This whole time, his vendetta against God himself has been sort of a weak point. In the books, Asriel is more of a distant figure. By giving him so much screen-time in this final season, we sort of shine a spotlight on the fact that his whole war is a little silly and kind of useless. In the end, it's all about Lyra and the prophecy. So why is Asriel bothering with all of this? Is it just a distraction, a la the battle at the black gates in The Lord of the Rings, so Frodo can destroy the ring, or in this case, so Eve has the chance to "fall" the way she's destined to do? I don't know. When you really look at it, kinda weaksauce.

Also, Metatron ended up being kind of anticlimactic as a villain. He's just some name that we hear, then we meet him as a force of destruction, and then he's just Some Dude that our heroes of the hour can defeat by pushing off the side of a cliff. Meh.

Pros:

That stuff probably makes it sound like I didn't like this episode, but honestly for all my talk of how the finale will make me cry, this one got me weepy as well.

Starting with Will and Lyra, who took a backseat this episode. Their main role is getting reunited with their daemons. We get to see Will's daemon for the first time, and we're reintroduced to Pan who is... deeply hurt and betrayed still by Lyra's decision to leave him behind. We get this reunion moment but it's not fulfilled; it's painful and there's agony and longing on both sides, and then more plot stuff happens which means we're still unresolved with that. I loved the way Will reacted to the first sight of his daemon. Like meeting a friend he'd forgotten he once knew so well. Quietly beautiful.

I also want to mention Will and Lyra killing God. It's such a quick moment, anticlimactic, and the kids don't even know what they've just done. They set an old creature free, let him go to a merciful rest. It's a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, here in the show and honestly in the book as well. That's just as it should be.

The rest of this review is just going to be about Marisa and Asriel, are you surprised? Knowing this was coming, I was anxious about how it was going to play out. I've been praising the performances from these actors from the jump, and the writing for Mrs. Coulter has been one of the most intriguing, gorgeous parts of the whole show. The writing and use of Asriel has been a little more hit and miss. McAvoy does a great job giving Asriel the presence and gravitas he needs to have, but his mission and his goals and his wishy-washy-ness about his priorities has made his build to this final moment a little less satisfying than what we've got going on with Marisa.

But that said, it all becomes so worth it to me for those moments at the very end. Mrs. Coulter, playing mind games one final time, against an adversary more formidable than any other. She uses her real feelings of pain in order to trick Metatron. Asriel is on the ground, weeping and weak, and Mrs. Coulter approaches him to "gloat." And then her daemon, left behind, deploys a weapon that turns everything on its head, and Asriel, Marisa, and Stelmaria together are able to knock Metatron into the Abyss from whence there shall be no return for any of them.

Just... the beauty of Marisa and Asriel doing this for their daughter, giving up everything so Lyra can save the day, both of them finding selflessness within them but only just in time to give their lives for a greater goal... this element of the books always gives me goosebumps and they did a properly epic job of depicting it here. The real gut-punch comes with the golden monkey, Marisa's daemon reaching out to touch Lyra in his final moments, but fading away into dust before their hands can connect. Lyra watches the moment her mother's soul ceases to be, and knows herself orphaned.

And... yeah. We're setting the stage for the finale to be the emotional center of the story, to focus on Lyra and Will where the focus should ultimately be. This episode wasn't some strong pinnacle of everything TV can be. I had my problems with it. But the stuff that worked about it was so strong that I was just happy to be there to see those elements, at the end of the day!

8/10

#review #his dark materials #his dark materials review

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moonrainbowfish · 3 years

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Lotr characters and how they would show you their affection Part 1:

Aragorn:

I would imagine Aragorn being very gentle, but also protective. He would be more affectionate in private. But he still loves holding your hand in public and looking into your beautiful e/c eyes. Doesn't matter if their light, or dark, your eyes are gorgeous, no matter what. He'd tell you stories about being a ranger and his time with the elves. And he's all ears to also listen to one of your stories. It doesn't matter to him, if they're real, or not. Hearing your beautiful voice is always blessing to him.

"Aragorn is it true, that you captured Gollum? That must've been quite the challenge, capturing such a tricky creature!"

"Oh believe me Y/N it was! He stank so much, I was so glad when I was finally rid of his company."

"I can only imagine, but it must've been horrible."

Boromir:

Boromir would also be very proud of you. He's a loyal partner and would never betray you. I see him falling for either a more delicate and empathetic person, or an independent, strong warrior. If you don't have any, or much fighting experience he'd be more than happy to teach you some techniques with a sword. He would do it as a way to help you protect yourself. Boromir would jump in front of you to shield you from any kind of danger. Maybe taking an arrow or two, but if it's for you, than it's worth it. He would protect you with his life.

Legolas:

Legolas would often tease you, but in a friendly way. You often have competitions over who can kill the most orcs along with Gimli. But if someone would ever dare to insult you, or threaten your life, Legolas would not hesitate to chop their head off. He hates seeing you get picked on and can't stand seeing you sad. I feel like he would enjoy showing physical affection, like holding your hands, or kissing your forehead. He's also actually very gentle and especially loves to braid your hair, if it's longer.

Gimli:

You: *does literally nothing*

Gimli: "THATS MY Y/N! DID YOU SEE HOW WONDERFUL THEY ARE!"

Gimli would love to show you off! He's so proud of you and would let anyone know it. He enjoys hyping you up and telling you enlightening stories about his life, or make witty remarks to keep you entertained. He will even try to teach you about dwarvish customs and traditions. But for the most part he would constantly compliment and praise you.

Frodo:

Frodo is definitely more shy and timid when it comes to showing you affection, especially physical and in public. However he'd enjoy listening to you and you both like sharing facts and expanding your knowledge. He will let you know, he will always listen to your problems and supports you in any way he possibly can. Frodo loves it when you ramble about one of your recent interests. He simply enjoys a good conversation, especially if it's with you. He would often compliment you and he blushes when you flirt back.

Sam:

Now this good boys love language is acts of service without a doubt. He likes to do tasks for you like cooking you a delicious meal, holding doors open for you, helping you with chores, etc. He'd do anything for you and enjoys giving you any kind of love. He would protect you from any pushy people trying to flirt with you. He would basically even die for you, that's how loyal he is. Sam will also happily share his love for gardening with you by introducing you to his favourite flowers and plants.

"Here Y/N, this pretty flower reminded me of you."

Merry:

Merry would always be there for you. In good times, or even bad times. You went through thick and thin together and Merry often uses his wit to protect you. Like the time when you both got into huge trouble and Merry then tried to take the blame instead to protect you from the punishment by trying to convince the others and saying your innocent, even if you weren't. Merry would also be your number one supporter. He knows what it's like to feel underestimated, so he will always cheer you on!

Pippin:

Pippin may not be the wisest hobbit, but he has a heart of gold. He would include you in one of his adventures and would try to ask you a lot of questions to get to know you better. His attempts at affection often end up in flames due to his clumsiness, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He often tries to remember little details you told him. Like when you said you collect rocks so one day Pippin would say to you:

"Hey Y/N! Look at this amazing rock that I've found! Do you wanna have it?"

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Thanks to @msfandomfreak for the help

#lotr x reader #lotr x y/n #lotr headcanons #lotr imagine #lotr preferences #lord of the rings #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #legolas x reader #gimli x reader #frodo x reader #sam x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader

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anaveragebibliophile · 3 years

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All For Him

Young!Legolas x Thranduil x Wife!Reader

Summary: Lord Elrond comes to Mirkwood to ask a favor of his oldest friend, Thranduil. However, the stoic, unyielding king isn’t as willing to follow through on the request because of the danger it will put his family in.

Honestly, when you stumbled into your husband’s study that morning, you didn’t expect to feel so puzzled and flabbergasted. You didn’t anticipate Thran’s summons to be anything more than a request for information about Legolas (which you were happy to provide), a question regarding supper, or an idea for date night. So the last person you expected to see was Lord Elrond, the ruler of Rivendell, arguing with his trusted confidant and friend of many eons near the balcony.

“Thran, what’s going on? Is everything alright?” you queried as you stepped into the room, incisors biting into your lower lip.

“Queen (y/n), what a pleasant surprise,” Lord Elrond replied, consequently ending the argument, as he walked over to take your wrist and place a chaste, respectful kiss on the back of your hand. “My sincerest apologies for not seeking you out sooner.”

“That’s quite alright, Elrond. You know that. I too wish I had known you were here earlier, but I unfortunately got sidelined. We took a short walk in the gardens this morning, all three of us, when Legolas ended up tripping on a very small rock. Thranduil and I tried to utilize the open--and what we thought was a safe--space as a way for him to grow more comfortable walking without our help. That strategy worked well for us. Until today. None of us had seen the ant-sized pebble roll over his tiny heel, making him lose his balance and unknowingly place his hand on a grounded bee’s stinger to stabilize himself.”

“My goodness! How is he doing?”

“As well as can be expected. As he got himself up, he whimpered a little bit which isn’t normally like him. Even if he takes a tumble, he’ll usually still maintain his normal demeanor--sweet, timid, and smiley. But once we saw his palm start to swell up, we knew something was wrong. Thran rushed him to the healer, who was more than willing to keep an eye on him. Ever since then, he’s been given herbs to reduce the swelling and irritation at the site of the wound as well as water to keep him hydrated. Thank you for asking.”

Once you finished sharing that traumatizing experience, you looked over to your husband, whose face was devoid of color. Out of the two of you, he had been the most panicked over Legolas’ well-being. ‘Is he breathing?’ he’d asked. ‘What if he has a reaction to the toxins?’ he’d wondered. ‘What if we didn’t get him to the healer’s quarters in time?’ he’d said, voice cracking under all the emotions. Unfortunately, the man is an aggressive worrier who feels the most stress when he’s involved in a situation that’s completely out of his control. His son inadvertently getting stung by a bee? Yeah, definitely an event that drove your husband up a wall.

“He’s doing fine, Thran. He and I cuddled in his rocking chair for about twenty minutes before he fell asleep. Before that though, he did want me to tell you that he loves you,” I said, trying to soothe him as best as I could given the circumstances.

Even though Legolas is still quite young and not fluent in Sindarin yet, he does have a few sentences that he likes to use every now and again. His favorite though is ‘gi melin’, the Sindarian version of ‘I love you’. Anytime he’s reunited with you or Thran, he’ll smile so wide (with his one tooth showing itself off) and almost shout the words out (as if you won’t hear him clearly without that extra pizzaz). Both you and your husband agree that it’s probably the sweetest thing your little leaf has ever done (and Legolas is the epitome of sweet).

“I love him too. More than life. Which is why I cannot allow Sauron’s ring and its company to enter Mirkwood. I am sorry, Elrond, but my answer is final. You will not be able to change my mind on the subject,” your husband said.

“Sauron’s ring? So young Frodo is alive then, is he not? I heard about your daughter saving him from the hands of the Nazgûl but wasn’t sure of its veracity,” you mentioned.

“Yes. He is recovered and wishes to continue on the quest to destroy the ring at Mount Doom. However, we are trying to avoid the company’s traveling in the open at night and are looking for places for them to seek refuge. I am trying to convince Thranduil to offer his kingdom, but it seems that that has been more difficult than I originally presumed. He fears for your safety and Legolas’ too much.”

Speaking of Legolas, a soft knock on the door soon presented you with the little leaf in the arms of his nanny, Elva.

“Legolas, darling, what are you doing up so early?” I asked, my lips perking up into a small grin.

“Ada, Nana!” he blubbered, pointing to us. “Gi melin, gi melin, gi melin.”

“I apologize, Your Majesties. As you can see, the prince woke up a bit early from his nap. All of the maids attempted to keep him occupied in his chambers, but it was no use. He only wanted to see his nostairi (parents),” Elva explained.

“That is quite alright, Elva. I have not seen enough of him today. Thank you for bringing him to us,” your husband responded, moving over as Legolas reached out for him, and, once in his arms, began snuggling into his chest. “Hello, iôn nîn. I hope you slept well.”

“How’s his hand, Thran?”

Your husband took your question as an opportunity to lightly pull Legolas’ right arm out from where it was hiding in front of his stomach. “It is still a tad swollen but not too severe.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear.”

“Nana, gi melin,” your son whispered behind your husband’s robes.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” you responded, lightly running your fingers through his hair and down his back.

Watching the interaction ensue, Thranduil softly smiled down at the two loves of his life. The first one--his wife--who taught him the beauty behind exuding kindness, positivity, and light. The one who guided him back to the meaning of life. And the second one--his son--who embodies all the genuine goodness that his wife bestowed upon him in their early years together. He’ll never know how he got so lucky, but that unknown answer will never prevent him from being grateful.

“Ada, gi melin,” your son quietly hummed as he lifted himself up to kiss Thran’s cheek.

“Iôn nîn, gi melin as well. Very much.”

But then the unthinkable happened. Your little leaf turned his body away from Thranduil to look at Elrond. “Gi melin!” he shouted, a smile creeping up his face (with his lone tooth on display).

“Well, I cannot say I am not shocked,” the lord responded, just as confounded as the rest of the group. Although Legolas was a very empathetic elfling, the reality was that he only shared that sentence with two people: his parents. So his sharing that sentiment with another-- a person he doesn’t spend every day with, let alone see once a month--was very odd, yet exciting in its own way. In your mind, maybe this was a sign that he was feeling more comfortable around his parents’ trusted friends. Maybe he saw the camaraderie in the room and felt soothed by it. Maybe he was no longer experiencing such debilitating episodes of timidity.

“It appears he has taken a strong liking to you, Elrond,” you responded. “And now that you know the depth of his affections, are you truly going to permit an evil, dark presence permeating Mirkwood’s halls?”

He pondered that question in no time at all before saying, “No. I will not be the one to put this child at risk. Perhaps Frodo and his company can stay a few extra days at Rivendell. It really is not a problem.”

At that declaration, you and Thranduil humbly nodded (hiding your smiles as best you could because this was a serious matter after all). “Thank you, my friend. Your concern for our son is much appreciated and will never be forgotten.”

“I know you would have done the same for me had I been in your shoes. Legolas deserves to be safe and comforted in his own kingdom without his parents having to worry about whether the ring will wreak havoc and harm him in the process. Besides, I want to return to Mirkwood in a few months’ time and still be on his list of love.” And everyone, including Legolas, giggled at that.

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frodo-with-glasses · 2 years

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More Reading Thoughts: The Taming of Smeagol

"Well, master, we're in a fix and no mistake." Strong start! Hello, Sam! I missed your face! 8-D

One thing that was lost on me as a kid was just how difficult it would be for Frodo and Sam to navigate this rough terrain when they're so small and not terribly athletically inclined. I have now scrambled around on rocks at the rim of the Grand Canyon, and lemme tell you, just because you can see it doesn't mean you can get down there without breaking your legs.

"Yes, I can smell it." Elijah Wood's delivery of this line will never not make me giggle. That and "I think I've found the bottom." Am I twelve years old at heart? Why yes. Yes I am.

"Only those, what d'you call 'em, lembas, Mr. Frodo." I would just like to stop and express my appreciation that Tolkien so deliberately added these little verbal idiosyncrasies to convey Sam's accent to the reader. This is not me parodying the story. This is a direct quote. Did I expect to see the word "d'you" in this epic high fantasy story? No I didn't. Is it the best thing I've seen all day? Heck yes.

(Makes me wonder how Sam's accent is handled in translations of this story apart from English. Tolkien very deliberately put it in to mimic a very particular British dialect, that much is clear, so how do other translations adapt that to lower-class dialects in their own languages?)

"'There's nothing for it but to scramble down this gully, Sam. Let's see what it leads to!' 'A nasty drop, I'll bet.'" Always the voice of optimism, Sam.

"It is doubtful if he ever did anything braver in cold blood, or more unwise." Tolkien really said, "Sam slid himself right over the edge of that cliff and that was the single bravest and stupidest thing he ever did."

Ooh, Frodo went all blind all of the sudden! :-O I wonder if that's his shoulder wound acting up again....like that "wraith sight" is coming back in response to the Nazgul's screech. Either that or he's just got low blood pressure and the sudden shock of falling down made him grey out a little LOL

"'Stop chattering!' cried Frodo, now recovered enough to feel both amused and annoyed. 'Never mind your Gaffer!'" This hollered up the cliff-face after a near scrape with death. I love this book.

One of the great under-appreciated aspects of Frodo and Sam’s dynamic is the times when it becomes VERY CLEAR just how much older Frodo is. He’s dealing with Sam like an exasperated parent wrangling a hyperactive two-year-old and that’s just very funny to me. X-D

This entire conversation is just Frodo and Sam going back and forth like "I want to go down" "well I don't" "well I do, and I have seniority here" "good point"

"Ninny-hammers! Noodles! My beautiful rope!" I need to know more hobbit swears because these are GREAT

(This and Sam's accent are even funnier when you consider Tolkien's "meta explanation" for LotR. "Ah yes I translated this from the Red Book of Westmarch and turned these hobbit names into ones based off of Anglo-Saxon root words and blah blah blah" okay but WHAT WAS SAM ACTUALLY SAYING IN THE HOBBIT LANGUAGE THEN, TOLKIEN?? Where's your appendix on THAT?? Do hobbits actually use the name of a starchy food as a euphemism? Is the word for "noodles" phonetically similar to a swear word in Hobbit Language, like the Russian "blin" and "blyat"?? WHAT DO HOBBITS SAY WHEN THEY BANG THEIR THUMB WITH A HAMMER??? I DON'T NEED SLEEP, TOLKIEN, I NEED A N S W E R S)

Movie!Frodo: "Real elvish rope :-]" Book!Frodo: "LOL you almost killed us" Sam: "No I didn't TT-TT"

(Honestly I prefer the movie version. I know Frodo is just trying to find a sensible explanation for why the rope came down, but it does come across like he's blaming Sam for something that isn't his fault. Much prefer that little look of "huh...well then" that they give each other in the movie. That's just *chef's kiss*)

Frodo: *grabs Sam's arm* Me, being predictable: 8-D

Obviously much of the way these characters speak had to be adapted to fit the big screen. Gollum, though? He's just. Like that. He talks exactly the same. Like they didn't change anything at all. It's almost jarring.

Tolkien compares Gollum to an insect, a spider, a frog, a dog, and wet string. I have no comment on this, I just think it's brilliantly evocative and very funny.

Frodo responding out loud to the memory of his conversation with Gandalf in Moria is much more poignant when you realize that at this point, Frodo still thinks Gandalf is dead :-(

"Sam...seemed to sense that there was something odd about his master's mood and that the matter was beyond argument. All the same he was amazed at Frodo's reply." This just in: Main Character suddenly gets agency in the story after being tossed around like little more than baggage with feet for several chapters, Sidekick left stunned

"Frodo looked across at Sam. Their eyes met and they understood." Me, being PredictableTM: "hhhhrmnnnnggpppfffffttthhhnn"

Yes I am that basic girl whose favorite thing is when characters know each other so well they can communicate without talking to each other, shut up

"Frodo drew himself up, and again Sam was startled by his words and his stern voice." *Doofenschmirtz voice* If I had a nickel for every time I was caught off-guard by Frodo going all aggro on Gollum, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice—

"'Down! down!' said Frodo." Bro he literally is even using dog commands on Gollum. Bruhhhh.

Sam, internally: "boi this smeagol be actin' SUS—" *is slapped*

I guess this chapter is called “The Taming of Smeagol” because “Frodo and Sam Repeatedly Try and Fail to Get Down a Cliff” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

#samwise gamgee #frodo baggins #gollum #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #assorted thoughts #boy i forgot how these boys are my muse #expect LOTS OF DRAWINGS #long post

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Starfall {Pippin x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2502 Summary: After being missing for over a year, your husband returns to you. Notes: Some NSFW towards the end.

Pippin, when he was at home, was a very good husband. Sure, he was a little young, immature, childish, silly, fleeting, smoked way too much pipeweed and drank way too much ale. But he loved you to death. One night after coming home from drinking too many pints, you invited him into bed so he could get some much needed rest - but nope. He dare not get into bed with anyone who was not his spouse. The bedroom had been too dark for him to see you and the ale had played with his head until he couldn’t recognize your voice either. And then he had fallen right down onto the floor and fell asleep on one of the rugs, snoring happily away. You had laughed yourself to sleep that night. But then only a few days later - he was gone. And all that you had was a message from a place called The Prancing Pony that was apparently from him. Gone off with Frodo, Merry and Sam. A year had passed. No more word.

November was a bit chilly. You had to pull your warm cloak out of storage when you went to go and do the shopping. There were still whispers following you from the other families as you walked along, trying to ignore them. ‘Pippin left them.’ ‘Left by a Took.’ ‘Some say they’re a widow now.’ ‘Still claims he’s alive, bless them.’ ‘Not even a child to keep to remember him by.’ You held your basket closer to your side and walked by them with your head held high.

At The Shire Market, you picked through some cabbage, some squash, carrots, potatoes of course, putting them into your basket once you’ve bought them. At least the shopkeepers were always friendly to you. Probably in an attempt to get more money but you would take what you would get. You stopped by a fruit cart, and grabbed some apples, thinking that you would make your famous apple pie. It was one of the only things that no one could criticize you for. It was the perfect way to get everyone to shut up for a little while. You needed the reprieve. You were giving them a squeeze, making sure the texture was right, then set them in your basket.

Only for you to feel a tugging on the handle. Was someone seriously trying to steal your basket in the middle of the market? You tugged it back, only to feel someone fall into your side. You turned your head quickly, ready to tell them off but then the familiar sand-colored curls. Your jaw dropped. It actually hurt with how fast it had gone down. “I was only trying to help!" Pippin protested. “You should see the muscles I’ve got now. Bigger than Merry’s. Maybe even bigger than Sam’s! I’m still no Strider, er, well, Aragorn, King guy but-”

“Peregrin Took!” You roared, catching the attention of everyone inside of the marketplace. All eyes on you both, and the whispers began again almost immediately.

“Oi! You haven’t called me that since our Wedding Day!” Pippin said, indignantly. He gave another tug at the basket and in all of your shock, you let go of it. He held it up proudly, big grin on his face. “And it’s Sir Peregrin Took! I’ve been knighted! I wish you could have been there but it still wasn’t safe for you to travel. Bandits and all that-”

“How dare you?” His face turned into that of a sheepish grin. His little innocent look. But you were not buying it. Your eyes were so preoccupied with him that you didn’t notice the three other companions coming up behind him. They were all riding little ponies, a fourth trailing along. “You leave me for a year? And you come back and you try to steal my basket? What, did you not get enough to eat while you were out there doing who knows what? No ale in your stomach? No pipeweed to smoke?”

“Well, we did come across a rather nice stash of salted pork-” Merry said, finally catching your attention.

“You shut those lips or I’ll sew them for you!” You yelled back at him, making him pucker. “Not one word since The Prancing Pony! Which I’ll have you know does not have a shining reputation! Our Green Dragon wasn’t good enough for you anymore? I wasn’t good enough for you anymore?”

“Oh come now Flower,” Pippin said, trying to use his cute nickname for you.

“Don’t you flower me. Now, you are going to pay for these apples. And you are going to go over to the next stall and get me some cinnamon sticks and butter! Do you hear me? Then you will meet me at home and you can fill me in on your adventure and then I’ll decide what to do with you afterward.”

Pippin just nodded, looking terrified. You were about to walk away, but you stopped and turned around, eyeing him. “Did you get taller?”

“Why yes actually, I’m taller than Merry even! We drank from this-”

“Not yet. Get the ingredients,” You rubbed at your temples. “Good afternoon, Frodo, Samwise, Meridoc.”

“Might we come around for some pie later, ma’am?” Sam asked, good-naturedly. He had dirt on his nose, you noticed, but when did the gardener not?

“Oh, I suppose you may come by in the evening. I’ll cook up a good supper. Tell Pippin here what you want. It will be on his coin.” There was laughter from the three on the horses as you made your way back home to try to get yourself straightened up. You had not left the house with the thought of meeting your long-gone husband! But this was such a delightful thing, you had finally been able to prove that he was not dead. Take that neighbors!

Supper was had and enjoyed. Bread was used as a mop along the bottom of the plate to get every last bit of gravy available, and then there was pie to be had. By the time that the three unmarried hobbits left your house, they were stumbling from ale, laughing loudly and you had heard a tale unlike any other that you have heard before.

“You give Bilbo a run for his money, I’ll give you that,” You said, clearing the table. There was your husband as well, helping you, leaning up behind you. His chest was up against your back. And his front - well that was up against your backside. It brought a flush to your cheeks because it had been so long since you had someone be this close to you. Only in your dreams.

“Forget the dishes for tonight,” Pippin said, pulling you up and close to his chest. He wrapped you in his arms and yes - yes, you could definitely tell that he had grown taller. Why, his chin was actually above your head now! You were no longer eye to eye! It was like being with a different person, though there were the familiar smells of him, his warmth, his loving embrace. His touch felt different though - his fingers were more calloused than before. But that was fine. You could grow used to such things.

“We’ll have flies by morning,” You tried to argue, but he did not let you go. You turned around to face him, to lecture him on how the dishes really needed to be done, but that irresistible grin was there, waiting for you. He kissed your forehead, something he used to have to push himself upwards to do but not anymore. You sighed, giving in, hugging him close, having truly missed him the last year. “So this Ent water you were speaking about... is your height the only thing that it made grow?” You asked.

“Oh, you cheeky thing,” Pippin said with surprise. He was just about blushing at that! His face turning auburn like his hair. “Why don’t we go and find out?”

The bedroom was waiting for you. His things from his travels were scattered haphazardly about, having been thrown down when he came home. But the bed was clear. That was the most important bit. The both of you crashed upon it, lips in a frenzy, smacking together like they did after eating a slice of your apple pie. He still tasted of it, and a touch of ale of course. The boys did love their drink. His hands were at your waist, while yours tugged at the hem of his tunic. You pulled it up to reveal his bare chest, a few tufts of hair the same color as that of his head and just as curly, lining his abdomen. You started to kiss it, missing the feeling of his warmth against you.

“I thought of ye every day,” Pippin said, unlacing the top of your dress, his fingers more nimble than before. Having to wear and secure all of that armor had made him an expect at such things. He did it so quickly that it was loosened before you could even blink.

“I knew you were alive,” You muttered, pulling away to slip the dress over your head. Other than a slip beneath it and a pair of warm hose, you weren’t wearing much. It wasn’t even particularly nice hose, it was the same mauve ones you had worn out to the market. But he looked at you as if you were draped in silk and rubies nonetheless. “I just knew that you were. My handsome husband - oh, how you have been through so much.”

“But I made it back to you, didn’t I?” He asked, eyebrows raised, taking you in. “Never lost faith, did ye? That’s my love, right there. Even though I nearly died, I came back a hero!”

“So show me - show me how heroic you are,” You giggled. Pippin made quick work out of your hose while you worked on the belt of his trousers. Filthy as ever - it was impossible to keep this man clean. But the skin beneath was as pale yet rosy as you could remember. And whatever was in that Ent water - it made things grow. That, and your help you supposed.

He picked you up - showing that he had indeed grown stronger in his time away - and brought you down upon the bed where you bounced with a laugh. “You’re going to be doing that a lot now, aren’t you?” You questioned.

“Yep!” He said with a huge grin taking over his face. And then he joined you, the straw-stuffed mattress bouncing with the springs, and took you by surprise with the giant kiss that you had been waiting for since he had grabbed your basket. It was so full of ‘I miss you’ that it made your heart beat quicker, your mind start to blur. The hands of the clock were going backwards, backwards, until it felt like he never left you at all.

His hands were on your breasts, kneading them like they were mounds of bread dough. It had been so long since anyone paid you any attention, so your body was being very reactive. And the way that he was looking at you when he pulled away, oh lord. It was like he hadn’t ever seen a body before. Like he was shocked and amazed all at the same time. Like on your wedding night. The first night that you had ever presented yourself. The first night that you made love. You put your hands over top of his. Guided him more into touching you the way that you liked. He remembered. The way that his finger tips brushed past your nipples was enough to bring the fire out in you more. That’s why he liked ya. You had more fire than those crackers that Gandalf used to bring.

“Make love to me, Pip,” You said, catching his eye. “You have a lot of making up to do.”

He took those instructions very seriously. He was exploring your body like it was brand new territory. And you explored his, as familiar as it was. There were some changes. There weren’t many muscular hobbits in The Shire, mostly they were just built like barrels. But now - Pippin. War had done wonder for his figure. The sword that he carried had helped him to develop muscles in those arms so that he could hold you better. His shoulders were wider. hist stomach - he had these little bumps on them that you had only seen on a rare human. The muscles poking out from beneath the stomach. You missed the little pudgy tummy that he had from eating too many carrot cakes but you’d fix that.

You held him firmly in your hand, the new girth, the new weight of it. His lips lovingly attached themselves to your breast, like the child that you would one day have. Perhaps even tonight would be the night in which they were conceived. That would be the perfect homecoming. You guided him inside of you, and he let out a very masculine moan at that. More gutteral than you had ever heard him. Not only had he grown on the outside, but apparently, he had grown on the inside too. Matured beyond his young years. You let out a hum of your own, feeling him stretching you - it truly had been so long.

He also seemed to have more stamina than he usually did. Normally he would be too relaxed from the weed to go on for very long but you were a very lucky hobbit that night, as he continued to go on - and on - a second - a third. Like he had the same thoughts that you did of ensuring a child. After hours had gone by, the sky an inky black, no light coming in through your window anymore, you laid there, happy and content, more so than you had been in over a year. You cuddled up to your husband, both of you staying in the nude. That was a little treat. Hobbits tended to be curious souls and someone could come bursting in at an appropriate morning hour to see how Pippin was, where he had been, learn more about his travels, but at the moment, you didn’t care.

You had your husband back.

The brave knight who helped take down the darkest evil of the age.

The hobbit that had gone where no hobbit had gone before, not even the adventurer Bilbo Baggins.

The Took that had befriended the trees and rode on one into battle against a very dark wizard.

Your Pippin.

The man with stars in eyes at all times.

The man you snuggled up with until well into the morning, until Merry gave a warning from the front door that you had better put clothes on because he was coming in.

The two always were a pair. Not even war could separate that. And neither could an exciting night of lovemaking, apparently.

#Pippin #Pippin x reader #Pippin oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #request #lotr #lotr oneshot

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

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Late in the Night | Part One

Prompt: Unrequited love/the love is requited, they’re just oblivious (Content Challenge Day 5)

Pairing: One-sided ( or is it ;) ) Female Reader x Legolas

Rating: G

Word count: 1847

Warnings: None

Challenge participants: @game-ofthe-company @grunid @themerriweathermage @errruvande @the-reformed-ringwraith @awkwardkindatries

A/n Hello hello, and happy Day 5 of my content challenge! As always, you can find the challenge’s masterlist here and my personal masterlist here.

I’m making these last three days into a mini-series, so here’s part one! Also, for this story, I’m going with the “girl wakes up in Middle Earth” plot, but LOTR doesn’t exist in her world. So she doesn’t know anything about the characters or their journey. She just kind of fell through a portal between worlds. Y’know?

Translations (I think): Taur-e-Ndaedelos — Mirkwood // Eryn Galen — Greenwood

Reader’s POV

“And Miss Y/n, what will you do once this is all over? Will you go back home?” Pippin stops to let me catch up, bringing me into step with him and Merry.

I purse my lips, not wanting to give too much away. The others know that I have a bit of an, erm—strange— situation, but they don’t know that I haven’t got a home in Arda. We’ve had at least ten variants of this conversation already, and each time, I’ve managed to avoid participating. It seems my hobbit friend, though, is done letting that slide.

I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “I haven’t really thought about that much…” Just in case there’s no ‘once this is all over’. “But I guess I would find a human town somewhere and build a life. I’ve learned quite a lot on this journey, so maybe I could make a living as a guard or even a seamstress, seeing how often I mend your clothes,” at this, I throw a teasing look at Gimli, who blushes. Out of all of us, he’s the most prone to non-battle related injury, and I often find him trudging back to camp with a rip in his sleeve after simple tasks like collecting firewood or refilling his canteen.

Pippin ignores my joke, and now I realize that I have the concern-laden eyes of all four hobbits. “You…would not go back home? You wouldn’t see your family?”

I sigh, avoiding Gandalf’s gaze. He said I was free to tell my companions that I am not of this world, but I haven’t yet worked up the nerve. The stress of figuring out how I got here, why I’m here…it’s too much to burden them with on this perilous quest. I stifle a little laugh, my exhausted mind finding humor in the situation. Maybe that’s what I’ll do ‘once all this is over’. I’ll tell them that I’m practically an alien.

Lost in my thoughts as I was, my silence drew the attention of Gimli and Boromir, and now I have six sets of concerned eyes regarding me. Great. I try to speed the conversation along so we can get to someone else. “Well, I haven’t seen my family in quite a long time…I think they think I’m dead, actually, and for all I know, they could be too…” This thought troubles me greatly, and I hurry to replace it with something else, forcing my voice to sound cheery and hopeful.“But that only means that I’m free to go anywhere—explore any place I like.”

Pippin looks quite heartbroken at my words, and I scramble to think of ways to fix it. But before I can, he grips my hand tightly in his, and I feel Merry mirror his actions on my other side. They look up at me triumphantly, smiling brightly. “You can come live with us, in The Shire,” Pippin declares, to which Sam nods earnestly. Frodo, as always of late, seems distracted, but offers me a distant smile.

A laugh of shocked joy escapes my lips, and I look between my valiant hobbit friends with possibly even more affection than before. “Do they even allow that? Big Folks moving into The Shire?”

“Sure they do,” Merry brushes away my concerns, appearing quite assured of himself.

But Pippin only shrugs, seemingly having not a care in the world. “And if they don’t, we’ll just sneak you in.”

“Gondor would be happy to host you as well,” Boromir adds, surprising me a little. We haven’t talked much on this journey, so it’s nice to know that he sees me as enough of a friend to invite me to his home.

Feeling much better, I squeeze Merry and Pippin’s hands. “Thanks, you guys. Really.”

{***}

We stop when it gets too dark for most of us to see.

“We are too far from Rivendell’s borders for me to feel comfortable.” Aragorn shakes his head slowly as he considers our surroundings and the potential risk we face. “I would ask that we keep a double watch tonight, and for many nights to come. Y/n, Legolas?”

Legolas—the only one of us who seems to have an endless supply of energy—jogs to a tall rock a couple hundred meters from camp, and begins to climb. I’m a bit slower to follow.

In the past three weeks, Aragorn has put me on watch eight times, the most only after himself and Legolas, and definitely more than our other companions. Sam shoots me an apologetic look and quietly promises to bring us dinner as soon as it’s ready.

I grab my cloak and follow Legolas’ path, trying to keep my annoyance to a minimum. After all, it’s not the worst thing in the world…staying up most of the night with Legolas, just the two of us.

He hears me coming and turns around with a welcoming smile, lowering a hand to help pull me onto the boulder. His hand is so warm in mine, so solid, and I find myself wishing he wouldn’t let go.

But of course he does, taking his hand from mine the moment I’m settled next to him. I tuck my hands into my cloak, trying not to lament the loss. Regardless of my quickly-growing feelings towards my elven friend, he has never given me an indication that he sees me as anything more than that, a friend, and I need to respect that.

He fixes me with a raised eyebrow, somehow both looking at me and the landscape over my shoulder. “Are you alright with staying awake tonight? It has been a while since you slept fully.”

I freeze, caught in a sudden burst of happiness. He noticed that? Has he been paying attention to me?

Legolas continues, and the fledgling hope that perhaps my affections for him aren’t as one-sided as I thought comes crashing down. “I could speak to Aragorn. It is no issue for me to stand watch alone.”

I briefly close my eyes, berating myself for my stupidity. He’s not commenting on your well-being, he just doesn’t want to have to be alone with you for the next five hours. He must somehow know of your feelings and wants to discourage them — because really, why would an elf want to be with a human?

I purse my lips, desperately not wanting him to know I’m upset. “No, it’s okay, thank you though. I’ll do my part.” My words come out a bit more cooly than I intended, but that’s just as well. Best to seem unattached.

He nods, giving me a funny look, then turns to look back out on the vast expanse of trees.

Nearly an hour passes in silence, then Sam visits, bringing dinner with him. Aragorn had managed to find two rabbits, so we eat well tonight. I savor it, knowing we might not be so lucky tomorrow, or the day after next. As usual, Legolas chooses to eat standing, not willing to sacrifice his careful watch over our surroundings. Knowing he’s got it covered, I sit down on the rock with Sam, having a make-shift picnic. Still, I keep my daggers close and periodically take note of the sounds of the forest, just in case. Sam entertains us with stories from his childhood and of life in The Shire. At a tale of how he and Frodo found themselves running from a furious farmer in the middle of the night, even Legolas cracks a smile.

But eventually, the food is gone and Sam is stifling yawns, so he bids us goodnight, leaving me alone with Legolas once again.

I stand, brushing the dust off my leggings, and take my place next to him.

His eyes never leave the horizon, but I hear his voice, soft, quiet, and almost hesitant-sounding. “Is it true that you haven’t a home to return to?”

I’m a bit caught off guard. During that conversation earlier in the day, Legolas was all the way at the front the group, leading with Aragorn. I didn’t know he’d heard that. “Uh, yeah.” I nod, trying to project a confidence I don’t really feel. “It is.”

He goes silent, and stays silent for such a long time that I think that’s all the conversation we’ll have. But then, he speaks again, his voice steady and deliberate. “My home, Taur-e-Ndaedelos, is not safe right now.”

“Oh.” I blink. Is he opening up to me? I try to respond delicately, not wanting to accidentally discourage him from sharing his feelings in the future. “I am sorry. That must be very difficult.”

He waves off my apology, meeting my eyes for the quickest of moments and then turning once more to the landscape before us. “My people get by. I only meant that, perhaps…well, if we succeed, and the Great Evil is defeated, Taur-e-Ndaedelos will be safe, and might even be called Eryn Galen once more.” He shifts from one foot to the other, something I’ve never seen him do. “You would be welcome there.”

A smile—the widest one I’ve managed in a while—spreads over my face, and try as I might, I am unable to reel it in. Because even after all this is over, when the time would come naturally for us to part ways, he wants me still in his life. I’ve always figured that it would hurt me to be parted from him, but I never dreamed that he would feel the same way.

Legolas seems to grow agitated by my silence, and turns to look at me with a measure of stress in his brow. But once he sees my reaction to his words, the lines in his face soften into a grin of his own. “Gimli is similarly without a permanent dwelling. I have extended an invitation to him as well.”

Oh.

Of course.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at myself, feeling incredibly stupid. Of course I would read into his words. He didn’t mean anything significant by them, he was just offering me a place to stay, like he obviously would to any of his friends. Because he is a kind, good, and noble ellon.

Of course he doesn’t feel the same way as I do.

I was silly to hope.

I try to keep the smile plastered to my face and not let him see my crushing disappointment. That would be horribly embarrassing, and I’m not sure I could take the pity that would surely be on his compassionate face if he had to verbally express his disinterest.

“That—” my voice sounds annoyingly weak, and I clear my throat to correct it. “That’s really kind of you, Legolas. Thank you.”

There’s a question in his eyes, but he doesn’t ask it, only nods once and returns to his watch of the forest.

For my part, I try to turn all of my focus to the task at hand, reminding myself that, even if he never loves me back, I am truly lucky to have such a wonderful friend.

A/n See you all tomorrow with part two! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Also, let me know if you would like a tag.

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acahope311 · 3 years

Text

Golden

Sleepover request

iwenttomordor said: Hello! Congrats for the 100 followers🥰 prompt 18 (“I’m quite comfortable here.”) from the fluff list with Legolas, please?

A/N My first ever request! Woohoo! @iwenttomordor I hope you like it 🥰 and thank you so much for sending this in- I had a lot of fun writing it!

Warnings: Mentions of orc killing, tripping, lovesick elf prince (but that's not much of a warning lol just a heads up)

The trees of Lothlorien scraped against the sky. Yellow leaves falling, painting the ground with splotches of gold. Underneath the golden showers, the elven prince of Mirkwood stared up in awe, even though he himself grew up under the cover of branches and leaves, the experience of standing beneath the rich canopy of Lorien was something else. Freshly bathed and rested, Legolas took this moment of respite to explore the fairest elvendom in all of Middle Earth, to gather himself and his thoughts about his companions and the past events. Specifically, his thoughts of you. At this, he stopped and allowed his mind to ponder on the topic. Without realizing it, his feet guide him to the base of a tree and he sinks down at its roots. A sigh escapes his lips, he catches the tail end of it

Oh, merciful Eru… What do you do to me...

Legolas closes his eyes and smiles, imagining your very being- the human woman who has captured his heart. You were the whole package: graceful and strategic like an elf, strong and powerful like a dwarrowdam, but kind and nurturing that only child of Men could be. Recalling all this brought back memories of the treacherous journey in the Mines of Moria.

“LEGOLAS!” You yelled as another arrow flies from your bow, embedding itself within an enemy orc sneaking up behind the elf. Bewildered, he looked behind him and took in the sight of piled enemies skewered with your arrows. You ran to him, making sure he was alright.

“Pay attention pretty boy- I can’t always watch your back” winking before jumping back into the fray without fear. Noticing the increasing number of enemies surrounding the hobbits, you fearlessly fought your way to the disgruntled halflings.

“Are you all alright?” You asked as calmly as you could while impaling more orcs. Merry and Pippin followed suit with their little swords, felling another dark creature.

“Don’t worry, my Lady! We will protect you!” Sam barrelled his way down to the others, Frodo close behind.

“Me too! The ol’ Gaffer would have my ears if he knew we let you do all the work.” Frodo, bless him, nodded determinedly and swung his trusty shining sword, Sting. The sight warmed your heart and brought a smile to your face, although this was not the time nor the place to become sentimental, you couldn’t help it.

“My friends, I am touched by your kindness, but let's do this as equals- watch each other's backs no matter what.” The others, having heard your reassuring conversation with the hobbits, also got their second wind. Determined, you all swung your swords harder and aimed your arrows with deadlier precision, knocking enemy after enemy. The wave of orcs and goblins was starting to waver, the Fellowship began to slow, allowing their guard to fall. And then a troll came through the door.

A twig snapped in the distance, instantly pulling Legolas to the present. His eyes flew open and turned to the direction of the sound, but relaxed when he saw it was you. Navigating through the trees to him, you couldn’t help but look up in pure wonder, a small smile on your lips, as you noticed how the branches swayed in the wind and the fluttering of the golden leaves. You always noticed everything- except for the lovesick elven prince who would cast fleeting glances in any direction that you were in. Both of you were so distracted that neither of you took note of the protruding root that caught your foot. All of a sudden, the world was upside down and you met the ground with an undignified squeak. At the sight of your tumble, Legolas rushed to your side, worried as he saw your shoulders shaking.

“Are you alright?!” He asked, checking you for any injuries. Rolling you onto your back, you let loose a chain of hearty laughs that left you breathless. Legolas was worried at first, but then soon joined your laughter with chuckles of his own.

“I suspect you are fine then. You should be careful, it is unwise to be so distracted.” He warned cheekily.

“It’s alright, pretty boy. I am allowed moments of relief from always being on guard.” You pause to look at him directly- an idea popping in your head. Propping yourself on your elbows, you place one hand on his shoulder and the other in his hand as you pull yourself up to him, your faces mere inches apart. The closeness flusters Legolas- but he does not move back either. He fails to notice the mischievous glint in your eyes as you pull him down and now both of you are on your backs, staring at the golden dappled twilight sky. A beat of silence passes and suddenly he lets out guffaws of laughter, mingling with your own laughter. Sonorously echoing through the bright forest. Moments later, the laughter dies down as Legolas takes in the scene.

“You never fail to surprise me, do you know that? And if you’ve lived as long as I have, not many surprises you anymore.” Legolas says as he catches his breath. You hum in understanding as you both fall into a comfortable silence. Although there is a generous space between you, your hands are clasped together, having not parted since the flip. As the sun sets lower across the horizon, Legolas begins to stir.

“We should head back, the others will worry.” He says as he- reluctantly- tries to pull away. However, you hold onto him, even moving closer.

“Not yet, meleth nin. I am quite comfortable here. Let’s stay a while longer.” You say softly with closed eyes. However, you don’t miss the sudden stiffness in his arm as he looks at you. Although you can’t see it, you can feel the elven prince’s smile at what you said.

Finally, Legolas lies back down next to you, intertwining your fingers together and pulling you closer to him. Both of you bask in not only the golden aura of twilight in the fairest elvendom in Middle Earth but also in the newfound relationship formed under the golden leaves of Lorien.

#legolas x reader #writing #sleepover #100 followers #fluff prompts #lord of the rings #legolas #iwenttomordor #fluff #tolkien #you're so golden #thank you

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 3 years

Text

Dimension Jumping Pt. 5

Comforting a grieving hobbit and time get everyone ready to go out!

Via the genius idea from katzrfsoa / Kat88

There's been mention of the reader not wanting to take the groups out, for fear of the public's reaction... so what about a cosplay convention? it would give the Reader the perfect excuse to allow them out, and they would wear their original clothes

----

This morning has been uneventful for the most part.

Breakfast passed by without issue and now everyone is off doing their own things.

You looked outside and took a peek in the guest room, but you still can't find him.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin are playing a board game you showed them; Legolas is doing his meditation sleep thing; Boromir and Aragorn are discussing something; and Gimli is stacking bread on Legolas' leg to see how long it takes until he notices.

Frodo, however, is missing at the moment.

Right as you were considering telling the others of his disappearance, however, you heard some shuffling from your hall closet.

You open the door carefully and take peer inside, not wanting to startle the small hobbit, and at first you don't see him.

There's more shuffling and you hear a quiet sniff, followed by soft sobs, and you then realize he's hiding behind the shelf.

The door makes a soft clicking sound when you close it, and right away the quiet cries cease. You didn't want to alert him with the door, you wanted to do it yourself, but it's too late now, so you just go with it.

"Frodo?" You call in a gentle voice, staying by the door incase he wants you to go.

"Y-Yes?' He calls back, not moving from his spot.

His voice is thick with emotion, and the sadness in his tone makes your heart ache painfully. And when you walk closer and see him huddled up behind the shelf, your heart breaks a little for him.

He hastily rids his cheeks of any evidence of his sorrows, though the puffiness around his eyes and constant sniffles don't much help his cause, and looks at you with a false smile.

"Frodo, why are you crying?" You ask with furrowed eyebrows, kneeling down in front of him so you may look at him at eye level (mostly).

"It's nothing." He tells you quickly, looking away from your compassionate face with the same sad frown on his lips.

When you don't move to get up or leave, his gaze slides back over to you and he realizes that you're not going to leave unless he straight up tells you to go away. This makes him sigh, but truthfully, he doesn't want you to go away. Not really. For having company in a time of sorrow always mends suffering.

"I... did not have a proper time to mourn Gandalf. I've been so caught up in the oddity that is this place that I almost forgot my sorrows altogether, but then this morning is all... came rushing back." He explains with a surprisingly even voice.

While he speaks you cross your legs and listen along intently, your hands folded neatly in your lap. When he finishes, you reach forward and place your hand atop his with a gentle touch, "I didn't know him, but I can tell he was very dear to you. Honestly, I can't offer much advice, but I can tell you that keeping it all bottled up inside is not a good idea."

He looks at you with that sad face when you speak, and it prompts you to continue, "Also, I know everyone else can be pretty overwhelming or they just don't understand, and I want you to know that I'm always here to listen if you're feeling down, okay?"

Your words draw a small smile from the grieving hobbit and it elicits a similar grin from you.

"Thank you, Y/N. I... actually do feel a little better."

"I'm glad."

---

After your discussion with Frodo you rejoin everyone back out in the main room and let him recollect himself, going right onto your laptop to get some work done.

You're idly scrolling through a scholarly article you need to research when you see it.

An advertisement for some sort of comic book, cosplay, convention... thing in the area (no wonder you've been seeing so many oddly dressed people recently).

At first you almost scroll past it, but then you get hit with the brick of knowledge and a lightbulb goes off in your head.

"Yes!" You scream, successfully scaring everyone in the room and Penny who is sitting with you for once. "Ohh, my god. This is freaking perfect!" You exclaim, clicking on the link to get some more information.

Your eyes practically soak up everything on the information page, and, once you've skimmed through all of it, you look up with a bright smile on your face.

Literally all of them are looking at you like you've grown two heads, but you only clap your hands together a few times. "Guys, I just had a huge brain moment!"

The joke goes over their heads as per usual, but you don't let that deter you.

"Huge brain moment?" Pippin asks in confusion, looking at his cousin like he thinks he heard it wrong or something.

"Yes! I've figured out a way to take everyone out!"

That certainly gets their attention.

"You have?" Sam asks exuberantly, dropping his game piece so he can turn towards you and pay perfect attention.

"I have, yes," you start, continuing once you're 100% sure they're all paying attention, "So here's the thing, I knew that I could take out you tall boi's without issue besides having to find a hat for Legolas here, and I could explain that Gimli here has dwarfism," you pause at that and realize it may be offensive to him, but you continue once more, "but I also knew that there's no way I can explain away the hobbits, and then I found this gem."

You turn the computer so it faces all of them, but they only look more confused.

"There's a convention thing in town for the next week, and it's the perfect opportunity for me to bring everyone out! We just have to dress up the hobbits a bit and pretend that they're children."

At your explanation you receive multiple pleased smiles, and it serves to make you feel even better about your idea. "And you can all wear your normal clothes, too. And if someone asks who you are... I'll figure out a game or something you guys can use as an alias."

"Are you sure that will work?" Aragorn asks with furrowed eyebrows, sitting up from his spot in your arm chair.

"Um, like, maybe 98%." You confirm with a shrug, "It's better than 88% though."

He doesn't seem like he disagrees with you, so you look back at your laptop again and start to look for ideas to make them more believable as humans.

---

3 hours of research later, and you've successfully compiled a completely fool proof plan to smuggle this merry band of bizarre boys out of your house.

What you've decided is that you'll put some makeup over Legolas' pointy ears to make them look more fake since the concept of elves is not lost in this world. Boromir and Aragorn can go as themselves, and you'll put some makeup on the hobbits much like you will Legolas (they'll be children elves since there are no hobbits in your world) and tell everyone who asks how they look so good that you're a professional makeup artist.

Gimli, fortunately for you, was the easiest to come up with something for next to the other two humans of this group. You can just tell people he has dwarfism and that's why he chose to go as a dwarf character.

Everything is in order except for what you're going to do, though you suppose you should match their theme and be some sort of renaissance, maiden, lady, thing. You'll figure it out, though you do need to make sure it's convincing like theirs.

You decided to, instead of putting it off, go ahead and start working on finding a costume to match theirs.

A couple of searches later and you come across a really pretty dress that looks to fit their style, and when you show it to them they give you the thumbs up, so you order it with express shipping so it should arrive tomorrow.

It's a lovely flowy medieval dress *just look up flowy medieval dress and go to images, there are some good examples there*, and you feel excited just looking at it. Of course, there's no guarantee that it'll be the best quality, but it's got great reviews and you certainly paid a hefty sum for it.

After that's done with you head to your bathroom to see what makeup you've got, and you find that you don't really have any theatrical/special effects makeup. You're going to need skin colored wax makeup, powders, and contour stuff.

You're no makeup artist, obviously, but luckily for you, your goal is to make them look less realistic, so it should be easy enough.

It's surprisingly easy to figure out what you need to make them as convincing as possible, and pretty soon you've got a nice little list going on that outlines each thing you need.

Since you don't want to delay anymore, you head out of your bathroom and grab your bag while putting on your shoes, "Legolas, I'm leaving now if you wanna come with." You suggest since he stated his desire to join you in the one of the last chapters (:o).

When you call his name he looks over at you quickly, smiling a bit at your offer, "Yes, but you said I need a hat."

"Oh yeah! I have one, just gimme a sec." You tell him, walking over to a drawer.

When you open said drawer, you find a grey beanie with ease and toss it over to him, "Here ya go. Make sure it covers your ears... and uh, tuck your hair up into it too if you don't mind."

He does as you say with ease and, surprisingly, he looks just as good with shorter hair as he does longer hair.

It sticks kinda awkwardly at first, so you waltz on over and gesture for him to crouch down so you don't have to reach up.

Once again he does as you request and leans down so you may fix it.

You adjust it a bit to make sure it won't fall first, and then you smooth it back a bit so it'll also look stylish. And once you're done you take a step back and smile at him brightly.

"All done! Let's go!"

---

He seemed rather fascinated in the way your car works first and foremost, but once you got him to look out his window instead of watching you, his excitement quickly turned into awe.

When you both get to the ULTA store he follows you without hesitation and asks some hushed questions about things he sees, like the light up signs, other passing cars, stoplights, and some other things.

You, of course, answer each question happily and lead him inside, holding the door open for him while he enters and looks around the brightly lit up makeup store.

Right away you head towards the general direction of the nose and scar wax (it's multi purpose, don't judge me), forgetting to make sure that Legolas follows you.

When it does occur to you, however, that the blond elf didn't come after you, you panic.

You turn in a circle and only stop when you see him standing with some ladies who practically have hearts in their eyes.

Unconsciously you breathe a sigh of relief and head over with the wax in your little basket, immediately reaching up to wrap your arm around his, "I got the first thing on my list, come on."

The girls stop their giggles and flirting as soon as you show up and look genuinely surprised.

You give them a smile and nod in acknowledgement, not wanting to make them feel bad over something so silly before turning with your arm still around his own and walking him over to look at some contour stuff and other things.

They make some snide comments when you turn your back about you being a 'clingy girlfriend' and 'not pretty enough to be with a model like that', but you only ignore it and relish in the fact that you didn't make them feel bad over something as silly as a cute guy in a makeup store.

"Why are those women talking about you like that?" He asks in a whisper, leaning down so only you will hear his question.

You look up at him with a bit or surprise since you didn't expect him to pick up on that, before you smile, "They're attracted to you, and they think that I was being selfish with taking you away from their advances."

"Selfish? Advances?" He looks confused, but you only smile and turn back to the display case.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Leggy my boy."

"Leggy?" He asks slowly, looking at you in confusion.

"Leggy." You confirm with a nod with a distracted hum.

It isn't much later that you have everything you need, and so you go to the checkout and buy everything.

"Going to the convention?" The girl at the counter asks with a smile.

You smile back and nod your head, glancing up at Legolas before looking back at her, "That obvious?"

"No of course not, just the items in your basket always fly off the shelves around convention time." She replies with a giggle, ringing up all your items.

"Well, that's fair." You muse, putting your card into the reader to pay for it.

Once everything is in order she hands you your receipt and adds, "Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe!" You chirp back happily, liking the nice conversation going on here.

"You and your boyfriend have a good day now!"

You elect to ignore that.

---

On the way home you pretend to not notice the black car following yours and make small talk with the elf, answering some more of his questions and speaking idly on different things.

"There are so many odd, interesting things here..." He comments after a while, glancing out the back window. "Are you aware that, that car has been following us for the past 10 minutes?"

You nod and hum as an answer, "Mmhm, it's just Brian. He's probably trying to figure out who you are."

The blond knits his eyebrows together and glances back to look at the car again, "Should I do something about it?"

"The only thing you can do is ignore it. He went from lowercase 's' stalker to uppercase 's' since you guys arrived, and it'll only get worse if you intervene." You mumble, trying not to look in the rearview mirror at him. "It's fine."

"You don't seem to think it's fine." He challenges in the same even tone, turning in his seat towards you.

Instead of answering his question you look at him while you stop at a light and grumble, "I told you to put your seatbelt on."

"It's uncomfortable."

"I don't care."

"I will be fine."

"Not if we get into a crash, you won't."

The two of you stare each other down before he slowly reaches up and buckles his belt, never breaking eye-contact.

"Good boy." You coo in a way-too sweet voice.

"Anyways, I know we said as much before, but you needn't worry about that man while we're here." He continues despite your obvious subject change.

"I know." Your reply is softer and less defensive this time, for you really do appreciate it, "Thank you."

He looks surprised at your sudden gratitude, and his expression shows as much "For what?"

"For being you. For looking out for me. All of you."

This time he smiles and says no more.

---

When you both get back to your house you immediately put everything in your bathroom and get onto your laptop to view some techniques on theatrical and movie makeup, Pippin and Merry on either side of you while they view through the pictures and videos with you.

"That one looks interesting." Merry pipes up suddenly, pointing at a person to wolf makeup transformation.

"Yep, and way past anything I can do."

This pattern of going through pictures and viewing clips goes on for a little while until they two hobbits depart to have lunch, meanwhile you continue on so that tomorrow will be a success.

You're both excited and nervous at the same time, wanting to see how it'll all turn out but also dreading it incase something goes wrong.

You know the most important thing is to have a positive mindset about it, but it's kinda hard sometimes during your more anxious moments.

Also, there's the issue of Brian possibly following all of you...

Nah, that'll be a problem to think on for tomorrow.

"What time will we leave tomorrow?" Aragorn asks from his usual spot on the rocking chair, Penny still nestled in his lap as per usual.

"Around the morning. I bought the tickets already so we won't have to stand in line for too long... Hopefully."

"Thank you for working so hard so that we may see more of your world." He comments suddenly, stroking his hand down her fluffy back.

You tilt your head to the side and smile a bit, "You don't have to thank me."

"No, I do. You have seen to our every need and we no doubt pose to be a huge burden. Thank you, really."

His words make you flush slightly, and you look away shyly.

You've grown to care about all of them, so of course you would do anything to keep them comfortable at this point. More than anything you're just glad they see how much you're trying to make things easy on them. It feels nice being recognized for your efforts.

Plus, the added protection from Brian is pretty sweet.

"Anything for you guys."

#the fellowship x reader #the fellowship of the ring #the fellowship of the ring x reader #frodo baggins #pippin took #boromir #lotr gimli #legolas greenleaf #samwise gamgee #merry brandybuck #aragorn #lord of the rings fanfiction #dimension jumping pt. 5 #dimension jumping pt. 2 #frodo x reader

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rainydaymiddleearthimagines · 3 years

Text

Destiny Calling: Chapter Eight

You sat on a rock, watching over the hobbits. You had been guiding them now, walking through what Gimli accurately described as "A labyrinth of stone.". There was one slight problem with your skills though. You were so unfocused it often led you to have to stop. The hobbits didn't mind it, they were just happy to have a guide leading them in the right direction. "Gandalf!" Frodo gasped, leaning up. You looked over, Sam also leaning up. "Frodo, are you alright?" You asked, your voice gentle as you did. "Yes... It was... It was just a dream." Frodo muttered. He laid back down, falling asleep soon after. You looked at Sam who was still sitting up.

"Sam? Can you not sleep?" You asked. He shook his head, getting up and sitting next to you. "What do the stones say?" He asked. "We're taking the right path... I'm only worried of the dangers ahead." You muttered. "Do you not know a safe way?" He asked. "There is no safe way to Mordor." you admitted. He gulped and you sighed. "I did not intend to add to your anxieties, I apologize Sam." you said. "Aragorn being so far away has affected you hasn't it?" Sam asked. You nodded sadly. "Is it foolish to say I miss him?" you asked, handing Sam Lambas bread. He took it. "I miss someone at home too." He said. "Who, pray tell, captures the mesmerizing gaze of Samwise Gamgee?" you asked with a smile. He chuckled.

"Her name is Rosie... Rosie Cotton." Sam admitted. "You seem fond of Rosie." you said. "I've not voiced my feelings... But when I get back, I will." He said. "The journey has changed you, hmm?" you asked. "Yes. Very much so." Sam admitted. "I wonder what it will be like when I return home." you pondered. "Aragorn will probably marry you." Sam said. You chuckled. "He's asked me before." you admitted. "You said no?" Sam asked. "I actually said yes, my father was the one who said no." you admitted. "Does Lord Elrond not like Aragorn?" Sam asked. "No, he does. But my father's relationship with him is very strained." you explained. Sam nodded, looking at the mountains around you. You looked at Frodo who was sound asleep. "Do you think Frodo will be alright after all of this?" Sam asked. You knew the truth was probably no. You didn't want to scare Sam so you simply replied with "I don't know Sam. I don't know."

Sam eventually went back to sleep, you waking them up as the sun rose. The walking annoyed you to no end, you internally questioning yourself of how much of this you could take. Sam tied a rope to a rock, all of you climbing down into the mist. "Can you see the bottom?" Sam asked you. "No! Don’t look down, Sam! Just keep going." You answered. A box fell from Sam's bag. "Catch it. Grab it Mister Frodo!" He said. Frodo grabbed it, just as your feet touched the ground, Frodo falling. He landed in your arms. "Careful!" you gasped. "Mister Frodo!?" Sam called. "Good news Sam, we found the bottom." you said making Frodo laugh. Sam climbed down to you and Frodo. "Bogs and rope and goodness knows what. It’s not natural. None of it." Sam muttered, looking at his surroundings. "What’s in this?" Frodo asked, holding up the box. "Nothing. Just a bit of seasoning. I thought maybe if we was having a roast chicken one night or something." Sam replied. "Roast chicken?!" You and Frodo asked in unison. "You never know." Sam shrugged making you chuckle. "Sam, my dear Sam." Frodo laughed. "It’s very special, that. It’s the best salt in all the Shire." Sam said in a "matter of fact" tone. "It is special. It’s a little bit of home." Frodo said with a smile.

You looked at Sam's rope. "We can’t leave this here for someone to follow us down." You said. "Who’s gonna follow us down here? It’s a shame really. Lady Galadriel gave me that. Real Elvish rope. Well there’s nothing for it. It’s one of my knots. Won’t come free in a hurry." Sam sighed. He yanked on the rope, it loosening and hitting the ground. "Real Elvish rope." Frodo snorted. You tried your best not to laugh but you couldn't resist. After all of you recovered from the rope incident you walked ahead, Frodo and Sam on each of your sides.

"So, what is the Shire like?" You asked. Sam perked up. "Oh it's much larger than most people think!" Sam said. "You've never been?" Frodo asked curiously. "No, me and Aragorn never saw reason to go." You admitted. "Well, Sam is not wrong, it is really big compared to what most people believe it to be." Frodo agreed. "But it's beautiful! Flowers everywhere!" Sam said. "You say that because you're the gardener." Frodo chuckled. "And a darn good one too!" Sam said proudly. "Is it true you live out of holes?" You asked. "More like we live in the sides of hills." Frodo corrected. "Can I ask you somethin' Miss Y/n?" Sam asked. "Of course Sam." You answered. "What is the other elven city like?" Sam asked. You sucked in a breath.

"Sorry-" "No Sam, it is quite alright." You assured. "it is quite large and the other elves are very pleasant... Unless you're not elven, in which case they tend to be quite hostile." You stated. "My uncle said it was beautiful..." Frodo said. "Oh it is. It is almost like it is autumn all year round though and unless you're gifted with the ability to speak with nature it is far to easy to get lost in the nearby woods." You explained. "Yes, Bilbo mentioned that." Sam nodded. "He's been?" you asked. "Oh yes. Though according to him, he was imprisoned there." Frodo said. "...And escaped? How pray, tell did he manage to do that?" you asked surprised. "Barrels." Sam and Frodo said in unison. "Barrels?" You asked. "He smuggled himself and the dwarves in barrels." Frodo said. "Dwarves- what in the world did your uncle do- Why was he out there to begin with?" You asked. "Uhhh... That's complicated." Frodo said. "eh?" You made a confused noise.

You all walked until nightfall, you looking at the stars. You wondered if Aragorn was safe, wherever he was. Your heart was practically aching, you missed him so much. You sighed, bringing your knees to your face as you sighed, poking the dirt with your fingers while the hobbits slept. The next morning finally came, you all walking through the sharp and dangerous rocks of Emyn Muil. You looked forward. "Mordor..." You muttered, seeing the dark lands. "The one place in Middle-Earth we don’t want to see any closer is the one place we’re trying to get to." Sam said with a sigh. "Do you think Gandalf meant for us to take this way?" Sam asked. "He didn’t mean for a lot of things to happen, Sam. But they did." Frodo muttered. "We cannot lose hope now you two. We must press on." You said to them. Frodo seemed to lock onto something in Mordor, collapsing to the ground. "Frodo?" You asked, kneeling to him. "Mister Frodo? It’s the ring, isn’t it?" Sam asked. "It’s getting heavier." He nodded. He clutched the ring, his breaths slowly relaxing. "What food have we got left?" Frodo asked. "Well, let me see." Sam said, going through his bag. "Oh, yes. Lovely. Lembas bread. And look! More lembas bread." He said, pulling out the bread wrapped in large leaves. He broke off a piece of it and threw it to him and threw another piece to you.

You bit into bread. "Say what you will about my grandmother but she has the best bread." you said, earning laughs from the two hobbits. "I don’t usually hold with foreign food, but this Elvish stuff, it’s not bad." Sam said. "Nothing ever dampens your spirits, does it, Sam?" Frodo asked, smiling. "Those rain clouds might." Sam said with a sigh.

You all walked, following a very odd, yet specific path before you stopped. "What in the world is that smell?" Sam asked. You felt like you were being watched and you remembered one other time you felt like this. "Let's... Keep walking." you muttered. It wasn't long that night came, Sam and Frodo both sleeping soundly. You sat on a rock, sharpening your blade.

Gollum.

You looked up, pretending to be oblivious to the creature climbing down the rocks as he spoke to himself. "They’re thieves. They’re thieves. The filthy little thieves. Where is it? Where is it? They stole it from us. My Precious. Curse them, we hates them! It’s ours it is, and we wants it." Gollum said, climbing down the rocks. Then he reached for Frodo and was met with a blade. "Lay a single finger on him and I will cut it off." you hissed. Frodo shot up, Sam and him scooching back.

As cruel as it may have seemed, you put the elven rope to use, tying it around the creature's neck due to Frodo's insistence that you leave Gollum alive. You walked, Gollum yelling and crying. "It burns! It burns us! It freezes!" You sighed at this yelling. "Oh by the Valor do you ever SHUT UP!?" You snapped. Gollum stopped walking, Sam yanking on the rope and making Gollum fall. "Nasty Elves twisted it!" Gollum spat, looking at you. He turned to Frodo and Sam. "Take it off us!" Gollum begged. "Quiet you!" Sam hushed. Gollum let out another yell. "It’s hopeless! Every orc in Mordor’s gonna hear this racket. Let’s just tie him up and leave him." Sam suggested. "I think Sam is correct, this is extremely annoying and my sanity is deteriorating very quickly." You said. "No! That would kill us! Kill us!" Gollum wailed. "It’s no more than you deserve!" Sam snapped.

Gollum rolled around, squirming to get the rope off. "Maybe he does deserve to die. But now that I see him, I do pity him." Frodo admitted. Gollum hushed at the sound of this, looking at Frodo on his knees. "We be nice to them, if they be nice to us. Take it off us! We swears to do what you wants. We swears!" Gollum pleaded. "There is no promise you can make that I can trust." Frodo said. "We swears to serve the master of the Precious. We will swear on…on the Precious!" Gollum said before hacking out a noise similar to his name. "The ring is treacherous. It will hold you to your word." Frodo said. "Yes on the Precious. On the Precious." Gollum said, inching closer to Frodo. "I don’t believe you!" Sam yelled, forcing Gollum back. Gollum attempted to run away, Sam yanking back on the rope and pulling Gollum back. "Get down! I said, down!" Sam shouted at Gollum. You sighed. "Sam!" Frodo yelled. "He’s trying to trick us! If we let him go, he’ll throttle us in our sleep!" Sam said. Gollum coughed, grabbing at his throat.

You stumbled, Sam looking over his shoulder as you dropped.

Visions bombarded you, war being the subject of the vision. It was Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn, fighting a battle. A banner soon filled your mind, one of a horse... Then you suddenly returned to your normal state, Frodo standing next to you. "War." you whispered. "What?" Frodo asked. "War is brewing in Rohan..." you muttered. Sam turned. "Do you wish to turn back-" "No... I-I promised you I'd help see this through." you muttered. Frodo looked over at Gollum. "Maybe he can lead us through the Marshes. You made a comment saying it was dangerous." Frodo recalled. "Frodo... I do not trust him." you admitted. Still, Frodo was right, even if you were being guided by nature itself you didn't have confidence in the marshes. "You know the way to Mordor?" Frodo asked. "Yes." Gollum responded. " You’ve been there before?" Frodo asked. "Yes." Gollum repeated, this time more anxious. Frodo removed the rope and you sighed, closing your eyes. Sam shook his head with a frown. "You will lead us through the Marshes, and anywhere else we may need guidance." Frodo said. Gollum nodded.

He was weirdly quick, rushing across the rocks as you all tried to keep up. He rushed off, taking a moment to talk to himself. "To the gate, to the gate! To the gate, the master says. Yes!" He muttered. Another version of himself seemed to take over. "No! We won’t go back Not there. Not to him. They can’t make us." He said, hacking out his name again. "But we swore to serve the master of the precious." He said, feeling guilty. "No! Ashes and dust and thirst there is and pits, pits, pits. And Orcses, thousands of Orcses. And always the Great Eye watching. Watching." He said. He turned to the group that was distant before screaming and running off. You all followed, running after him. "Hey! Come back now! Come back! There! What did I tell you? He’s run off, the old villain. So much for his promises." Sam sighed. Gollum popped up behind a stone making you gasp in surprise. "This way. Follow me!" Gollum said. You and Sam exchanged a look, sighing before following the creature.

You ended up taking a break. "Why we stop?" Gollum asked, looking at you who was sitting upright against a rock with your eyes closed. "Y/n watches over us at night, she needs rest." Sam sighed. Your face was so peaceful when you rested. If only Aragorn was here, you'd probably be sleeping better. Your heart missed him terribly, every time you closed your eyes you could see him. "I think she misses him." Sam muttered looking at your sitting figure. "Elfie misses someone?" Gollum asked. "A friend..." Sam sighed. "She misses friend?" Gollum asked. "Yes." Frodo muttered. Frodo too, thought of Aragorn. He always felt some sort of levity when looking at you and Aragorn together. You two were the sliver of light in a very dark time. Truth be told, you didn't need rest. You wanted to see if there was another vision. Another hopeful message or outcome. Instead you were met with darkness and silence.

It took about thirty minutes before you sat up. Sam looked over. "Let's go." you muttered, clearly deep in thought. You followed Gollum through the mountains before finally seeing the Marshlands. "See! See! We’ve led you out. Hurry, Hobbitses, hurry! Very lucky we find you." Gollum said. Sam passed him. "Nice hobbit." Gollum said to Sam. Sam walked alongside you, accidently slipping his foot into the water. "Ooh! It’s a bog. He’s led us into a swamp!" Sam gasped. "Swamp. Yes, yes. Come master, we will take you on safe paths through the mist. Come hobbits come. Real quickly. I found it, I did. The way through the marshes. Orcs don’t use it, orcs don’t know it. They go round for miles and miles, come quickly, swift and quick as shadows we must be." Gollum said.

You walked for a while in silence, trying to listen to nature to be met with silence. This unsettled you to no end. Nature was always talkative. Never this silent. "I hate this place, it’s too quiet. There‘s been no sight nor sound of a bird for two days." Sam muttered. "No, no birdses to eat, no crunchable birdses. We are famished, yes! Famished we are, precious!" Gollum said before picking a worm up out out of the ground. He ate it making you gag. "Here." Frodo said, tossing him a piece of Lambas bread. He took it confused. "What does it eats? Is it tasty?" He asked. He at it before choking and spitting it out, making you all jump. "It tries to chokes us! We can’t eats Hobbit food! We must starve!" Gollum wailed. "Well, starve, then. And good riddance!" Sam huffed. You had put it together earlier why Frodo was so lenient to Gollum. He was terrified the ring was going to turn him into Gollum.

"Oh, cruel hobbit! It does not care if we be hungry. Does not care if we should die!" He cried as you went through your bag. You pulled out a jerky like food. You knew Aragorn had a tendency of leaving somethings in your bag and this was definitely his. "Not like Master. Master cares. Master knows. Yes, precious. Once it takes hold of us, it never lets go." Gollum said. He reached for the ring but you stopped him, handing him the food. "It's meat. Not something any of us eat, maybe you'll like it." You said. He looked at it, taking a small piece and eating it. He seemed to actually like it and you handed him the rest. "Elfies gives us good food. We thinks the elfies is good." He said. You sighed and stood up, pulling your backpack back onto you.

You all made your way through the swamp, Sam looking into the waters around you. "There are dead things, dead faces in the water." Sam said. You looked in the waters too, seeing the armor. "Elves... There are... Elves out here." you breathed. "All dead. All rotten. Elves and men and orcses. A great battle long ago. The dead marshes. Yes, yes that is their name. This way. Don’t follow the lights." Gollum warned. Sam slipped, nearly falling into a hole before you gripped his cloak, pulling him up. "Thank you." He breathed. "Careful now, or hobbits go down to join the dead ones and light little candles of their own." Gollum said, unsettling you. Frodo wandered off, looking into the waters. He saw an elven corpse. He leaned forward, falling into the water. You gasped, sprinting over and yanking him out of the water. Gollum stood next to you. "Gollum?" Frodo asked. "Don’t follow the lights." Gollum repeated, this time more sternly. "Gollum." Frodo called. "Mister Frodo, are you all right?" Sam asked. He nodded slowly.

Night soon came, you sitting against a rock with your eyes closed. You didn't actually fall asleep, despite feeling strangely tired you were very alert with Gollum near. "So bright. So beautiful. Our Precious." Gollum said, making you open one eye. Frodo leaned up. "What did you say?" Frodo asked. "Master should be resting. Master needs to keep up his strength." Gollum muttered. "Who are you?" Frodo asked him. "Mustn’t ask us, not it’s business." Gollum said before hacking again. "Gandalf told me you were one of the river folk." Frodo said. "Cold be heart and hand and bone, cold be travelers far from home." Gollum sang in what you assumed to be an attempt to block Frodo out. "He said your life was a sad story." Frodo said. "They do not see what lies ahead, when sun has failed and moon is dead." Gollum sang. "You were not so very different from a hobbit once. Were you? Sméagol." Frodo asked, earning silence from Gollum. "What did you call me?" Gollum asked. "That was your name once, wasn’t it? A long time ago." Frodo asked. "My name? My name? Ss… Ss… Sméagol." He asked, genuinely not recalling his own name.

The smell of blood filled your nose and you felt the dread. You leaned up, opening your eyes. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, groggily before the loud scream from a Nazgûl. "Black Riders." You muttered. "Hide! Hide!" Gollum yelled. Frodo let out a yelp, grasping where he was struck with the Nazgûl blade.

You hid under a bush with Sam and Gollum. You motioned for Frodo to run. "Come on Frodo, come on!" Sam called. "Hurry, they will see us, they will see us." Gollum said panicked. "I thought they were dead." Sam said to you as Frodo laid next to you. "You cannot kill a ringwraith." You whispered. You watched the wraith fly overhead, your heart pounding. "Ah! Wraiths, wraiths on wings!" Gollum yelped. You noticed Frodo reach for the ring. "They are calling for it, they are calling for the Precious." Gollum said. You stopped Frodo from putting the ring on. "We're still here Frodo... it's alright." You whispered. the Nazgul flew away. "Hurry hobbits, the Black Gate is very close." Gollum said after you all climbed out from under the bush.

You all walked, following Gollum before you fell again, this time being sent into a shock. You were practically blinded, a white light filling your eyes. You heard a voice, barely audible at first. Distant. Very distant. "Y/n" It called. You knew the person's voice you just couldn't remember. "Y/n." The voice repeated. "Rohan is in danger. This is the start of many wars, people need you. Turn back now." it said. "I can't." You whispered. "You can. Reach the river on your own. A boat is waiting. If you run without stopping you can make it before the orcs do." The voice said. Then you realized who it was.

"Gandalf, how are you speaking to me?" you asked. "I am not yet dead my girl." He said, his face coming to light. You breathed. "You want me to go to Rohan, why?" You asked. "Because the further into Mordor you go, the more corruption kills." He said. "The corruption is killing you. Why do you think you feel exhaustion?" Gandalf asked. A good question. "Aragorn needs you. Rohan needs you. We need you." Gandalf said before your vision returned to normal, Sam hanging over you.

"Are you alright? You just fell back! I was worried." Sam said. "Gandalf is still alive." You said. Frodo turned around. "What!?" He asked. "He's alive... War is coming to Rohan and... Something bad is happening, I can feel it." You breathed. You wondered if you should turn back. "Go." Frodo said. You looked up. "What?" You asked. "If there is war in Rohan and Gandalf is alive, it's most likely that Aragorn will be in the center of all of this. You deserve to be with him through all of this. Go." Frodo said. "But-" "Y/n, he's right. You should go, you've looked more exhausted here than anywhere else... This is destroying you. You don't think we can tell but we can." Sam admitted. You sighed. "Any messages you want me to send to them?" You asked. "Yes. Good luck." Frodo said. You nodded. "Elfie remembers the way?" Gollum asked. "I do. Thank you." you nodded to Gollum before tossing him the rest of the meat. He took it before you hugged both Sam and Frodo. "If you two weren't so damn stubborn, I would've marched into Mordor with you." you said. "We know." Sam said before hugging you again. "Don't let us down Frodo. Fight strong. Keep your hope." you said softly. He nodded before you turned around, looking at the area you just came from.

"Alright." You told yourself. "Here we go again."

#aragorn #aragorn imagine #aragorn x reader

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anghraine · 3 years

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Finished FOTR! It’s a good film individually and ... at times a good adaptation. The things that don’t work really stand out, though, because they’re surrounded by good stuff.

[negativity and some positivity below]

I’m having House of Húrin feelings, of course, because of Boromir. The film’s choices with him are interesting; they foreshadow (forecast, more like) his fall really heavily, but also insert additional sympathetic moments. I can see why some people find him more likable than in the books, but the heavy-handedness is pretty ‘meh’ to me. Sean Bean does a great job with what he’s given, though I still dislike the whole concept of blond Anglo Dúnedain, esp in an adaptation that is already super white.

It does a great job of setting up Gondor’s (and even Denethor’s) stature IMO, which makes it all the worse that they undercut it so much with the actual execution in ROTK.

I actually like Liv Tyler’s Arwen a lot more than Cate Blanchett’s Galadriel; there are just some really weird choices with her until her final scenes. I intensely dislike their approach to Elrond in almost every respect.

Viggo Mortensen is largely great. I miss book!Aragorn’s purposefulness and drive, and the need for him to prove his worthiness to Gondor before he’s going to be taken seriously as a claimant to the throne where the films lean heavily on Aragorn as already the rightful king by blood and unwilling to accept it. But given that, he carries it off really well—my friend and I joked that he’s got to be a legendary creature by D&D standards. ALL the max stats!

(Aragorn/Boromir isn’t my thing at all, but I can see why it would be for movie fans in particular.)

There are subtle hints that Merry is the more sensible of the Merry-Pippin duo, which is nice. Both do a good job with them, I think. Sam is great. I’m a little iffy on Elijah Wood as Frodo, though I think that might be partly writing/directional choices. He does have a great chemistry with Sean Astin, though.

Ian McKellen is, of course, great. Christopher Lee, too. I’d forgotten that they include the line about orcs as warped Elves! I did remember that there was a reference to Morgoth, but not where, so that was cool. There are also references to Númenor + my least favourite line from Elrond, but devoid of context or explanation; I feel like even very limited exposition would have gone a long way.

A lot of the inserted comedy doesn’t really work for me, except sometimes early on—the writing can be very tonally jarring in a way that the book doesn’t really seem to me, even though it has such a range of styles. Gimli works better here than in the other films bc there’s less of it with him at this point, IIRC.

There are some absolutely incredible sets and shots and lighting, and I think most of the effects hold up really well. They are beautiful films.

I’d forgotten that it takes so long to get started in terms of the present moment. I actually like that more than not—they trusted their audience in a way that a lot of filmmakers don’t.

I might have more thoughts later, but that’s the stuff off the top of my head.

#anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #legendarium fanwank #/#//#///#////#/////#a #b #c #d #e #lord of the rings movies #i don't have a critical tag bc all my posts are critical #nearly #still very good films. just ... you know.

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 3 years

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Hello! I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfy but I was wondering if I could get a bit of advice? From your recent posts, you said you left your home from toxicity and just bad things in general.

I’m in a similar situation, but my dad will be taking me away from my mom. And I just know it’ll be a shit show. And I’m absolutely terrified when we tell her and what the backlash will be afterwards towards my brothers and me and dad in general

How did you do it? How did you take the leap? Do you possibly have any advice on how to deal ?

Hello, friend!! ☀️

Thank you so much for reaching out, it means a lot that you value my advice <3

Hmm, okay from what I can tell of your situation, that is indeed a tricky one, but nothing can’t be overcome!

It’s important to remember, though, I was 19 when I left (now 20), so the way I handled things is going to be a lot different than how a minor can handle things (legally at least, feel free to replicate my insane stunts lmao)

Advice below the cut! (family violence trigger warning, I suppose?)

My entire family was and is extremely volatile, and I don’t speak to any of them anymore except for my older brother, but I’ll be cutting him off in 3 weeks too when I move.

Fortunately, my dad and brother were both kicked out of the house years ago due to violence, which left me with my mother, who’s quite insidious herself (just watch any Conjuring movie and that’ll give a good idea of what it was like living in that house lol)

I get the same feeling watching this scene as when I was around her in that house. Granted she didn’t try to change my gender, but the hatred for my father getting taken out on me is pretty accurate lol, paired with the immediate “motherly love” afterwards (she never hit me though, pleased to say — she wasn’t physically violent, just emotionally, financially, mentally and verbally. She did try to run my dad over once though, so, there’s that too)

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Yikes…yeahh the same eerie feeling for sure, still makes all my hairs stand upright in memory.

(For further context this clip reminds me of my father and this one of my brother)

In the clip about my father, he definitely reminds me of Frank Gallagher, except he despises my mother instead of revering her. He’s a workaholic instead of a drug addict, too. But the mannerisms are the same. I always handled him in the way Fiona does.

Regarding my brother, I think everything about our family hit him the hardest, despite being the oldest. He developed a very violent streak, and has very poor impulse control. I love him dearly but he’s a snake in the grass, and has thrown me under the bus multiple times to get ahead in life. I mostly just pity him, since I know what our life was like growing up. But still, I can’t defend him forever, especially not at the cost of myself. Literally yesterday I woke up to a text from him asking me to come pick him up because he got arrested for starting a fight at a bar and smashing their windows.

When things started getting pretty bad with my mother earlier this year, I started to realise in my heart that there was no way I could go forth in life with her in it. I focused on the future relationships I would have one day when far away from this town — romantic partner, children, friends etc

I sort of realised one day I’d care about them a lot more than I care about my mother, because those future people would care about me. That in turn got me realising that I do deserve love, despite how my mother made me feel, and that I don’t want her to deprive another second of that in my life.

Something very unique that triggered this too was going to go visit an old family psychic, who’s basically just the Gandalf to my Frodo (ily, Chris <3). He very accurately predicted my birth years ago after my mother was told she was infertile — he got the date, year and time right three years in advance, and even knew ahead of time what my personality would be like, which he was spot-on about.

Well, I went and visited him a few months ago because I was lost with my direction, and he ended up pausing and had a sudden feeling, which led to him telling me that he’d just found out I would be having twin boys one day.

Normally I don’t buy into that stuff, but this Gandalf dude…well I knew he was right.

Knowing I’d have sons of my own one day took me from a scared daughter mindset and into a maternal mother bear in an instant, and I knew I didn’t want any children of mine around my mother or the rest of my family, for their safety alone, which made me realise, “Well, if I wouldn’t allow my own children near them, why do I allow myself?”

I started grey-rocking her in the lead-up to me leaving, which of course frustrated her (she’s a malignant narcissist), but it was a necessary step to start emotionally detaching myself from her.

It all bottled over one night after a pretty distressing argument (I had locked myself in my room to avoid it, but she was still at my door carrying on).

My cat, who’s been my best friend for years, was sitting on the floor next to me, and sort of looked up and I swear he spoke with his eyes, saying, “You know we can’t keep doing this, right? You know this abuse has an expiry date?”

I agreed with my cat and knew right then and there that I’d be leaving that night after my mother fell asleep.

Well, when she was finally done (with threats that there’d be more in stock in the morning, mind you) I went to bed early and set my alarm to 3am (was a little inside joke with myself, since that’s biblically the “witching devil hour”)

I started quietly packing my quilt and cat up (I’d already been secretly packing the boot of my car up with all sentimental and important items weeks in advance, except she caught on and took all my baby albums and more to her boyfriend’s house, so I don’t have any baby photos or information on me when I was a baby anymore, like first words, size and just general things I’d have liked to compare to my own kids one day, rip)

Once that was all in my car, I quietly said goodbye to the old family dog and cat (they weren’t mine to take, not that I could’ve anyways, since it was troubling enough taking Buddy, who’s actually my pet and not the family one). That was pretty heartbreaking, as I knew that’d be the last time I’d see them (I grew up with them and was the only one who took care of them — mother neglects kids and pets alike lmao).

Once that was over, I looked around my house with my hand on the front door and was very melancholy, but knew Buddy was right: it had all reached its expiry date.

I left very quietly and drove to McDonalds for a coffee, as I had a long drive ahead (I had organised to be a nanny in this rich family’s house far away in the city — two hours drive). Luckily they were away on their country farm 4 hours away, so I had time to sneak Buddy in.

The nanny thing recently backfired horribly because they discovered Buddy, which led to more AM escapes with my car, but I’m staying with my older brother and his gf for 3 more weeks only. Something I’ve been working towards for months now is moving to a wilderness island to live in my country’s equivalent of Bag End — a beautiful country cottage, amazing job and fantastic study opportunities.

Best feature yet: it’s 60 hours away from my hometown by car, and then you’d have to take a boat for 10 more hours!! They shall never find me hahaha

One of my friends has also told me recently that my mother has started spreading horrible, defamatory rumours about me around town, but I don’t care anymore because I’m almost out.

So, although I can’t offer any practical advice (idk if you’re a minor or not, but regardless it’s great your dad is helping you!) this is the best advice I can offer:

Find a dream and hold onto it, one that doesn’t involve your immediate family. For me it’s moving to that island and enjoying all the fresh air. It’ll push you forwards and remind you of what you’re fighting for when at your lowest.

Remind yourself there will be other people in your life, whether a spouse, friends, children or even a dog! (I’m getting a golden retriever next year 🐾) And then remember that you deserve all of them and the unconditional love they offer you.

Remember that if you don’t want your mother/family screwing those people over by proxy of her/their relationship to you, then there’s no way in hell you alone should put up with it either, as I guarantee those future people only want good things for you ☀️

There is a good life after abuse, I’ve seen it, and I know you can achieve it, too!

Be prepared for tons of backlash and bullshit — it’s inescapable when dealing with people like this, but I recommend educating yourself on narcissistic parents and tactics to deal with them.

Finding a good therapist who deals in PTSD regarding childhood abuse is important, too. I found an amazing one in the town I’m moving to, who had nearly the same upbringing as me!

So while I’m still struggling with a lot of fear (scared my mother will find where I’m working and living one day) and guilt (I feel horrible about leaving the family dog and cat behind, especially when they need veterinary help, only to then go and get myself another puppy) I understand I’ve done the best I can in a very abnormal situation, and that I can only do better from here.

Also, this song has been a saving grace when going all angsty over wanting to leave your current situation:

It’s from my favourite Broadway Musical, “Newsies”, and lemme tell you — discovering this as a 17-year-old when I was just starting to realise the severity of my situation was pure divinity.

Jeremy Jordan, my beloved Broadway Bard <3

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When I finally get my cottage, I’m getting a wooden plaque with the name “Santa Fe” engraved on it, and am hanging it on my front door.

I wish you much luck and love, my little anonymous friend! And please know my inbox is open any time you need anything — vent, advice, a laugh or something else, ANYTHING, it feels good to know my past can maybe help someone else’s present ☀️

Please update me, too! I’m following your story along ardently now! (Also, be sure to take your sentimental items and store them somewhere safe away from your mother — ie baby albums, birth certificates, other paraphernalia/memorabilia etc).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must hit the road. DESTINY AWAITS!

#ahh yes #Newsies my beloved <3 #and bless my family Gandalf #I’m gonna send him a gift next year from the small country town I’m moving to for his birthday as a thanks #also I’m torn between naming the golden retriever ‘Jaskier/Dandelion’ or ‘Glorfindel/Glorfy’ now #so happy that’ll soon be my only dilemma in life <33

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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for the character meme: faramir and cassian

yaaaaaaas thank u 👑👑👑

Faramir

How I feel about this character

Oh boy. Yeah. So I see in Faramir what I wish I were — not just the good stuff like the pacificism and the intellectualism and the romanticism, but what I wish my flaws were too. It’s hard to not treat him as something of a literary patron saint of historians for all the incredible exposition work he’s given throughout the books, y’know? Like he has this incredibly historically-minded perspective on things, yet instead of taking it and behaving (as I tend to) in a sort of deeply pessimistic, confrontational, and defeatist way, he uses it to enable his (over)confidence. And I think that’s really brilliant and something I wish I could do. Yeah. God. I feel a lot of things about Faramir all the time, constantly torn between gender envy for him and normal, slightly furious envy lmao.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

lol whoops it’s just Éowyn lol. I am very much pro he and Aragorn shagging, if I don’t think too hard about it, but there are basically no other characters in the book who have forceful enough personalities to act as a countervailing force to some of his, uhhhh, Extremes, and I think Éowyn ends up being his [David Duchovny voice] human credential, which is lovely.

I guess I’m also partial to the Faramir-As-A-Sloppy-Bitch hypothesis which has him behaving like a bit of a fuckboy, but that’s not really shipping so much as character development? I guess?

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I’m buying him one of those awful one man wolfpack tshirts lmao, my dude absolutely does not have pals. I think he’s got loads of decent working relationships with people and is definitely charismatic when he wants to be, but outwith that……. lol

My unpopular opinion about this character

looooooool, I feel like the Faramir Is Not A Crybaby one is well trodden ground at this point, but one of my favourite unpopular opinions is that I think he’s, like, 15% more cynical than everybody gives him credit for. I think a lot of what he does can be construed as very obviously, uhhh, putting the moves on, I guess? Like I think he’s not making grand statements to Éowyn because he’s Magically Compelled To Do It, but because I think he absolutely 100% knows it’s stroking her ego. And I think playing one man good cop/bad cop with Sam and Frodo isn’t him rapidly changing his Take on the situation after getting new information, I think he’s very purposefully trying to unsettle their psychological defences a bit so he can get a better sense for what’s really going on and whether these two guys are going to end up handing Isildur’s Bane™ over to Sauron.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon

Actually nothing super significant. I guess I think the one kid shit is nonsensical. Even without turning on dumb horny shipper brain that says 0% chance he and éowyn weren’t fucking loads, I genuinely refuse to believe that any self-respecting feudal lord would not at least go for the And A Spare, if not And Several Spares, especially if you’re Faramir and your entire family got obliterated leaving you — Man Who Was Not Meant To Hold The House Down — the sole survivor.

Beyond that Faramir gets exactly what he ought to out of LOTR (though I would have loved to have read about his misery life in the Fourth Age), and I can’t really complain? Maybe a line or two at the trothplighting in Rohan? A chat with Galadriel? idk he really did fine for canon appearances imo

Cassian

How I feel about this character

There’s no way to say this without sounding slightly unhinged, but the scene in R1 where he shoots the injured informant on the Ring of Kafrene is genuinely one of my favourite moments in all of Star Wars. It threw down the gauntlet for visceral depictions of the unfeelingness of the GFFA in a way that hadn’t really been done before. Both the OT and the PT make gestures at it (the destruction of Alderaan is a good example, as is the slightly-bungled slavery subplot in TPM), but neither really show how fucked up people can get when they’re living in a fucked up world and they never show good guys doing things that are of ambiguous morality. Cassian ends up making a (surprisingly, given it’s a Mouse™ production) sophisticated argument for how the Real World works once you get past the golden boy heroes. Yes Luke blows up the Death Star, and yes he brings Vader back to the Light — both things that are unambiguous moral goods — but the reason he’s able to do that is because there’s someone like Cassian out there taking the karmic/emotional/spiritual/whatever hit to enable the Golden Boy behaviour. And I think that’s a really beautiful, really exciting bit of narrative development for SW generally, but to also do it in the context of Cassian — who actively defends his choices? That fucking rocked. I’m bracing for impact with the new show but R1 Cassian is absolutely one of my favourite SW characters, lovely wee man.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Literally just Jyn. Actually funnily enough he’s very much like Faramir to me in that I think if he didn’t end up with Jyn, he wouldn’t have really ended up with anyone at all. Not in a weird comphet or soulmates way, just in that I think sometimes people need a very specific kind of personality to wear down their defences and sometimes it’s a very specific kind of personality.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Okay in a fix-it AU I like to think he and Hera would get along fabbo, but from a great distance, as I think each of them would prefer it. Otherwise, I’m sorry to say it but my guy absolutely does not have pals lmao. Cassian no mates rip

My unpopular opinion about this character

I don’t think he’s actually repentant for the fucked up shit he’s done. When he tells Jyn that he’s had to do stuff he isn’t proud of, he’s not saying that because he’s seeking absolution or a chance to do penance or whatever, he’s saying it because it’s objectively true. He has done some stuff he’s not proud of, but contextually I think it’s pretty clear he’s able to justify it to himself well enough that he’s not looking for redemption or whatever.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon

I feel like I need to whisper this so the monkey’s paw doesn’t curl in advance of the show, but it would be genuinely very interesting to see him try to build an actual espionage network for the Rebellion. SW: Rebels touched on the notion of industrial sabotage (actually Mando did too, didn’t it?) and I think it would be especially interesting to see them try that out in a resistance/rebellion framework via Cassian. Let him do some covert ops organisation of workers to undermine Imperial production/supply lines or whatever.

Give me a character xxoo

#thank you!!!#god i hope the formatting isn’t as fucked up as it looks on my phone lmao #hc #asks #faramir /#Cassian /#Cassian is just bizzaro-world faramir without even basic literacy lol

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief, @padxleckiss donated $50, and requested always-a-girl!Deanna/Sam, lingerie, comeplay. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

In the week after they get back from St. Louis, dealing with James and the witches and the familiars and everything that got dragged up along with them, Deanna throws herself into the bunker. Sam thought she was nesting before; turns out he didn't really know what that looked like, from his sister.

There's cleaning. There's rearranging. She turns the kitchen upside down and finds another farmer's market over in Smith Center that even in late February Kansas weather has produce that she fairly squeals over, when she's dumping her egg-crate of loot out onto the island. "How are you getting tomatoes this time of year?" Sam asks, and she makes a raspberry noise and says, "What? Greenhouses, or something, Sammy, don't bitch when I'm bringing home gold." While Sam's still digging out in the library, still trying to make sense of the diamond-mine of lore and records and history that they've fallen face-first into, Deanna makes mysterious trips to Wichita, to Topeka, to department stores, to—who knows where else, because Sam isn't invited, because he, apparently, "doesn't know how to shop." Sam didn't know Deanna did, considering that their whole lives she's lived on thrift-store finds and leftovers same as him, but apparently his sister has yet more depths Sam didn't realize he wasn't privy to until they were suddenly revealed.

She comes home late after another trip—swinging past Kevin on the houseboat, but clearly an excuse from the shopping bag swinging on the end of her finger—and Sam's tired from a long day sitting in the library and trying to manage this nagging cough without worrying about it, but she bounces up the steps and there's a shine to her that hasn't been there since—since Sam doesn't remember, how long—and he smiles at her, despite everything. "Good drive?" he says.

"Update, Kevin has advanced in his diet enough to alternate between hot dogs and Hot Pockets," Deanna says, and wraps an arm over his chest from behind and kisses his cheek, easily affectionate like they also haven't been in too long. He swallows, tasting iron, and catches her wrist to keep her there. She hmms, reading his laptop over his shoulder like she always does. Her hair swings down, too, falling over her shoulder, smelling like road and like the faintest trace of her crappy strawberry conditioner. More absently: "Not even the good kind. He's getting, like, off-brand meatball and four cheese."

"Did you cook?" Sam says, and she goes pff against his cheek—tickles, and he flinches away, grinning despite himself—and she says, standing, "I am not Kevin's mommy, Sam, what do you take me for?" When he cranes his head back to give her a face she presses her lips together, rolling her eyes, and says, "I mean, yes, I made lasagna, okay? Kid can't live on weird mystery meat alone. It's got tomato sauce, that counts as a vegetable." She snorts then, tugging her wrist out of his loose grip, and Sam flattens his hand against his chest instead, wanting her back already. "You shoulda heard the noise he made when he got the first bite, too. If he never lost his virginity before, that thing blasted his cherry."

"Dee," Sam groans—Kevin's been through shit but he's still a kid, as far as Sam's concerned—and she says ha, unrepentant.

"You eaten?" she says. Bag on the other table, the one she's staked out as hers, which he isn't allowed to spread 'moldy records' on, apparently. She squats at the brand new mini-fridge, rummaging, though when Sam's silent she gives him a sidelong look. "Samwise? Dinner? Supper?"

"That would make you Frodo," he says, and she rolls her eyes again, coming up with two beers. She cracks them on the edge of the fridge—there's already a scraped-spot coming up—and comes up to him holding his just out of reach, her eyebrows high. Sam sighs. "Yes. Like, two hours ago. The mothering routine is weird, you know."

"Oh, something about us is weird, huh?" Deanna says, smile pulling at her mouth, and when she holds out the beer for him to take she keeps her fingers on the bottle and pulls herself in when he takes it, sliding inside the v of his legs, pressing her thigh against his. He tips his head back and she leans in, making a fake sweet moue of concern. "Tell me about it, baby."

"Dude," he says, protesting only vaguely, and she grins outright, pushing his shoulder and turning away.

"Yeah, whatever," she says. She scoops her bag off the other table and half-salutes with her beer. "I've got a date with the shower room and some new sheets. You going to come to bed tonight, or is this whole lore fetish permanent?"

Asked casual, her eyes on her shopping bag as she presumably admires whatever purchases. Sam swallows down a cough. "Give me a few hours," he says.

Deanna glances at him, not smiling at all for a moment, before that little exasperated dimple peeks up in her cheek. "Fe-tish," she coos, half-singing, and he rolls his eyes for her to see so she'll grin, brief, before she disappears again, her boots clomping loud down the concrete hall, so he still knows where she is even if he can't see her. Sam holds the beer in both hands, running his thumb along the edge of the label, listening. The bunker feels different, when she's in it. The world feels different, when she's in it.

It's been… how has it been. Complicated. That's the best way, maybe, to describe it in brief and still be truthful. His sister is one of the most complicated people on the planet, though she'd protest that description. Sam's personal opinion is that she's one of the most complicated people in history, and considering their relative position in history it's probably not a stretch to figure that, on an objective scale, she's at least ranked.

The last eight months or so—that was complicated, too, although in some ways it was very, very simple. Sam had been with another woman for almost a year and Deanna had been with another man and regardless of extenuating circumstances—death, or presumed death, or loneliness so complete that it gave Sam nightmares, even now, these bleak dreams of an empty world where he calls out and his voice doesn't echo, a deaf-and-mute misery where all he sees is absence—that was it, pretty much. Since then, they've forgiven each other. They broke off other concerns and when Sam walked back into that cabin in Whitefish Deanna was standing at the window with her arms wrapped over her stomach, looking out at something Sam couldn't see. She cut her eyes over when Sam closed the door and Sam shrugged and her lips folded between her teeth and, for a second Sam's always going to remember, she closed her eyes very tight, the faint crow's feet beside them going white with tension. Then she went to the cupboard and got down two cans of chili, and Sam found the can opener, and she uncapped the beers. They ate silently, watching a rerun of a wrestling match with six inches of space between them on the couch, but they were together, and that was more, almost, that night, than Sam could handle. It wasn't until the ridiculous adventure with Charlie—until after—when he woke up in the middle of the night already reaching for his gun with her hand small on his wrist and red-and-white makeup still smeared at her temples, her hair still caught up in the ridiculous Viking braids Charlie had given her—with her leaning in, in the too-big t-shirt she'd stolen from him to sleep in when she first came back from Purgatory and, he quickly realized, nothing else—when she said, soft in the dark, Sammy, asking—and he touched the bare shine of her knee gleaming in the moonlight and saw how her eyes closed again, very tight again, and he sat up and put his thumb to the clenched tense skin beside her eye and put his lips to her cheekbone, on the opposite side, and felt all the way through his body the breath she let out, like a tension she'd held close for a year or more was unraveling, all at once.

His sister. He knows what that means, about them. It's worse, of course, because she's his sister who raised him, who taught him how to shoot and bandaged his skinned knees and who beat the shit out of the first girl who ever stood him up for a school dance, when he was fourteen, and Sam had tried to intervene but Deanna had whirled on him, furious, and said no one gets to treat you like that, you get me? No one. Sam remembered that moment on the Greyhound, pressing his forehead against the window and watching the pale grey Arizona desert go past in the moonlight, California beckoning and Deanna's face, turned away while Dad shouted, pinned miserably behind his eyes. His sister, rowdy and caring and bullish and sweet. The town whore, boys had claimed when Sam was a teenager, and he'd gotten in his own fights, for that, fights that had led to Deanna pressing wadded TP against his lip and holding frozen peas against his eye, shaking her head, saying, Sammy, I know I taught you to box better than this. You fixing matches and making bank on the side, or what? His sister, who stood smirking in his kitchen in Palo Alto, her eyes not cutting to the girl at Sam's side even once—who said to him, voice sore, we made a good team, back there—who said to him, when Sam was out of his skin with worry after moving matter with his mind when the vision of her dead had filled it, nothing bad's gonna happen to you, not as long as I'm around, and smiled at him with her eyes clear, like it was nothing but true—who wept, cracked-open miserable, when she was sure that their dad had sold his soul for her—when she said to Sam that she wasn't worth it, and she didn't know why he had—that she was sorry, that she'd lost their father for both of them—his sister, who he folded into his chest, cupping his hand around the wavy-thick weight of her hair, noticing in a way for the first time how small she was, compared to him, and how she quivered, shaking in agony, caught against him, and how when he tipped her chin up on that mountain pull-out in the late afternoon sunshine the tears gleamed on her cheeks and her face was wrecked, her eyes red and her nose shined with snot and her mouth screwed up, bitten red and chapped, but full when Sam dipped and kissed her—plush, and startled-open, when Sam kissed her—giving, and tasting of salt, and desperate, and furious, and yielding, and precious-sweet, delicate, shocked, when Sam kissed her. She blinked, when he pulled away, stunned silent. Her eyelashes clumped and dark, and her eyeliner smeary, and her mouth red, red, red. Sam touched her lower lip with his thumb and she took in a huge deep breath that stuttered on its way in, staring at him big-eyed, and then she gripped his hair in both fists and tugged him back down and kissed him again, vicious, and that—well, that was it. His sister, and him. All the years between then and now, and that's still what it boils down to. Sam and Deanna. No matter what, the and is still the most important word.

He comes to bed. Midnight. A little after. They have separate rooms but Deanna's is nicer, despite the guns racked on the walls, and the weird obsidian axe that Sam doesn't ask about in pride of place, above the headboard. She's made the room her own—girly, sort of, despite the weaponry, although Sam doesn't describe it that way out loud—a new-built rack of her FBI-pretext suits and her few dresses on the other side of the wardrobe, and a throw blanket and fluffy pillow she has completely failed to explain or acknowledge on the uncomfortable loveseat, and candles on the shelf above the bed that she clearly had burning for a while before she went to sleep, because the room smells faintly of orange blossom when Sam's pulling off his boots, leaving his jeans on the chair in the corner. When he slides into bed behind her into the apparently-new sheets she makes a faint questioning sound, her head turning. He shushes her very quietly, sliding his hand over the wide curve of her hip, over the blanket. The memory foam sinks beneath him, too soft, but the bed already smells like her and so it's comfortable, anyway. He presses his lips against her bare neck, the soft baby-hairs there silky, her hair pulled messily up for bedtime as always, and she sighs, in her sleep, and curls in closer to her pillow. Sam smiles at the back of her head, wishing—well, whatever he wishes doesn't matter. He tucks in, knees pulling up into the curve of her knees so that he'll fit in the bed, and closes his eyes, and figures that, whatever he dreams, at least when he wakes up he'll be here, in what passes for home, with his sister.

As a matter of course Sam wakes up first. Unless there's a job-related deadline or nightmares dragging her awake, Deanna would happily sleep straight through the morning, and with no check-out times nagging at them in the bunker she's often wandered out into the library wrapped in one of those too-big robes at ten a.m., her hair wrecked and her slept-in makeup smudged and her mouth surly, demanding to know if Sam's made coffee. He has always made coffee.

This morning, though. Sam's alarm goes off at seven as usual, and he groans and smacks his phone, as usual, barely awake but knowing that he doesn't want to hear Deanna's bitching if it wakes her up, too—but there's no too-warm plush weight plastered up against him, and no murmured threats of shooting the phone if he doesn't change his alarm sound, and when he drags his hand through his hair and sits up and his brain actually comes online—the bed's empty, and the room's quiet, and he sits there blinking, surprised, not really knowing what to make of it.

Smell of coffee, when he opens the door, and bacon-smell snaking underneath it. When he gets to the kitchen, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Deanna's in her sleep-shirt (still Sam's, the shoulders way too big and the v-neck gaping), and tugged-on shorts, and bare feet, and her hair in a honey-brown messy pile on top of her head, and she's in a whirl of breakfast, pancakes on the griddle and a pan of bacon going and something being whisked with extreme prejudice in one of the big steel bowls, more suited to feeding thirty than just the two of them. She jerks when she notices him, like she's been caught at something, but then her eyes go to his hair and she starts to smile, wide mouth pulling into what Sam thinks of as her Joker grin. "Don't start," he says, and she says, too innocent, "Start what? I think it's very brave that you're joining a Flock of Seagulls cover band," and he drops his head back and sighs and ignores her snort-laugh, but he also drags his hands through his hair a little more strenuously while she says, "Whatever, Pigpen, take a seat. Grub's up in five."

He gets coffee, first. Strong, but good—like, really, really good, for some reason that he doesn't quite get—it's the same machine, same crappy tub of pre-ground stuff they get from the little market in town—but then Deanna's always been better at this kind of thing than she let on, and he savors the first few sips, breathing caffeine. She ignores him, moving confidently around—the whisking it turns out was eggs, which she pours onto the griddle too and starts working like she's a line cook—and he watches her, content for a second to let that be the only thing he's thinking about. She was a line cook, once, he remembers. When he was in high school, and she'd quit school by then, and the credit cards hadn't come through. She got a job for a few weeks at that diner, in Joplin. "What was that place you worked?" Sam says, while she's flipping pancakes. She frowns at him over her shoulder. "They gave me free grilled cheese for dinner, that month."

The frown clears. "The Show Me Diner," she says, turning back to the griddle. "Manager always joked I should show him my tits." Sam pauses, cup halfway to his mouth. He never heard that part. Deanna laughs, scraping at the griddle with the metal spatula. "Man, that kitchen was gross. Great fries, though."

"The grilled cheese was good," Sam says, after a second, and she says, "Damn right it was, I was the one making it," and then she's ducking under the island and grabbing plates, and then in the next second there's breakfast—fresh and hot and delivered with a fork clattering down into his eggs and his sister plopping down on the other side of the table, tucking her foot under her other knee and gesturing with the other fork: "Eat, drink, be merry. Happy birthday, Sammy."

Sam frowns. "Uh," he says, and makes a show of looking at his watch. "Unless I slept way too late—"

She rolls her eyes, cramming pancake into her mouth. "Shut up," she advises, garbled, and he wrinkles his nose at the chewing but looks down at his plate. It does look good. Bacon's burned, exactly the way they both like it. He picks up a piece, lets it shatter on his tongue, but he gives her a look, too, and she rolls her eyes again—a little too obvious, playacted, which makes him pay more attention—and makes a show of swallowing. "I know, duh. But, hell. I wasn't here for the last one. And, you know, I didn't really get a chance to make it up to you. Before."

She cuts another bite of pancake, studiously piling it and syrup and egg and bacon-shards into one monstrous bite, while Sam's processing that. "We didn't do anything for yours, either," Sam says, after a few seconds. Jesus, his birthday? He was in Kermit, then, only barely coming to terms with how he was going to have a hole in his chest for the rest of his life. On Deanna's birthday—god, that was only last month—they were moving into the bunker, he thinks, and they were okay but that hole in his chest somehow still smarted, and Sam doesn't even remember if they did the bare minimum of pizza and beer.

"We can do a Seagal marathon sometime," she says, shrugging one shoulder, and smiling at her plate when he groans. "I'm taking the opportunity, dude. We've got a house, we've got steady cash, the world isn't currently ending, so. I'm in charge. Birthday queen. You've gotta do what I say."

"How is this my birthday, again?" Sam says, and she says, "Shut up," lightly, and then taps his plate with her fork and says, "Eat up, beanpole," and so he shuts up, and eats. Why not. It's good. Of course it is; she made it.

There isn't, it turns out, all that much of a plan. He washes their plates but then she shoos him out of the kitchen again, tells him to run a marathon or bench press a car or something, and so he goes for a jog, as ordered. Not much of one—full stomach, and the cough, which forces him to stop and lean against a fence-post and spit, laced with red. He licks his lips, swallows, and keeps running, and when he's back Deanna's still in her pjs, doing something in the library, and she gives him unimpressed eyebrows and says, "You look like you reek, Lance. Shower time." So, fine, shower time.

When he's done, he finds clothes in his room laid out for him. Basically pajamas: soft loungey sweatpants in a dark grey that are clearly brand new, and a thin soft black shirt to go with them. "Merry un-birthday," he hears, and when he turns Deanna's leaning in his doorway, clearly enjoying him in his towel. "You like?"

"Uh, I guess," Sam says, fingering the material. Their birthday presents to each other are usually along the line of a six-pack or embarrassing porn or, memorably, twenty-nine boxes of Ho-Hos when he turned twenty-nine. Three guesses who ate more of them. He picks up the sweatpants, giving her a quizzical look, but she only lifts one shoulder and raises her eyebrows, waiting, and he huffs and then, fine, drops the towel. It is sort of—something—how immediately her eyes drop to his dick, and he bites back a smile and tugs on the sweatpants with a minimum of show. They are soft, thin but warm in the bunker's cool air, and the shirt stretches only a little over his shoulders. He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows and turns, modeling. "You like?" he repeats.

"You'd still get thrown out of bed for eating crackers," Deanna says, eyes tracing his body. "But you'll do."

He comes to her, sliding a hand over her waist, and she doesn't move except to tip her head back, eyes steady on his. Watchful and more still, now, like she wasn't before Purgatory. The kiss is unhurried. He parts her lips with gentle pressure and she sighs, letting him in, her head tilting back. Her mouth, perfect. He slips his hand down to her hip, squeezing the wide curve of it through the t-shirt and the ancient denim cut-offs, and she unfolds her arms and wraps a hand around his wrist, stopping him from going further. When he pulls back her cheeks are a little flushed but she blinks at him, shakes her head. "Not yet," she says, and he frowns, confused. Like they haven't messed around in the middle of the day before? She bites her bottom lip, attempting to look coy. "I mean. There's… stuff to do, first."

Sam narrows his eyes and she switches from attempted coy to attempted innocence. "Dee," he says, and her eyes go round, guileless as a cartoon princess. He drags his thumb over the soft of her belly, his hand still trapped by her light grip but enough room for him to find the waistband of the shorts through the t-shirt, rub there. Her eyelashes flicker, but she remains steadfast. "Stuff to do," he says, finally. "Like what?"

"Oh," she says, waving her other hand. "You know. Important stuff."

Okay, so she's clearly got some plan. He glances down at himself, dressed for… nothing, as far as he can tell. If it's going to be an elaborate and terrible roleplay fantasy, as least she isn't making him be a cop or a doctor or something. "And what am I supposed to do?" he asks, conceding. "While you do important stuff."

She starts to grin but bites it back, in that way where her dimple peeks out. "I think you should hang out in the library," she says, half serious.

"The library," Sam says.

Deanna nods, the dimple deepening. "For like… an hour, probably." She tips her head, eyes cutting to the side. "Um, maybe longer. But I'm sure there's a book in there that'll entertain you, gigantic nerd that you are."

"Thoughtful," Sam says, and her grin blooms wide, her eyes crinkling in that way they do when she's really happy, and it catches in Sam's chest, like it always does. He dips and kisses her again, quick, just because he needs to, and she puts a hand to his jaw and lifts into it, eager, before she dips away, licks her lips, lifts a finger. Sam sighs. "An hour."

"Ish," she corrects, but she slides a hand down his chest to his stomach, presses in. "It'll be worth the wait," she says, warm and promising, in that way she has where she can flip from just the biggest dork in the world to the sexiest woman he's ever known, even in ratty pajamas and still all mussed from sleep, and he doesn't need more than just—her, just her, ever, and she should know that, but—he nods, and her eyes drop to his mouth and she looks tempted, but then she nods too, and disappears down the hall, bare feet noiseless on the concrete, and he closes his eyes and tells the warm wanting feeling in his gut that it has to wait, unfortunately, and he goes to the library, and he finds a book.

He doesn't actually know how long passes. He stands over the archiving work that he still needs to do but—god, he's not going to be able to concentrate on that, with this tugging in his belly that says he's got something better coming down the pipe. He goes over to one of the alcoves, instead, picks one of the leather armchairs, picks a book off the shelf. History—the Spanish incursion into Tenochtitlan—and it's dry and old-fashioned and he scans page after page, half-focused, barely taking in details about the supernatural elements of Aztec ritual when he's thinking about…

It took him until he left to realize that he judged all women against his sister. His first official college hookup, after a freshman mixer, was a perfectly nice girl whose name he can't quite remember, but he remembers to this day how he thought: shorter than Deanna. Blonder than Deanna. No freckles, not like Deanna. When she tugged him into her dorm room, both of them more than tipsy on jello shots and cheap beer, she tugged off her tank top and dragged his hands up to her breasts and he'd thought, in a way he didn't examine at all until much later, that they were bigger than Deanna's, and her ass filling his hands was—was probably smaller, although Sam didn't have the evidence then to know it, and when he rolled off of her afterward she curled up against his arm and promptly fell asleep and he looked at her muzzily confused and thought, distantly, that Deanna didn't do that, with guys, that the few times she'd brought someone home to their motel room when she thought Sam was either out or sleeping she'd fucked the guy and gotten whatever satisfaction she got and then showed him the door, and they were done, except for how sometimes Sam would squint carefully through shut eyes at how she stood with her back to the door for a few minutes, her eyes closed and her head tipped back and her body barely hidden in a big t-shirt or a towel, and he didn't know what she was thinking, then. She certainly didn't just roll over and drool on the guy's shoulder, until he had to awkwardly extricate himself, and fret over leaving a number, and then ultimately decide to just go. Bethany, Sam remembers, suddenly. It was Bethany, who was not Deanna.

He's stretched out in the chair, book open but mostly-abandoned on the arm of it, staring unseeing out at the library. Deanna, five foot seven in her bare feet, her lips a plush pretty curve and her tits a good handful and her ass, god, her ass, that she fretted over when they were younger and made him say that it wasn't fat—but it is, god, this fat perfect swell, impossibly hot along with her wide hips and her thighs gorgeous below and her body just—made for his, he thinks, sometimes. Even if of course that's impossible because they shouldn't be—it shouldn't be how it is, between them. Impossible or not, though—

"Ahem," he hears. He looks up.

Deanna's standing there, one hand on his research table, the other holding closed her grey dead man's robe. Sam blinks, taking her in. Her hair's up but she's clearly taken some time to style it—not quite the FBI-agent bun she's perfected, but looser, and the layers near her face tucked faux-messily behind her ears. Make-up, her eyes framed with liner and thickly sooty, but nothing on to hide the freckles, and her lips shining like they're freshly licked with that clearish-pink gloss she likes. Nothing too odd, or different. She takes another step, that clicks, and he glances down to find that she's wearing heels—not ones he recognizes, very high and impractical and shiny black, not her usual at all—and above the heels—

"I'm in charge, remember?" Deanna says, dragging his eyes back up to her face. "You've got to do what I say." He nods, feeling his face already getting hot, and he sits forward but she holds up a hand. "Stay sitting," she says, firm, "and don't touch, okay, not until you're told," and with that, she unclasps her other hand from the front of the robe, and lets it slide off her shoulders, and Sam takes in a breath and doesn't know if he ever lets it out.

The heels are the least of it. It's hard to take in all at once. His eyes leap from detail to detail. Deep maroon, in the silky material of the bustier, the bra-cups curved in and arrowing down to satiny buttons that close it at the front. It covers her ribs, surprisingly modest. Modest, too, the matching maroon panties done in a full cut, except that they're also sheer lace, and he can see the shadow of her trimmed hair through them, barely visible through the pattern. What's making his mouth dry, though, beyond the fact of her presented like this, is: a wide black garter belt, sitting high on her hips, leaving just an inch or two of bare white belly below the bustier—the arch of it high enough that the soft dimple of her navel's visible, above the waist of the panties—thick ribbons, for the garter, that curve sweet over her hips and down her pale thighs—and half-sheer thigh-high stockings, black lace thick at the tops, going all the way down her long legs to the heels, shining in the puddle of the discarded robe.

One heel turns in, her knee bending a little. Sam's dick pulses, caught in the sweatpants. This isn't—she doesn't bother, never has, and he never even thought to ask—in his life, he wouldn't have asked—

"Surprise," she says, spreading her hands to the side like a dancer, and Sam says, "Holy shit, Deanna."

Her tongue flicks to wet the center of her top lip. Nervous, almost, but what in god's name would she have to be nervous about? "Figured I could dress up," she says, shrugging—god, the way that makes her tits move—"and you know, it's your birthday, or uh—your unbirthday, right? So—"

"Are you sure I can't get up?" Sam interrupts. She blinks at him. "I really want to get up."

"So—" she says, fingers curling, and Sam says, "God, come here," with his voice rough in this way he didn't intend it to be, but she blinks again and then smiles, slow, her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth, and she steps forward, hips swaying, coming close enough to touch. He starts to reach but she puts her fingers to his collarbone and stops him, pressing him to the back of the armchair, and then she stands between his spread knees, leaning over him a little, so he can smell—the chemical peach of her bodywash, and the faint vanilla of the lotion she prefers, and beneath that—christ—he can smell her, her body clearly ready from whatever she was thinking as she put all this on, and he has to grip the arms of the chair very tightly not to get his hand on her pussy and find out just how ready she is.

Deanna trails a finger down his sternum, looking down at him with her lower lip caught in her teeth. "Didn't think this was going to be this much of a hit," she says, quiet, and Sam huffs. He's still looking all over. God. Her soft belly, lightly dented by the garter belt. The way the buttons of the bustier strain over her tits. "Hey, Sammy? Tell me something." He makes some sound. The stockings, christ, the stockings—that's doing something to him he didn't even know—"If you could do anything right now what would you do?"

His brain doesn't engage with the answer; it comes straight from his balls. "I'd eat your pussy," he says, and Deanna's hand spreads on his chest like a star, her chest heaving under the breath she takes. "Can I?" he says, belatedly, looking up finally at her face, because he wants to suddenly very badly, can practically taste the wet split of her, and she's pink over her cheekbones and ears, her lips wet and flushed, already, but she says: "No," and climbs into the armchair with him, instead, straddling him, her ass settling down on his knees, her hands in his hair, pulling his head back, making him keep eye contact. She dips her head, lips brushing his, and he opens his mouth for her but she doesn't quite kiss him. A tendril of hair swings forward, brushing his cheek, and she follows it, her lips faintly wet and a little sticky from the gloss, trailing over his cheekbone, breathing warmly damp against his ear. Her thighs clench around his and his hands flex, on the chair-arms, and his dick—god, he hasn't hardened up like this with no contact at all in years, didn't even know he could, but any second now it feels like he's going to start leaking, ruin the new pajama pants she gave him.

"If I asked you to hold on," she says, low and private against his ear—like anyone else could hear, like they're in a strip club and she's offering a private show. "You think you could? Hold on, not go until I said?"

"What, because I'm on such a hair trigger the rest of the time?" he says, attempting lightness, but honestly—christ, it feels like that could be a danger, right now, with her in his lap like this, with her smell, with her fingers dragging out of his hair and down his chest again, trailing down his abs through the sleep shirt. "God, Dee—you're so—" He's interrupted, when her fingers brush against the shape of his dick, through the sweatpants. She leans back, looking between them, her lips barely parted and her eyes dark. His dick flexes, against her hand, and her eyes flick up to meet his. "I can hold on," he promises, recklessly, and she flattens her palm and presses him thick against his own thigh where he's caught awkward in the soft material, but her chest heaves again on a deep breath, clearly as turned on as he is, and he says, then, "Kiss me," and she leans down immediately and does.

No touching rules or no, he's not going to just sit here, inert. He lifts up into the kiss right away, knocking her mouth open and licking inside, and she grips his hair again, fucks her tongue against his, squirms. "Scoot forward—come here—" she mumbles against him, half-coherent, and he hikes his hips forward between her legs so he's right on the edge of the seat and that, fuck, that tucks his hips warm between her thighs where he belongs, and his dick swells up against her pussy, the heat of it intense even through the layers of sweatpants and lace.

She doesn't tease, not exactly. She grinds down against him but then slips her hand right back to his dick, cupping the bulge of it firmly through the soft cotton and then sliding her hand inside. God—soft, warm. She rubs her thumb at the base, scratching her nail through his pubes, and then says, "Get it out," and he lifts, squirms, drags the waistband of the new pants down below the urgent heave of himself. Christ, he's hard. She presses right up close against him, thighs closing around his hips and his dick crammed tight up between his stomach and the scratchy lace of her panties, and she fists him capably, knowing, her cheek pressed against his and looking down between them, her breath heaving. She presses his cockhead up against herself, smearing it in the window of bare skin between the waist of the panties and the line of the garter belt—the sensitive ridge catching against her navel—and rubs her thumb hard under the crown—and fuck, fuck. Sam's balls ache. "Jeez," she says, low but light. "Happy to see me, huh? Wish I could suck it but I think I'd tear my tights if I went on my knees."

Sam groans. "You could try," he says, and she snorts, smears her lips against his jaw, kisses him brief and hot. She's as turned on as he is, which isn't helping him cool down at all. "Fuck, Dee. Let me—can I—"

"You can touch my ass," she offers, and he grabs her there immediately, squeezing, tugging her in so the spine of his dick crushes in against her pussy, grinding where her clit's got to be swelling, all trapped in the lace. She hitches air, back arching, and presses his dick firmer there with the hand caught between them, riding the pole of him. It feels outstanding but he's half-distracted because her ass, her ass. Fat and hot and so soft, denting under how hard he's gripping her. He slides his thumbs under the garter straps, tugging, and then sliding down, daring, finding the clips where they attach to the stockings. She squeezes his dick and he pulls, there, slipping his fingers under where the top of the stocking rides high and sweet and tight, and groans again, and says thoughtless Deanna, and she lifts her head up, looks down at him, eyes bright and her face flushed and her lips wet and her expression half-thoughtful, half-delighted. "Sammy," she says, and he squeezes the fat sweet swell where her ass rises up out of her thighs, the garters slipping silky against his palms. "That doing it for you? My stockings?"

He can hardly say, just lifts up and kisses under her jaw, sliding down to suckle at her throat—pulling—but she finds his hands, arrests them. He wants to knock them away but his brain's not completely offline yet and he stills, lets her pull his wrists away—lets her stand, fuck, up, wriggling backwards off his lap and getting her heels on the floor again, standing. "Hm, let's see," she says, low, and turns around, and that's when he gets to know that the stockings ride just a little higher in the back, the straps pulling with how the belt's fastened high at her waist, and they've got a thick seam that arrows down the line of her legs, ending in a little triangle of lace at the heel, just barely visible above the patent leather. The panties are practically sheer in the back—the lace finer, showing the crack of her ass—and the bustier dents in at the sides of her waist, making the tiniest roll there between the edge of it and the top of the garter that makes him want to fucking bite her, there, feel the soft flesh, taste her salt.

She's kicked the fallen robe out of the way and found the research table, her table, the one that's clear of books and mess. She bites her lip like a coquette and beckons, and he's up in a second, crowding in close, hands on the table on either side of her hips because she said, she said—

"If you want," she says, looking up at him, flushed, "you can eat me out, now."

He goes to his knees so fast it hurts and his mouth's between her thighs in the same second. He opens wide, breathes hot, sucks through the lace—her taste, right there, the fabric soaked at the little knot of the seams coming together—and she groans, bracing her heels on the floor, her ass barely perched on the edge of the table. He knows her cunt in every single way but like this it feels new, wrapped and pretty and served up for him, and he takes it slower, savoring. Drags his teeth over the unfamiliar scratch of the lace, kisses the pale-plump inside of her thigh above the edge of the stocking and suckles there, pulling tighter and tighter until she's squirming and gripping his hair and saying Sam breathless, and then switching to the other side and doing the same. Fuck, her smell. Salt-ocean, the queer unmistakable tang of pussy. He sucks at her clit through the fabric, not hard but in slow pulsing drags of his mouth that work her plump lips even fatter with hot blood, and her hips lift against him, a low pleased noise making his dick pulse. "Take them off," she says, somewhere, and he lifts up and kisses the little half-moon of skin above the waistband, fucks his tongue into her belly-button, and when he tugs—he pulls—dragging the panties down under the constriction of the belt and its straps—and he doesn't know how to get them out without ruining her whole costume—but christ, these are his present, aren't they?—and so he pulls harder, tears, and she gasps up above, "Holy shit, you lunatic," but then the lace is in two pieces and her thighs are pulling wide and he gets to dip his head and lick wide up the whole glossy slit of her, burying his nose in the slick-wet gingery patch of her hair, getting the salt without any stupid fabric in between. She grabs his head, pulling him closer, and he hooks his fingers into the straps of the garter belt and works, deep sloppy licks that smear slick all over, her clit swollen and aching just like he likes it. He spreads her wide with the edge of his thumbs, not touching, and licks the entrance to her vagina without dipping inside in the way he knows drives her absolutely nuts—and, yes, her thighs close around his shoulders and she arches with this surprised stupid sound that makes him grin against her cunt and she says, "Fuck, fine, fuck, get up here, come here—" and he stands slow, kissing her belly and her sternum and breathing against trapped satin swell of her breasts before she grabs his face and kisses him, eating her own taste out of his mouth.

"If you don't get your dick in me," she says, panting, "in about two seconds—" and so he grabs her ass and tips her backwards on the table and feeds his dick inside, pressing in bare, the scraps of lace tickling a little at his skin but the overwhelming feeling just the, fuck, the tight slippery grip of her, the close-grasping heat, the way she arches and makes this little hurt sound when he gets deep because he's thick, and he didn't even finger her to warn her, but she's so sloppy-wet he's not sure it makes much of a difference. He tips his hips in and presses his pelvis against her clit and leans in deep and kisses her, just staying still for a minute, feeling—christ. All of her. She slides a hand down between them and feels where he's splitting her wide, and he rocks back a little so she can hold his dick and then feel it slot right back in where it belongs. Fuck. "Fuck," she says, breathless, her hand flattened between their hips, and then Sam realizes she's massaging her mound with heavy, slow pressure. "Come on," she says, low and tight against his cheek, and he grips her hips and works her with a deep rocking, hardly pulling out, just grinding up and up and up inside while she works herself from the outside, and it's no surprise at all when she comes, fast, rippling inside and clenching so hard that he can barely move for fear of getting pushed entirely out. He drops his forehead to her collarbone, pushing deep, letting her clench and pulse. His dick feels so fat and swollen he could imagine all the blood in his body's there. It certainly doesn't feel like he's brain's involved.

Deanna sighs, after a second. "Holy crap," she says, like relief. "Mm. Lift up, 'kay?" He lifts up, keeping his hips right in place—his back cracking as he stands all the way straight—and she's flushed and pleased, spread out below him. "Shirt off?" she says, and so he strips it off, tossing it to the other end of the table. She reaches out and trails cold fingertips over his pecs, his abs, licking her lips. "Hm," she says, and smiles at him, wide and unexpected. She kicks her heels off, each one clattering to the floor, and lifts her legs against his sides, the stockings slick and smooth against his skin. He grabs her thighs immediately, savoring the long clench of muscle under the satin. She unbuttons the top two tiny buttons on the bustier—the top three—her tits spilling a little, the creamy swell of them loosened, and when she arches he can see the dark shadow of areola, peeking from below the maroon cups. She laughs a little at whatever his expression is, and then reaches down and grasps his hips, the sweatpants still barely caught around his ass. "Okay, birthday boy. Your turn. You can do whatever you want, but—" and her nails dig in, making his ass clench. "You make sure you come inside."

"Jesus christ, Dee," Sam groans, and she grins, eyebrows popping high like she's made a joke she's letting him in on, but it's not a joke, christ, it's not at all, and he hooks his fingers into the garter again and jolts his dick inside, deep as he can where he knows it knocks her cervix, and her eyes fly wide and she grasps his biceps instead, thighs clamping around his waist in shock, and that's—yeah, yeah, that's what he wants, and so he nails her again, and then one more time to make her gasp in a deep choked way and say shocked oh, that's—oh, and then he leans down and mouths her tit away from the soft cup of the loosened bustier and slip a sweet dark nipple into his mouth and then he just—fucks her, gripping her thighs and suckling her tit and slotting in and in and in to the perfect wet of her, making her gasp, making her clench and cry out, her heels dragging against his ass in harsh drags, scratching because of the lace, the seams of these perfect fucking stockings, pulling at him. She's soaked, her pubes a sticky mess when he drags his thumb over her clit, and he drags that wet up over her quivering belly to the garter belt, smearing there, rolling his dick in these demanding dragging slides that are making Dee arch her back, lift up one elbow, her other arm hooked around the back of his neck, her hips working back against his, her lips wet and helpless against his temple as he works her, her pussy grasping and clenching and knocked-open for him. He pulls out just because he can—feels the load of wet that spills out with him—looks down between them, at her tits spilling flushed out of her lingerie and her garter twisting and her stockings, fuck, still neat and tight in place even with her all red-sloppy and fucked-open between them—and when he pushes back in, her pussy parting immediately and welcoming, tight, perfect—she groans in this deep shocked way that connects directly to his nuts, a molten tight thing taking over where his brain ought to be, and he hooks a hand into the split of the bustier and grips a thigh tight against his side and fucks her hard, fast, his orgasm screaming up his back. If he weren't feeling so insane he'd wait for her, make sure she came again good, but it's—this is for him, she said, she wanted this, she wanted him to have her wrapped up like a present, to use like she told him to use her—and he dips down and finds her nipple again and bites there, sinking his teeth into the swell of her tit, and she squirms and clenches and says hot and quick, "Sammy, Sammy—harder—" and he unloads inside, just like she asked him to, his wad pulsing out of him hard enough that his thighs shudder, struggling to keep him up. He slams a hand on the table by her head and she flinches and moans at the same time, feeling it maybe—his dick twitching and pulsing so urgent that surely, she can feel it, even if she's so wet she can't tell her slick from his load—and he lifts off her tit with his jaw loose and his mind strange as an animal fresh off a kill, and she clutches her legs around his hips to keep him tight inside and grabs his head in both hands and presses her mouth open against his. Not kissing. Just their lips brushing, and their air shared and hot, and her forehead tipped against his, bone to bone.

His dick throbs, satisfied. His balls clutch, unload another wet pulse. He slides his hands down her sides, catching on the bustier, and then up again to frame her tits in the soft cups. The left one's out, the bitemarks obvious. He tugs down the little maroon-silk shield on the right and finds that breast full and pale, faintest freckles dusting the top, and kisses it softly, tender. Licks over the half-swollen bud of the nipple and feels it tighten, and suckles it gently when it does. Deanna's fingers comb through his hair, her chest rising against his mouth, and below her pussy clenches around his still-hard dick, needing. Wanting him.

He lifts his head and she's watching him, very close. Her eyeliner's smeared with the sweat of their fucking, the lip gloss long-gone. He fucks his dick in and out, carefully, and watches her eyelashes waver, and then slides out all the way and feeds three fingers in right after, squishing in on the mess he left, his thumb riding over her clit. Deanna's hand flashes down, fingers covering his thumb, and he lets her take over, watching not her hand but her face as he helps her chase it. She's close, has to be with how swollen and hot she is around his fingers. He kisses the pale inside curve of her tit where the bustier buttons are split wide, and the sweet peek of her belly, and then crouches and spreads his mouth wide on the thin skin of her hip, where the garter strap's still hanging on, fucking his fingers in again and again in steady pulses while Deanna arches and tightens and clutches around him and then ripples so hard he can't move, for a second. He looks up and she's silent, her mouth split and dark on a heaved breath, her head tipped back. He rubs his thumb over her wet fingers and she shudders, and he's pushed out of her pussy that way, the muscle clenching deep. His fingers are smeared white. She grabs his hand, quick, and pulls, and he stands up between her legs again and his dick presses against her pussy and he watches while she wraps her lips around his fingers and sucks, her eyes closing in concentration, her tongue slick against his knuckles, getting every last drop of come, until he's clean. He tugs his fingers out and she blinks at him, looking almost dazed, and he holds her eyes while he slots inside again and scoops out another gob of come—christ, it's slipping down against her thigh, staining her stocking—and he collects that too, and presents it to her, and she takes his wrist in both hands and sucks it all in, taking it, wanting all of him.

It's—quiet, after. Sam's tugged his sweatpants up. They're folded into the armchair but she's in his lap, this time, tucked in with her head on his shoulder, her legs slung over the arm. Deanna's torn panties are discarded on the floor and he keeps looking at them. "Do my hair?" she murmurs, finally, and he shifts them a little so he can reach and then does, searching careful for the bobby pins and pulling them out one at a time, setting them on the side table with little clicks, mussing her hair to looseness as he goes. Long time, since she asked for this. Not since… god, it was when Sam's mind was still trapped behind a wall, and he'd had a few bad flashes of memories he didn't understand. When they'd screwed madly, after that terrible job with the mannequins, and she'd held him inside in the same desperate, needing way, and she'd…

Her hair falls to mid-back, when all the pins are out. He combs his fingers through it, thick and soft. "Thanks," he says, quiet.

"Thank you," she says back, snuggling her head against his chest. "Now I'm not gonna stab myself in the middle of the night. Hallelujah."

Quiet, dumb. He sweeps her hair over her shoulder and runs a finger down her spine instead, finding the edge of the bustier and rubbing there in a soothing, repetitive line. "Dee," he says, asking, and she sighs, and doesn't say anything.

That time, that last time, when she'd been so desperate and clinging, when she'd wanted him inside. Held her hand against herself when he pulled out and felt the load he'd left, and of course it couldn't do anything, she'd been on birth control since she was fifteen, but it had made something go queerly hot in his gut to see it. Like some instinct she was operating on, trying to absorb him every way she could. Greedy, his sister. At least she used to be. He wonders if that's true, now, and doesn't know if he can ask. She's nesting, she's content, but between them—things are good, but…

Sam kisses the top of her head and she makes a small content noise, turning her face against his throat, her lips soft. He runs a hand over her knee, the stockings slick, and finds the lacy top, plucking lightly where it bites into her skin. He pulls at the garter strap and she smiles against his skin. "Never thought you'd be such a horndog about this," Deanna says, and it's sleepy-smug enough that he pinches her, on the soft plumpness of her thigh, barely hard enough that she'll feel it. She completely ignores that and crosses one knee over the other, bumping her leg up into his palm. "Should I get more? Pantyhose under the FBI suit?"

"I thought you said pantyhose was the patriarchy trying to suffocate women to death, or something," Sam says, and Deanna leans back so he can see her face, grinning, and says, "Yeah, but if it gets your dick that crazy then I'll deal with suffocation, doofus."

Honest, and nothing but content. Sam slides his hand over her belly where the garter's still digging in and slips two fingers between the clutch of her thighs where her pubes are still damp, incredibly hot, and she blinks at him surprised and then her smile changes, her thighs pulling open just like that. Easy for him, just like always. Sam puts aside any other worries and nods, thoughtful. "I guess I wouldn't mind seeing you use a garter belt to strangle a vamp," he says, and she barks out a quick delighted ha! and then lifts her mouth to his, opens her body to his, and he takes what's on offer instead of wondering about what's not.

#ffcc #wincest #girl!dean #lingerie #my writing #sam going nuts for deanna's pussy is even more boneheaded than him going nuts for dean's ass #which is saying something

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